Boxing Program for Kids With Autism Has Banker in Its Corner

(Bloomberg) -- Inside an old New York gym that’s slowly coming back to life almost two years into the pandemic, a 74-year-old who served time in prison and a 12-year-old boy with autism face off in a boxing ring.

David Lawrence was an insurance executive before a tax scam in the 1990s and has been a trainer since then. On Saturdays, he works with kids like Gael, who asks as they spar why righties need to use their left fist. 

“Because they’re saving their best stuff for the big punch,” the trainer answers.

“Like this,” Gael says -- and swings. 

Even as the Covid crisis drags on, a steady return to normalcy is allowing New Yorkers to resume old pastimes -- and, for the kids inside Gleason’s Gym in Brooklyn, begin new ones. They’re here on an autumn afternoon for one of the first classes led by Amy Bridges, a trainer and single mother whose non-contact boxing program costs $25 for 50 minutes. One of her sons has autism, and another, Chuck McMullan, is a Wall Street executive volunteering as a trainer for the class. 

“One of the first times he told me he loved me was after boxing,” Bridges, 65, says about her son with autism. Around seven kids have been coming by each Saturday. “My goal is to just make it fun and give them love.” 

She was 18 when McMullan was born.

“She’s seen it all,” the banker says, adding that his mom got more serious about boxing around the time of her second divorce. “She will knock you out.”

Bridges wants to slow down basic boxing moves into manageable steps, using drills and bag work to boost confidence, coordination and camaraderie. McMullan, 46, who leads U.S. debt advisory work at Evercore Inc., ramped up his plans to help her out after the death of a friend who was planning to co-lead the class. It’s one of a few programs teaching boxing to people with autism.

Gleason’s is full of boxers like McMullan, businesspeople who find themselves drawn to the sport’s rigor and energy -- or just appreciate hitting things hard. They form most of the clientele, according to Bruce Silverglade, who owns what he calls the longest-running boxing gym in the city. “We all have fear, and it is a good thing. We can show you how to use that fear,” he says. “It also mentally prepares you to win.”

The gym, which had nearly 1,200 members before Covid, was devastated by the pandemic. Silverglade got two loans from the Paycheck Protection Program and borrowed more than $200,000 through the Small Business Administration. Even after membership has begun climbing back, it stands at just 670.

Kids file in as class starts. Holden, 10, wears all black and sits at a stationary bike. 

“He’s at his best here,” says his mom, Discovery Channel executive Jessica Driscoll. “Even though there’s a lot of chaos, he’s focused.”

Aidan, 12, crouches on a stool. “Boxing is a good workout for me physically and mentally,” he says. “You have to focus on what you’re doing and do what you’re doing, and it’s a good combination.” He steps into the ring: “Yeah, baby.”

As he spars with Bridges, he explains the gym’s timing system. “There are three lights above our clock: green, yellow and red. The light will hit green, and that is when we practice.” At red, “we stop, and we repeat the whole thing again and again.” He punches as he speaks, practicing an uppercut. 

“Nice power,” she tells him.

Outside the ring, Holden works the bag with McMullan. “I call this move the Twisted Tornado,” Holden says as he swings.

“Give me two jabs,” the banker says. “That’s a jab and a cross.”

Gael moves into the ring with Lawrence.

“I try to let them drift, but I guide them in their drifting,” the trainer says. The sport’s discipline appeals to him. “I find it very structured. It’s containerizing but freeing at the same time.”

Gael practices hooks and uppercuts.

“I decided to try it,” he says, “and I found I could hit really hard.”

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