There isn't much William Jones, born March of 1987, knows about the two individuals who, in most cases, would have been called his mother and father. A recurring drug offender, Ethan Jones was in and out of jail as much as someone could be before the law finally pounded in the last nail on a coffin that would likely be found within prison walls, his notoriety with the courts of Tampa, Florida and additional violent charges prompting the courts to give him enough years behind bars to be considered a life sentence. His wife, Brenda, seemed just as absent from the life of her children, finding one suitor or another to stay with while they were in the care of others until, finally, she had disappeared for good without a trace.

For William, that meant staying full time with his aunt who wasn't without her own incapacitating temptations when she came home drunk most nights out of the week, and the rest were spent sleeping off or otherwise struggling with the seemingly permanent hangover of heavy drinking, forcing William to take care of himself for much of his childhood. He learned how to cook—barely—early so he could make himself breakfast, he stayed in school programs realizing the potential for care and guidance he didn't get at home, and when high school graduation came and went with just as many friends in his senior year as he had in his freshman year—close to zero, save for those few people who looked past the hand-me-down thrift store attire and less than pleasant home life that made sure he didn't have anyone over—William did what he could to emancipate himself from his aunt's care—or lack thereof. If nothing else, thankfully, William was resourceful and with family willing to help him out when he got to Boston at long last, it was even easier to try and melt into a city he hoped he would be able to call home more than he ever considered Tampa to be. It wasn’t without its troubles, of course. College wasn’t in the cards, making him ineligible for a number of jobs throughout the city that might have brought in a few more dollars than whatever fast food grab or inventory spot he often found himself in; and it would be far too long and far too few raises before he actually found some sort of considerable increase in income beyond minimum wage if he stayed. To him, they were dead ends and nothing he wanted to do with the rest of his life; and it was just by chance that the opportunity of a lifetime would be just around the corner.

Of course, it had all been by chance, William in the right place at the right time and doing the right things to impress the owner of a local boxing gym who had been on his way home when he caught the then-twenty year old in a street brawl. While he was sure his social worker at the time would have had a problem with finding out he had been caught up in trouble, had nearly pounded someone into submission with his own two hands, it became that closely guarded secret that provided a wealth of opportunity with the right trainer and mentor at the helm. From that point forward, instead of focusing some deep-seeded anger and aggression, even sadness in regards to just how troublesome his childhood had been, into therapy sessions or street fights or bar brawls—not that he had any business being in one of those anyway, underage as he was—William turned to boxing not only for that much needed conduit, but future potential that far surpassed flipping burgers or stocking shelves.

From day one, William took to the training as if he had nothing to lose—and in a way, he didn’t aside from the family he had started to build in Boston though he hoped for nothing more than to make them proud when all was said and done. The hours were long, even longer considering he had to hold down a day job at the same time, saving up whatever sick days he could for fights and tournaments that, at the time, certainly didn’t bring in the big bets and pay off that they would later in his career. Over the last number of years, William has done his part to not only rise through the ranks of the light middleweight class with a flawless record, but keep himself out of the same trouble that many of his fellow pugilists were quick to find themselves in as soon as the fame and fortune started going to their heads. It didn’t mean it was always easy—in a lot of ways, it was the toughest part of the job, not so bothered by getting hit in the face a few times or the long training hours or the flights out of the country for fights and the jetlag that came with it or simply finding himself in a place like Vegas where trouble was a phone call away. Will, with the help of others, did his part to make sure he kept his head on straight, giving back to the community that helped raise him into the sportsman he is today and always sure to keep those close to him, that didn’t give up on him, in mind.

Although his career was sure to come with a big payoff, and certainly has as the title holder of the International Boxing Federation’s light middleweight class, won in February of 2017, William still prefers to call Boston home even though his accommodations and standard of living have vastly improved from the impoverish conditions he had been raised in back in Tampa. He still works at Slaughterhouse despite being able to cover all of his expenses with his fight winnings. He still trains at the same gym even if he could go to a better one, investing funds into equipment and renovations to make sure it stays afloat when times get tough. He still enjoys those low key moments where the fame and fortune of his boxing title are overshadowed by barbecues with his family and nights out with friends. William Jones, by all accounts, is still the same William Jones before Boston—just a whole lot better.