It was in 1968 at the old Arena de Colón, since upgraded and renamed the Arena Teófilo Panamá Al Brown, which looked like a neglected high school gym, except with chain-link fences covered in barbed wire surrounding the floor.

If New York had Madison Square Garden and Buenos Aires had Estadio Luna Park, then the Isthmus of Panamá had Arena de Colón. Panamanian legends from Brown, to the more contemporary Ismael Laguna, all either made their professional debuts there or fought there in their first handful of pro outings.

For Duran, who would be 17 in a few months, his debut in the paid ranks wasn’t his introduction to either boxing or fighting. He’d already made a reputation for himself as a tough street fighter not to be trifled with around his Panamá City neighborhood of El Chorillo, and he’d been represented by a full-fledged team of handlers as a serious boxer for nearly two years. The Ring even mentioned Duran’s first fight after he took a decision from trialhorse Carlos Mendoza.

Nearly 60 years and millions of miles later, Duran turns 75 as a boxing icon and likely the greatest fighter alive.

When Duran fought his way to an undercard feature at Madison Square Garden three years after his debut, newspapers all called him a “street fighter,” and the future all-time great not only allowed them, but played up the stereotypes, catching unsuspecting writers with intimidating sneers and growls. And in those days, maybe Durán was indeed still more of a corner and alley brawler than the polished and efficient fighting machine he would later become, but even in those days he was still more.

The New York Times called Duran “King of the Street” in Panamá, and he joked that he would have to return to fight anyone attempting to usurp his old throne. But Durán’s potential and the pipe dream that he might become, according to The Ring, “the fistic standard bearer of the Isthmus republic,” are what caught the attention of great boxing minds Ray Arcel, Freddie Brown and Gil Clancy.

Duran made his U.S. debut on the undercard of the rematch between WBA lightweight champion Ken Buchanan and Panamanian hero Ismael Laguna, which came weeks before middleweight champ Carlos Monzón thrashed former champion Emile Griffith, who was handled by Clancy. In the wake of Griffith’s loss, Clancy needed newer, younger talent. The Ring said: “They say [Clancy] has picked Roberto Duran, the Panamanian lightweight.”

Unfortunately for Clancy, the duo of Arcel and Brown got to Duran first. Both Arcel and Brown were active trainers and cornermen in the 1930s, 40s and 50s, and both later became “hired guns,” or trainers who usually took on high profile fighters or projects, if they trained at all, for a decade or two.

Arcel’s fate became tied to Duran’s lightweight title run in the 1970s, and Arcel’s name was most associated with the Panamanian’s training, even if Nestor “Plomo” Quiñones handled most of the actual gym work. Manager Carlos Eleta knew Arcel from decades earlier and called the veteran trainer in to help guide Duran, alongside associate Brown. Both trainers were well-connected in East Coast boxing circles and knew the Garden’s matchmaker Teddy Brenner.

Eleta initially asked Arcel to get Alfonso “Peppermint” Frazer a victory over junior welterweight champion Nicolino Locche, and when Arcel came through with a title win for Frazer, Eleta directed Arcel and Brown toward the young and developing Duran.

Over the following decade, Arcel and Brown spent many of their twilight years transforming Duran into a smooth, ruthless fighting machine in the truest sense. Duran mowed through most of the lightweight division, occasionally dining on a junior welterweight here, a welterweight there. Back in the 1930s and 40s, newspapermen referred to Arcel as “The Meat Wagon” because he’d carried several of heavyweight champion Joe Louis’ dazed opponents from the dingy, blood-soaked canvas to their corner after he’d knocked them out. This time it was Arcel’s man doing the hatchet work.

Alas, Duran’s leveling of the lightweight division was fan service, but mostly for the hardcore. That brand of work was always destined to be overshadowed by the glitz and glamor of heavyweight champion Muhammad Ali, who ruled for most of Durán’s reign.

It wasn’t until Duran moved up and not only skipped a division to defeat his nemesis “Sugar” Ray Leonard, but entered into the hallowed “Four Kings” group, with Leonard, Thomas Hearns and Marvelous Marvin Hagler, that he became a boxing icon. By fighting all three five times total in nine years, Duran no longer had to struggle for attention among name heavyweights of the 1970s. He commanded massive purses and lived out multiple unlikely and impressive fairytale endings as a fighter, winning titles in three more divisions above lightweight, though sacrificing Arcel and Brown as team members along the way.

In 1989, in his late 30s, Duran made a final stab at greatness and won his last world title by out-fighting the bigger and stronger Iran Barkley over the distance. He still had more than a decade of professional fighting in him, but throughout the 90s, “Manos de Piedra” dined off the scraps of his old self and cashed in on his name, as icons can and will do.

To watch Duran put a fighting brain into action while in his trim is watching legitimate artistry. Instinctually fast reactions, various ways of solving in-ring puzzles and combinations that left viewers feeling like someone who’d just discovered a great magician. Decades ago, but years after his lightweight reign, fans might be able to find VHS tapes of Duran sparring and training. Now the great Durán happily empties his bag of tricks for anyone willing to watch, listen and learn, as seemingly endless social media videos prove.

Nothing is the same as that night Duran made his pro debut in Colón. The other fighters on that card, Miguel Riasco, Carlos Mendoza, even Ernesto Marcel, have all but faded from the boxing establishment’s memory outside of Panamá. Colón still features many relics of its colonial past through architecture and other crumbling aspects of culture, but it too is modernizing. Even the Arena de Colón, now the Arena Teófilo Panamá Al Brown, is in the midst of being developed into a state-of-the-art sports venue with video screens overhead, new seats and dedicated parking.

And Duran? At 75, he is now a key to Panamá’s history, just as he represents what boxing used to be.

Boxing is now a vehicle to feature various commodities and often not much more. Duran embodied the stereotype of the bare fisted punching his way to riches, fame and greatness. It still happens, but not like how Duran did it. The old street fighter from El Chorillo could still go back and claim his former title if he wanted to.