It makes me feel great that I've been accomplishing something nice (and helped) somebody," he said. "Everybody wants a penny. Everybody wants to get paid for everything. Somebody's gotta do something for nothing. – Leo Montoya
SALT LAKE CITY — Thirty-five years ago, a skinny 10-year-old boy walked into a humble boxing gym in the Fairpark neighborhood seeking refuge.
He was dirty, a leg of his jeans ripped from cuff to inseam, and his shoes — several sizes too big — were full of holes. The boy took care of his two little sisters because his father wasn't around and his mother was often drunk.
Leo Montoya gave the boy food and clothes and trained him to be a boxer. One day at the gym, the little boy looked up and smiled, telling Montoya he was so happy because his mother had quit drinking. Montoya said he was happy for him, and the two hugged.
A few days later, Montoya was walking in the neighborhood and saw the boy's mother passed out on the street.
"(The boy) was just standing there looking at her," Montoya recalled. "Son of a gun, that hurt me a lot."
Montoya covered the mother up and continued to train and mentor the boy at his gym.
When the boy's parents died, Montoya said he thought about adopting the three children. But with 11 kids of his own and the recent death of his first wife, he couldn't.
"I don't know what happened to those kids," he said. "That's one of the heartbreaking times that I had."
Montoya has dedicated his life to helping others and teaching local kids to box for 60 years at his gym, 246 N. 600 West. He wanted to keep them off the streets and engaged in positive activities.
On Saturday, Montoya's students are giving back by orchestrating a party to celebrate his 85th birthday. Family, friends, communities members and big-name Utah boxers such as Gene Fullmer are expected to attend.
Luben Montoya, Leo's son, said he still hears his father wonder aloud what happened to those children. He knows that the experience really affected him.
"He was always soft on kids. He’s tough, but he’s always trying to help kids,” he said. “A lot of the kids that boxed with us had similar stories.”
Luben Montoya called his father "a tough old bird" who has "a lot of compassion for people who are in situations that they can’t do something about themselves.”
After winning a gold medal in the Pan American Games in 1949, Leo Montoya left the Army in 1953. It was then he began teaching his six sons to box. Their gym was just a punching bag tied under a tree with dirt for a floor.
Children in the neighborhood showed up one after another until he was eventually training 45 kids.
"I had them doing calisthenics. They were training in a big cloud of dust," Leo Montoya said.
Today, the gym he bought in 1960 still sits next to his home supported by a metal beam that he and 60 neighbors put up themselves.
Leo Montoya said the kids change through boxing.
"If somebody calls me Leo, I say, 'Hey, wait. I'm Mr. Montoya,'" he said. "It teaches them manners and respect. I try to keep them out of trouble."
Third District Juvenile Court Judge Andrew Valdez said he met Leo Montoya when he was a boy. Valdez said he used to get in fights on the streets and in school, and "Mr. Montoya" would taunt and tease him to get into the ring.
"He would say, 'If you think you're so tough, why don't you get in the ring?'" Valdez recalled.
The judge said he got in the ring a few times but didn't have the patience to get hit over and over. The two kept in touch for more than 45 years, and Valdez has sent kids from his courtroom to the gym. He hopes Leo Montoya can influence them for good, like he did for him.
"He's been a community icon for many years, and actually a community hero to many kids," Valdez said. "He was always there if you needed to go talk to somebody or if you needed somebody to kick you in the butt. He’s a tough guy, but he has a heart of gold."
Art Sandoval trained with Leo Montoya more than 40 years ago. That experience, Sandoval said, helped make him the person he is today.
"It gave me a different perspective to life," he said. "It made me confident (in) what I was doing, kept me out of trouble. It changed my life in a lot of ways."
Sandoval said he feels like he owes Leo Montoya, and he's trying to pay a little of that back now by helping to train kids at the gym.
"He finds something for everybody to do, no matter what it is," he said. "He's still working every day."
Viridiana Cuellar, who has been training at the gym for a year, said Leo Montoya is always pushing his students to improve, including following them in his golf cart while they run to the state Capitol.
"He's a really hard man, (but he's also) really thoughtful to let us come and train. It means a lot," she said.
Cuellar said he's helped many kids by keeping them off the street, and he is always checking up on them and asking how they are doing.
John Florez calls Leo Montoya a legend and one of the "icons on the west side."
"He started looking out for kids and hasn’t stopped,” Florez said. “He’s out there doing some kind of chore for somebody.”
Maria Garciaz, the executive director for NeighborWorks Salt Lake, worked with Leo Montoya when he served on the board of directors for four years as a resident representative. She said his job was to bring issues concerning the community to the table.
“Leo is one of those individuals who (is) not in everybody’s business, but he knows people’s business,” she said.
Garciaz said he would bring raise issues that needed to be resolved without seeking recognition for himself.
When NeighborWorks began the Bridge Over Barriers project, Leo Montoya would ride past on his golf cart thanking the volunteers. Now that the project is complete, she said he still rides past to keep an eye on it and make sure it isn’t vandalized.
“He was a great cheerleader for these projects going on in the community,” she said.
Leo Montoya served on the neighborhood crime watch and said he still enjoys riding that golf cart and keeping an eye on more than 20 blocks in his Fairpark neighborhood.
It's a wonderful feeling, he said, to see kids leave the gym and go on to make something of their lives.
"It makes me feel great that I've been accomplishing something nice (and helped) somebody," he said. "Everybody wants a penny. Everybody wants to get paid for everything. Somebody's gotta do something for nothing."
Leo Montoya seeks no reward. Helping children and seeing his community improve are compensation enough for him.
"I do a lot of work for people, and sometimes they reward me somehow, which is good," he said.