It is a November night so dreary that summer is little more than a memory. A chilly rain hints at winter.
The steady downpour has reduced the nether regions of the parking lot at the Brandywine Club to mud and misery. The choice parking spots near the front
entrance were taken hours ago by seasoned patrons, who are now ensconced at ringside tables littered with long-necked beer bottles and plastic cups. They are the ones who know: On the nights that Henry Milligan fights, come early.
But it is a November night so dreary that there are several vacant tables to be found in the vast Chadds Ford club. "The last time Henry Milligan fought," says the bartender, "the tables all were filled and the rest of the people stood on the stage."
On this night, the audience endures an undercard of tired club fighters who flail at each other with fury, but little finesse. Occasionally, a punch will connect and the crowd, which is mainly male and fiercely macho, will cheer raucously. But mostly the crowd is disinterested and a little restless.
Henry Milligan prowls backstage in a gray sweatsuit, as restive as the crowd. He appears to be deep in thought or simply scowling in apprehension. ''He's nervous," says his younger brother, Mike. "This is his biggest fight yet."
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Henry Milligan is blond and has eyes that are bluish-green. He is a Princeton graduate in civil engineering, Class of 1981. He is spared the ignominy of preppy prettiness by the scowl and by a square jaw that suggests that he enjoys getting his own way. "When we were little, we never quit playing games if Henry was behind," says Mike. "We always, always played until he won.
Henry Milligan was a fair amateur fighter. He even reigned for a time as the national heavyweight champion, despite not taking up the sport until the relatively elderly age of 23. He won a couple dozen fights by knockouts, and the sportswriters in Wilmington, where he grew up, stuck him with the tag of ''Hammerin' Hank." Milligan didn't much care for that, but he liked the winning part. He loved the announcement: "The winner by knockout . . ." He loved it when the referee gripped his glove and held it in the air in the traditional symbol of triumph.
Milligan won his way right up to the semifinals of the Olympic Trials, where Mike Tyson landed a couple of big rights to his head. Milligan took two standing eight counts and that was it for his Olympic dream, and for his boxing career until early in 1985, when Milligan turned professional.
