P.C. Richard "Dick" Parker

Served from 1981 - 1988

INTRODUCTION

At the beginning of May 2025 we posted a boxing-related article on our ExPo website about a bruising bout between two of our former colleagues, Greg Hopkins and Jim Gordyk, at one of our legendary ‘Evenings of Boxing’ held at the Southampton Princess Hotel.  A photo of this bout used to be displayed in the hallway of the Police Club at Prospect but the mould got to it!  Within a short space of time we managed to put Jim Gordyk and Greg Hopkins in touch with each other; Greg kindly provided us with a copy of the photo of himself  and Jim in action in the boxing ring, and we published it in an article in our “Keeping in Touch column. CLICK HERE to view the article. 

 

We then heard from former P.C. Richard “Dick” Parker who sent us the abovegroup photo above of our Police Boxing team about to head off to the U.S. to complete in boxing tournament, and as you can see, the team included Jim Gordyk, Greg Hopkins – and “Dick” Parker so we wrote back to Dick and asked if he could provide us with more details about that trip, and also about his involvement with Police boxing. The result is the following fascinating article written by Dick about his “boxing exploits” here in Bermuda, along with a couple of “vignettes” about his time up in Western Division.

I arrived in Bermuda in May of 1981, along with five other colleagues, Keith Senior, Paul Kelley, Steve Owen, Graham Mitchell, and Hugh Peter Mead. We each of us had a variety of experience and backgrounds. 

Editors note -  We rarely have group photos of overseas recuits who attend localisation courses. This is an exception and Dick explained that  it was taken in May 1981, when  Sgt George Rushe took them on a visit  to the Department of Tourism at which time  they had this photo taken for the Royal Gazette. 

"Sergeant George Rushe picked us up from the airport and deposited us in McBeath Block with our belongings before being told to go to the Police Recreation Club (PRC) bar in an hour. I went to get a quick shower, in the communal showers to wake up. The state of McBeath block was a real wake up moment. Ex-policeman from that era who stayed in those barrack rooms and used those bathrooms and showers will understand. I still remember my first night walking into those showers with a half inch of water all over the floor, and not knowing if it came from the showers, or somewhere else.

When there at the PRC we were grilled by the patrons regarding our previous forces and experience, I was the only recruit from the Avon and Somerset force on this intake. My good friend and colleague John Tartaglia had arrived on the Island three months previously, so at least I had a friend on the Island. 

John was the cause of me being in Bermuda. I did not get my acceptance letter because I had moved flats in Bristol, England. It was only when John Tartaglia arrived in February and John Instone (his Sgt picking his group up at the Airport) said – oh we had another guy from Bristol who never replied to our letter. 

John contacted me right away, I went around to my old flat, and saw the telegram stuck to the front door. At my next shift at Trinity Road Police Station in Bristol, I spoke to my Inspector, who phoned Bermuda and accepted the position on my behalf. By May 1981 I was in Bermuda, which a lot of people can say, totally changed their lives. That letter and the simple conversation between my friend John Tartaglia and Sergeant John Instone. 

Whilst in the PRC we picked up information on the Police sports clubs, everything from Football, Cricket, Tennis, Golf, Running and Squash. It seemed like the Police Service was very sports orientated and that the members kept themselves extremely fit and active. It also did not take us long to realize that a lot of sports related decisions were made in the various Police recreation clubs and bars.

The PRC was the place where we headed after training or playing any of the sports already listed, to discuss and for postmortems. We were all finding adjusting to life in Bermuda tough, a lot of police officers who had been there 3-4-5 years would say to us, to at least give it 6 months. It was in one of these PRC sessions in September 1981, when Vic Richmond asked me if I had ever ‘Boxed’. 

With a negative reply he added something to the effect ‘It looks as though you can handle yourself.’ Backed up by his cadre of PRC regulars who ‘buttered’ me up nicely, I agreed to fight in the annual Police Boxing Tournament. I was told to get to the twice weekly training, with trainers Gary Smith, ‘Forty’ Rego and David Hope civilians who volunteered their time and effort because they loved the ‘sweet science.’ David Hope was a local Barber but an accomplished amateur boxer.

I liked to keep fit, but the boxing exercises and regime took it to another level, skipping, hitting punching bags, dodging, sliding, learning combinations, and then there was the sparring. I soon learned that I was not a boxer with the natural talents like colleagues Frankie Foggo, Merv Dickinson, and Donville Yarde, I watched them train and spar with increased admiration. 

Word soon got around to Vic Richmond, Dave Cook and others that I should be on the card for the Christmas Boxing. Sometime in late November 1981, I was told that I would be fighting a guy called Davie Kerr. I knew who he was, as I had sparred once with him. I did not know his boxing reputation, but every other person on the Island did and they were not shy in telling me about it and questioning my mental state. I had no bloody idea of what to expect as the fight date came nearer and my anxiety level went up by degrees, I also trained harder and more frequently. There was a lot of ‘gallows humour’ about the newcomer boxers, I remember ‘Stumpy’ Kirkham saying ‘do you have the name of your sponsors on the soles of your boxing shoes’! 

I got the nickname 'Dick' from my very first shift as a Police Constable in Bristol Central Division, of the Avon and Somerset Constabulary. I was introduced to the Welsh Sergeant; he was bloody huge. He stood up crushes my hand in a welcoming shake and says, "Welcome PC Richard Parker, what do they call you Dick?" Rather than correct or argue I said 'Yes', and in Police circles that has stuck. 

As far as the 'Steaming' hot Dick' thing goes, when I was first persuaded to get in the ring by Vic Richmond and gang, and I agreed, I heard that fighters wore shirts with their names and country of origin on. I thought of the great pro boxers of the time, and 'Smoking Joe Frasier' was a favorite. So, with a play on words, I came up with 'Steaming Hot' Dick. When I went to get the tee shirt made, there was a few funny looks, but I kept a straight face and incredibly quiet.

The boxing date arrived; I didn’t sleep the night before. All the contestants were in one room, changed, their hands wrapped up and ready for their moment in the ring. 

The above photo is of Davie Kerr before he adjusted my sense of balance Southampton Princess Hotel December 1981.

It was a long wait as our fight was either the last of the night or the penultimate one.

Eventually we were told to take our positions in readiness for our introduction, because you never knew how long the previous fight would last. Not having slept well for a week or so, I mentally prepared myself to go into the ring and hoping to not embarrass myself. Which was similar to the outlook of a lot of the other ‘rookie’ boxers.

We stepped into the ring, our tops covering our singlets were removed, and our boxing gloves were attached. The ‘seconds’ in my corner I do not recall, but I believe that one was Dave Cook and the other ‘Stumpy’ Kirkham. As the writing on my singlet was revealed I started hearing a few chuckles in the crowd, and it slowly grew into laughter as Davie Kerr, and I were introduced and got our instructions from the referee Custerfield Crockwell.

The fight started, and it became immediately apparent that Davy wanted to end it quickly! We traded some heavy leather in the first round. I got to my corner at the end of the first round, and my ‘Seconds’ said to me ‘do you have a death wish’? You must box Davy, not mix it up with him. They hammered that into me, ‘box, box, box you can do it’. I went into the second round and did just that. Davy had hardly touched me in the second round. I returned to my corner, and the ‘seconds’ said, ‘that is a lot better, carry on what you are doing’! 

The third and final round came and I continued to do what I had done in the second round, Davy had been given different instructions obviously and he crowded me even though I was quicker, he cut me off from escape routes, 10-15 seconds before the end of the fight, Davy threw a left hook, which knocked me out, my knees hit the floor and my head rested on the bottom rope of the ring, I didn’t feel a thing. Custerfield Crockwell pulled me forward, so I was on all fours, I got up and started fighting again, people were shouting ‘it’s all over, it’s all over!’ The crowd were going wild, cheering and shouting. Davy and I congratulated each other. I went back to my ‘seconds’ who both said ‘you were ahead on points’! They both then added ‘what a great fight it was, and that I did really well’. 

Dick is bloodied but not bowed!

I left the ring, and before going back to the changing room and shower, I had a moment of reflection, and in relief that the event was over I became very emotional.

It was not until I started to pass people in the area that they congratulated and commiserated with me, that I thought, ‘Wow, that must have been a pretty good fight!’

Davie and I were unanimously awarded the ‘Fight of the Night’. I had a chance to speak to him after and said ‘Congratulations, my Mum isn’t going to be happy that you beat up one of her sons.’ A couple of days later Davie handed me a letter to send to my Mum saying what a great fight it was and congratulating me on my part in the fight, a classy act by Davie. 

In any sport there is a winner and a loser, there is not competition unless you have an opponent, therefore respect for each other is of paramount importance.

I did not know what a spectacle the fight was until ZBM TV televised the third round of the fight each night for the following week!

The cheer that went up, when my head hit the bottom rope was very loud, and in hindsight it was like the Hollywood depictions of gladiatorial combat, where bloodlust mixed with Champagne, cigars and betting on the outcomes showed that we have not evolved very much.

Editors Note – For the record, here is a direct quote from Davie Kerr about his bout with Dick.

• 1981, beat Dick Parker by KO at the very end of Round 3. According to the local press, our bout was worth all the previous ones that night put together! We stood toe to toe for 2 3/4 rounds beating the sh*t out of each other, and I managed to deck him with about 15 seconds to go. Unanimous choice for Fight of the Night. CLICK HERE  to read Davie's excellent article about his fighting career

I carried on Boxing for the Police and as always in every sporting endeavour I tried my best. I ended having eleven fights, with six wins and five losses. The six wins consisted of 1 knockout, 3 unanimous points decisions and 2 split points decisions. My losses were the 1 Knockout (thank you Davie), and 4 split points decisions against. Two of my fights were deemed the fight of the night. 

I fought against The Massachusetts State Troopers, The Denver Brotherhood of Police and Firefighters. and the United States Marines at the US Naval Base in St. George’s, Bermuda. Also, three times at the annual night of Police Boxing.My opponents were Davie Kerr, Nick Jamieson, and Mike Lawler. The Boxing Section became stronger as more Policemen from the Islands and Britain were recruited. We were in awe of the talents and skills shown by the likes of Greg Hopkins and Jim Gordyk and later Craig Morfitt who went from a ‘rookie’ boxer into a very fit and accomplished student of the ‘sweet science.’

One of my opponents from Denver was a man named Ernest Curtis; we were fighting at the BAA stadium. He was my 4^th or 5^th fight. I had not been introduced to him in any way. On the night of the fight, with about two fights to go before my turn, I was at the urinal and in comes this huge guy dressed ready to box. I asked him who is opponent was, he said ‘some guy named Parker.’ I asked him how many fights he had had, he replied ‘about two hundred.’ I made a swift retreat as panic set in and thoughts of calling the hospital to make sure there was a bed for me

Ernest Curtis (Denver Brotherhood Police and Firefighters) and

Ernest Curtis knew all the skills and the ‘dark arts’ of boxing. Where I was trying to box and use my speed to keep out of his way, he used the arts of holding on to me, leaning on me, keeping me close and when we were told to break, he would take a step back and very quickly drop his right leg and come under the guard to crush your ribs on the left side. This was his signature move, and I luckily parried most of that first attack, but my ribs hurt for about a month after. The fight was a scrappy affair, and he won by split decision.

I spoke to Ernest several times after at various functions. His 200+ bouts had come from fighting for the US Air Force.  He told me he was unfit for our fight and his training regime had been cutting down from two packets of cigarettes a day to one! 

I questioned him on other fights he was in and he said he had fought and beaten Ken Norton in an inter-services amateur fight. Ken Norton had been in the Marines from ’63 to ’67. Ken Norton went on to beat Mohammed Ali in 1973 in a heavy weight professional bout.

One other fight I had which I think deserves mention is the one we had at the US Naval base in St. George’s. It was held in a hanger with stadium-like seating. I got there and looked around the place, taking in the area and getting acclimatized. I had absolutely no idea who I was fighting but being in the 190-200lb weight area, 200 lbs and above were the Super Heavyweight class in Amateur Boxing, so my opponents were usually a lot bigger than me.

After about half an hour of wandering around, I went back to the changing rooms where David Hope cornered me. He said, ‘there was a huge guy in here just now, he says he is fighting Richard Parker, and he is going to beat you badly’ or words to that effect. David Hope is a well-known joker, but he was serious this time.

I thought ‘bugger it’ Vic Richmond and the Boxing executives have done it again 😊.  My opponent was a Marine called R.L. Johnstone, 6’4” and 235+ lbs of solid muscle. In the ring getting instructions he was all hyped up; our colleague Gerry Lyons was the referee.

The bell went for the first round and the Marine came running out and immediately started pummeling me. I moved quickly out of the way, but he was there crowding me, he was so much stronger than me. Within a minute he had knocked me down, and I took the mandatory 8 second count, again soon after he had knocked me down again, he was that strong and quite quick. I again took the mandatory 8 second count. Gerry Lyons asking if I was okay, me replying, ‘never better’. As this was going on, I looked into the crowd and saw several of my fellow football players, shouting ‘come on Dick’. I took a deep breath and with a mindset of ‘I have nothing to lose’, I went looking for the Marine.

He was in the neutral corner, and as he confidently came out, I caught him flush on the jaw with one of the best punches I can remember throwing. His eyes went up, so they were showing all white, he staggered, and Gerry Lyons jumped in to save him from my follow up and gave him a standing eight second count. Things had quickly changed, soon after, the bell for the end of the round sounded.

Our boxing trainer ‘Forty’ Rego (nicest guy in the world)  and Dave Cook were my ‘seconds’ they both said, ‘use your speed and jab combinations, get in and out of there really quickly. This is what I did, I jabbed and jabbed while going backwards, he was throwing lots of punches and ‘hay makers’ hitting thin air, this went on for the second and third rounds, the crowd was so noisy, as the fight had looked that it was over in the first round, and then a complete turnabout. I do not think the Marine landed hardly any punches of significance and I was making every jab count.

At the end of the fight, I returned to my corner, Forty Rego and Dave Cook were beaming, with pleasure. Forty took off my gloves and said, ‘go and walk around the ring, you deserve it’, which I did and noticed people standing and clapping in appreciation. When you’re fighting you rarely get to look at the crowd.

When the result of the fight was announced, I thought I had done enough to win but had no idea how the decision would go. The judges gave me a split decision win. Cans and drink were then thrown into the ring from the Marine supporters who didn’t agree with the result. I heard later that complaints had been made from Marines to the Marine commander that in the other boxing matches the Marine participants had been hit a number of times in the ‘under carriage’ -  complaints without merit.

The Bermuda Police Boxing Section at this time was getting a lot of praise and positive news in the various media. More officers wanted to give Boxing a try, and a few civilians even came to train and spar, and have a chance of boxing a Policeman without getting locked up.

Editors note -  Dick also provided us with the following vignettes about a couple of his memorable moments while serving in Western Division.

Nightshift in the West End of Bermuda as a Policeman

 It was the summer of 1984 I believe. There was a cool breeze coming in off of Mangrove Bay, the most popular beach on the Island of Somerset in the West End of the series of Islands which make up the Island country of Bermuda.

I was on mobile patrol call sign Zulu 1, with a newer recruit from the English Midlands named Mark Jones (I think). We had done the first series of the required property checks, shaking door handles and wandering around these properties looking for any signs of break-ins or furtive behaviour. We were on the main road of Somerset when this car pulled out of a pub parking lot about 100 yards ahead of us. The vehicle started to swerve from the inside of the lane over the centre line and back several times.

I was driving and said to my partner that I was going to pull the vehicle over and speak to the driver, Mark called in the registration of the vehicle and waited for the owners’ details. I put the emergency lights on the police vehicle and the subject driver stopped in the centre of the road.

Getting out of the Police vehicle I kept my eyes continuously on the subject driver as a safety precaution like we always do. The driver rolled down the window and I was hit with the smell of intoxicating liquor. I asked for his name and drivers’ license, but he had trouble doing either. I then informed him that he was under arrest for driving while drunk/intoxicated. The driver I would describe as being in his mid 70’s, white, 5’4” with a very slim build. I asked him to get out of the car, I quickly searched him for any weapons and put him in the rear of the Police vehicle. Mark then drove the prisoner’s car to the Police station and I followed him. The prisoner appeared to be asleep in the rear seating.

We are all in the front parking lot of the Police station which is well lit up from overhead lights on the station front porch. My Sergeant, John ‘Coco’ Eve and the station officer, Alan Earl, were in the building.

Mark gets out of the prisoner’s car and opens the back door of the police vehicle to assist in getting the prisoner out for processing. The next thing I hear is “bloody heck Dick, the f……  just punched me in the face”, in his thick ‘Brummie’ accent.

There is a bit of commotion going on, some shouting and Alan Earl comes running out of the station to assist. Mark is wrestling with the top half of the body and Alan makes his way around to the other side of the car to deal with the bottom half of the body. Alan unfortunately, just gets hold of one leg, the prisoner kicks Alan in the goolies with his other foot, and he crumples to the floor shouting all sorts of epithets in agony. To those who will argue about which sex has to deal with the worst pain, the pain of childbirth or the pain of getting kicked in the goolies, well, no man asks to get kicked in the goolies again!

This brings Sergeant ‘Coco’ Eve to the scene, to try and bring calm and order. He visibly assesses what is going on and notices that three big Policemen are man-handling a little old man and maybe overdoing a bit of the ‘rough stuff’. Coco tells us to ‘take it easy’ He approaches the car on Mark’s side shouting, while wagging his finger in the prisoner’s face, something to the effect, ‘Calm down, calm down, take it easy, now you just get out of the car and stop this nonsense’. The prisoner then grabs hold of Coco’s wagging finger and bites it extremely hard. All the sympathy Coco had for the little old man was gone instantly! There was an immediate ‘flick of a switch’. Suddenly the volume of shouting goes way up, like a Black Sabbath concert….’You effing ………., you  bit my effing finger, you little ……..’. By this time, I’m laughing quite hard at the situation, this drunken man weighing 120lbs at best, has now assaulted three policemen, the cream of the Bermuda Police Service!

We eventually carry him into the cells each of us holding one limb each. All I hear, and anybody within 200 yards of the Station is ‘you effing …….., you effing ……….!’

The prisoner went to court and pleaded ‘not guilty’ to all charges. So, the four of us had to appear at court. The appearances were embarrassing four -   big healthy policemen and this little old man charged with driving while drunk and assaulting three very large and capable policemen.

This story was put together between myself and Alan Earl after we had been informed by the Bermuda EX-PO Facebook  site that our ex-Sergeant John ‘Coco’ Eve had just undergone a 12-hour operation and was recovering well. What the FB site didn’t tell us was the rumour that the operation was for a vasectomy reversal, which is usually done under a local anaesthetic, but the Urologist was so fed up of listening to his pontification’s that they put him under so the next nursing staff shift on the 12 hour shifts would have to deal with him!   We both hope “Coco” made a complete recovery.

To Bee or not to Bee

I was probably approaching my second year of being a Police Constable on the Island of Bermuda, slowly, very slowly fitting into the slower way of life on the 22 square mile series of Islands connected by bridges which make up the whole.

I had applied and got a job there after almost 5 years of working as a Police Constable in the Avon and Somerset Police, posted to the Bristol Central and Trinity Road areas. There and then we were constantly busy, from the mundane to the awful.

The Somerset Island Police Barracks was on the water, and that is where most of the new recruits to the west of the Island lived. There were twelve single men’s units there. Each unit containing a desk, wardrobe, solid bed with drawers, a chair, toilet and shower. We all shared a TV room, kitchen and dining room. We were provided with a dinner each evening Monday-Friday by a cook, the rest of the time we had to fend for ourselves.

Also in the barracks building was the Western Division Police Club Bar, which was well represented by Police Officers, Prison Officers, some chefs who worked at local hostelries, their wives and friends of all.

I was working the nightshift (midnight-0800) with my then partner Ashmead Ali a police/prison officer from Trinidad and Tobago. He had been in Bermuda for about ten years, was married with children and lived in the Dockyard area at the far west end of the Island.

Our nightshifts together were typically quiet. As we were getting ready to book off shift, he asked me if I would like a game of squash at the HMS Malabar Squash Courts, which was part of the British Naval base on Ireland Island. We as Police Officers had ongoing access to the Squash courts there.

I had played a lot of Tennis and Badminton and had enjoyed both sports. I had never played squash, and Ashmead said that he would teach me.

We agreed to meet at the court at 0830, it was another beautiful day in ‘Paradise’. I changed into my ‘workout gear’ running shorts, cotton tee shirt socks and trainers. I hopped onto my Honda 90cc motorbike to meet Ashmead at the court, about a 7-minute ride from the barracks.

I met Ashmead and he kindly lent me one of his old squash racquets, and told me which end to hold when making a shot. Such was his sense of humour!

We warmed up with a few stretches and smacking the ball against the walls.

I had watched the game on TV once or twice, and had even heard of the great world champion Janghir Khan who had won the title something like ten years in a row.

We played 4 or 5 games with me winning one I believe (it was when Ashmead was having a rest). Subtlety was not yet part of my game, as tactics were also slow to learn. I was happy to reach and whack the ball as hard as I could, forehand, back hand all was good. It was great fun and a real good workout. We were both sweating profusely, and Ashmead suggested a quick dive into the sea right outside the door to the Squash court. We both did just that, with all of our kit on besides shoes, the water was warm but refreshing.

We said our goodbyes and departed. I rode slowly on my Honda bike, feeling and enjoying the warm air against my wet clothes.

I was about a minute from the Barracks, when I started to be bothered by a very large Bee. It bothered me enough as I batted it away. I made the turn into the Barracks parking lot when the Bee got into the leg of my shorts. There was then a real panic! I smacked the top of my leg near my testicles a couple of times as I rode one handed. I then gave my family jewels area a gentle squeeze, hoping to disarm or kill the Bee. My complete concentration was on the battle going on in my shorts, when simultaneously I received a sting to my left testicle and I drove into a large bush separating the parking lot from the Bay.

I fell off my bike right in front of the kitchen and dining room windows, where there were three or four other residents who witnessed me fall off of my bike. They were laughing hysterically. They included Rudy Richardson, Graveney Bannister and Ryvan Campbell.

I stood my bike up as a Bee flew from my shorts. I rushing into the bar area icemaker and made an ice pack from my shirt and pressed onto the injured area. The Barracks cleaner Rhonda a local lady also laughed when she saw what action I was taking, she added, ‘you white boys are weird’.

I retired to my barrack room, checked the swollen injured area, showered and then continued with the ice compress.

It was a couple of days before people found something else to laugh about!

_______________________________________________

Dick has kindly provided us with the following information about where he is and what he's doing these days:-

I am single and now living in Bridgewater, Nova Scotia, happily retired and helping neighbours where I can.

I continue to keep fit by biking, hiking the trails in the area and swimming at the Lunenburg County Leisure Centre in the Winter.

Attached is a picture taken on the 13^th May 2025 at Mahone Bay, Nova Scotia, the halfway point on my out and back bike ride.

I have two daughters 35 and 32. The eldest has a Masters in Public Health and works for Nova Scotia health, and the youngest lives and works in Suwon, South Korea teaching English at a private school. She has just returned from climbing Mount Rinjani (12,250 ft) in Lombok, Indonesia. She also went to Dalhousie for her last two years at University after doing a couple of years at Waterloo, Ontario.

Thank you for the important work that you do and prompting me to 'get my arse' in gear. If we do not write our stories, they die with us.