Teddy Atlas knows boxing like no one else. In Atlas, Teddy recounts his incredible life, from juvenile delinquent on the mean streets of Staten Island in the 1970s, to his induction into the legendary Cus D'Amato's Boxing Camp and his first major challenge – training 14–year–old Mike Tyson.

An amateur boxer trained by D'Amato, Atlas captured the Adirondack Golden Gloves title at 139 pounds in 1976. Forced out of competition because of injury, Teddy turned his talents to training fighters.

His long list of charges have included many world champions past, present and future. Teddy trained future heavyweight champion Mike Tyson when Tyson was an amateur living in D'Amato's home in Catskill, New York. He trained featherweight champion Barry McGuigan, super bantamweight and super featherweight champion Tracy Patterson, super featherweight and lightweight champion Joey Gamache, welterweight champion Simon Brown and light heavyweight champion Donny Lalonde. In 1994, in a memorable performance as trainer and cornerman, Teddy inspired Michael Moorer to beat Evander Holyfield for the world heavyweight championship.

Teddy has also employed his talents outside of the ring. He trained dancer and choreographer Twyla Tharp for her successful comeback at age 42. He trained actor Willem Dafoe for his role as a boxer in the holocaust film "Triumph of the Spirit", and while on location in Poland, Teddy choreographed the film's boxing scenes and appeared as one of Dafoe's opponents. Teddy also choreographed fight scenes for the television series "Against the Law." And he appeared in the movies "Play it to the Bone" and "Only in America: The Don King Story."

Atlas is the remarkable story of all of these achievements, told in Atlas's completely inimitable voice. As you'd expect from a boxing memoir, it pulls no punches.

Of all the people who have affected my life, and influenced the choices I've made, none has been more important than my father.

Dr. Theodore Atlas, Sr., was legendary around Staten Island. A Hungarian Jew, originally from the Bronx, he was the kind of doctor that doesn't exist anymore. He wore a bow tie and a rumpled old raincoat and he drove an old wreck of a car to go on his house calls. He traveled all over the island, taking care of people, no matter what time of the day or night. If his patients couldn't afford to pay, he didn't charge them, and when he did charge them, the most it would be was about five dollars. Sometimes they paid him with pies or cookies. In the 1970s, when I was a teenager, my mother started calling him Columbo, after the character in the TV show, because of the way he dressed and because he always seemed distracted and preoccupied.

Besides his medical practice, my father somehow found time to found and build two hospitals, Sunnyside and Doctor's Hospital. He also built over a hundred houses on Staten Island, including the two we lived in -- a small one-family home, and, later, a larger Colonial that he built across the street -- plus some Winn-Dixies and condos down South. Think of it: here was a doctor who owned a crane and bulldozer, and on Sundays, to relax after spending an eighty-hour week practicing medicine and taking care of people, he bulldozed the empty lots on the hill where we lived so he could build houses. He even built the sewer system for the whole neighborhood.

Because my father poured all of his time and energy and feeling into his work, my mother and I and my four younger siblings, Tommy, Meri, Todd, and Terryl, often felt shortchanged -- if not consciously at least in our hearts. Maybe it was easier for him to express emotions toward his patients than his family. I don't know. Even today, I run into people who were patients of his, and they all talk about how compassionate he was with them. But at home it was hard for him to show anything. He considered emotions a sign of weakness. I remember one time we were in the car and he made fun of us kids for crying over something. He started going "Wahhhh!" in this loud, mocking way. After that I never cried again, even many years later at his funeral.

Of all the kids, I was always his favorite, which made for an odd kind of tension in the house. In some ways it was like we were two families. One family was my mother, Tommy, Terryl, Todd, and Meri. The other family was my father and me. It wasn't as if I didn't have to work hard for his attention. I did. I showed an interest in science because he liked science. I'd get him to take me out on house calls with him, because that way I could be with him and spend time with him. You have to understand, this was a man who left the house every day at six-thirty or seven a.m. and came home at ten-thirty or eleven p.m. Any time that I got with him was time that I had to steal. He never asked me to go with him. I just went. Occasionally, he would get a call in the middle of the night, and I would hear the phone and wake up. By the time he was coming out of his room and down the stairs, I was sitting there, ready to go. He would tell me to go back to my room, but sometimes he would give in and let me go with him. I remember going with him on New Year's Eve once, around 1964 or '65, for a maternity case. I must have fallen asleep in the doctor's waiting room. At midnight, one of the nurses woke me up. They were all pouring soda and champagne, saying, "Your father just delivered the first baby of the New Year." Half-asleep, I joined the celebration, knowing that it was a special thing to be there, even if my father's full attention wasn't...

Long respected as a top boxing trainer and a television commentator with uncompromising integrity, Teddy Atlas is a color analyst on ESPN’s Friday Night Fights, and has worked as boxing commentator for NBC’s coverage of the Olympic Games in Sydney (2000) and Athens (2004). He is the founder of the Dr. Theodore A. Atlas Foundation, which has raised and given out over one million dollars to individuals and organizations in need. A film about his life is currently in the works.