An Acadiana boxing star has died.
According to his daughter Courtney Vice Habetz, Kenny “The Ragin’ Cajun” Vice passed away at his home early Saturday from complications secondary to Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy that occurred during a boxing career that spanned 25 years.
As of Monday, no services information has been posted, but we will update this story as soon as it is.
Here's the obit Courtney sent us:
Kenneth was the “Dustin Poirier” of the 80’ and 90’s. He was one of the few people from Louisiana to win a world title belt.
In January of 1995 he fought Alvin Patton and secured the WBF Title. Upon his return home, he was chosen to be the Grand Marshall of the Youngsville Mardi Gras parade. He carried the Olympic torch through Lafayette as it made its way to the Olympic ceremonies in Atlanta in 1996.
He stepped into the ring with some of boxing’s greats such as Julio Cesar Chavez, Jim McDonald, and Brian Baronet.
There is a YouTube video that lists his knockout of Jim McDonald in England as one of the second best of all time. This fight inspired Johnathon Rendall, a sports writer, to dedicate a chapter in his book “Moments of Greatness, Touches of Class” to Kenneth, entitled, ‘The Noble Vice’.
Kenneth built a gym with his own two hands in his yard—Rocky Balboa style— and this gym served as the mecca of boxing in Lafayette. This is where Kenneth perfected his craft. He and Beau Williford trained some of Lafayette’s finest there—Bad Chad Broussard, Sean McGraw, Jason Papillion, Deidre Gogarty, and Timmy Rabon to name a few.
His gym gave these men and women a chance to be something that few others would. If you search his name in the archives of Lafayette newspapers during his career, you will find a plethora of articles written about him.
He was a great boxer and an exceptional human being.
I am Courtney Vice Habetz, Kenneth Vice's oldest daughter. As a teenager, I read the chapter that was written about him, and I remember how proud I was of him for being recognized as more than a boxing champion. Someone was able to see him for who he was, a genuinely compassionate human being and a true sportsman.
Growing up, he was told he would never amount to anything. He lacked support at home and was physically and mentally abused; however, he never held grudges or felt sorry for himself, and even credited his home life for his fortitude.
He always said, "I'm gonna be the world champ." He meant what he said, and he said what he meant even when others didn’t believe him. He worked ten times harder than anyone else. Up at the crack of dawn, he'd run 10 miles in the morning, head to work, come home and train, and then finish his side jobs in the evenings which he worked to support his six children.
He tied a rope around his waist and to a wagon with three of us in it and ran through Youngsville. He took fights he shouldn't have, and finally, when everyone least expected it, he won a world title.
It wasn't a graceful or a million dollar knockout, but it was definitely done in true "Kenneth Vice fashion"...heart, grit, and pure determination.
A few years after the fight he told me, "That belt doesn't mean anything without y'all and ya Momma. I'm nothing without y'all."
We want people to remember him as more than a champion.
When Youngsville flooded, he helped neighbors pull their cars out of rising waters. He served as a handyman for my mother's friends who couldn't afford to fix things around their houses.
His gym was a place where young men could escape the streets. Once, when one of the fighters was arrested, he went to the jail and slept there with him, so he wouldn't have to be alone. The next morning he brought him home and made him run laps around our pasture until he couldn't go anymore. That person credits him for his sobriety today.
Somehow, he was always able to bring out the best in a person.
He knew how to inspire you and make you dig deeper than you ever knew you could. He taught us that when your back is up against the wall and there is no where to go, you dig deep within yourself, throw a prayer up to Jesus, and swing with every last bit that you didn't know you had. When there is no one left to believe in you, you believe in yourself.
Because of the way he looked at our mother, we know what finding your soulmate looks like. When I think of him, I remember a husband sweeping the floor who would grab his wife's hand as she was washing the dishes and slow dance with her to a song on the television, a father who rushed to Acadiana Park in his steel toe boots and torn up jeans to run three miles with his boys and the Comeaux Cross Country team, and the grandfather who sobbed as his first grandson was placed in his arms.
When we laid our heads on our pillows at night, we slept soundly because we knew that there was someone in our house who would give his last breath for us. He was quick-witted, fearless, and a true family man. He has and always will be more than a champion in the ring. He stood toe to toe and unafraid with some of the greatest in the ring, but at home, to us, he was the greatest.
