It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It was only scheduled to be a 10-minute phone interview to talk about Jesse Hart’s upcoming eight-rounder. 

He’s had bigger fights. The stakes have been higher. But as time goes on, our meandering conversation covers death, divorce, gun crime, vengeance, mental health and depression. 

Hart takes me on this absorbing journey often with a smile on his face, while pausing at times to swallow hard and possibly – on occasion – at the contemplation of tears.

Yet the interview is often light-hearted and easy, somehow even while discussing the bleakest of moments and the darkest of times.

Hart’s words and his delivery have a magnetic effect. They force you to hang on each word and wonder whether the next story or the next answer will lift you up or drop you into the depths he struggled through in 2010, in the aftermath of his older brother’s murder – even before Jesse embarked on his solid 33-fight career.

The conversation – it does not feel like an interview – is never less than compelling, whether the subject matter is boxing or real life, and Hart is one of those who can make a clear distinction between the two.

When you have been through what he has, and suffered like he has, real-world problems sometimes have a way of forcing boxing politics, events and even the fights themselves to stand quietly and face the wall of an overcrowded room while mom and dad talk.

Hart is a still-ambitious-but-experienced 34. His life lessons have shaped his perspective, his journey and, he hopes, his destination.

Should he ever get to proudly raise a world title above his head, it will be more than a sporting triumph because the motivation does not merely reach through his soul but stretches back through his bloodline.

Hart, as we talk, wears a black T-shirt with gold writing that reads “NEVER FOLD” above “Keep Grindin,'" and never has a garment felt more apt – no frills but with a significant message to deliver.

In 2010, Jesse’s well-liked older brother Robert – known by his friends as Damon (his middle name) because he preferred it – was out with a friend in Philadelphia. Damon was robbed and, in Jesse’s words: “Somebody blew his head off; blew his brains out.”

It is as jarring as it sounds and Hart stops to think back. It is something that still weighs heavily on him and his family. Damon worked as a caregiver, looking after the residents at an old folks' home.

“He was a great guy – my brother was a great human being,” Hart said, sighing heavily. “You ask anybody, my brother will give you the shirt off his back if he had it. He would let you have anything. He was never selfish, even if he didn’t know you. If he took you under his wing or took you in as a kid, he’ll give you anything he’s got. My brother was a great guy, man.

“He was my older brother, you know what I’m saying? And that destroyed my mother, it destroyed my family and for a while I wasn’t in the right state of mind. This was happening in 2010 while I was still fighting in the amateurs. I didn’t really get to regain my consciousness until I had my daughter."

Life became a traumatic blur. One month ran into the next and the years went by. Hart’s daughter was born in 2012, and Hart fought in the Olympic trials and scored some big wins, but his emotions had died.

“People were like, ‘Oh, you’re winning this,’” he said. “‘You won the Olympic trials. You won the nationals.’ It was like, ‘OK,' because I didn’t have any feeling.

 “I didn’t know how big anything was, because nothing was bigger than my brother’s death. I was dealing with a lot and life was still moving for me.”

Hart bottled it all up and kept moving, stricken by grief – maybe even thirsting for revenge.

The killer was eventually caught and is still serving a life sentence. Hart cannot forgive, and he won’t forget.

Asked whether he might find a sense of inner peace at being able to let it go, Hart said it is just not the time.

“No, I don’t think I’m ready for that yet, mentally and emotionally,” he reflected. “I don’t believe I’m ready for that. My mother said something about forgiveness. Right now, when I see my brother’s grandkids and daughter, I haven’t found it in my heart yet to forgive. One day I’ll find it in my heart to forgive this guy, but right now I can’t.

“Every time I go to my brother’s gravesite for his birthday or just to be out there with him, it hurts me. I still cry. I’m not over that, [but] I’ll find it in my heart one day to forgive him.”

In 2010, awareness surrounding mental health was not what it has subsequently become. It was not part of the conversation. Not for young men; not for fighters; not for tough kids on the streets of Philly and not for the sons of boxing cult heroes. 

So Hart internalised the tragedy and carried it with him. That is where it lurks now, partly from not having had therapy and having had to address it in a professional setting.  

It was, as Hart confesses, a different time back then. 

“Yeah that was way before, you’re absolutely right,” he said when discussing how things have changed with people being able to talk more openly about feelings.  

“I didn’t get counseling. I don’t believe I went through the proper channels to deal with that whole mental capacity. My heart was really broke; my heart was broken. That type of trauma damages anybody – the kind of death that it was. It wasn’t a normal death; it wasn’t because my brother was sick. 

“Somebody took his life. Somebody took his life like that and you don’t know how to channel a certain energy. You don’t go to counselling, you’ve just got to move forward through life and you never fully recover from that. I think that’s worse than anything.” 

The notorious Philadelphia streets have always been some of the most unforgiving – not just with Damon’s murder but with the Hart family having to present a tough, united front; to not show weakness; to not let anyone prey upon their depleted numbers. 

“No, you can’t show that vulnerable side, not where I’m from in my part,” Hart explained. “My part of town in North Philadelphia, you better not show that vulnerable side because that’s when you’ll get taken advantage of; chewed up; eaten up and spit out.  

“It hardens you all the way around but it’s very abnormal – it’s not normal. That’s not normal to deal with that type of trauma and get no help from it. I have gotten no help from my brother’s death. Since he died, I haven’t talked to a counsellor. When I was going through that numbness of, ‘I’m numb, I can’t feel, I’m cried out of tears’, that whole situation, man, was just very painful. 

“That was a very, very painful situation. That’s worse than any pain I’ve endured in my whole life. A loss is nothing compared to that. I lost the worst loss. Everything with this boxing thing is a win for me – everything, because I took the biggest loss in the world that I could’ve had.” 

The turmoil in the aftermath of the murder ran deeply through the heartbroken family and to the point that Hart’s mother could not cope. She had to be taken into a psychiatric ward, would lose control of her bodily functions, and, on her release, became so paranoid about losing another child that she would barricade the windows and doors of the family home so Jesse and his brothers and sisters couldn’t leave. 

“Look at my life,” Hart exclaimed. “I’ve been wanting people to look at my life. Look what I’ve endured. People think this boxing thing … and, ‘You’re on top, you’re this, you’re that.' … Look what I’ve endured.

“Me, I’ve got two sisters, and a brother. Mom had five kids, she lost one, [there was] me, my other brother and two sisters were in the house with my mom and she was crying. We were about to leave and she barricaded us in the house, started picking chairs up, locking windows, pulling down curtains and said, ‘Don’t leave! Please! Y’all not safe’, and we really had to call people in to help her.”  

It almost seems inconsequential to talk boxing with Hart, and his eight-round fight with Ghana’s Daniel Aduku at Philadelphia’s Liacouras Center on Saturday night – and in some ways it is because there is a deeper meaning to the event. 

The promotion is called “Let’s Settle," and is promoted by Dominic Walton. Hart hopes to help his North-Philly community with the overall sentiment of the event.  

Having had to cope with the damage of gun crime, Hart does not want others to suffer the way he and his family have. 

“Man, it was bad brother, it was really bad and I don’t wish that on anybody,” Hart added. “That’s why this Let’s Settle event on April 27… I want to prevent that from families in my city and all over the world if I can. If we can bring my city together under one roof and build off one night of excitement as far as boxing, let’s try to start there, extending the handshake. Let’s start there, extending the conversation. Let’s start there for all of us, enjoying the entertainment – a fighter is giving blood, sweat and tears for us to not kill each other over here. That’s what this thing is really about.  

“And I see now at the age that I am that if I can help prevent kids from going through that, I want to help them. And this is boxing – fighting to help people stop killing each other. Let’s do it.” 

When it comes to boxing, however, Hart (30-3, 20 KOs), is – so far – a nearly man. He’s fought for titles but like his wildly destructively heavy-hitting pops Eugene “Cyclone” Hart – a middleweight terror from the 1970s – he has not been able to get over the line and win a world title. There have twice been narrow losing efforts for the super-middleweight championship against Gilberto Ramirez, who has since won a share of the cruiserweight title.  

Both defeats were close – the second only a majority decision loss – but Hart matter-of-factly accepts the disappointment with good grace. 

“Timing, I don’t think that God was ready to say it was my time,” he lamented, when asked what had prevented him from capturing the crown. “Everything happens on God’s time, man. It don’t happen when you want it to happen. It don’t happen when you need it to happen. It’s on his time. I just think that I’m a way better fighter than I was. I had a lot of hand problems back then with my right hand – it’s been through four surgeries – just problems like that. 

“If I don’t feel healthy, I don’t perform at my top level. I’m very cautious because I felt that pain; I felt that fire [boxing with a broken hand]. When you get a guy like myself in there, now at this age, I’ve got to really be fine-tuned to be healthy. I want to be healthy more so when I’m in there swapping punches.”  

Hart’s future lies at 175 pounds because he is not convinced any of the major players want to give him a shot at 168 pounds and he said that his previous losses, to Ramirez and Joe Smith Jr., came at the hands of “weight bullies."

A world title is still very much the goal, but the ambition is to make life better for those around him. 

“There’s a lot of gun violence going on in my city of Philadelphia, and this is what the show’s built around,” Hart went on. “Of course I lost my brother due to gun violence. I’m doing this for a purpose, this is not just to put me in the spot for a title, this is for a bigger purpose than all of that – to bring awareness to my city of Philadelphia due to gun violence.  

“This is much more than just a boxing match. This is so we can bring all of the people together under one roof, and that’s the Liacouras Center, and build off that momentum and let’s all say we can come together as one and stop the senseless killing in my city because it’s getting way out of hand here. There’s a crisis going on – there’s really a crisis here in Philadelphia.”  

The smaller issue of boxing resurfaces briefly as our supposed 10-minute call starts nodding toward the hour mark. What Hart has been through in his life makes everything seem just about insignificant.  

Even boxing, the hardest of all sports, is made easier through the suffering Hart’s endured.  

“People say [about] ‘pre-fight fear’ – there’s no fear,” Hart stated. “I got fear of losing my family to the streets. I got fear of losing my mom.  

“That [boxing] s*** is nothing compared with real life. This s*** changes you. Things like that change you. Things like the forces of death and stuff like that, it changes your whole outlook on things.  

“If you don’t get the proper help that you need to talk about these things with people, it’ll drive you mentally off. You won’t be right for boxing, and I tell people that all of the time; I’d rather deal with boxing than deal with real life, any day. It’s just that simple.” 

Hart hopes that on Saturday he can shine a light where, for too long, love has lurked in the shadows of tragedy, and where smiles have numbingly masked sadness.  

It is not just an eight-rounder in Philadelphia on Saturday night. It’s considerably bigger than that.

Tris Dixon covered his first amateur boxing fight in 1996. The former editor of Boxing News, he has written for a number of international publications and newspapers, including GQ and Men’s Health, and is a Board member for the Ringside Charitable Trust and The Ring of Brotherhood. He is a former boxing broadcaster for TNT Sports and hosts the popular Boxing Life Stories podcast. Dixon is a British Boxing Hall of Famer, an International Boxing Hall of Fame elector, is on The Ring ratings panel and the author of five boxing books, including Damage: The Untold Story of Brain Trauma in Boxing, Warrior: A Champion’s Search For His Identity and The Road to Nowhere: A Journey Through Boxings’ Wastelands.