Benjamin ‘Small Montana’ Gan: Gloves, Glory, and A Call to Duty
The morning chill swept across Camp McCoy as Uncle Sam’s soldiers stirred in their bunks, bracing for the familiar staccato melody that would soon cut through the silence.
Reveille— a call to duty, a call to arms.
And the man behind the bugle?
Most of the men only knew him as Benny. Few knew that before the war, he had been a king of the squared circle, a world champion. Before he laced up military boots, he laced up gloves. Before he held a bugle, he held a world title.
To the boxing world, he was Small Montana, a name newspapermen gave him because his real surname, Gan, was too short to make headlines. They called him “Small Mountain”, but the way he fought was anything but.
Born February 12, 1912, in La Carlota, Negros Occidental, Benny had fought his way from the sugarcane fields to the bright lights of championship boxing.
His official record, as listed by BoxRec.com, stood at 81 wins, 22 losses, and 10 draws, but those who saw him fight knew the real numbers— 83 wins, 18 losses, and 10 draws, with 24 knockouts.
Numbers aside, his fists told the real story.
The Road to the Crown
Benny grew up tough. Life and poverty had a way of hardening boys. Boxing was a way out and a way up. He learned from some of the best— his mentor was “Little Pancho”, the younger half-brother of Pancho Villa, Asia’s and particularly the Philippines’ first world champion. Like the original Villa, Benny had fire in his fists.
By 1929, he had won the flyweight title of the Philippines, proving he was the best the country had to offer. But that wasn’t enough. Like the great Filipino fighters before him, he packed his bags and set his sights west. Along with his friends, Little Dempsey (Robert Hilado) and Little Pancho (Eulogio Villaruel Tingson), they embarked on a fistic journey that spanned the Golden age of Filipino boxers.
He recounted his two experiences before reaching the top. First, in Honolulu, where he tore through the local fight scene and dismantled Japan’s Kid Kurcho, the reigning Japanese titlist. Then, in 1932, in San Francisco, he met Paddy Ryan—a sharp-eyed ex-Navy man who became his trainer and manager— and helped him become a world champion.
The road wasn’t easy— Filipino fighters were tough but disposable in the eyes of promoters. If you weren’t exciting to watch, you didn’t eat. Benny made sure that, through fighting,he could afford his next meal…and that no one forgot his name.
On October 16, 1935, at the Oakland Auditorium, he stepped into the ring against Midget Wolgast for the world flyweight championship. It was a fight for the ages— Benny, relentless, slipping inside Wolgast’s jab, landing crisp combinations, never backing down.
When the final bell rang, the decision was clear. The second Filipino world champion had been crowned.
The Night the Crown Slipped
Two years later, he was in London, defending his title against Benny Lynch. The 92-thousand strong crowd at Wembley Stadium, formerly known as Empire Stadium, roared as the two champions put on a masterclass in speed, footwork, and strategy.
For fifteen rounds, it was a chess match of movement and counterpunching. But when the dust settled, the decision went to Lynch. Benny’s belt was gone.
A lesser man might have faded into obscurity. Not Benny. He kept swinging.
He fought everywhere, against everyone. He crisscrossed the globe, capturing wins more than losses in Mexico, Canada, Cuba, and Hawaii. He wasn’t just a former champion— he was an all-around fighter.
Pamphlet from the collection of The Philippine Boxing Historical Society (unnamed source)
A Different Kind of Fight
By 1941, with more than a hundred ten official, and about 200 more amateur and unlisted military, fights behind him, Benny had done it all in boxing.
Then came World War II.
He was in New York when he enlisted in the U.S. Army, 76th Infantry Division. The gloves came off. The soldier’s boots went on. The championship belt no longer mattered— his country did.
At Camp McCoy, he became the company bugler, but his hands weren’t idle. He trained the regiment’s boxing team, kept his fellow soldiers sharp. The same discipline, the same fire, the same rhythm that made him a world champion now served a different purpose.
Every morning, Benny raised the bugle to his lips.
Reveille.
The same sound that had woken him for training camps, for roadwork, for fight nights, now woke soldiers for a different battle. And something burned inside him. His homeland was under Japanese occupation. While he stood in military formation in Wisconsin, his people were suffering back home.
Benny Gan was still a fighter. He just had a new opponent.
Source: The Ring, Bible of Boxing, February 1936, Vol. XV, No. 1
Made in the Philippines, Minted in the USA
Benjamin Gan’s story didn’t end with a championship belt. It didn’t even end with war. It ended, as all great warriors’ stories do, with a legacy. A life of fights— in the ring, in the trenches, with the bugle in his hands, calling men to battle and bidding farewell to the fallen.
He may not have worn the belt anymore, but the fight wasn’t over.
The kid who grew up in the shadows of fiery Mount Kanlaon, the Filipino who had taken on the world and won, wasn’t done.
And now, as he stood at Camp McCoy, bugle in hand, his heart wasn’t in the music— it was in the fight ahead.
He was coming back.
And this time, he wasn’t fighting for titles.
He was fighting for home, for the Americans, for the Filipinos.
Source: The Troy Record • Wed, Dec 22, 1943 • Page Page 20 • (Troy, New York)
Final Call
It wasn’t just Reveille that made Benny’s bugle respected among his fellow soldiers. He was also called upon when one of their own made the final sacrifice.
The men stood in formation, heads bowed, as Benny lifted the bugle to his lips. The notes of Taps floated through the air— slow, mournful, final.
He played for the fallen. For the boys who had stood beside him in the trenches and would never make it home. Each note was a tribute, not just to their service, but to their fight— the same fight he had always known.
Over time, his bugle became more than just a wake-up call. It became a farewell, a salute, a final tribute to those who had given everything.
On August 1, 1976, at age 64, Benny was laid to rest in the very place where his journey began.
Somewhere, a bugler raised his instrument. Twenty-four notes rang out in just over a minute— Taps— the same solemn tune to say farewell.
Benjamin Ledesma Gan “Small Montana” February 12, 1912– August 1, 1976
Private First Class United States Army
Sources, References, Acknowledgements and Recommended Readings:
- This article contains selected excerpts, quotations, images, and archival references used under the Fair Use provisions of Section 107 of the United States Copyright Act. These materials are presented for educational, scholarly, and cultural preservation purposes. Every effort has been made to properly attribute sources and limit use to what is necessary to honor the historical and cultural narrative.
- All references in this article are based on multiple sources like The Ring, The Ring (Records and Almanac), The Boxing Blade, The Referee, Knockout, Cablenews-American, BoxRec.com, BoxerList.com, PhilBoxing.com, The Tribune, The Manila Bulletin Daily, The Philippine Republic, and others.
- The marquee photo and visual depiction of Benjamin Gan are based on surviving archival photographs, were lightly enhanced and faithfully recreated with modern photo-generating tools, with careful attention to historical accuracy. Done by ManoyTKO DigiSigns.
- Small Montana: a painting by Brian Bonbon, circa 2024, INKSIDER TATTOO, Lapu-Lapu City (Mactan Island), Cebu Province
- The Ring, Bible of Boxing, February 1936, Vol. XV, No. 1
- The Troy Record • Wed, Dec 22, 1943 • Page Page 20 • (Troy, New York)
- All references in this article is based on multiple sources like The Ring, Cablenews American, BoxRec.com, BoxerList.com, The Tribune, The Manila Bulletin Daily and others