The death of Floyd Patterson at age 71 yesterday was notable for more than just the passing of another ex-champion boxer.

Even among heavyweight champions, long sport's hardest-earned and most celebrated fraternity, Patterson should occupy a special place. In a field of brutal endeavor he was remarkable for his sensitivity and sportsmanship. In a cutthroat business he was notable for his class.

From hard-scrabble beginnings and introduction to boxing in a New York reform school, Patterson became an Olympic champion and a popular figure in a career that spanned three decades and a 55-8-1 (40 knockout) record.

Part of it was his off-the-deck tenacity. Few of his fights needed judges; just a referee to count one of the participants out. An opponent once said, "ain't no use of me watching films of his fights; every time I saw him he was on the deck."

Mostly, though, Patterson brought a refreshing air to a seamy sport. If he signed a contract, he fought. He wasn't big on belittling opponents and, win or lose, usually praised them.

In 1956, at age 21, Patterson became the youngest to win the heavyweight crown, a distinction he held until 20-year-old Mike Tyson won the title in 1986. Patterson was also the first to regain the title, losing to and then coming back to stop Ingemar Johansson in 1960.

It was a spotlight the self-effacing Patterson often seemed uncomfortable with and tortured by. He bridged the gap between the retirement of Rocky Marciano and the rise of Muhammad Ali, boxing history's version of being between the Rock and a hard place, and sometimes suffered for it.

Patterson said the only time he stepped into the ring with actual murderous intent was the rematch with Johansson. He said he wasn't proud. More telling was his 1970 stop of Charlie "Devil" Green, whom he knocked through the ropes then helped up from the apron.

When much of the establishment decried giving ex-convict Sonny Liston a title shot in 1962 on the basis of reputation and unsavory associates — and some commissions forbade it — Patterson vowed to go through with the fight because Liston earned it and the public wanted it.

Boxing had provided Patterson an opportunity. The champ didn't see how he could then refuse one to the man who became his tormentor.

Nearly a decade ago Alzheimer's disease robbed Patterson of his memories. His death took a remarkable champ from us. But the class that made him a champion among champions endures.

Reach Ferd Lewis at flewis@honoluluadvertiser.com or 525-8044.