Thomas Hearns had everything a fighter could dream of.

They called him The Hitman.
The Motor City Cobra.
A six-division world champion. One of the most feared punchers in boxing history. A man who shared the ring with Marvin Hagler, Sugar Ray Leonard, and Roberto Durán — and survived to tell the story.

He made an estimated $100 million in boxing.

Mansions. Luxury cars. Jewelry. A 20-person entourage. The kind of lifestyle young fighters believe will last forever.

Today, Thomas Hearns is broke.

Not “tight on money.”
Not “downsizing.”
Broke.

The mansion is gone.
The cars are gone.
The entourage vanished.
The money disappeared like it never existed.

How does that happen?

This is not a story about drugs, gambling, or wild excess. This is a quieter, sadder story — one that has destroyed countless champions.

This is how Thomas Hearns lost everything.

The Rise of the Hitman

In 1980s Detroit, Thomas Hearns didn’t just fight there — he owned the city.

At 6’1” with impossibly long arms, Hearns fought like something boxing had never seen. A sniper’s jab. A right hand that could end a career in one punch. Speed, precision, and violence wrapped in supreme confidence.

He wasn’t just winning — he was redefining divisions.

Hearns became the first man in history to win world titles in six weight classes:

Welterweight

Junior middleweight

Middleweight

Super middleweight

Light heavyweight

Cruiserweight

Nobody had ever done that before. Nobody dominated that many divisions with that kind of power.

His record told the story: 61 wins, 48 knockouts. Opponents didn’t just lose — they were erased.

And with violence came money.

When the Big Checks Started Clearing

In 1985, Hearns fought Marvin Hagler in one of the greatest fights boxing has ever seen. Three rounds. Eight minutes. A nonstop war that changed the sport forever.

Hearns lost.

But he walked away with $7 million — nearly $20 million in today’s money.

Four years later, he fought Sugar Ray Leonard again in a rematch nobody thought would happen. He lost a controversial decision.

But the check still cleared.

$13 million for one fight.

Between 1980 and 1992, Thomas Hearns earned an estimated $50–$100 million from fight purses alone. Add endorsements, appearances, sponsorships — the real number may never be known.

Detroit loved him.
The world feared him.
The Hearns brand was gold.

And he spent like it would never end.

The Lifestyle That Ate Him Alive

Hearns bought a massive mansion in Detroit — multiple floors, a swimming pool, pure 1980s excess. His garage was filled with Cadillacs, Mercedes, luxury cars most people only saw in magazines.

The jewelry was outrageous. Gold chains. Diamond rings. Rolex watches. When Tommy Hearns walked into a room, everyone knew who had money.

But the biggest expense wasn’t the mansion or the cars.

It was the people.

Hearns had an entourage 20 people deep:

Trainers on retainer

Drivers

Security

A personal chef

Friends turned employees

Family members on payroll

At his peak, Hearns was spending $500,000 a year — maybe more — just on people.

No one kept track.
No one said no.
And no one warned him what would happen when the fights stopped.

The Damage You Don’t See

Hearns always fought the best. That’s what legends do.

But fighting the best means taking damage from the best.

The Hagler fight took something from him. Three rounds of violence that left scars nobody could see. Every punch was a piece of his future.

Leonard. Durán. Barkley.
Each war added up.

By the early 1990s, Hearns was still fighting — but the prime was gone. The explosiveness faded. The right hand wasn’t the same.

The $13 million nights disappeared.

He was still earning money — $500,000 here, $200,000 there — but it wasn’t enough to support a lifestyle built for endless millions.

And here’s the truth nobody tells fighters:

Careers end fast. Expenses don’t.

Hearns earned millions for about 12 years — but had to live another 50.

The math never worked.

Trusting the Wrong People

The money didn’t disappear overnight.

It bled out.

Hearns trusted everyone — and that was his biggest mistake.

Financial advisors who didn’t understand athletes.
Business partners who saw a payday, not a partnership.
Friends who became leeches.

Restaurants that failed.
Nightclubs that closed.
Real estate deals that collapsed.

Every investment came with promises. Every one lost money.

Hearns signed papers he didn’t understand. Trusted people who didn’t deserve trust. Nobody showed him the books. Nobody explained the damage.

By the late 1990s, millions were gone.

Then came the IRS.

When the Government Comes Knocking

Hearns owed hundreds of thousands in back taxes.

The money that was supposed to be set aside wasn’t there. Whether it was mismanaged, misspent, or misunderstood didn’t matter.

The IRS doesn’t forget.

They placed liens on his property. Penalties and interest piled up. The hole got deeper every year.

The mansion went first.

Foreclosure. Tax issues. Maintenance he couldn’t afford.

Everything inside was sold — furniture, jewelry, watches — for pennies on the dollar. A $100,000 Rolex bought in the 1980s sold for $15,000 at auction.

The cars followed. Repossessed. Sold. Gone.

Family, Health, and the Final Drain

Hearns supported everyone.

Children. Multiple households. Child support that lasted decades. Legal fees. Lawyers charging $500 an hour.

Extended family. Medical bills. Rent. Tuition.

He couldn’t say no — and didn’t want to.

But taking care of everyone meant no one took care of him.

Then came the health problems.

Decades of punishment caught up. Brain trauma. Chronic pain. Surgeries. Medications. Medical bills insurance didn’t fully cover — or insurance he couldn’t afford anymore.

By the 2000s, Thomas Hearns was doing autograph signings for survival money. Appearing at events for a few thousand dollars. Training fighters for modest fees.

The man who made $100 million was working just to stay afloat.

Life at 66

Today, Thomas Hearns is 66 years old.

He still lives in Detroit — but not in a mansion. A modest home. A quiet life.

The entourage is gone.
The friends disappeared when the checks stopped.
The lifestyle evaporated.

Most days, Hearns is at the gym. He runs a boxing program, teaching young fighters the skills that made him a legend. The jab. The right hand. The footwork.

He doesn’t get paid much — sometimes nothing.

The kids don’t always recognize him. They know the name, not the greatness. They weren’t alive for Hagler. Didn’t see the wars.

That hurts more than being broke.

Hearns doesn’t complain. He doesn’t blame. He carries himself with dignity.

He survives on autograph signings, appearances, occasional commentary work. Honest work — but work a legend shouldn’t have to do.

His health is declining. The signs of CTE are there. Memory gaps. Slower speech. The quiet toll of a brutal sport.

But he keeps showing up.

What’s Left

Here’s what Thomas Hearns has now:

His name.
His legacy.
The respect of those who remember.

Detroit still loves him. When people see him, they stop. Shake his hand. Thank him for the memories.

That matters more to him than money ever did.

Hearns doesn’t regret boxing. It gave him a life he never could’ve had otherwise. A kid from Detroit who became a legend.

The money is gone.
The mansion is gone.
The lifestyle is gone.

But the name remains.

Thomas Hearns. The Hitman. The Motor City Cobra.

He made $100 million and lost every penny — not to drugs, not to gambling, but to trust, bad advice, and a system that eats fighters alive.

That’s the story boxing doesn’t like to tell.

Making the money is easy.
Keeping it is impossible.

What do you think — could Thomas Hearns have saved his fortune?