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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78585 ***
+
+
+
+
+50 YEARS AT RINGSIDE
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+                                    50
+                                 YEARS AT
+                                 RINGSIDE
+
+                               NAT FLEISCHER
+
+                              [Illustration]
+
+                                   FLEET
+                                PUBLISHING
+                               CORPORATION,
+                                 NEW YORK
+
+                      COPYRIGHT 1958 BY NAT FLEISCHER
+
+                            ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
+
+            PROTECTED UNDER INTERNATIONAL COPYRIGHT CONVENTION
+                 AND THE PAN AMERICAN COPYRIGHT CONVENTION
+
+             LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOG CARD NUMBER: 58-8780
+
+                  PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
+
+
+
+
+FOREWORD
+
+
+If the readers of this autobiography of one of the standout sports
+reporters of the half century, and a pre-eminent authority on boxing in
+particular, get half the thrills I enjoyed while going over the advance
+proofs, it will take its place with the most successful efforts of its
+kind.
+
+Here we have the eye witness accounts of the Pepys of the ring scene
+these last fifty years.
+
+This is a story which nobody has produced in the past, and certainly is
+not going to duplicate in the future.
+
+It is the life story of a man who lived through increasingly exciting
+eras of the nation’s history, and the nation’s sports annals. The
+conditions which obtained through those eventful decades will not come
+again. The man who banged his typewriter through these crowding years
+will not come again upon a similar sequence in the sports kaleidoscope.
+
+Here are behind-the-scenes pictures, the inside stories of so many
+developments which have waited, until now, for my lifetime friend Nat
+Fleischer to reveal them.
+
+Here are pathos, comedy, and intrigue; the seamy, sombre stories, and the
+funny ones as well. Ring heroes of the past come to life in these pages
+to reveal themselves in the full panoply of their championship stature,
+or in the meaner habiliments of the character on the fringe.
+
+It is a fine book, and I thank Nat for having written it.
+
+                                                                DAN DANIEL
+
+
+
+
+To Trudie
+
+
+
+
+TABLE OF CONTENTS
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+    FOREWORD
+
+    BOOK ONE
+
+    1. THE DRAMA OF SPORT                    3
+    2. MY BOYHOOD YEARS                      7
+    3. MY WORK AS A REPORTER                13
+    4. AN INTERVIEW WITH ROOSEVELT          19
+    5. I FIGHT TO BE A SOLDIER              25
+    6. OLD NEW YORK                         29
+    7. THE UNDERWORLD IN BOXING             45
+
+    BOOK TWO
+
+    8. AN AMAZING AMATEUR                   55
+    9. THE MICHIGAN ASSASSIN                63
+    10. JACK JOHNSON                        75
+    11. A BLACK OMEN                        82
+    12. BOXING’S HARLEQUIN                  90
+
+    BOOK THREE
+
+    13. A STORY OF INTRIGUE                 99
+    14. DESTINY’S PARTNERSHIP              108
+    15. A SCOUT FOR TEX RICKARD            125
+    16. UNCLE MIKE JACOBS                  138
+
+    BOOK FOUR
+
+    17. DONNYBROOKS                        163
+    18. FIGHTING COURAGE                   171
+    19. RINGSIDE THRILLS                   176
+    20. LAUGHS AND ODDITIES                188
+    21. CHAMPS AND CHUMPS                  199
+
+    BOOK FIVE
+
+    22. ADVENTURES ABROAD                  211
+    23. A DREAM COMES TRUE                 225
+    24. THE FITZSIMMONS CLAN               235
+
+    BOOK SIX
+
+    25. BIRTH OF _THE RING_                245
+    26. MEET THE PRESS                     252
+    27. A SUMMING UP                       273
+
+
+
+
+BOOK
+
+ONE
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: 1]
+
+THE DRAMA OF SPORT
+
+
+I am a sports romanticist. For me, the annals of the ring are
+unparalleled in their appeal. The saga of what has been called the “Sour
+Science” achieves peaks of interest and excitement that are found in no
+other recreation or entertainment.
+
+That boxing has this unmatched position is not to be wondered at. A
+contact sport in its simplest form, it is an individual battle which
+tests the courage, skill and stamina of two men.
+
+Each era has its own heroes. Boxing styles keep changing. The demands of
+the public change as the years roll along. New faces gain popular acclaim
+and heighten popular controversy, and the interest in the sport gains new
+momentum as these colorful characters make the headlines.
+
+Since controversy is the life blood of the sport, it is easy to see why
+stories about boxing and the non-combatants closely associated with its
+promotion, management, matchmaking, and supervision, offer a special
+appeal to the reader.
+
+There is romance in boxing. There is a spectacular glamor to the fight
+parade as it rolls along through the years: the explosive violence that
+was Jack Dempsey winning the heavyweight championship by a knockout
+over the behemoth, Jess Willard; Dempsey punched out of the ring and
+coming back to stop Luis Firpo in the wildest four minutes ever seen in
+boxing’s violent history; Joe Louis getting his quick, lethal revenge on
+Max Schmeling; Ezzard Charles achieving a once-in-a-lifetime peak to go
+fifteen close rounds with slugging Rocky Marciano—these moments brighten
+the pages of boxing history.
+
+Not all the thrills are to be found in the padded ring. The side show
+often furnishes the laughs, pathos, color, and the drama that make boxing
+what it is; but the anecdotes that have the greatest appeal are those of
+the champions.
+
+The intimate side of the ring’s title holders, the behind the scenes
+tales of the wizards of the roped square, the hair-raising experiences,
+both in and out of the ring—these are the human interest stories that
+make boxing a world sport.
+
+Five decades of sports writing furnish the backbone of this book,
+material I’ve gathered from my diary of more than half a century of
+reporting and collecting.
+
+During my many years of association with sports, I’ve studied the likes
+and dislikes of champions; their eccentricities and fighting qualities,
+as they compare with those great fighters of another era. It is part, I
+suppose, of the capacity for hero worship that is more or less inherent
+in us all.
+
+I’ve found champions in boxing a different breed from the average
+person who engages in sports as a recreation. When I asked a newly
+crowned champion how he felt when he finally reached the heights, “No
+different,” was usually the answer I would get. Anticipation always
+exceeds realization.
+
+I recall an interview with Freddy Welsh after he had won the world
+lightweight crown; “Somehow, now that I’ve won the championship, it
+doesn’t look so big,” he told me.
+
+I was present at a dinner at which Gene Tunney, retired undefeated
+heavyweight king, and I were the guest speakers, and when I asked Gene
+the same question, he answered:
+
+“In human endeavor, the most important thing is not so much the
+realization of the goal; the effort of the chase is worth more to the
+hunter than the actual capture. I cherish the crown. But my greatest
+thrills came not in winning it but in my climb to the top. Now that the
+goal has been reached, it is just another incident in my boxing career.”
+
+There is no rosy road to success. But once it has been obtained, the
+hero worship begins. In boxing there are those whose names typify
+crashing power; others whose cleverness and defensive skill place them
+in the category of great ringmen. Still others are remembered for their
+intriguing personalities, their humor, wisecracks, and _color_.
+
+In these pages you will find the human side of these vivid personalities;
+first hand information on fights and fighters that is authoritative; the
+elements in boxing that made ring history; the never-to-be-forgotten
+incidents that make boxing the fascinating sport it is.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+My work as a journalist has brought me in contact with sportsmen the
+world over. I have interviewed presidents and kings, promoters, managers,
+and fistic celebrities from the four corners of the globe. I have
+received _La Medaile d’honneur d’or de education physique et des sports_
+from France; the _Constantine Ordine Militare de San Georgie di Antioche_
+and the _Commandatore della Stella al Merito Sportivo_ from Italy; and
+the Order of the White Elephant from King Bhumibol Adulyadej of Thailand
+for my work on behalf of international boxing.
+
+I have been on intimate terms with every heavyweight champion since James
+J. Corbett. When Corbett died, I wrote thirty articles on his career for
+the King Features Syndicate. To my headquarters, facing the main entrance
+of Madison Square Garden, have often come Jack Dempsey, Gene Tunney, Jack
+Sharkey, Joe Louis, Jimmy Braddock, and many other great names of the
+past and present. Their photographs look down on me from the walls of my
+office and jog up my memory as the fleeting scenes of the days that have
+gone into the record books press for my attention.
+
+Although there aren’t as many great fighters around today as in the past,
+they are the best we can now muster and we must be content with them. As
+a class, the boxers today are more wholesome, more eager for the good
+things of life than those of the old days who often spent their substance
+and their genius with the prodigal hand of the waster.
+
+I have seen almost every heavyweight championship bout in the past half
+century, and most of those in other divisions—bouts that reach across
+a stretch of many exciting years—years of prosperity, war, depression,
+and change in boxing technique. They are years that saw the legalization
+of boxing throughout the world, the promotional extravaganzas of the
+great Tex Rickard and the million dollar gates, the reign of two of the
+greatest heavyweights of all time, Jack Dempsey and Joe Louis, and the
+rise and fall of Mike Jacob’s empire.
+
+I entered the field of journalism as a sports writer during the
+transition period of boxing—the repeal of the Horton Law abolishing the
+sport, the beginning of the club membership era, and the subsequent
+adoption of legalized boxing throughout the world. It is satisfying to be
+a part of the new era, but a nostalgic treat to be able to look back on
+the old.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: 2]
+
+MY BOYHOOD YEARS
+
+
+I became interested in boxing the day I learned how to make a fist.
+
+I began to show interest in journalism when I contributed to the monthly
+magazine at Public School No. 15 in Lower Manhattan. Later I became its
+editor.
+
+As a youngster, I loved athletics of all kinds. I played baseball,
+basketball, rode a bike with sufficient skill to do tricks on it, boxed
+and wrestled. And right here I want to pay tribute to the Boys’ Club, the
+Brace Memorial School, and Christodora House, which all through the years
+have done so much for the youngsters of the East Side of New York where I
+was born, November 3, 1887.
+
+At the Brace Memorial School and the Boys’ Club, I learned to appreciate
+the value of organized, supervised athletics. It was one thing to
+exercise in the streets and yet another to become involved in the closely
+regulated activities of a club.
+
+The Public Schools Athletic League provided another fine influence on
+boys like myself. For years, school sport in New York was run on a
+haphazard, catch-as-catch-can basis. Then came the P.S.A.L., in which
+General George W. Wingate and Dr. Luther Halsey Gulick were the moving
+spirits, and school sports became organized, supervised, regulated.
+
+The P.S.A.L.’s first big track meet was held in Madison Square Garden,
+and there I competed in my first important race and won the 220-yard
+dash. It was there, too, that I first heard the roar of the crowd. I have
+been listening to it ever since.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+My parents came to America in 1868. They brought a large family into the
+world. Among nine who survived, five of us have passed our seventieth
+birthday. Grandfather died at the age of 102 and grandmother, 101, and
+dad was close to 80 when he passed away. So you see the Fleischer family
+comes from hardy stock.
+
+Brother Mark and I were the family athletes. I was thirteen when I
+entered Townsend Harris Hall, the preparatory school for City College.
+There, and at college, I continued my interest in sports and won many
+prizes.
+
+My experiences during adolescence paved the way for my future career.
+In 1899, for example, I saw my first professional fight, a contest in
+which Terry McGovern was pitted against Pedlar Palmer, British champion.
+I’ve lived that fight over and over again. For me, that was the thrill
+of thrills: to be twelve years old and present at one of the most
+talked-about bouts in American pugilism!
+
+My home was but a few doors away from the Brace Memorial School for
+newsboys, an organization opposite St. Bridget’s Church on the corner
+of Avenue A and Eighth Street. I did chores after school hours for
+Superintendent Walter Grosvenor and Grove Dale, athletic director. The
+walls of Dale’s room were decorated with photographs of famous athletes,
+and McGovern was among his favorites.
+
+I had completed dusting when Dale, pointing to McGovern, remarked:
+“There’s a great little fighter. I’m going to see him box for the
+championship tomorrow. Mr. Grosvenor was to accompany me, but he can’t
+make it. If you can get permission from your ma, I’ll take you along.”
+
+I was delighted at the invitation, but needless to say, I didn’t ask my
+mother, knowing her answer would be “no.” Instead I rushed out of the
+building, waited a while, then returned to tell Dale that permission had
+been granted.
+
+The impression that fight left with me patterned my future. Henceforth, I
+became a collector of the fight pictures distributed by various cigarette
+companies, and to this day, I have more than 5,000 in my attic. They
+cover almost every fighter of note among the greats of the past.
+
+A fortnight later, I joined a boxing class organized by Dale, and in a
+short time I was the captain and star of his outfit, as well as president
+of the Oregon Athletic Club, which he sponsored. We not only boxed, but
+had an excellent baseball and basketball team. I was catcher and first
+baseman of the ball club and participated in the club’s other activities.
+
+As a boxer, I scaled only 122 pounds, but was fairly clever and could
+hit well. Leach Cross, later one of the toughest lightweights in the
+professional field, was my age. He was one of the neighborhood’s best
+scrappers, a lad who would put up his fists at the least provocation,
+and on many occasions we crossed each other’s path and settled matters
+without the aid of gloves.
+
+I remember a baseball game in which Leach and I were on opposite sides
+and he resented the manner in which I tagged him out at the plate,
+preventing his team from tieing the score. He rushed at me and in a jiffy
+we were rolling all over the grass. Mr. Dale separated us and suggested
+that we settle our differences with the gloves. We agreed and what a
+shellacking I took! In later years when I became a reporter, I took keen
+delight in watching Leach do to others what he had done to me.
+
+As captain of the Oregon Athletic Club, I accepted a request of Mrs.
+Oliver Harriman and Mrs. Jay Gould, sponsors of the Boys’ Club, to have
+our team meet the Boys’ Club members as part of the inaugural program
+arranged for the opening night of their new gymnasium. The second bout on
+the program was between Joe Gordon and me. Gordon scaled ten pounds more
+than I did, and I refused to go on until I was told that the rounds would
+be cut to two minutes each, and we would box only two rounds.
+
+I walked into the ring with chest out, proud as a peacock as I received
+the plaudits of the gathering. However, the show ended within a few
+minutes. We sparred, and in seconds, the lights went out for me. I was
+knocked cold. I recall, as I regained consciousness, seeing Mrs. Harriman
+rubbing my forehead and Mrs. Gould patting my hand, yet I didn’t know
+what was wrong. I couldn’t understand what the fuss was about, until I
+learned from Leach Cross that my opponent, Gordon, was a ringer, a “pro”
+fighting under an assumed name. The incident almost caused a ban on
+boxing at the club.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Though I was only five feet two inches tall, I was a good sprinter and
+broad jumper at City College. In a meet with Rutgers, I cleared 19 feet 8
+inches for a winning leap, and in a triangular meet with Pratt Institute
+and New York University, I did two inches better.
+
+In 1904 I had become a City College correspondent for the _Morning and
+Sunday World_ and the New York _Press_ and two years later I was accepted
+by the _Press_ as a cub reporter on part time service, doing general
+reporting and copyreading under the supervision of both the sports and
+city editors.
+
+When I graduated from college in 1908 with a Bachelor of Science degree,
+I was assigned to work under James R. Price in the sports department.
+He was one of the best teachers I could have wished for. He primed me
+for the sports editor’s post which I later held on several New York
+dailies for a quarter of a century. I also had the fine guidance of three
+experts: Ernie Lanigan in baseball, George B. Underwood in track and
+field and general sports, and Charles F. Mathison in boxing. A year later
+we were joined by another baseball expert, Frederick G. Lieb.
+
+Although I liked my work, I had a strong hankering for commercial
+chemistry and matriculated in a postgraduate course at New York
+University. My hours on _The Press_ were long. I seldom reached home
+before one in the morning, yet for three months I spent my mornings at
+the University, bending over Bunsen burners, retorts and vials. One
+morning, exhausted, after a long tour at the paper, I mixed several
+chemicals that caused an explosion that blew me out of N.Y.U. I was asked
+to pack up and quit. So ended my budding career as a chemist.
+
+I still was undecided about continuing as a reporter, and since I had
+passed an examination to teach in the New York schools, I accepted an
+assignment as an instructor in a sixth grade class of girls in Public
+School No. 7 on the lower East Side of Manhattan. I worked there until
+school closed at three, then reported to _The Press_, where I seldom
+left before eleven in the evening. It was a gruelling grind I had mapped
+out for myself, and two months before summer vacation I handed in my
+resignation to Dr. Kottman, the school principal.
+
+I also held a license to teach during the summer in the playgrounds, and
+for two summers I was a supervisor of athletics in the Red Hook section
+of Brooklyn, a tough neighborhood where my boxing knowledge came in
+handy. During that time I organized the first Fourth of July schoolboy
+track and field meet under the supervision of the Public Schools Athletic
+League. This later became an annual event for many years under the
+direction of the Park Playgrounds’ Board.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+I have passed through three depressions and have a vivid recollection
+of each. Though I was only six years old when the nation’s businessmen
+went into mourning during the crash in President Grover Cleveland’s
+administration, I recall how my brothers and I sold newspapers to make
+both ends meet. However, despite hard times, six of us graduated from
+college.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: 3]
+
+MY WORK AS A REPORTER
+
+
+April 14, 1912.
+
+That’s a date I shall always remember.
+
+It was the day on which I received my baptism of fire as a big time
+reporter. It was the day of the sinking of the _Titanic_, then the
+world’s largest ship. The mishap to that gigantic craft which was hit by
+an iceberg and went down in mid-ocean with many world celebrities aboard
+was largely responsible for my promotion to the executive post of sports
+editor.
+
+Ever hear of the “dog-watch?” If you have any friends in the newspaper
+field, they’ll tell you that it is a term used to designate the desk men
+who remain on the job after the early edition goes to press. They must
+handle any startling news that might arise, news of sufficient importance
+to necessitate revamping the front page and setting new material for the
+late editions, or in cases of extreme emergency, to get out a special
+extra. To the “dog-watch” I owe much.
+
+On that April night I took over the sports desk of the New York _Press_,
+filling in for Jim Price, the editor. I was there alone. My desk was
+full of proofs and I was busily engaged in reading them when Alexander
+Stoddard, who filled in as night editor, interrupted me.
+
+Mr. Stoddard that evening was in charge of the news department and he,
+like me, was sitting in on the “dog-watch” when the biggest news item
+of the year broke through the Associated Press. The news was carried in
+envelopes to the city editor every twenty minutes by an Associated Press
+messenger. It was the last delivered envelope that stirred things around
+the “Press” building to a pitch of excitement that I’ve never since seen
+duplicated in my newspaper career.
+
+The message carried in that delivery read: “Flash—Titanic Strikes Iceberg
+in North Atlantic—Report All Safe!”
+
+That flash brought about action in our newspaper office that set an all
+time record. Alex Stoddard, James Scott, chief of the composing room, and
+I immediately got everything in motion for what was probably the quickest
+edition ever put out in New York.
+
+Our first edition was closed. The paper was about to go to press. The
+New York _World_, the New York _Herald_, and the New York _Tribune_ all
+had a half hour earlier edition than _The Press_ so when that flash
+came through, these papers were already on the street while _The Press_
+alone still had a chance to make the news in its first edition. We had
+the jump on everybody, and Alex Stoddard made the best of it with the
+speed and cooperation that only experienced newspaper hands can give. The
+morgue was next to the sports department. Stoddard ordered me to locate
+a copy of the passenger list of the maiden voyage of the gigantic and
+magnificent _Titanic_, a list that had been furnished by the Associated
+Press before sailing time. He called the composing room to acquaint Scott
+with the big news and Scott, at Stoddard’s command, had page one ripped
+apart as the paper was about to be put “to sleep.”
+
+The superintendent of the press room was told to clear the presses for a
+quick extra, and all hands were alerted.
+
+The Circulation Manager was apprised of the news and he in turn called in
+all available men in the delivery room, had his wagons lined up for the
+emergency, collected newsboys from Park Row, then the journalistic center
+of the city, and the stage was set, so far as the mechanical departments
+were concerned, for the biggest scoop of the era.
+
+While this was going on, another Associated Press envelope was delivered
+which read:
+
+“Cape Race, Newfoundland—Sunday night April 14—at 10:25 tonight the White
+Star _Titanic_ called ‘C.Q.D.’ to the Marconi Wireless Station here and
+reported having struck an iceberg. Immediate assistance was requested. So
+far no report on condition of passengers.”
+
+With that as a lead and the names of the passengers, I helped to get out
+a front page story of one of the greatest disasters of our time.
+
+I didn’t think human hands could work so rapidly! Within half an hour our
+papers were in circulation along lower Broadway and around the Brooklyn
+Bridge. Newsboys ran pell-mell along the thoroughfares shouting their
+wares. The Press delivery wagons were speeding up Broadway to Herald
+Square and Times Square, the two busiest sections of the city for early
+morning life, and there our extra was out a good twenty minutes before
+any other paper could publish the news of the disaster in a make-over
+edition.
+
+For days after that feat, the New York _Press_ was the talk of the
+newspaper world. Of course, we were fortunate in going to press a little
+later than the other papers, but the big thing in our scoop was the fact
+that the “dog-watch” was on the alert.
+
+When the _Titanic_ sailed on her maiden voyage, the largest ship afloat
+at the time, she carried a notable list of passengers. Among the 1,517
+passengers who went down were Nathan Strauss and his wife; Captain
+Archibald Butt, aide to President Theodore Roosevelt; John Jacob Astor;
+William Stead of the _Review of Reviews_, a London magazine editor who
+wrote the sensational book, _If Christ Came to Chicago_, and Charles
+Frohman, America’s greatest theatrical producer.
+
+When the _Carpathia_, which had rescued most of the 690 survivors,
+arrived in New York, the commotion about the dock was much like that
+occasioned on the arrival of a hospital ship during the First World War.
+Thousands flocked to the _Carpathia_ pier, but only newspapermen and
+officials were permitted inside the police lines, I among them.
+
+Lady Duff Gordon of London, was among those saved. As she was good copy,
+most of the reporters were assigned to interview her in her suite at the
+Murray Hill Hotel.
+
+The room was crowded with newspapermen when she recounted her story
+of thrilling rescues, episodes of heroism among passengers and crew;
+pathetic scenes in a sea strewn with dead, maimed, and shrieking men,
+women, and children.
+
+I have had many memorable moments in my newspaper career but the
+assignment from John Hennessey, the Managing Editor, to work with the
+veteran members of our staff on the sinking of the _Titanic_ gave me my
+greatest reportorial thrill.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+I had a guarantee of only $10 per week as my take home pay when I started
+my journalist career, but following the _Titanic_ disaster, my minimum
+was raised to $45 per week plus whatever I could make at space rates
+above that sum. In those days many of us were paid in that manner.
+During my first two years as a cub reporter, I often sat around for ten
+hours with little to do other than a few rewrite stories and frequently
+finished a week with $15 or less in my pay envelope.
+
+The raise I received elated me. It was the biggest money I had earned as
+a reporter. It wasn’t long, however, before I became Sunday editor of the
+Automobile section and Scholastic sports editor in addition to writing
+feature articles and covering general sports events.
+
+When _The Press_ was merged with the _Morning Sun_ and Jim Price resigned
+as sports editor, Frank A. Munsey, the new owner, appointed Joe Millard
+to take charge, with me as his assistant. Millard had been covering
+racing and was a heavy drinker, and he didn’t last long. I took his place
+within a few months after the merger. I served under Mr. Munsey on every
+paper which he purchased in New York. I was his sports editor on the _Sun
+Press_, _The Morning Herald_, _The Morning Sun_, _The Mail-Telegram_ and
+_The Evening Telegram_.
+
+As Sports Editor I gathered around me a staff of experts that made _The
+Telegram_ outstanding for its sports coverage. In addition to Underwood,
+Mathison, and Lieb, I had Dan Daniel, Francis Albertanti, Peter Bernaugh,
+Hughey Mulhare, Harry King, Nan O’Reilly, Howard Valentine, Al Copeland,
+and James K. McGuinness—experts every one of them, each capable of
+reporting any branch of sports.
+
+For thirteen years I was Frank A. Munsey’s top man in the sports
+department. Every time he junked a newspaper by amalgamating it with
+another, he placed me in charge. The break came in 1929 when the
+Scripps-Howard interests bought the New York _Telegram_. I had been in
+Europe on a two-month feature assignment on the reconstruction era in
+Central Europe following the war and knew nothing of the loss of my
+position, until I was informed by ship news reporters at Sandy Hook upon
+my arrival home. Roy Howard ousted me to make way for Joe Williams, a
+Cleveland sports writer from the Scripps-Howard organization.
+
+I pondered for several weeks over my future and finally decided that I
+would devote all my time to _The Ring Magazine_ which I had organized in
+1922. I also continued as American correspondent for several British and
+French newspapers, posts I still retain.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: 4]
+
+AN INTERVIEW WITH ROOSEVELT
+
+
+“Like father, like son,” is an adage as old as the hills, but it is very
+often true. I was in San Juan, Puerto Rico, in 1932 to referee a fight
+and paid a visit to the Governor, Theodore Roosevelt, son of the great
+“Teddy.” Years ago, when I was a reporter, I made the acquaintance of the
+grand old warrior of the Roosevelt family, and meeting his son in San
+Juan, I was deeply impressed by the resemblance of the offspring to the
+sire.
+
+Teddy Jr. was a chip off the old block. The smile, the handshake, and
+the energy put into his work as Governor were not the only reminders of
+his illustrious dad. His love for sports was another. Teddy Jr., like
+his father, was an expert at squash tennis and racquets and a boxing
+enthusiast.
+
+A few days after young Governor Roosevelt was inaugurated at San Juan,
+I watched him box Frank O’Ben, the Island’s leading instructor, at the
+latter’s well-equipped gymnasium.
+
+His father, President Theodore Roosevelt was a remarkable man:
+politician, ranchman, soldier, hunter, and all-around athlete. The
+Roosevelt boys were brought up on an athletic diet and each was taught
+the art of self-defense at school. Boxing was always one of Teddy’s
+favorite hobbies.
+
+I recall the day in 1908 that the American Olympic team returned
+triumphantly from London, where little Johnny Hayes, our marathon runner,
+gained international fame in his race with Dorando Pietri, the Italian
+who collapsed at the finish. I met the homecoming team at Sandy Hook and
+accompanied the victorious brigade back to New York City.
+
+The hero, of course, was Hayes. When the ship reached quarantine, we
+received word that President Roosevelt had invited the entire Olympic
+contingent to spend the following day at his Oyster Bay Estate where he
+would officially welcome each of the members.
+
+Out to Oyster Bay the little army traveled, and when we reached President
+Roosevelt’s estate, we were met by the Roosevelt family, government
+officials, and a large delegation of home town folk. It was heart warming.
+
+I learned much about Theodore Roosevelt, the athlete that day. Beaming
+with delight, he shook the hand of every member of the returning team.
+Then he told us how he had become so interested in athletics. In his
+youth he was referred to as a chicken-livered kid because his delicate
+health did not permit him to play in vigorous games with other lads. He
+didn’t like being kept in the background, however, and had no scruples
+about letting his parents know it.
+
+“I made my health what it is today,” he said. “When I found that
+physically I was not the equal of other boys, I was determined to make
+myself fit.”
+
+Here he was, receiving America’s foremost athletes, the young men upon
+whom the youth of the land looked with envy and admiration, and he
+immediately realized the opportunity to bring home a point to hundreds of
+thousands of American children.
+
+“When a boy,” he continued, “I was sent to Moosehead Lake to rid myself
+of asthma. I was brought up by a maiden aunt who decided that the change
+of air would help my ailment and also help to build me up. While en
+route, I became acquainted with three lads who took a keen delight in
+teasing me. They called me ‘Sissy’ and other names I didn’t like, and my
+pride was hurt. I made up my mind that I would learn how to defend myself
+against such attacks, and that’s how I came to take up boxing.
+
+“On my return home, I told father what had happened. He laughed it off
+but consented to have Tom Long, a former fighter, teach me the manly
+art. When I was in the third year at school, I became the lightweight
+champion. Then I took up wrestling, another sport I liked, and by the
+time I matriculated in college, I was pretty good at both.”
+
+He told of the day he stopped by the Harvard gymnasium for some
+recreation and exercise, and one of the members of the Harvard boxing
+team invited him to spar. Roosevelt admitted he was quick to oblige. They
+donned the gloves, stepped to the center of the ring, and as Roosevelt
+put forth his right hand for the customary boxing handshake, he received
+a powerful blow to the jaw. The punch staggered him, and according to the
+President, he was flabbergasted at the unsportsmanlike display.
+
+“The students were quick to note the discourteous act,” he said, “and
+cries of ‘shame’ and ‘foul’ filled the air. Much to the discomfiture of
+my opponent, I held my hand out until he complied with the courtesy of
+the ring, and then I proceeded to hand him a business-like shellacking.
+
+“I taught that fellow something,” continued the President. “I taught him
+that boxing was a sport for sportsmen in which the rules of fair play
+must be observed, and he and I were the greatest of pals throughout the
+remainder of our college days.”
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Roosevelt, when Police Commissioner of New York, followed boxing with a
+keen interest. When the police attempted raids in the old club membership
+days, he urged them to be lenient. Often he had them stand at the
+ringside to guard the contestants until the fight was over before he
+would permit them to interfere and make the arrest.
+
+Back in 1916, when I was sports editor of the New York _Press_, I went
+out to Oyster Bay to get an interview with the retired United States
+President. At the time, the boxing game was being threatened by certain
+disgruntled politicians and blue law agitators, and things looked black
+for the sport. The flame against boxing had become so widespread that it
+seemed as if nothing could extinguish it, and I thought that a talk with
+Roosevelt would be timely.
+
+I remembered my interview with him years before, and I recalled how
+ardent a fight enthusiast he was. So I figured that a story from him on
+the good points about boxing would help our cause. Here is his statement
+as I published it:
+
+    “When I became a member of the New York State Legislature,
+    there was considerable commotion up at Albany by a faction that
+    was opposed to boxing. I took up the issue with them. Like
+    my father, who believed that a fair, stand-up fight would do
+    a boy a lot of good, I arose to defend boxing. I surprised,
+    even shocked, many mothers when I said that ‘the boy that
+    won’t fight is not worth his salt. He is either a coward or
+    constitutionally weak. I have taught my boys to take their own
+    part and fight their way whenever they must. Cowardice is not
+    in their make-up. I do not know for which I should punish my
+    boys quicker—for cruelty or flinching. Both are abominable.’
+
+    “I have never been able to sympathize with the outcry against
+    boxing. The only objection I have to prize fighting, is when
+    there is talk of fake or crookedness, and such talk is common.
+    Where there is smoke, there is fire and I figure that such
+    gossip is never entirely unfounded.
+
+    “Outside of that, I regard boxing, professional and amateur, as
+    a vigorous, healthful sport that develops courage, keenness of
+    mind, quickness of eye, and a spirit of combativeness that fits
+    every boy who engages in it for the daily tasks that confront
+    him.
+
+    “It is not half so brutalizing or demoralizing as many forms of
+    big business, and certain legal work that is often carried on
+    to help such business.
+
+    “I have often thought that if we had more boys’ clubs where the
+    manly art was taught, we would have fewer youthful criminals,
+    the street corner type of hoodlum, and would breed a better
+    class of young American citizens—the future voters. Boxing
+    develops elements of character that are difficult to obtain in
+    other sports—fairness, the spirit of give-and-take, courage,
+    and alertness.
+
+    “It is only the bully who always wants to give and to avoid the
+    taking. If boxing were taught in every public and secondary
+    school and in college, this nation would soon find itself rid
+    of the bullies and would develop in our youth a spirit of
+    manhood, a spirit that teaches fairness to our fellow men. We
+    would be rid of street corner rowdies and cowards, and make our
+    boys a better, sturdier, healthier lot.”
+
+In Washington, President Roosevelt frequently boxed with Professor Mike
+Donovan of the New York Gymnasium and Steve O’Donnell, another former
+fighter. When, after a long lapse, Harvard, of which Roosevelt was
+an alumnus, decided to restore boxing as an inter-collegiate sport,
+Roosevelt was instrumental in obtaining for his friend O’Donnell the post
+of boxing instructor. After the appointment, O’Donnell received a letter
+from Roosevelt which he permitted me to publish in the _Morning Sun_.
+Here is the letter which is now in my museum:
+
+    “Dear Steve:
+
+    You know of my interest in boxing since I often put on the
+    gloves with Mike Donovan, Jack Cooper, and you. I had to
+    abandon the sport after an eye injury, sustained in a sparring
+    match with a young Captain of Artillery who cross-countered me
+    on the eye, and blinded me. Fortunately it was the left eye
+    but had it been the right, I never would have been able to go
+    shooting—my hobby.
+
+    When I was in the legislature and was working very hard with
+    little chance to get outdoors, all the exercises I had were in
+    boxing and wrestling. I was extremely fond of both and still am.
+
+    Naturally through my enjoyment of boxing I grew to know a good
+    many fighters and to most of those, I grew genuinely attached.
+    I have as a result never been able to sympathize with the
+    outcry against the sport. I have always regarded it and still
+    do, as a fine, healthy, manly form of entertainment and have
+    never thought of it as brutalizing. Of course matches can be
+    conducted under conditions that will make them brutalizing, but
+    this is just as true of football and other highly strenuous
+    contact sports.
+
+    Bob Fitzsimmons was a good friend of mine. I admired him as a
+    pugilist. For a long time I enjoyed his friendship and that of
+    John L. Sullivan. There never was a better prize fighter than
+    the “Boston Strong Boy.” When he was in his prime, no finer
+    fighter ever stepped into a ring.
+
+    When I went to Africa to hunt wild game, Sullivan presented
+    me with a gold mounted rabbit’s foot. I carried it through my
+    African hunting trip and it certainly brought me plenty of
+    luck. I believe that boxing should form a major part of the
+    athletic recreation of our Army and Navy and should be included
+    in the physical education program of every college.
+
+    I congratulate Harvard on its acceptance of boxing as an
+    inter-collegiate sport and you on your appointment as Harvard’s
+    boxing coach.”
+
+                                                  THEODORE ROOSEVELT
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: 5]
+
+I FIGHT TO BE A SOLDIER
+
+
+Back in 1914, when the Mexicans were raiding the Texas Border and it
+looked as if Uncle Sam would have to take a firm hand in subduing Pancho
+Villa and his gang of marauders, Major General Leonard Wood, commanding
+the Second Army Corps at Governors’ Island in New York Harbor, at the
+suggestion of several New York newspapermen, decided to drill members
+of the Fourth Estate in soldiering. The reporters who had organized a
+Newspapermen’s Military Corps, with the object of mastering the Manual of
+Arms, received permission from the State Armory Board to use the drill
+floor of the Seventy-First Regiment Armory, where twice a week they
+assembled for instruction.
+
+On Monday evenings, from five to six o’clock, they were taught how
+to drill by regular army officers, while on Thursdays they attended
+lectures on maneuvers and the use of arms. I was among the organizers,
+our aim being to get the jump on others in the event war was declared,
+so that we could be mustered into service as junior officers. For a time
+it was a novelty for the people in the vicinity of the armory to see
+the scribblers, tall and small, lean and fat, shouldering muskets and
+drilling through the busy business thoroughfare of midtown New York.
+
+Then came General Pershing’s campaign against Villa, and that, with the
+outbreak of war in Europe, intensified the uneasiness of our country.
+There followed an order for the New York regiments to leave for the
+Mexican border and many of the members of the Newspapermen’s Military
+Corps accompanied the boys, better fitted to serve in the campaign, than
+they ordinarily would have been.
+
+Those who didn’t go continued their drills in New York with Major General
+Leonard Wood in charge, and Major Brown and Captain Hall, both of
+Governors’ Island, as our instructors. And when the United States joined
+the Allies in 1917, it was the Newspapermen’s Military Corps that became
+the nucleus of the famous Plattsburg Citizens’ Training Camp. Among the
+first graduates were the writers who for two years had been drilling
+under General Wood and his aides while working as reporters or desk men
+on New York papers.
+
+I was the smallest member of the original group, only 5 feet, 3 inches at
+the time, and when I filed my application for Plattsburg, though I had
+had considerable military training and was a good drill master, I was
+turned down because of my height. I protested vigorously and even went so
+far as to place my complaint before General Wood and Captain Hall, but
+was informed that nothing could be done for me.
+
+Then came the draft. Time for enlistment was short. I was thirty-one
+years old. I was eager to serve because I was not a raw novice, and I
+realized that men of experience were now needed. I tried to enlist
+in the Regular Army but I was turned down here too. I then offered my
+services to the Marine Corps, but the same old remarks greeted me—“Sorry,
+you’re under-sized.” The Navy likewise turned me down. I decided that
+there must be something radically wrong when a government will turn
+thumbs down on men it could use in an emergency but whom the officials
+deemed too short.
+
+Even the draft boards were instructed not to accept anyone who was not
+at least 5 feet 4 inches tall, and it was then that I got busy. I went
+to see my Congressman and my United States Senator. I told each of my
+military training and my experiences with the officials in our military
+service.
+
+I suggested that the Army, Navy, and Marine Corps could make good use
+of almost anyone, regardless of size, and that those who were unfit
+physically to shoulder a gun could be utilized in general camp work,
+thus relieving other servicemen for the tougher task of fighting. My
+suggestion was seconded by my boss, Keats Speed, Editor of _The Sun_. I
+was called before a military board in Washington to state my case and
+within a week, I received a notice directing the military authorities to
+lessen the minimum height for enlistments to 5 feet, 3 inches.
+
+Within two months, when further enlistments were halted and the draft
+went into effect full force, the order called for a minimum of 5 feet 2
+inches, and still later, in order to give the service the fullest man
+power possible, every physically fit man, regardless of his size, was
+ordered accepted for service.
+
+Thus I felt I played an important part in bringing down barriers that
+were keeping from the Army men who were eager and willing to serve. I
+have in my collection the editorial in _The Sun_ based on my argument in
+Washington.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+I served through the war as an instructor at the School for Sergeants at
+Camp Greenleaf, Chattanooga, Tennessee, and when I was mustered out of
+service I reported back for duty as sports editor of the _Morning Sun_.
+
+At home “a big surprise” awaited me. Wherever I’ve traveled, I’ve
+browsed about in search of boxing books, photographs of famous fighters,
+old watches—particularly those that belonged to famous fighters or
+sportsmen—stamps, and cigarette pictures of baseball players and boxers.
+My boxing library contains more than 1500 books, many of them rare
+volumes on fistiana and wrestling, some dating back 300 years. When I
+left for camp in 1918, I filled my room with my collection. I also packed
+away many old trophies: gloves worn by John L. Sullivan, spiked shoes
+worn by Sullivan and Corbett in their battle at New Orleans, John L’s
+diamond studded cane, the colors of Jack McAuliffe, Jack Dempsey and
+George Dixon, among many other relics I treasured.
+
+When I returned home, honorably discharged by the Army, my sister, with
+whom I lived following the death of my mother, smilingly greeted me.
+
+“I’m happy you’re home again,” she said. “I have a big surprise for you.
+Look in your room.”
+
+I did, and what a shock I received! It was almost empty. She had gotten
+rid of all my publications and many of the relics, including a valuable
+set of Pierce Egan’s _Boxiana_ in the original boards.
+
+“I knew you’d like a clean room. I called in a junkman and let him have
+what Mother so often called ‘your junk!’”
+
+That “junk” meant a fortune to me, but there was nothing I could do but
+try to redeem some of the property. Fortunately the books had been sold
+to a second hand dealer and I salvaged them, but at an exceedingly high
+price.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: 6]
+
+OLD NEW YORK
+
+
+Unlike us poor mortals, cities die and are reborn. Who of you whose locks
+are graying around the temples, visiting the place of your birth, would
+recognize it as the city of your boyhood days? Only here and there have
+the world’s largest cities retained their ancient sameness.
+
+I knew New York when it was far different from the town it is today, and
+in it I passed the happiest days of my life. We old-timers realize this
+more poignantly as we grow older and look back.
+
+Thinking of the high cost of living today, I recall Dolan’s restaurant,
+the most noted among the many coffee and cake places spread in that busy
+downtown section of New York. Dolan’s was in the old Potter Building on
+Park Row, the gathering place for the humble and the big shots in the
+field of journalism. Ham and beans was the most delicious dish. The most
+called-for item on the menu, it could be obtained for only ten cents with
+an additional five cents for a cup of java. One could have his choice of
+ham or corned beef, and with it went bread and butter on the side.
+
+And the sinker! For ten cents one could have his coffee and biscuits
+soaked in warm butter. We called this the sinker dish, much like the
+coffee and doughnuts we get today. Within minutes after a paper was
+put to press—usually about eleven o’clock at night—a rush was made
+for Dolan’s. Office boys, compositors, printers’ devils, editors, and
+reporters—they all made a bee-line for the beanery. The place was known
+as a newspaperman’s institution. Scarcely an editor in Park Row’s
+newspaper environ wasn’t a habitué of this famous eating place.
+
+And then there was Perry’s “drug store” where one could get drinks at all
+times of the day or night. That was situated in the old World Building
+and was an exceedingly popular drinking emporium. The literary geniuses
+of Park Row were its patrons.
+
+This old New York has long passed. Its heart is still beating, the same
+streets remain, many of its old buildings are still standing, scores of
+persons whose acquaintance I made when I was a cub reporter, continue to
+enjoy its pleasures—but it is not the same city in which I grew up.
+
+The Old Madison Square Garden, the very heart of New York, is gone, and
+figuratively speaking, that was New York to us. You could ask a New
+Yorker how to get to the Museum of Natural History, the Aquarium, City
+Hall, the Metropolitan Opera House, and other noted buildings, and he
+would hesitate, but he could direct you to Madison Square Garden on 26th
+Street and Madison Avenue without difficulty. After telling you the
+easiest way to reach it, he’d probably wind up by asking you, “What’s
+going on there tonight?”
+
+The Old Garden is gone, but in its place is a new one, the building I
+call home during business hours, and like the one which Stanford White
+designed, it is the rendezvous of both fans and athletes from all over
+the world.
+
+Whatever was of New York, or for New York, was staged in the old Garden
+just as now it is staged in the “House that Tex Built” on Eighth Avenue
+between 49th and 50th Streets. I could write the story of our times with
+the Garden as my only backdrop, for so much of New York’s business,
+political, social, and sporting history was made between its walls.
+There the world’s greatest statesmen have addressed huge audiences and
+the rafters reverberated with the soaring, ringing phrases of orator and
+demagogue. The world’s greatest song birds were heard in the arena.
+
+During the First World War, it was the stamping ground of thousands of
+patriotic Americans who flocked there to listen to war talks and to aid
+in charity for the war wounded. Many noted French, Belgian, and British
+war heroes gathered under its roof from the hectic period of 1917 to the
+signing of the armistice.
+
+The Garden was one of the triumphs of its architect, Stanford White.
+Originally built to house the horse show, it soon became a show place
+for every conceivable kind of event, but particularly sports. The Arion
+Ball and the French Ball were fixtures there—annual festive affairs of a
+Bohemia that is no longer seen in New York.
+
+But the shows were the big thing in the old Garden: horse, cat, chicken,
+automobile, motor boat, airship and sporting goods shows; wild west
+rodeos; boxing and wrestling matches; walking, running and cycling races
+(especially the six-day bike races); and biggest of all annually—the
+circus. Every winter saw expositions that drew thousands to the Garden.
+Its history was truly the history of New York over half a century.
+
+Madison Square Garden and its neighborhood will always have a special
+place in American literature, for in its environs, in a park across the
+street, O. Henry sat and listened as the “Voice of the City” gave up its
+tales to him.
+
+With the old Garden gone, the memories that live the longest and most
+vividly are those of its great sporting events—affairs I frequently
+reported.
+
+It was there that William A. Brady, who managed Jim Corbett and Jim
+Jeffries, and later became one of the world’s leading theatrical
+producers, staged many thrilling events. Smiling Bill Kennedy, the rotund
+Pat Powers, debonair and handsome Harry Pollock, dapper and energetic
+Jimmy Johnston, astute Billy Gibson, and colorful Tex Rickard and his
+partner, John Ringling—each had a hand in making the Garden the show
+place of New York.
+
+The great John L. Sullivan leads the array of fistic talent that
+paraded before the public in the old Madison Square Garden arena.
+Other celebrated ringmen of the past who made history within its walls
+included James J. Corbett, Charley Mitchell, Mike Donovan, Tom Sharkey,
+Peter Maher, Kid McCoy, Bob Fitzsimmons, Joe Gans, George Dixon, Sam
+Langford, Billy Plimmer, Kid McPartland, Battling Nelson, Joe Jeannette,
+Willie Lewis, Freddie Welsh, Willie Ritchie, Leach Cross, Jack Dempsey,
+Benny Leonard, Johnny Dundee, Midget Smith, Bill Brennan, Frank Moran,
+Bombardier Billy Wells, Al Palzer, Jim Coffey, Joe Lynch, Pete Herman,
+Johnny Buff, Gene Tunney, Battling Siki, Paul Berlenbach, Richie
+Mitchell, Young Jack Sharkey, Harry Greb and Tiger Flowers. Since the
+old bare-knuckle days, there was scarcely a ring idol who didn’t at some
+time in his career take part in a Garden fight. The same was true of the
+wrestlers. The only ones I failed to see were those who fought before my
+time.
+
+And amid a whirr of whirling wheels, there were little Bobby Michaels,
+the Welsh Rarebit; Major Taylor, Harry Elks, Cannonball Eddie Bald,
+Plugger Bill Martin, Al Shock, Tom Butler, Fred Titus, Teddy Hale and a
+host of others of the go-it-alone years, when the cyclists rode six days
+and nights, made their marks in the bike-riding world. I spent many
+hours watching them circle the Garden track. Later these stars gave way
+to Walter Rutt, Bobby Walthour, Joe Fogler, Jackie Clarke, Menus and
+Johnny Bedell, Floyd McFarland, Eddie Root, Al Goulett, Al Grenda, and
+Brocco—among others.
+
+As the Garden was the temple of cycling when New York was wrapped in
+the throes of the cycle craze, so it was earlier when the six day
+go-as-you-please pedestrian races were all the rage. Those who starred in
+that field were Dan O’Leary, Jim Alberts, Gus Guerrero, Pete Hegelman,
+Littlewood, Roswell, and Weston. Such races would be wasted on half empty
+arenas today, but they played to full houses when I reported them.
+
+In the field of marathoners, as an old-timer, I recall the running of Tom
+Longboat, Alf Shrubb, Johnny Hayes, Paul Akoose, Fred Meadows, St. Yves,
+Gusta Ljungstrom, Sammy Mellor, and Dorando Pietri.
+
+Remember Dorando, the man who lost the marathon to Hayes in London in the
+summer of 1908, when he collapsed at the finish line? Well Dorando made a
+pot of gold by that fall. He came to America and later, after piling up a
+little fortune, established himself as a baker and confectioner in Italy.
+I recall the wild scenes in the Italian quarters of New York when Tex
+Rickard paraded him as a publicity stunt.
+
+The Garden was the scene of many other foot races besides marathons, and
+I was on the scene for most of them.
+
+Will we of the old school ever forget the memorable match race between
+Lon Myers and the great Englishman, W. G. George? Who of us who reported
+the race, will ever forget the great ‘600’ between John B. Taylor, the
+famous Negro athlete of the University of Pennsylvania (and forerunner of
+the corps of Negro athletes who now dominate middle distance running in
+this country), and Harry Hillman, later coach of Dartmouth College.
+
+The stirring finishes of Mel Sheppard, Abel Kiviat, George Bonhag,
+Harvey Cohn, John Paul Jones, Ted Meredith, Arthur Duffy, John Drew,
+John Daly, Paul Pilgrim, Howard Valentine and John Joyce still set an
+oldtimer’s heart to pulsing faster.
+
+And the discus throwing of Martin Sheridan and Bob Edgren; the hammer
+throwing of Pat McDonald, Bill Coe, Ralph Rose, Bob Edgren, and Matt
+McGrath—And so many, yes, hundreds of other limber-legged, winged-footed,
+mighty sons of track and field who made the old Garden famous!
+
+For forty-four years the old Garden catered to all classes and all types,
+millionaire and stevedore, banker and clerk. But time in its march
+has covered many leagues. New York outgrew the old Garden and then a
+bigger, more modern, up-to-date structure took its place as a monument
+to Tex Rickard, who, in the last days of the old building, made the
+lovely statue of Lady Diana atop the Stanford White Tower proud of her
+surroundings.
+
+Before Tex Rickard took the helm, the old Garden was a haven for the
+crooks. Pickpockets flourished there, and the safety of the patrons at a
+bicycle race or a fight was entirely a matter of luck. Rickard changed
+all that by ousting the objectionable characters and making the Garden
+what it is today—an arena where men, women, and children may go without
+fear of being molested.
+
+I recall a six-day bicycle race in 1909. It was bitter cold and the
+rowdies, gangsters, and hoodlums of New York flocked to the arena to keep
+warm. They could then obtain a gallery seat for fifty cents and remain
+from the time the show opened until it closed—if they could last that
+long.
+
+Complaints were pouring into Police Headquarters as pickpockets plied
+their trade with impunity. Several overcoats were stolen, and certain
+patrons of the arena were waylaid and robbed in the basement. I was
+assigned to Police Headquarters for the evening and learned that Martin
+Sheridan, the best all-round athlete the police force ever had, would
+conduct a raiding party on the nimble-fingered gentry at the Garden
+starting at eleven o’clock. Sheridan was at the head of a Broadway
+pickpocket squad at the time, and he was to take with him six of the best
+detectives on the force.
+
+At seven that evening, Sheridan asked me out to dinner. We dined with
+two of his squad and my colleague, George B. Underwood, of the New
+York _Press_, and at ten o’clock we started for the Garden. Into Harry
+Stevens’ bar we went, that being the rendezvous for the police who were
+to do the raiding, and while waiting for the late comers, Sheridan
+invited us all to a drink.
+
+It was pay day at Police Headquarters and pay day on our paper, and when
+all hands were served, I asked for the bill. Martin would have none of
+that. He not only insisted on footing it but ordered another round of
+beer and then came the pay-off.
+
+It was time to get going. The raid would soon be in order, and Officer
+Sheridan was anxious to get his men stationed. He asked for the account,
+placed his hand in his pocket to pay it, and then he let loose!
+
+“Holly Gee, they picked my pocket! They took my pay envelope!”
+
+Officer Sheridan was the only one who didn’t enjoy the joke. He pleaded
+with me not to make mention of the theft in my story, and then he got
+busy. He made up for his lost bank roll by making every gangster in that
+arena pay a share of the loss. A battered, bleeding, frightful looking
+lot of pickpockets, hold-up guys, and confidence men were taken down in
+the basement, and to the tune of a rubber hose or black jack, they were
+given unmerciful beatings. There were no more coats stolen or pockets
+picked at the bike races that week.
+
+It was on the occasion of the last go-as-you-please fun in the Garden, a
+year later, that less than a hundred persons braved the howling wind to
+see the opening race. The big arena looked like a deserted barn. Almost
+all those present came on Annie Oakleys, as we called free passes in
+those days. The half frozen newspapermen covering the race were seated at
+a long table near the entrance and were busy grinding out their copy and
+trying to dispel the gloom that hung over the place. Suddenly Tim Hurst,
+who managed the Garden, was observed beckoning wildly from the other end
+of the hall.
+
+“Come here,” roared Tim, “Quick! Quick! Come here!”
+
+Thinking a murder had been committed, we scrambled from our chairs and
+rushed down to where Tim was standing.
+
+“Look! Look!” he excitedly said, pointing to the box office. “See that
+sucker and his gal buying a ticket!”
+
+We all laughed, but that sucker gave us a good story a few minutes later.
+Sitting in a box above the track, he placed his heavy, fur-lined coat
+on a chair behind him, while his girl placed her squirrel coat over the
+rail. The pair looked like aristocratic kids out on a slumming tour.
+Within ten minutes after entering their box, the man’s coat was stolen
+right under his nose. He demanded action from Tim Hurst, a fighter of the
+old school—but Tim paid no attention.
+
+“Who told you to come here?” shouted Tim in his well-known way. “Why
+didn’t you stay where you belong? You got just what was coming to you for
+going out slumming.”
+
+The “sucker” hauled off and caught Tim with a beautiful right on the
+whiskers and down went the Garden promoter right into the lap of Big Jim
+Mitchell, the hammer thrower, who was then writing for the _Morning Sun_.
+The offended patron happened to be Arthur Pelkey, the man who two years
+later caused the accidental death of Luther McCarty in a “white hope”
+match in Calgary, Canada. He had never met Tim Hurst and Tim had never
+laid eyes on Arthur, but after the blow was struck, some of the scribes
+recognized the fighter and a handshake ended further arguments. Pelkey
+recovered his coat a few hours later when the culprit who stole it was
+found sleeping on it in the basement.
+
+Johnny Broderick, successor to Sheridan as head detective in the old
+Garden, told me many times that before Tex Rickard’s regime, probably
+half of the rogues gallery could be located between dusk and dawn at a
+six-day race. Overcoat stealing was so common as to pass without comment.
+During those races, members of the homicide squad were assigned to patrol
+the Garden in pairs, and many fugitives from justice were picked up.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Of course, as I fondly recollect the early Garden days, not all my
+interesting sports experiences as a reporter in the big city took place
+there. For example, I was very much involved in the development of
+distance swimming in the New York area.
+
+Sitting around in the office of the New York _Press_ one night, after the
+first edition had gone to press, the conversation turned to the diving
+exploits of the shapely Australian, Annette Kellerman, who at the time
+was hitting the headlines with her wonderful performances.
+
+From diving we passed on to swimming, and then to distance swimming. We
+spoke of the great Capt. Matthew Webb, the Englishman who was the first
+to swim the Channel. Webb had tried to swim from the Battery in New York
+to Sandy Hook, a distance comparable to the Channel crossing, and had
+failed. I decided that night that I was going to find an American who
+could make that Sandy Hook swim.
+
+The first candidate for the job was Louis Durborrow, a Philadelphia bank
+clerk who had earned himself a formidable distance swimming reputation in
+the Delaware River. Louis quickly accepted the suggestion that he attempt
+the New York Harbor crossing.
+
+I organized the effort, and at dawn on a warm, sunny, Sunday morning,
+Louis jumped off the dock at the Battery and headed for the Hook with Dan
+Daniel and myself following in a hired fishing boat.
+
+The treacherous currents proved to be too much for Durborrow, however,
+and he was forced to quit. Some weeks later, he failed again. Then he
+tried to swim from the Hook to the Battery, but this, too, ended in
+failure for the bank clerk. On each occasion, Daniel and I were the only
+reporters who accompanied the swimmer.
+
+After Durborrow, I shifted to other swimmers. In addition to promoting
+Sandy Hook attempts, I organized swims from East 23rd Street to Coney
+Island, as well as Hudson River marathon feats. It was fun to get up at
+dawn and go out in a small boat for the day. But it was no fun to return
+to the newspaper office after dark, with the desk heaving with the waves
+and the typewriter doing all sorts of tricks.
+
+Here’s the odd feature of the Hook effort. The New York _Tribune_ picked
+up my idea and promoted an open swim. I believe twenty-six started and as
+many as three made the distance. Fighting against the tide, without any
+rivals, Durborrow and others had failed. But with many swimmers involved
+in a race against each other, the feat was accomplished.
+
+Many of my biggest assignments were covered with Dan Daniel, whose
+friendship I have always cherished. He was working for the _Herald_ at
+that time, but in later years, when I was sports editor of the New York
+_Telegram_, I persuaded him to quit and join my staff. He is now baseball
+editor of that paper.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Late in September, 1913, I called him on the ’phone.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+“Dan, Rose Pitinoff of Boston and a woman companion are going to make an
+attempt tomorrow morning to swim from the Bellevue Hospital pier at 26th
+Street and East River through the Narrows to Coney Island. I’m going to
+accompany them in a motorboat. See if you can get the assignment from
+your paper and come along,” I said.
+
+Miss Pitinoff had already made two fruitless attempts to swim from the
+Battery to Coney Island, but now she hoped to make it over another route.
+Dan and I had accompanied her on her previous swims and I soon received a
+message from him that we would be together again on this one.
+
+The next morning at dawn all hands appeared, but to our surprise,
+there was no place where Rose and her friend could undress and prepare
+themselves for the trip. We tried to gain access to the Nurses Home of
+the hospital, but without success. Then we went to that section used as
+a morgue, and there, without asking permission, the girls quickly put on
+bathing suits. However, on all such long distance swims—this one was 26
+miles—the body had to be well protected with a heavy coat of vaseline to
+keep out the cold.
+
+It was a cold night and Dan and I were none too comfortable as we stored
+hot coffee and sandwiches on the motorboat and waited for the girls to
+start on their journey. Soon word came to us that the swimmers required
+help. They had tried to enlist two nurses to rub the petroleum over their
+bodies but were turned down. Since we had to leave with the tide going
+out, I decided on the next step. I went into the building, removed my
+coat, rolled my shirt sleeves and began plastering Miss Pitinoff’s body
+with the jelly while Dan did the same for her friend.
+
+To this day I don’t know how the police got word of this, but before our
+job had been completed, two cops appeared out of nowhere and threatened
+to arrest all for “indecent exposure” and “unlawful trespassing.”
+
+We had a tough time explaining our mission and proving to the police that
+the girls were out to engage in an athletic feat, and that Dan and I were
+assigned to report the stunt. However, we finally managed to convince
+them, and a few minutes after five in the morning, the swim got underway.
+Although the attempt was unsuccessful, Miss Pitinoff came within a half
+mile of reaching her goal, a considerable improvement over her previous
+showings on the shorter Battery route.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+In my young days as a reporter, I often walked home after hours from
+the New York _Press_ building on Spruce and Nassau Streets to Harlem, a
+distance of five miles. My pal, Daniel, always accompanied me on these
+jaunts, weather permitting. We’d meet almost nightly after the first
+edition went to press and walk from the _Press_ down to the Battery and
+then up Broadway to 110th Street.
+
+It was during these after-hours walks that we frequently encountered
+situations that made the front pages of our papers. Fires, burglaries,
+raids on gambling joints, and even murders, figured in our stories. I
+vividly recall several that almost cost my life.
+
+It was on one of those late evening excursions that we heard the shrill
+blasts of police whistles—not an unusual occurrence—as we reached Lenox
+Avenue and 114th Street. We had been walking for about two hours, and it
+was close to three of a warm August night in 1911.
+
+“Let’s go, Dan,” I shouted, scenting a good story, and down the street
+I ran towards the sound of action. A little more cautious than I, Dan
+hesitated while I entered a building into which the cops had raced. It
+was pitch dark except for a flashlight carried by Officer Jerry O’Connor,
+a friendly patrolman who covered the beat. He and Officer Egon Erickson,
+high jump champion of the Mott Haven Athletic Club, were chasing an armed
+hold-up thug. The police went after their man with drawn guns and with me
+at their heels.
+
+I ran up the stairs as fast as I could. As I reached the upper story
+of the building, I heard the door of the roof slam, indicating that the
+police were trying to locate their man there. I was about to follow when
+I was nearly hurled over the balustrade by the thief himself, who had
+avoided the cops by hiding behind the door.
+
+“There he is,” I yelled, grasping the rail to regain my equilibrium as
+the gunman started down the stairs. Seconds later, I found myself in the
+grasp of Officer O’Connor, who had his gun pointed toward me.
+
+“Not me, O’Connor,” I shouted. “I’m Nat, the reporter. He’s running to
+the street,” I added, pointing downward.
+
+The officer flashed his light on me and down we went with Erickson
+following.
+
+The culprit, accused of armed robbery, was caught and handcuffed. Then
+both cops admonished me in no uncertain terms for the chances I had taken
+in following them into the unlit building.
+
+“You could have been killed,” said Erickson. “Don’t ever do that again.
+Let us tackle these gangsters.”
+
+There was Dan, standing on the corner of Lenox Avenue and 114th Street,
+laughing and waiting for me to have some coffee with him.
+
+“One of these days, you’re going to get it,” he said. “When are you going
+to quit chasing burglars and following cops up dark alleys?”
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+About a fortnight later, we were on another of our long walks, but this
+time we changed our course and headed up Broadway into Sixth Avenue and
+Twenty-seventh Street, close by the Hotel Normandie. Many Greeks lived
+in that vicinity, and on the corner was a social club, more correctly
+referred to by the police as a gambling joint.
+
+A shrill cry from a woman put us on the alert. She ran from the building
+followed by a man brandishing a knife. He tripped as he ran across the
+street but quickly recovered and raced back into the saloon from which he
+had emerged.
+
+I followed him and saw a murder committed. Unable to catch the woman, he
+put the knife into the heart of the man with whom she had been drinking.
+
+I quickly stepped out of the confusion that followed, but was
+sufficiently close to hear him say, “She’ll never have him. He’s through.”
+
+The murderer was arrested almost immediately, and the police insisted
+on my accompanying them to the precinct house on Twenty-eighth Street
+as a witness. When the trial was held, I was subpoenaed by the District
+Attorney and for four days I reported. But the District Attorney decided
+not to call me to the stand.
+
+Things were going bad for Walter Zyhariat, the murderer, when I decided
+to talk up. I approached the District Attorney and demanded to be placed
+on the stand.
+
+“We don’t need your testimony,” he said. “It will hurt instead of help
+our case.”
+
+Someone reported that conversation to the lawyer for the defense, who,
+when the trial was resumed for his summation, requested that the court
+permit him to reopen the case on the grounds that he had some new
+evidence.
+
+“Permission granted,” said Judge Foster. “Swear in the witness.”
+
+I was called to the stand. I was first asked if I had been subpoenaed by
+the prosecution.
+
+“Yes,” I said.
+
+“Do you know of any reason why you were not called to the stand?” was the
+next question.
+
+I repeated what the District Attorney had said to me, and the lawyer for
+the defense then took up the questioning. I told what I had seen after
+which the lawyer asked:
+
+“When he ran out of the saloon and went after his wife, was there
+anything you observed that would help the court determine his condition?”
+
+“He was dishevelled,” I replied. “His eyes were popping out of his head.
+To me he looked like one who had suddenly gone mad, and so I reported in
+my story.”
+
+“I object,” shouted the District Attorney. “He is unqualified to
+determine the condition of this person. I request that his remarks be
+stricken from the record.”
+
+I looked at Judge Foster. He seemed impressed with what I had said.
+
+“As a newspaper reporter, the witness is a man of keen observation. His
+testimony should be heard,” he said.
+
+When the case was given to the jury, Judge Foster harped for some length
+on my testimony and a verdict of manslaughter, carrying a twenty years’
+sentence, instead of “murder in the first degree,” saved the defendant
+from the electric chair.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+In those days I could both sprint and run distances without tiring too
+easily, and this athletic ability came in handy on nights when I had
+to report track meets and get my copy in early. In the days of which I
+write, telegraph service wasn’t used with any frequency. As I worked
+on a morning newspaper, my story had to be in the office before eleven
+o’clock. Press time was midnight.
+
+One night, both Dan and I were covering the Military Athletic League
+track and field championships at the Seventh Regiment Armory. After
+George Bonhag, of the New York A.C., had romped home a winner in the
+two-mile, Daniel and I decided it was time to head for our respective
+papers.
+
+The Third Avenue Elevated station was only two blocks to the east of the
+Armory and five to the south, and as there wasn’t a taxi in sight, we
+decided to run to the station in an effort to make our deadlines. I led
+the way, and undoubtedly must have been feeling fine for we ran and ran
+at a lively clip until Dan suddenly halted and breathlessly shouted after
+me:
+
+“What’s wrong, Nat? Where’s the durned El?”
+
+We got our bearings and discovered that instead of traveling east and
+then south, we were racing down Park Avenue and had reached Seventy-ninth
+Street, far off our course, and more than a mile from the armory. We set
+off again, this time in the right direction, and just made the second
+editions of the _Press_ and _Herald_, respectively. But on our way to the
+newspaper offices, we wondered why we hadn’t competed in the two-mile run
+that evening. We might have beaten Bonhag.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: 7]
+
+THE UNDERWORLD IN BOXING
+
+
+Prohibition failed to keep the average citizen from having a drink when
+he wanted one, and no attempt by the authorities proved successful in
+keeping the average New York fan away from boxing entertainment. But the
+demise of the Horton Law in 1900 deprived the game of its legal standing
+so far as shows catering to the general public were concerned.
+
+Even as the speakeasy provided a welcome substitute for the vanished
+saloon through the hectic period that preceded Repeal, so a haven of
+refuge was furnished the patrons of padded fist slugfests by the adoption
+of what was known as the club membership plan.
+
+The fight game was a racket then and truly could be referred to as the
+sport of rogues. Although there were some honest promoters in New York
+when I covered the sports beat in those days, boxing as a whole was
+ruled by ruffians, gangsters, and politicians. The many fixed fights
+that soured the public on the sport were engineered by politicians
+with headquarters in Tammany Hall, which then, as in the days of John
+Morrissey and Bill Poole, had tremendous influence over the game. They
+told the police what to do and how to do it. They made the odds, brought
+about the fixes, and collected their bets.
+
+Hoodlums used to keep pugilists in line. We still have plenty of that
+today but the damage is done differently. Whereas in the “good old days”
+it was an up-and-above board game with the unsavory element, today it is
+all done through undercover agencies.
+
+Politicians and police turned their eyes to avoid “seeing” what was going
+on years ago, but in this era, city, state, and Federal investigations
+keep hounding the criminal element in an effort to keep boxing clean.
+
+When the Eighteenth Amendment was repealed, that didn’t end the tie
+between the mobsters and the fight racket. To this day racketeers
+continue to infest the sport. Frankie Carbo furnishes an example of the
+continuing influence of underworld figures in boxing.
+
+They not only muscled in on boxers in the old days, but on the prosperous
+clubs as well. It was a case of take it or leave it with them. There
+was no middle channel. They often stole fighters outright, and it was
+worth one’s life to defy them. Practically every big city’s fight clubs
+had bootlegger’s dough financing the operation. The Dutch Schultz and
+Owney Madden gangs held sway in New York, the Boo Boo Hoff mobsters in
+Pennsylvania and the Al Capone gunmen in Illinois.
+
+I knew them all. As a reporter it was my business to associate with all
+classes, and I often found myself in the company of these criminals. I
+dined and wined with them. I often traveled to fights with them.
+
+I recall the bout down in Miami between young Stribling and Jack Sharkey,
+following the death of Tex Rickard. The late Steve Hannigan, one of our
+nation’s leading purveyors of publicity, and I handled the fight for the
+Madison Square Garden Corporation.
+
+About a week before the affair, Damon Runyon told me that Al Capone,
+then living in a “palace” on Hibiscus Island, had extended an invitation
+through Runyon for the New York sports writers to visit his home and
+enjoy a buffet dinner. I was asked to furnish the names of all who would
+accept and to make arrangements with one of Capone’s henchmen.
+
+We had more than 450 newspapermen down for that fight and of the group, I
+selected 62 to join in what promised to be an adventurous evening. And so
+it turned out.
+
+When our cars reached the entrance to Capone’s gate, Al’s bodyguards
+directed us to drive to a designated field, where each car was searched.
+The occupants were given the once over, too. Some of us were even
+frisked. There was exceedingly careful screening of each guest; after
+all, Capone had a price on his head.
+
+Then we were all escorted by bodyguards to the main room of the spacious
+home and each was introduced to the famous gangster. Though these were
+prohibition times, bottles of champagne popped. The finest bottled beer
+was piled on the tables, all from Capone’s private stock, safely hidden
+on the premises and guarded by “specials.”
+
+Capone asked some of the writers, among them Sid Mercer, Murray Lewin,
+Westbrook Pegler, Paul Gallico, Francis Albertanti, Runyon and myself,
+to inspect his special cache of liquor in an underground room. We left
+the women in our party engaged in conversation in the living room, though
+some donned bathing suits for a swim in the outdoor pool, which, like
+other parts of the Capone estate, was closely guarded from behind the
+shrubbery. No one was permitted to go out of bounds—that is, near the
+shrubbery where guards, well armed, patrolled the area, so fearful was
+Capone of an attack by his enemies.
+
+When we returned to the dining room for refreshments, one of the women
+who had gulped down too much of Capone’s vintage champagne, collapsed,
+and in falling from the couch, dislodged one of the cushions. Immediately
+there was a dive for the couch by two of Capone’s henchmen, not to help
+the woman, whose name I won’t mention, but to cover two sawed-off shot
+guns and several loaded weapons which had been hidden under the huge
+cushion.
+
+We were seeing things! Capone’s brother, who found the situation
+embarrassing, explained that the weapons were there merely for safe
+keeping. They were souvenirs, he said. Of what? Probably the Moran
+massacre in Chicago.
+
+The unfortunate girl was carried to the upper floor powder room, where
+she was placed in the care of one of the maids.
+
+During the commotion, someone had stolen a diamond ring from Mrs.
+Capone’s boudoir and the story of that theft, through a slip of the
+tongue by Capone, became the newspapermen’s property shortly before we
+left.
+
+Westbrook Pegler, then writing for the Chicago _Tribune_ syndicate, had
+gotten wind of the loss and rushed off to file a story. Joe Williams, of
+the Scripps Howard Syndicate, and Paul Gallico, writing for the New York
+_Daily News_, did the same.
+
+Capone was furious. He pointed the finger of guilt at us, intimating that
+someone in our party had entered his wife’s bedroom and stolen the ring.
+When he learned that several newspapermen had left to write the story
+about the theft, his tone grew threatening.
+
+In his story the next day, Pegler described the party and remarked,
+“While Capone was entertaining the scribes, one of his henchmen was busy
+robbing his master’s home.”
+
+Capone then came forth with an emphatic denial that a theft of any kind
+had taken place. He tried to cover it up with a statement that the ring
+had been found in the powder room where it had been all the time, but a
+day before the fight, he confided to Runyon and me that it had not been
+recovered. Al told us that he was certain one of the guests had taken it.
+
+It was a party I shall never forget. There were gunmen to the right and
+gunmen to the left, most of them veterans of the many Chicago massacres
+which Capone had engineered during prohibition days.
+
+It was during the Frawley Law period that I exposed gangsterism in
+boxing, and it almost cost me my job on the New York _Press_. The famous
+Rosenthal murder case had broken. Police Lieutenant Charles Becker and
+the four gunmen—Dago Frank, Whitey Lewis, Gyp the Blood, and Lefty
+Louis—were all awaiting trial for the crime.
+
+The murderers were East Side gangsters allied with the big gambling
+interests. They needed considerable money to obtain proper legal talent.
+They had to have ready cash, and the usual extortion methods practiced by
+criminals were put into use. East Side boxers and fight promoters were
+assigned to canvass the district for a collection. Small merchants within
+a designated area were each to be asked for a contribution of one hundred
+dollars and the more thrifty ones were to be taxed a flat one hundred and
+fifty. Secrecy was necessary.
+
+I was assigned to cover a fight at the Roman Athletic Club where Frankie
+Madden, a popular lightweight, was one of the principals in the main
+event. The house was packed. Many of New York’s most notorious gamblers
+and criminals were among those present, including Spanish John. As I
+entered the club, I was accosted by Kid Twist, a well known East Side
+gangster, who asked me for a contribution. It was then that I got an
+inkling of what was going on.
+
+The story of the “hold-up” appealed to me far more than the fight that
+night, and I decided to dig in for material. I was fortunate in meeting
+Izzy Einstein, who, during the prohibition era, was the team mate of Moe
+Smith, Uncle Sam’s star snooper and raider of illicit liquor joints.
+From him I learned that at a special meeting attended by friends of the
+Rosenthal gunmen, it was decided to obtain a fund of fifty thousand
+dollars for legal fees through “donations,” voluntary or otherwise.
+
+Three days later I went to the Dry Dock Club where I gathered sufficient
+evidence to enable me to publish my story. It created a sensation. The
+headline read: “Gangsters In Extortion Plot. East Side Criminals Force
+Merchants to Contribute For Defense of Rosenthal Gunmen.”
+
+In the story I used the name of a prominent sports figure, and the day
+following its publication he brought suit for libel against the paper. I
+was called into the office of the managing editor, John Hennessey, who
+asked if I had sufficient facts to back up my story. He told me that
+unless I could stop the suit, I would lose my job.
+
+The person I named as the leader didn’t have too enviable a record and it
+was my job to get the goods on him. So I went out gunning. I had learned
+that a few of the merchants who already had paid into the fund had
+received a card to prevent them from being molested. If I could obtain
+such a card, that evidence would be all I needed, and that’s what I went
+after.
+
+I had been told of a hoodlum who had done the collecting, and who, upon
+reading the story, had left the city for a safer place. He’d selected
+Kingston, New York, as his hideaway. I went after him, and with the aid
+of a bribe, I got my evidence.
+
+With that card in my possession, I returned to New York and handed the
+ticket over to Mr. Hennessey. Now well fortified, he called in our legal
+department, and within a few days, the suit was dropped, and my job was
+saved. The ticket bore the signature of the person who had filed the
+libel suit.
+
+Thus I exposed a link between crime and boxing. One of the clubs, used
+as headquarters for the collection of the fund, went out of business
+a few weeks after my story broke, and the high-powered legal talent
+that the gangsters had hoped to hire with the extortion fund, had to be
+dismissed. But there was enough money collected to enable the mob to hire
+Judge Otto Wahle to act as chief counsel for the quartet. Yet even with
+this excellent jurist in their corner, the murderers of Rosenthal were
+convicted and executed in Sing Sing.
+
+The case was by far the most prominent of that era in which gamblers
+and thugs were so deeply involved in New York’s boxing affairs; but in
+perspective, it was just another story in the long history of crime,
+politics, and the fight game.
+
+
+
+
+BOOK
+
+TWO
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: 8]
+
+AN AMAZING AMATEUR
+
+
+When United States Senator W. Warren Barbour of New Jersey died at his
+Washington home a few years ago at the age of fifty-five, an outstanding
+figure in the Senate and the political life of his State passed away.
+He was a unique personality among Congressmen because here was a man
+who, had he belonged in a humble social station, might possibly have
+fought for, and won, the blue ribbon of the professional prize ring—the
+heavyweight crown.
+
+The Horatio Alger fiction tradition always had its hero starting from the
+ranks of the Submerged Tenth, overcoming all obstacles, winning golden
+spurs in commerce by dint of courage, pious living, and determination.
+Never, of course, by the boxing route.
+
+When Alger was writing his all-American-brave-youth-yarns, prize
+fighting was an illegal game, and its principals were entirely beyond
+the pale of politeness. Later we had the Frank Merriwell stories, also
+with an “up-from-the-depths” motif, but permitting heroes to win fame
+and dollars as stars of baseball, football, and other athletic pastimes.
+That meant that the literary bars were being let down a trifle; and in
+the due course of time, magazine editors began featuring the exploits of
+two-fisted lads successfully wooing Dame Fortune with the aid of padded
+gloves.
+
+Today it’s a far different sport atmosphere from the time when W. Warren
+Barbour, one of the cleverest, hardest-hitting amateurs that ever
+answered the sound of a gong, was being importuned by fight promoters to
+turn professional and meet the great Negro boxer, Jack Johnson, for the
+world heavyweight championship. Barbour might have done so had he not
+been born the son of Colonel William Barbour, wealthy New York thread
+merchant.
+
+In 1910 I saw Barbour win the amateur heavyweight crown in Boston.
+Boxing, while it had attained semi-legal status, was still not a career
+likely to be followed by the son of a multimillionaire of high social
+standing. Had Warren been poor in this world’s goods, he would have
+been a sure-fire pickup for some astute manager hoping to steer him
+to the professional championship goal. And that was exactly what the
+young athlete would have liked. It was also what several of America’s
+leading promoters were eager to see, because of Barbour’s popularity and
+knowledge of ring science.
+
+However, the Alger-Merriwell build-up didn’t apply in his case. There was
+no social climbing needed, no struggle necessary to score success in a
+quest for the almighty dollar; he was already sitting on top of the world.
+
+Yet he told me in an interview at a Princeton football game that, if he
+had been left to himself, nothing would have pleased him more than to
+have entered the professional ring. I heard Warren Barbour repeat that
+during a fistic gabfest with Phocian Howard, publisher of racing sheets,
+while en route to the Dempsey-Willard battle at Toledo on July 4, 1919.
+Tex Rickard had selected the ex-amateur heavyweight champ to act as
+official timekeeper for that historic event.
+
+That was the only time he associated himself with the professional
+game. Parental opposition was the real cause for his refusal to listen
+to the siren songs of the fight promoters who wanted to capitalize on
+his scientific skill and punching power. Perhaps it was just as well,
+for Jack Johnson was then in his prime, and no matter how good an
+amateur may be, it is always a considerable risk to pit him against an
+experienced pro, even one of second rate standing. And Johnson was not
+only a first-rater, but stood head-and-shoulders over all his pugilistic
+contemporaries.
+
+Only twice in boxing history was an amateur champ given a shot at a title
+in his first professional engagement. That was in 1892 when Jack Skelly,
+of Brooklyn, head of the amateur featherweight class, took on George
+Dixon, acknowledged the world’s king of professional feathers; and when
+Peter Rademacher, U.S. Olympic champion, in his first pro bout, tackled
+Floyd Patterson in a battle for the heavyweight crown. In each case the
+amateur was knocked out.
+
+The handicap was far too much for Skelly, good clever kid though he was,
+and Dixon kayoed him in the eighth round. Rademacher was stopped in the
+sixth.
+
+However, it will always remain a pleasing possibility that Warren Barbour
+might have fared better than Jack Skelly or Peter in an invasion of the
+pro ring, for he possessed every asset of an excellent professional. When
+he won the amateur heavyweight title in Boston on April 12, 1910, by a
+clean knockout, Barbour was a trim athlete, over six feet and one-half
+inches tall; he scaled 204 pounds in fighting togs and could jab, block,
+counter, and duck blows far better than most of our top professionals
+today. He was far superior to Rademacher as an all-round pugilist.
+
+Such men as referee Charley White and Jim Corbett, former world
+heavyweight champion, believed him good enough to fight Johnson, and were
+not alone among experts in thinking so. In my book, he was the greatest
+amateur boxer I had ever seen, even better than Floyd Patterson or Billy
+Rodenbach of New York, whose rating was extremely high in A.A.U. boxing
+circles.
+
+While Barbour was training in Jack Cooper’s New York gymnasium, he asked
+to have some big men about his own heft brought along to spar with him.
+Cooper complied by sending for his friend Jim Corbett. I was sitting with
+Cooper watching some workouts, when Barbour made the request. Corbett
+was admiring Warren’s style when our talk was interrupted by Cooper. Jim
+stripped for a turn with the gloves and was happy to get such a sparmate.
+But having heard that the aspiring youngster was somewhat of a walloper,
+Corbett was cautious at the start. Then he let himself out, and after
+a couple of rounds Corbett said frankly that Barbour was a wonderful
+heavyweight prospect both as a puncher and a scientist.
+
+“Your future as a professional is bright if you’ll go for it,” Corbett
+told Barbour. Then turning to me, Jim added, “I’d like to manage him.”
+
+Young Barbour’s reputation spread far beyond the walls of Cooper’s gym,
+where he continued to take daily workouts with pros and amateurs. A few
+weeks after the Corbett session, another former world’s heavyweight
+champion, Jim Jeffries, who was at the time training in the gym, tried
+him out there. Cooper, who often sparred with President Theodore
+Roosevelt in Washington, knew Barbour’s father well. He broached the
+subject of professionalism to him several times, but Warren’s dad
+wouldn’t think of such a move. He was purely an amateur at heart, a big
+financial supporter of amateur athletics.
+
+Jeffries, just back from a European trip, was soon to meet Johnson at
+Reno in the fateful battle which resulted so disastrously for the white
+man’s comeback stunt. Jeffries put in a week at Cooper’s place in New
+York City, loosening up a bit before starting a theatrical tour prior to
+going into regular training for Johnson.
+
+The Californian sparred several times with Barbour and was so impressed
+by the latter’s skill that Jeffries asked him to join his training camp
+on the Pacific Coast. The youth did not accept the invitation, but Jeff’s
+candid endorsement of Warren’s prowess naturally boomed his pugilistic
+stock higher than ever, and resulted in Charley White, “Old Eagle Eye,”
+dropping into the gym to look him over.
+
+Nationally famous as a referee and second, White was recognized
+universally as a keen, unerring judge of fistic material. When Charley
+first watched Barbour spar, he found it difficult to believe that the
+young fellow was not boxing for a living. His finished style, footwork,
+and ability to take a hard punch and deliver one, struck the veteran as
+being professional.
+
+It was on Cooper’s advice that Barbour decided to enter the amateur
+tournament in Boston. Jack got Charley White to handle the big chap as
+chief second. The newspapers there already had printed several stories
+about the New York lad. My friend “Doc” Almy of _The Boston Post_ dubbed
+him the “Millionaire Kid” and the moniker stuck. I represented my
+newspaper and spent four days with Barbour in the Hub.
+
+Mechanics Building was packed to capacity on the opening night of the
+tournament, with some seven thousand ardent fans anxious to see the much
+publicized New Yorker in action. On that occasion Barbour and Emory
+Payne drew byes. Kendall Salisbury of Massachusetts whipped the Canadian
+champion, and Joe Burke, of the same state, stopped Mullins of New York.
+
+On the second night, Burke and Payne came together. This was a fast
+slugging match which terminated in the second frame, when Burke, a
+bull-rushing Celt, hung a terrific right on his opponent’s jaw. Then
+Barbour ducked under the ropes to face New England’s champ, Kendall
+Salisbury.
+
+Somehow a sobriquet such as “Millionaire Kid” doesn’t make for popularity
+with a fight mob. Barbour hadn’t desired any ring alias of the kind, and
+wasn’t feeling any too grateful to Almy, who had conferred it on him.
+The crowd expected Salisbury to score an easy victory, and indulged in
+many rough jests and catcalls touching on the Manhattan boy’s possible
+ancestry and financial status. However, Warren kept his temper and only
+grinned. He wasn’t the type that’s easily flustered, anyway.
+
+“Keep this chap at long range and box him, don’t slug,” White told him.
+
+Barbour did just what he was told. His long left was perpetually in
+Salisbury’s face, which was badly cut up before the second round was
+over. Barbour jabbed his opponent to a near-standstill without sustaining
+any damage himself and was awarded the decision.
+
+But the big test for Barbour was yet to come. After fifteen minutes rest,
+he stepped into the ring with Burke, the wild Irishman of established
+kayo fame in the A.A.U.
+
+“Box this bird just like you did Salisbury till I tell you to cut loose,”
+said White. “When he tears in, sidestep and make him miss.”
+
+Again Barbour followed instructions to the letter. He stepped nimbly to
+the left as Burke rushed, swinging a futile right. His left counters kept
+Burke’s head bobbing back incessantly, and try as he might, the Celt
+could not get to close quarters with his elusive antagonist.
+
+But in the second round, Barbour failed to evade a buzzing right that
+nailed him flush on the chin and dropped him. In falling he caught Burke
+around the waist and pulled him down with him. Burke was up first, and
+Warren’s father and brother, watching from front row seats, must have
+felt more than a trifle anxious.
+
+Their misgivings were short-lived. Barbour, in response to a signal from
+White, had merely rested on one knee for a few seconds until his head
+cleared. It is at a time like this that a boxer shows if he has the real
+fighting instinct—the ability to keep cool under fire. That is every bit
+as essential to ring success as the ability to give and take it. There
+was nothing lacking in Barbour’s fighting make-up.
+
+When he regained his feet, Burke tore in madly. He was met by a jab that
+set him back to the ropes. Then the bell rang, just as a stinging left
+hook to the jaw made the Irishman’s knees buckle. Back in the corner
+White gave Barbour this advice in exultant tones:
+
+“You’ve got him loaded on your little red wagon now, boy. Go in an’ take
+him with both mitts!”
+
+The gong sent Barbour leaping forward like a springing leopard. Burke,
+always game, met him half-way, and they went into a furious mixup. Right
+and left the gloves whizzed, but the Celt was continually being beaten to
+the punch. Barbour’s left crashed on his chin and down went Burke.
+
+Up he staggered and ran into a short right that dropped him again. He
+arose weak and groggy. Barbour stabbed him off with a straight left,
+measured his man, and tagged a terrific right uppercut flush on the chin.
+Burke keeled over and fell face downward on the canvas. He was through
+for the night, nor did he regain consciousness for nearly ten minutes.
+
+The “Millionaire Kid” made good. The jeers that marked his first entry
+into the ring had changed to a storm of frantic applause which shook the
+building.
+
+The echoes of those wild cheers had not died away before Colonel William
+Barbour leaped through the ropes to congratulate his son. Later that
+night the proud father threw a party for the visiting New Yorkers at the
+Hotel Touraine, where there was much feasting and merriment, with Charley
+White, sage old fox of the squared circle, as master of ceremonies.
+
+The “Old Fox” tried hard enough to get Pa Barbour to let his son turn
+pro, but no amount of persuasion could turn the trick.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: 9]
+
+THE MICHIGAN ASSASSIN
+
+
+One of the greatest fighters of my time was the middleweight Stanley
+Ketchel.
+
+Talk to the veterans who followed the career of this fighting man during
+the height of his glory and they’ll tell you that Stanley Ketchel was the
+finest in his division. Unfortunately, I didn’t see him when he fought
+his memorable battles with Billy Papke and Joe Thomas, but I did cover
+most of his thrilling Eastern contests, and from what I saw in the two
+years in which he made the East his headquarters, I rate Ketchel the
+greatest middleweight of all time.
+
+Stanley was an unusual individual, wild and untamed one second, lovable
+the next; treacherous at times, and most amiable on other occasions. His
+frank, open eyes were soft, yet the moment he climbed through the ropes
+in pursuit of his prey, those eyes became the eyes of a killer. He
+always breathed through his nostrils and fought with his mouth tightly
+shut, a slight grin of contempt on his lips.
+
+Ketchel scorned the word retreat. Yet once his mission was over, and he
+either flattened his opponent or won the verdict, he was just one of
+the mob—a man full of fun and mischief. The memory of this spectacular
+ring gladiator has never faded. Those who saw him flash across the
+pugilistic firmament spoke of him with unwavering loyalty and admiration.
+The greatest praise that can be lavished upon a promising middleweight
+contender today by a sports critic is to rate him as another Stanley
+Ketchel.
+
+Few among the thousands of fistic heroes I’ve seen were more colorful
+than Ketchel. A demon of the roped square, he made his opponents think
+that all the furies in Hades had been turned loose on them. He got his
+punches away from all angles. If he missed an opponent with one hand, he
+would nail him with the other. He was as game as a bulldog and as tough
+as a bronco.
+
+His most prominent traits, I would say, were his generosity outside the
+ring and his utter relentlessness inside of it, his egotism and eternal
+confidence and faith in himself, his fearlessness and superb courage.
+Outside the ring he was the soul of generosity. He was a mark for the
+panhandlers, much like Jack Dempsey in that respect. However, he was also
+a jokester whose greatest joy was playing pranks on unsuspecting camp
+visitors who came to idolize him.
+
+When he was in New York, he would do his training in Woodlawn, not far
+from the entrance to the Woodlawn Cemetery. The adjoining territory at
+that time was wild, with tall grass, huge trees, and few houses within a
+radius of several miles. It was one of the undeveloped portions of the
+city, an ideal location for training.
+
+It was there that Ketchel took delight in luring sparring mates and
+other camp hangers-on for his well known snipe hunts. Usually, he would
+first make certain that he had the confidence of those he intended to
+lure into the woods by joking, story-telling, and card playing. Then,
+when he spotted his man, invariably the most talkative of the lot, he
+would nod and wink to the boys and politely ask them to accompany him to
+the training table where arrangements for the hunt were made.
+
+“How would you like to join me in a snipe hunt, tomorrow?” the champ
+would ask. “Snipe are game birds, exciting to catch.”
+
+What a silly query! The honor of supping with the great Michigan Assassin
+was glory in itself, but to stalk the woods in Ketchel’s company at night
+for the elusive snipe, that was an experience to be cherished.
+
+The next day, dinner over, the great hunt was on. We of the fourth
+estate would gather at the Inn to see the fun. A lone miner’s lantern
+was the only means of finding the trail through the woods. The victim
+was provided with a potato sack. Into this sack Ketchel and the scouts
+proposed to drive the wary snipes.
+
+A snipe potpie was to be the culmination of the hunt, and the victim was
+told that he must not permit the snipe to pass him on the trail once
+Ketchel and his aides started off for the birds. “A snipe,” said Stanley,
+“would never change his course after starting down the trail.”
+
+The snipe trail was found after a long skin-scratching jaunt through the
+briars, with a number of newspapermen trailing the leaders to add more
+realism to the affair.
+
+“Now you remain here and keep the mouth of the bag open right in the
+middle of the path,” said Ketchel to the poor victim. “The snipe will
+see the hole and run right into it. You just can’t miss them. From the
+chirping that is now going on in the brush, there should be several dozen
+of them on the loose tonight. Mind you now, stay on guard, keep the bag
+wide open and keep your eyes open. Be on the alert!”
+
+Ketchel would then pick up the lantern and accompanied by the scribes,
+hit the trail back to camp, leaving the snipe-snarer holding the bag.
+
+We’d return to Woodlawn Inn by a roundabout way and there Ketchel would
+start a card game lasting until midnight. Then, in a sympathetic tone,
+he’d remark that it was about time that the poor dupe in the woods was
+relieved of his burden. But instead of going back to him, his training
+staff would laugh it off and retire for the night, letting the chap in
+the wilds find his own way out of his predicament.
+
+The sniper would come to the inn during the wee small hours of the
+morning and find it closed for the night. Those gloomy darkened windows
+seemed to laugh down at him to tell him that he had been kidded. Usually
+Ketchel and his companions would never hear from the hunter again; that
+was one sure way of eliminating the pest from the camp. Occasionally,
+however, there would be some persistent fellow who would come back the
+next day and seek out the great middleweight.
+
+In the latter case, the victim would lament his ill-fortune, only to
+get a bawling out from Stanley for apparently “disobeying” his orders;
+Ketchel would tell him that because of his negligence in not doing
+what he was told, the hunters lost all the snipe. And that evening,
+immediately following dinner, out on the trail again would go the fighter
+and his pals to give the pest another little “ride.”
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+I first came to know Ketchel when he was introduced to me by Hype Igoe,
+then his manager as well as a famed cartoonist and boxing scribe for the
+New York _World_. I cherished the friendship that developed from that
+introduction and requested assignments to cover Ketchel’s fights in
+New York, Philadelphia, and Boston, including one of the most thrilling
+contests I’ve ever seen.
+
+In my years of covering the fight beat I’ve witnessed many exciting
+bouts, but not many offered such a variety of bitter, tornadic milling,
+rapid footwork and cleverness, as the fight between Ketchel and the
+celebrated light-heavyweight, Philadelphia Jack O’Brien.
+
+This classic battle was fought in an era when referees didn’t interfere
+as they do today, and when officials were more hard-hearted because
+they didn’t have to depend on boxing commissions for an assignment. It
+took place in the ring at Fiss, Doerr, and Carroll’s Horse Mart on East
+Twenty-fourth Street, near Lexington Avenue, in New York City. I went to
+report the fight, expecting O’Brien to be defeated rather easily, since
+he had fourteen years of ring activity behind him and had reached the age
+of thirty-one. Gloriously handsome and courageous, his opponent was a
+virile, young, bone-crushing puncher whose hitting power and relentlessly
+savage attack had earned him the _nom-de-guerre_ of “Michigan Assassin.”
+Nevertheless, I came away singing the praises of O’Brien, for his display
+of bulldog courage, consummate ringcraft, iron nerve, and Arctic coolness
+in time of crisis made him the hero of the evening.
+
+The fight was so thrilling, it sputtered and sparked with moments so
+tense that I could feel my heart beating in my throat from start to
+finish. O’Brien, with his old fighting head and heart, withstood the
+wolflike rushes of a slashing, ripping, tearing young opponent. Cunningly
+hiding his hurts, he bluffed Ketchel time and again into doing things he
+should have avoided.
+
+During the first seven rounds, O’Brien stood off most of Ketchel’s
+machine gun volleys by clever boxing. Many of the blows landed, but
+most of the damage was done by O’Brien. Ketchel believed he could whip
+anybody, regardless of weight, but he had never faced such astounding
+adroitness as was displayed by O’Brien that night. Philadelphia Jack
+chopped his opponent’s face up with powerful jabs for seven rounds until
+it was a blanket of blood.
+
+In the middle of the seventh round, Ketchel slowly dropped his powerful
+arms at his sides and, to our astonishment, took a deep breath as if
+preparing for a new life. Then came the unexpected. He went after his man
+and drove him from corner to corner. O’Brien, who was obviously slowing
+down, called upon all his skill, and yet he could not prevent Ketchel
+from reaching his body with cruel drives to the chest and heart. Just
+before the bell sounded, a right opened a deep gash over O’Brien’s eye.
+He took his punishment like a stoic, but every time he struck home an
+effective blow, Stanley would snort and snarl like a wounded animal and
+redouble his efforts.
+
+Throughout the eighth round, Jack tried every strategy of the ring game
+to postpone what seemed the inevitable end. At times he clinched and
+stalled, only to pull himself together and fight back viciously. But
+nothing could stop Ketchel. He kept coming on, bloody as a slaughterhouse
+killer.
+
+As the ninth round opened up, he drove a terrific belt to the pit of
+O’Brien’s stomach. Gasping for breath, Jack collapsed against the ropes.
+Few expected him to get to his feet, but he did. He immediately went into
+a clinch to save himself from a knockout. We all expected the worst, and
+we were not disappointed.
+
+Like a shark on the blood scent, Ketchel went after his opponent as the
+final round started. O’Brien, spent, exhausted, his body wracked with the
+pain of the last two sessions, gamely tried to put his usual spring in
+his steps as he faced the final assault. But the Michigan Assassin would
+give him no rest. Swinging left and right to the jaw, he dropped Jack
+for a short count. It was obvious from the look of pain on his face that
+O’Brien was being hurt dreadfully every time Ketchel landed a punch. Each
+blow seemed to rattle every bone in his body.
+
+It was apparent that Ketchel had been told he would have to score a
+knockout to win and he went after it. Every time he lashed out, O’Brien’s
+blood was spattered around the ringside. Again he put Jack down with a
+powerful stomach punch, and again the aging battler struggled to his feet
+before the referee could count him out.
+
+There were only twelve seconds to go and unless Ketchel could score with
+a kayo wallop, he’d lose the newspaper decision so far as the majority of
+the writers were concerned.
+
+He leaped forward. The seconds were waning. We all figured it was too
+late now for Stanley to make it. The bell would surely save Philadelphia
+Jack, despite those knock-downs.
+
+Eight seconds were left and then—the roof was blown off the arena as
+Ketchel drove both hands to the body and quickly followed with a swing
+to the jaw. The blow was so powerful it lifted Jack off-balance and sent
+him toppling back and down. His head bumped into the resin box in his own
+corner, which his handlers had forgotten to remove during the excitement
+of the previous round. As Jack’s head went into the resin box, the impact
+was sufficient to send him into unconsciousness. He was as inert as a
+stone. The bell clanged when referee Tim Hurst had reached the count of
+four and a brave battler was dragged to his chair.
+
+Did he win? Did he lose by a knockout?
+
+Confusion? Loads of it. The clock showed that O’Brien had been saved,
+since only four seconds had been counted when the fight ended. But the
+writers and spectators didn’t depend on that timepiece to settle such
+an all-important matter when thousands of dollars had been wagered on
+a kayo. As decisions were against the law in those days, additional
+interest was added to the arguments, pro and con, regarding the final
+status of the fight.
+
+The arguments continued well into the night and the sports desks of the
+various papers were flooded with calls. When the consensus in the morning
+and evening newspapers showed that the reporters present had declared
+O’Brien the winner by a shade, there was hell to pay from those who
+figured they had been unjustly deprived of their winnings. They simply
+couldn’t understand how the decision could be given to a man who had
+finished a fight stretched out on the canvas with his head resting in a
+pan.
+
+Never have I seen the duplicate of that classic ring battle—a no-decision
+affair in which it seemed that everybody wanted a verdict rendered.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+A few months before Ketchel was shot to death, I journeyed to Boston with
+Tad Dorgan, Wilson Mizner, Hype Igoe, Judge Kelly and George B. Underwood
+to see him fight Porky Flynn. The bout took place on May 17, 1910. Flynn
+wasn’t much of an opponent, although he outweighed the champion, but
+Stanley was offered a sizeable purse and accepted the match.
+
+Flynn didn’t last any longer than expected, going down before Ketchel’s
+terrible fists in the third round. But before the men had entered the
+ring, Stanley had become involved in a discussion with a wealthy Boston
+sport who was backing Flynn. The Bostonian sneered at Ketchel’s ego after
+hearing the champion boast of what he intended to do to the local entry.
+Stanley got mad.
+
+“Now look here, you pretend to be a sport, don’t you?” he snapped. “Well,
+I’ll just bet you a thousand dollars, even money, or any odds you want,
+that I’ll knock Flynn out inside of four rounds. There’s a chance for
+you to back your opinion.”
+
+It looked like easy money to the sport and he accepted the bet. After
+Ketchel had knocked Flynn out in the third round, he went over to the
+loser’s corner, grabbed up the bucket of water and dashed the entire
+contents over the prostrate fighter. Then, turning to Porky’s backer
+sitting at the ringside, Ketchel shouted derisively:
+
+“There’s your man! Fork over that thousand.”
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Ten days later Ketchel defeated the Gas House pride, Willie Lewis,
+at the National Sporting Club in New York City. Both men conformed
+to championship weight requirements, Stanley tipping the beam at 156
+and Lewis at 154. Despite his defeat at the hands of Papke, Lewis
+had an opinion—almost an obsession—that he could whip Ketchel. He
+freely predicted that one of his wallops to the jaw would transfer the
+middleweight title, though the bout was scheduled as a no-decision affair.
+
+The sporting public didn’t share Willie’s confidence in himself. The
+night of the fight there was a huge gathering in the Club, but the crowd
+came more to see Stanley in action than with the thought that they would
+see the championship change hands.
+
+Ketchel appeared drawn and tired as he entered the ring, while Lewis
+seemed to be in the pink of condition. The bout was scheduled for ten
+rounds and Tom O’Rourke was the referee.
+
+The first round was very tame, each man trying to feel the other out.
+Willie was plainly scared of Ketchel’s smashing right and the crowd
+yelled for action.
+
+In the second, after Lewis had put three punches to the head, the
+champion decided it was time to open up. The men mixed it for a few
+seconds and then suddenly Stanley’s famous sleep prescription—that
+terrible right swing—was applied to Willie’s jaw at the point where it
+would do most good. Lewis went down as if he had been shot and was unable
+to move a muscle for more than two minutes. When he finally revived
+sufficiently to be helped from the ring, he cried like a baby.
+
+After the fight, Ketchel went to his dressing room and hurriedly slipped
+his trousers and sweater on over his fighting togs. Then, along with
+Toby, the hunchback who always accompanied him, “Pete the Goat,” his
+chief handler, and several newspapermen, he jumped into his big red auto
+and whirled down to Luchow’s Restaurant on East Fourteenth Street, a
+popular eating place of the period. There he bought a keg of imported
+beer and several cases of champagne, and then the whole party, including
+Igoe, Underwood and myself, started for the champion’s training quarters
+at Woodlawn.
+
+We drove up through Central Park and continued on up Seventh Avenue.
+There was a fire in the neighborhood that night and the fire lines were
+extended across the thoroughfare. That didn’t stop Ketchel. He slammed
+through the lines. A motorcycle policeman speedily went into action, but
+Ketchel’s car had covered seven blocks before the bluecoat caught up with
+us. A rough session followed.
+
+When Stanley tried to get the car in motion again, the cop threatened
+him. We were expecting a free-for-all when Underwood and I flashed our
+police cards and explained to the officer that Ketchel had just stopped
+Willie Lewis and was eager to get back to his training quarters at
+Woodlawn.
+
+“I know Ketchel,” the cop said rather gruffly. “What are you trying to
+put over on me?”
+
+It required considerable proof before the officer would be convinced,
+but when he was, instead of arresting us for violating the fire laws, he
+paved the way for Ketchel’s party for about a mile, and then, with a
+hearty handshake, bid Stanley good night.
+
+Arriving at the Inn some time after midnight, the champion aroused the
+occupants and set up the drinks and a fine supper. He even sent “Pete
+the Goat” and Toby clear up to Yonkers to drag the bartender out of
+bed and down to the Inn to help the celebration by playing the violin.
+Unfortunately, the bartender could play only two tunes—“The Wearing O’
+The Green” and “Where The River Shannon Flows”—and these he repeated over
+and over again.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Ketchel was superstitious and believed in signs. If someone threw a hat
+on his bed or opened an umbrella in the camp quarters, he’d throw a fit.
+He invariably made it a point to shake hands with all his seconds before
+the bell sounded to start a fight, and “Pete the Goat” was always the
+last one whose hand he’d grasp. Old timers will remember little Toby.
+Stanley wouldn’t go into the ring unless Toby was in the building and
+somewhere near his corner.
+
+Although a man of whims, Ketchel made friends easily. He was bashful to
+an extraordinary degree—almost, at times, to the point of timidity. In
+conversation with newly arrived writers or visitors to his camp, he would
+speak in monosyllables, but once he became thoroughly acquainted, he was
+one of the gang. The transformation was almost electric.
+
+He never wasted time on press agents, nor did he make any reservations as
+to the color, weight or reputation of his opponents. He was ever ready
+to meet all comers, yet his lazy, easy-going way of pulling away from a
+punch, and the fact that his handsome features were unmarred to the end
+of his days, was proof that his opponents didn’t hit him as often as they
+appeared to.
+
+Stories have been written about Ketchel’s lack of nerve. I wish that the
+fellow who started that canard could have been in his camp on the day
+or night before a fight, for this ordinarily good-natured and frolicsome
+man would become as sour and crabbed as a wounded grizzly bear. All of
+us took great pains to keep out of his way, for he would have a fit of
+temper at the least provocation.
+
+All stone and ice and concentration when he entered the ring, Ketchel was
+as cross as a sick old woman in the few hours leading up to fight time.
+Nevertheless, I always enjoyed his company. He was a great fighter—the
+greatest middleweight I have ever seen in ring action—and his untimely
+death by gunfire at the hands of Walter Dipley at the age of twenty-four
+was a heavy loss to boxing.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: 10]
+
+JACK JOHNSON
+
+
+The year was 1910.
+
+Jack Johnson had defeated James J. Jeffries to retain the world
+heavyweight championship. The cry for a “white hope” to dethrone the
+Negro king was now greater than ever.
+
+Jack Johnson remained for a short time in Reno, where I saw him stop
+Jeffries, and then went on to Chicago, where he was the center of a wild
+reception. I was told to stay with Johnson until his arrival in New York,
+where the police feared a race riot would make things very uncomfortable
+for all concerned.
+
+I shall never forget the sight that greeted us in New York: Thousands of
+Negroes crowded the streets, parading, shouting, shooting off fireworks,
+and carrying on in hilarious fashion. They were celebrating a Roman
+holiday. It seemed to the police that the Negroes were hell bent for
+trouble and they took every precaution to prevent it. There were some
+fist fights, but the anticipated disorder on a large scale was missing in
+contrast to the street riots which Johnson’s triumph over Jeffries caused
+in other cities.
+
+When I arrived in Buffalo on the Jack Johnson Special, a throng
+surrounded the car where Johnson was standing on the platform. A backfire
+from an automobile brought speedy action by the police who had mistaken
+the backfire for gunfire. We all made a dive into the club car, and when
+we learned what had actually taken place, Johnson, with his broad grin,
+returned to the platform to greet the cheering gathering. It was so
+unlike what we had expected!
+
+From Birmingham down to the Grand Central Station, it was one grand
+ovation after another at each station stop. When we reached New York,
+the crowd was so dense the police had difficulty clearing a path for the
+homecoming party to get to the cars.
+
+The reception that Johnson received at the station was nothing compared
+to the gigantic ovation that awaited him in Herald Square when he reached
+Baron Wilkes’ Hotel, a rendezvous for the colored sports folk of the
+big city. Thousands blocked the square. It was with the greatest effort
+that the conquering hero of the Negro race was finally able to make an
+entrance into his hotel headquarters where his wife, Ruth Cameron, was
+living.
+
+Many white folk crowded the banquet room and no one was molested. It was
+a good natured gathering for the most part.
+
+Johnson and I were good friends. He had promised me an exclusive
+interview, and he asked me to accompany him to his suite. There, when
+asked to comment on the stories that his victory had stimulated race
+riots throughout the country, he remarked:
+
+“Nat, why should they bring in the black race against the white race in
+athletics? I licked Tommy Burns fairly. I did the same in my fight with
+Jeffries. My battle with Jeffries was not a contest between a black man
+and a white man, but between two boxers who were out to establish their
+right to the heavyweight championship of the world, a right I claimed and
+Jeffries disputed. I beat him and now the matter is settled.”
+
+The interview was suddenly interrupted by Mrs. Johnson’s emergence from
+the bathroom. She had been preparing for the evening’s celebration and,
+having no idea that Jack was entertaining a guest in the living room, was
+completely nude.
+
+Thinking that her husband, who was rumored to be having difficulties
+with his white wife, had purposely brought a white man into the room
+to embarrass her, she let loose with a violent tirade. Jack tried to
+explain, but was cut short when his wife, her eyes blazing menacingly,
+raised a chair. Discretion being the better part of valor, this seemed to
+both of us the propitious moment to leave.
+
+The chair caught Jack in the center of the back as we raced down the
+stairs with her curses flooding after us. I never did finish that
+interview, though I was fortunate to have gathered sufficient data during
+our long trip home from Chicago to write the story.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Johnson was one of the brainiest fighters I have ever known. He knew
+boxing and was always able to give reasons for his opinions. I remember
+sitting with him in his Reno hotel after the Jeffries fight and asking
+him the reason for Jeff’s downfall.
+
+“Well, it’s like this, Nat,” he said, standing up and throwing himself
+into fighting pose to demonstrate. “I think it was the blow that closed
+Jeff’s left eye that started him on his downfall.
+
+“You see, I led and drew him out like this. He thought I would come back
+with my right hand, but I crossed over and shot a strong uppercut to his
+chin with my left—like this. I think that’s good ring strategy, although
+I say it myself, and it certainly won the fight for me and lost it for
+Jeff.”
+
+When Jack was fighting his way to the top, he had to struggle against a
+field that contained some of the greatest names in the history of the
+heavyweight division. The period between 1905 and 1910 produced four
+great colored fighters: Jack Johnson, Sam Langford, Joe Jeannette and Sam
+McVey. There really wasn’t a white man who could be classed with this
+dusky quartet, and that was the real reason why Jim Jeffries retired.
+
+The toughest opponents Jack faced in his rise to the championship were
+men of his own color. Among those whom he had to conquer were Hank
+Griffin, Denver Ed Martin, McVey, Langford, and Jeannette—each as tough
+as ebony, clever, and crushing punchers.
+
+Some of the most thrilling contests I witnessed during the past half
+century were between Negroes. There was a lot of jealousy among the Negro
+heavyweights, for each believed himself to be the best in the world.
+
+Johnson defeated Sam McVey three times, each contest being over the
+twenty-round route. He clashed with Joe Jeannette six times, boxing four
+no-decision bouts, losing once on a foul, and beating Joe over fifteen
+rounds.
+
+Johnson and Sam Langford met but once in the ring, and that famous mill,
+like the Tunney-Dempsey fight in Chicago, and the Firpo-Dempsey clash,
+has come up for discussion time and again.
+
+They fought at Chelsea, Massachusetts, and Jack was declared the winner
+after fifteen rounds. Langford’s supporters claimed that Sam almost had
+Jack out, but Jack’s adherents said that Langford took the worst beating
+of his career.
+
+Joe Woodman, Sambo’s manager, stated after the fight that Langford
+floored Johnson with a right uppercut, but if you wanted to get Jack’s
+goat, you had only to repeat that statement in his presence.
+
+Jack Johnson often came to see me, and I sometimes pulled his leg about
+the Langford fight until he was ready to tear the roof down. Once after I
+had kidded him, he turned on me almost in tears.
+
+“Listen, Nat, please don’t say that,” he pleaded. “Say anything you want
+about me. Call me a quitter. Call me the worst fighter you’ve ever seen,
+but please don’t say that Langford dropped me or even gave me a tough
+fight.”
+
+Dad Phillips, my father-in-law, an octogenarian whose knowledge of
+boxing I’d pit against that of any man, was in my office and he listened
+attentively to Johnson’s plea. When Jack had finished, Dad, who had seen
+the fight, agreed with Johnson. His version of the battle as he related
+it to me made Johnson quite happy. Here’s what Dad said:
+
+“Jack Johnson decisively defeated Sam Langford. He was complete master of
+the situation. Jack so far outclassed Langford that for a time, until he
+purposely eased up on his onslaughts, the fight was one-sided.
+
+“Langford was dropped twice for counts of nine, and he would have been
+out the first time if referee Martin Flaherty had not slowed up the
+count. At the end of the fight Sam had to be taken to a hospital.
+
+“As for Langford dropping Johnson, that’s absurd. Why, he couldn’t land
+on Jack.”
+
+A few days later I cornered Joe Woodman, who handled Sam in that fight.
+
+“Look here, Joe,” I said, “whatever you did years ago when Langford was
+in need of publicity is okay with me. But now that Sam is out of the
+picture, I’d appreciate the low-down on that knock-down which you said
+that Sam scored over Jack.”
+
+“It’s true, all right, Nat,” was all Joe would say.
+
+Several weeks passed and Woodman again came into my office to introduce
+to me a new heavyweight, who shuffled uneasily as he listened to the
+following conversation.
+
+“Nat,” said Joe Woodman, “I’d very much appreciate it if you would run a
+story and picture of this lad. He’s a good boy, but needs some publicity.”
+
+“Gladly,” I replied, “but on one condition, Joe—that you tell me here and
+now the true story of that alleged knock-down in the Johnson-Langford
+fight. I’ve been flooded with letters about it, and Dad Phillips, who saw
+the fight, tells me you’re all wrong about it. Now you’ve got to tell me
+the truth if you want any help from me.”
+
+Joe chuckled.
+
+“You’ve got me, Nat,” he replied, “Langford never dropped Johnson. But I
+was anxious to fix up another fight between the two and knowing Jack’s
+pride, I invented the story of that knock-down to goad him into the ring
+against Sam again.”
+
+“Although it never happened, all the newspapermen believed it. They
+just never took the trouble to investigate. That knock-down was just a
+publicity gimmick.”
+
+So, here was the truth at last! Shrewd Joe Woodman not only disposed of
+Langford’s alleged knock-down, but ended the canard that had upset Jack
+Johnson whenever the topic was discussed.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Had I followed the advice of Johnson when I was making my choice in
+the first fight between Max Schmeling and Joe Louis, I would have
+picked the winner. Johnson, during the trips he made with me to Louis’s
+camp, repeatedly called my attention and that of other scribes to the
+fighting flaws that could easily cause the downfall of the rising young
+heavyweight sensation when he faced such a sharp, powerful hitter as
+Schmeling. On several occasions he stripped for action in my office,
+and before friendly newspapermen, he went through maneuvers to prove his
+contention.
+
+Johnson pointed out that Joe had his body slightly twisted when he
+faced an opponent so that if he missed his left, he was wide open for a
+counter punch. “He’s always off balance,” said Jack. “I’ve seen him hit
+frequently this way by sucker blows. A clever boxer who hits like the
+German can knock Louis down and might even knock him out. To avoid this,
+Louis has got to change his stance.”
+
+I published a story in _The Ring_ giving Johnson’s views, and so did
+Hype Igoe in the New York _Journal_. And to add spice to my daily radio
+program on boxing, I took Johnson to station WNEW the following evening
+and there he repeated his opinion about Louis’s faults and gave his
+opinion of the way a clever, hard-hitting right-hand sharpshooter could
+stop the Brown Bomber.
+
+What happened in the Louis-Schmeling first fight is ring history. Jack
+Johnson was vindicated. His preview of that contest was so accurate as to
+be almost uncanny, for every mistake Louis made was called in advance by
+Johnson on my sports program and in my office before newspapermen.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: 11]
+
+A BLACK OMEN
+
+
+Jack Johnson was in trouble with the United States Government. He had
+been indicted for violation of the Mann Act and had fled to Europe to
+avoid incarceration.
+
+The search was on for a “white hope” to relieve Johnson of his
+heavyweight crown. From every part of the world big, husky, burly men
+were brought to America in the hope that they would meet the requirements
+and bring back the championship to the Caucasian race. Some of these had
+a knowledge of boxing, while others, drawn mostly from farms, lumber
+camps, and crowded cities, were at least willing to give it a try.
+
+The best of a select gathering was Luther McCarty, but he died tragically
+while boxing Arthur Pelkey in Calgary, Canada. The one outstanding
+remaining heavyweight was Big Jess Willard, who was known as the
+Pottowatomie Giant. Brawny and powerful, this six-foot five-inch
+cowboy had defeated Gunboat Smith and Boer Rodel, had knocked out Bull
+Young, who had died shortly after from his punishment, and had fought
+no-decision bouts with Pelkey, Carl Morris and McCarty.
+
+Jack Curley, a famous promoter and manager, backed by Harry Frazee, a
+theatrical producer, conceived the idea to pit Willard against Johnson.
+He was confident that Big Jess could wrest the title from the Negro and
+after considerable difficulties with the laws of Mexico, our country and
+Cuba, he finally succeeded in overcoming all obstacles, and the contest
+was booked for the Marianao Race Track near Havana, Cuba.
+
+I was about to take my annual vacation. From 1909 through 1914, I had
+visited the Pearl of the Antilles nine times. I loved to visit the
+Island, had many friends there, and invariably paid my expenses by
+writing baseball and boxing articles for _El Mundo_. Naturally, I was
+delighted to learn that the heavyweight championship would be decided
+there. I had no trouble convincing Jim Price, sports editor of my paper,
+that the assignment to cover the battle belonged to me.
+
+I left New York a fortnight before Willard and his trainer, Tex O’Rourke
+arrived, and set myself up at the Palace Hotel which Johnson made his
+Havana headquarters. Jack and I had been friends for many years. He
+was an arrogant man, but I liked him despite the many bad marks he had
+against him. However, I felt that the easy life he had led, his carousing
+in France and Argentina, had softened him and that Willard, if in
+condition, should emerge a winner.
+
+“You’ll have to work like a beaver to get into physical condition, Jack,
+Willard is no slouch,” I told him.
+
+He laughed this off. He hadn’t done any training for a long time, and he
+figured he didn’t have to do much for Willard.
+
+What happened later proved the fallacy of his contention. He lost the
+title, but there is more to the story of that defeat than Johnson s
+overconfidence or lack of training. There was the Black Omen.
+
+They called Johnson the Black Colossus. He stood astride the boxing world
+and sliced the opposition to ribbons. With the exception of Jack Dempsey,
+he gave me more thrills than any fighter I saw in half a century at the
+ringside. In fact, I rank the burly Negro as the best heavyweight of all
+time. Just look at the procession of top heavyweights he whipped—Jack
+O’Brien, Tony Ross, Al Kaufman, Jim Flynn, Frank Moran, and James
+Jeffries, among others.
+
+But when the leading “white hope,” Willard, was booked as his opponent,
+I felt confident that here was the man who would upset the applecart.
+Not that he was a great fighter by any means; but because wine and women
+had taken their toll and had left the Galveston Giant at the mercy of
+the first Caucasian heavyweight who could condition himself to last more
+than fifteen rounds. No matter how poorly primed Jack was to face top
+opposition at the time, he still was good enough to make a “monkey” out
+of any of the “white hopes” for at least fifteen frames. His mastery
+of ring science, his ability to block, counter, and feint, are still
+unexcelled.
+
+The initial odds were four to one on Johnson. But when the Cubans watched
+him at his training camp, the odds took a tumble.
+
+So when Tex O’Rourke, Willard and his retinue reached Cuba, I decided
+to spend most of my time with Jess. He was the big story. The public in
+America was more interested in him. They wanted to know how he shaped up
+for the big test, what his mental attitude was, his general demeanor,
+and the progress he was making. It was my job to see that our readers
+received the information, and it was while out with Jess and O’Rourke
+that I got a scoop that hit the headlines.
+
+Willard was a mountain of a man, 6 feet 5 inches tall and 260 pounds in
+weight. Yet he had two failings—his right fist lacked snap, and his legs,
+though well proportioned for his massive body, tired too quickly.
+
+For weeks his trainer had made the challenger run miles every day over
+the roughest going he could find. By the time Willard reached Havana
+his legs had been greatly strengthened and his wind was perfect. He was
+bronzed as an Indian and supremely confident. In terms of endurance, he
+was a match for any man alive.
+
+Yet two days before the fight, I saw a dramatic, sickening change in him.
+He became morose and restless. O’Rourke put down Jess’s ugly mood to
+prefight nerves—a condition that frequently is found in pugilists when
+the time for their combat approaches.
+
+Then fate stepped in in the form of a black duck, and the brave,
+gale-tossed bird won the world title for Jess!
+
+On the morning of the fight, Willard, O’Rourke, and I were strolling
+along the Malecon, the Havana thoroughfare bordering on the ocean. We
+stopped by the sea wall and Jess looked gloomily across the waves.
+
+O’Rourke’s face was lined with despair. I knew what was bothering the
+trainer. Only a few hours to the battle for the world crown, and here was
+the challenger behaving like a sulky child!
+
+Suddenly a spot appeared in the distant sky. It proved to be a black
+duck, flying from the direction of the Florida coast, many miles away. It
+had lost its way and was seeking a place to rest.
+
+Bravely it flew against a half gale with huge seas pounding below. Twice,
+with wearily flapping wings, it sank to the waves. Each time it made a
+frantic effort to rise again.
+
+Spent and almost exhausted, the bird cleared the breakwater, grazed the
+huge sea wall, flew about 50 feet upward, then like a stone, fell almost
+at Jess’s feet.
+
+Gently the giant picked up the gallant, feathered fighter. Tenderly,
+like a mother nursing her ailing child, he held the duck to his breast.
+But in a few seconds the bird’s heart stopped beating. It had made its
+landfall, and had perished in the attempt.
+
+Jess stood there, silent and motionless, stroking the sea-drenched
+feathers, as though his caresses would restore the bird to life.
+
+He looked at O’Rourke and said softly, “See how black and glossy his
+feathers are, Tex? Too bad he had to hand in his check just as he reached
+the end of the trail. What a game bird!”
+
+Sunk in moody thought, Willard went on stroking the dead bird. As we
+watched in amazement, we saw him change. His eyes brightened, his broad
+back straightened. He turned to O’Rourke, slapped him on the back and
+grinned.
+
+And with the old brightness back, he cried, “I’ll knock Johnson cuckoo.
+Tonight I’ll be the world heavyweight champion. This bird has shown me
+something.”
+
+He wrapped up the duck in a newspaper to take it back to his hotel.
+
+“Sure you’re going to win, Jess,” agreed the trainer. “That’s what I’ve
+been telling you all along. What made you think otherwise?”
+
+“Sure I’m going to win,” Willard repeated.
+
+“Could there be a better omen for me than this poor bird? That duck
+flew a long way—right from Florida. He flopped at my feet. And this is
+how I now see it. The fight’s going to be a long one and a hard one for
+Johnson. But at the end the champion is going to drop at my feet just
+like this black duck did.”
+
+And so, with head held high, with springy confident steps, and carrying
+the bird under his arm, Jess walked back to the hotel, where he had the
+gallant battler buried in the garden.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The sun came down with blistering, blinding heat as Johnson and Willard
+stepped into the Havana Racetrack Arena that day.
+
+Jess had his instructions. O’Rourke’s plan of campaign had been drawn
+up weeks before. He knew that Johnson was banking on an early knockout,
+so he told Willard to play safe for the first eight rounds and let the
+Negro carry the fight to him. After that it was up to Jess to try to wear
+Johnson down.
+
+Tex figured that by the fifteenth round Johnson would have shot his bolt.
+Then Jess could open up and carry the battle to the tiring champion.
+
+The gong went. Johnson slid lithely from his seat and attacked with the
+ferocity of a hungry tiger. Bobbing and weaving before the huge Willard,
+the whites of Jack’s eyes showed as he looked for an opening.
+
+Twice he threw shuddering left hooks, but Jess was fighting according to
+instructions and caught the blows on his arms, slowly backing away all
+the time.
+
+Jack feinted with a left and crossed with a right, and the punch smashed
+home on his rival’s jaw. Jess quivered for a moment, then backed up. He
+stabbed long lefts, but Johnson brushed these aside and continued his
+attack. The bell rang, and Jess had weathered the opening round.
+
+From the second round onward, Johnson cut loose with cold, savage fury
+that punished Jess despite his strategy. Willard’s defense was good, but
+he didn’t do too much on the attack until well past half the fight. He
+was following O’Rourke’s instructions to let Johnson wear himself out.
+
+Several times it appeared that Johnson would score a knockout as the
+giant Negro kept tossing his punches accurately and to vital points. Near
+the end of the seventh round, a shattering blow to the jaw sent Jess to
+his corner in a noticeably unsteady condition.
+
+He quickly recovered, but Johnson, still sensing an early kill, went
+after his man with added fury in the eighth round. Savagely mauled, Jess
+fought on, though his face was gory and his body red. Yet his heart, like
+that of the black duck that had flown from the Florida coast upheld him.
+Like that black duck, he aimed toward his goal.
+
+Johnson tried hard for the knockout through the next few rounds, but
+without success. After the sixteenth, the pattern of the fight began to
+change. Jack started to slow down, while Jess kept climbing—again, like
+the duck reaching for heights after striking the heavy sea waves.
+
+From the eighteenth round on, I felt certain that Johnson knew his title
+had gone. It was then that Willard went on the offensive.
+
+In the twentieth round, O’Rourke told Jess to go in for the kill.
+
+“You’ve got him licked,” the trainer urged. “He’s tiring. Keep at him.
+Don’t give him any rest.”
+
+The tables were now completely turned. Willard bore down on the champion,
+battering him with both hands. But Johnson’s defense was superb. Even
+when he was at the end of his tether, and Jess couldn’t miss, he
+continued to make a fight of it.
+
+In the twenty-sixth round, Johnson dropped his guard momentarily, and
+Jess shot a right-hander under the heart. Johnson winced. His mouth
+opened, his arms twitched upwards convulsively, and he started sinking to
+the canvas when a left to the jaw hurried him on his losing fall.
+
+There was no need for the second blow. The right-hander to the heart had
+done the job. Jess was the new heavyweight champion of the world—the
+first white man to hold the title for nearly seven years.
+
+And it was at that moment, as Johnson took the count, that one of the
+greatest controversies in the fight game began.
+
+Months afterwards, Johnson said that he had faked the fight because
+he had been promised that if he lost the title to Willard the charge
+against him of transporting a woman across the state lines for immoral
+purposes would be dropped. The photo of him lying on the canvas with his
+arms over his face seemed to support this explanation, and many persons
+jumped to the conclusion that he was shielding his eyes from the sun! But
+the truth is that Johnson made the statement to alibi himself.
+
+I have six photographs of that knockout and in each Johnson’s eyes are
+exposed to the full glare of the sun.
+
+When a fight is “arranged,” the man who is taking the dive doesn’t fight
+for twenty-six rounds and break his rival’s ribs and jaw in the bargain,
+as Johnson had done to Willard!
+
+I saw O’Rourke back in the dressing room. The trainer was all smiles.
+“Nat,” he said, “that black duck turned the trick. It won the title for
+Jess.”
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: 12]
+
+BOXING’S HARLEQUIN
+
+
+Before he paid us the doubtful compliment of becoming our guest in the
+middle 1920’s, Louis Phal—to give Battling Siki his real name—made France
+too hot to hold him.
+
+They put the singular Senegalese in a set-up against Georges Carpentier
+in a Paris ring, and he ruined all the schemes of the wise guys by
+knocking the Orchid Kid cold, after treating the horrified spectators to
+an exhibition of jungle frenzy.
+
+Then, with the light-heavyweight crown on his fuzzy head, he became the
+pugilistic King Kong of the Paris boulevards, fighting and brawling on
+the sidewalks of that city until the gendarmes warned him that if he
+didn’t mend his ways he’d be lynched.
+
+He had been brought from his native Senegal as a servant by a Caucasian
+woman of high degree, who probably thought him amusing, for he was a
+quaint black fellow with an extreme sense of humor.
+
+The trouble was that neither the gendarmes nor the citizens of Paris,
+especially women, could appreciate his jokes. And there was a sigh of
+relief when Mike McTigue took the light-heavyweight title from him after
+a fight in Dublin on St. Patrick’s Day.
+
+The decision was a questionable one, but nobody bothered about that; Mike
+put up a marvellous defensive fight against the black barbarian, who, at
+one point in the proceedings, turned away from McTigue and threatened to
+jump out of the ring and murder Georges Carpentier, who was sitting at
+the ringside taunting the Senegalese.
+
+Siki entered the United States quietly. Most fight fans didn’t know much
+about him, except that he could hit hard and take a lot of punishment. He
+was a fighter of the dock variety, and when he rolled his eyes he looked
+terrifying.
+
+He was as black as coal and had a thick ruffle of kinky black hair on his
+head. The American “sports” forgot all about his European reputation and
+gave him a good hand. They enjoyed his style and his antics, and he in
+turn enjoyed the attention he received in the States.
+
+I had heard many strange stories about the Singular Senegalese, as he was
+nicknamed. I learned that he drank like a fish and was an ugly customer
+when in his cups. I was told, before he reached America, that he wore
+evening dress all through the day and paraded the streets with a monkey
+on his shoulder. When he arrived in New York, I decided to meet him
+personally and find out all I could for myself.
+
+All the rumors were confirmed to my satisfaction the afternoon I came
+upon this extraordinary man directing traffic with his cane in the middle
+of 42nd Street and Broadway.
+
+He was dressed in formal evening clothes, with a flowing French cape
+lined with purple satin. He wore bright red gloves and gray suede shoes.
+
+A laughing crowd surrounded him. Soon the police officer, none other
+than big Pat McDonald, the Olympic hammer thrower, came along to inquire
+the cause of the traffic hold-up and the reason for the gathering. As he
+approached the fantastic Negro, Siki took off his high silk topper, bowed
+in ceremonial French style, and extended his big hand in greeting.
+
+Pat McDonald had a sense of humor. He lifted his cap, bowed in return,
+and took Siki’s outstretched hand. At that moment a monkey leaped from
+under the Senegalese’s cape to the head of the officer.
+
+There was a shriek from the crowd as McDonald almost collapsed. But he
+quickly recovered himself and caught Siki by the collar, bustling him
+away. After that, I no longer doubted the stories of his pranks.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Siki was matched to fight Paul Berlenbach. I went to the weigh-in and
+decided that Paul would win—if he could keep his nerve. Paul was a great
+fighter and was not likely to be intimidated by this imitation King Kong.
+
+Just after the weigh-in, I ran into Siki outside his apartment. He was
+giving the monkey an airing and was in a playful mood. He sauntered up
+and down the avenue, followed by a large crowd, strutting like a peacock.
+
+Suddenly he turned and said something to the monkey in French. It leaped
+instantly on the back of a woman in the crowd. With a shriek, the woman
+fainted. Siki stood grinning like an ape, but the crowd began to murmur
+angrily. A man out of the gathering ran towards him. The Senegalese
+backed away, but just at that moment a policeman came along. When he saw
+the cause of the trouble he whipped out his blackjack.
+
+“What are you doing with that scarecrow around here?” he demanded of
+Siki. “You come along with me. You’re taking too many liberties.”
+
+The officer asked the woman, who had now recovered, if she would press a
+charge of disorderly conduct against the Negro. Before she could decide,
+Siki shouted excitedly, “Eet is not my fault, gendarme, eef my monkee, he
+likes charming ladees!”
+
+Everybody laughed, including the policeman, and the incident was closed
+without further trouble.
+
+But that night I sat at the ringside and saw the primitive Siki take
+a terrible beating from Paul Berlenbach. For nine rounds he was a
+punching-bag for the skillful, hard-hitting German-American.
+
+Heavens, how Siki took it! From the first round he rolled his eyes and
+snorted as if trying to terrify “Punching Paul”; but before the seventh
+session the Senegalese had taken so much punishment that his eyes rolled
+in agony. It was really a horrible exhibition of boxing, for Siki had
+only the crudest idea of defense, and was helpless against the crushing
+avalanche of blows which Berlenbach rained upon him.
+
+In the eighth round Paul worked the Negro against the ropes just in front
+of me, and bombarded him with paralyzing rights and lefts to the head.
+As blow after blow smashed home, rocking Siki on his heels, I began to
+wonder what had happened to the human fury that had battered Carpentier
+into insensibility. Now the roles were reversed.
+
+I have seldom seen more tigerish energy than Paul packed into his work
+that night. Perhaps Siki was only half-human. At any rate, he took it
+until the middle of the tenth round, when Berlenbach, punching with
+lightning speed, shot home a bone-crushing right to the jaw.
+
+Siki fell forward on his face, as if a bullet had struck him, and was
+counted out. That was his last fight in the ring. Siki nearly succeeded
+in driving his manager, the genial Papa Levy, insane, with his antics.
+There’s an extraordinary story connected with the Senegalese’s fight with
+Battling Norfolk, in Memphis, Tennessee, a bout which I witnessed.
+
+Siki and Levy arrived in the southern city four days before the contest.
+There was nobody to meet them at the station, and no announcement of
+their arrival was made in the newspapers.
+
+“Why my name no in zee papers?” asked Siki after scanning the local
+sheets.
+
+Levy explained that in Memphis there was no publicity for colored
+performers, owing to the Southern prejudice against Negroes.
+
+Siki became unruly. He was like a wild man. At that time, the song, “Yes,
+We Have No Bananas,” was all the rage, and it gave Siki an idea.
+
+He bought an enormous bunch of bananas, walked through the streets
+singing the song, and tossing the fruit to the passersby. He could sing
+quite well and attracted considerable attention. Within a few minutes a
+crowd was following him. Two mounted policemen approached him. One yanked
+Siki by the collar and hauled him to the police station. Siki made the
+front pages, which he apparently set out to do—and filled the fight arena
+the next day.
+
+Back in New York he was soon up to his old tricks, squirting water from a
+handgun at people on the streets, throwing handfuls of money to crowds,
+and scattering bags of peanuts among the masses on Broadway.
+
+The police warned him, but he answered, “Nobody hurt Siki. All lika Siki.
+Siki him have good heart. Siki help everybody.”
+
+One night he was picked up almost at the point of death in one of the
+toughest districts in New York. He had been stabbed. He was taken to the
+French Hospital, and a young reporter called the next morning to get a
+story. Siki leaped out of bed and, clad only in his pajamas, slung the
+reporter over his shoulder and ran out into the street.
+
+Hailing a taxi, he dropped the reporter into the gutter and drove home.
+
+Soon he was up to his usual tricks again, but his enemies were closing
+in. One night he walked into a night club drunk, and began to smash it
+up. The next morning he was found in the street with an ice-pick driven
+into his chest. The police arrested his assailant, but Siki refused to
+press the charge.
+
+His time was short now; the curtain was about to ring down. On a winter’s
+night, when gales of icy wind whipped the narrow canyons of Hell’s
+Kitchen, two men lurked in the shadows. It was just past midnight, and
+the street was deserted by all who valued their lives.
+
+Siki entered the street muffled in a heavy overcoat. He was unsteady on
+his feet and sang snatches of songs. Suddenly two automatics barked, and
+the Senegalese pitched forward—dead. They found him the next morning
+where he had fallen, and within an hour he made the front pages of the
+newspapers for the last time.
+
+
+
+
+BOOK
+
+THREE
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: 13]
+
+A STORY OF INTRIGUE
+
+
+Hundreds of thousands of persons annually visit Madison Square Garden,
+America’s famous sports center, without ever giving a thought to the
+story behind the building. It is a story of intrigue in which those
+who conceived the idea and started the negotiations for the gigantic
+structure were pushed into the background by the world’s greatest
+promoter, Tex Rickard.
+
+Once Rickard had all the necessary data placed in his lap, he maneuvered
+those whose brain child it was right out of the picture and proceeded
+on his own. Today the new Madison Square Garden is known in every nook
+and corner of the world where sports are followed as the “House that
+Tex Built,” but if proper credit were given to those who planned it and
+negotiated for its erection.... Well, here’s the story.
+
+It was the year 1923. America had developed one of the great skaters in
+the history of the country. His name was Bobby McLean.
+
+Bobby had come from the Mid-West, where he had cleaned up in racing
+competition. At the invitation of the Swedish government, he went
+abroad to take part in international races at Stockholm, and later in
+other parts of Europe. He gained fame and fortune abroad. His name had
+headlined the sports pages both in Europe and America.
+
+I was in Stockholm at the time and became acquainted with his manager,
+Dinty Scanlon, an energetic promoter who, in later years, induced Sonja
+Henie to come to America, and who for several years was her manager.
+Scanlon saw the possibilities of exploiting ice skating in America
+and broached the subject to me. He was the pioneer of the ice skating
+revues in America and to him goes the credit for inaugurating the ice
+extravaganzas that have since become part of our country’s winter sports
+schedule.
+
+I was then sports editor of the New York _Telegram_, and Scanlon,
+knowing how close I was to Rickard, showed me plans for the building of
+a huge ice rink in New York and asked whether I thought he could obtain
+Rickard’s aid. I was for the project and thought Tex would be interested.
+There was only one ice rink in New York at the time, the St. Nicholas
+Rink, and that had outlived its usefulness.
+
+Scanlon, discussing his plans, declared that if funds were available to
+build the rink, we could make the arena the ice sports center of America
+by getting contracts from Eastern colleges to use it for their hockey
+matches, as well as importing the Scandinavian, Swiss, and other famous
+European ice revues. With that in mind, I decided to lay Scanlon’s plans
+before Rickard and look for a location.
+
+We were aware that Tex Rickard’s long lease on the old Garden would soon
+expire and that the New York Life Insurance Company would not grant a
+further lease of more than one year. Stories had appeared in the _Wall
+Street Journal_ to the effect that the insurance company was anxious to
+demolish the old structure and build a home to house its own people.
+Scanlon and I figured the time was ripe for quick action.
+
+The Manhattan Railway Company, operating the street cars of New York
+along the main highways, was in bankruptcy proceedings, with Judge Julius
+Mayer in charge. Through Judge Mayer, I learned that any of the car
+barns, situated at Thirty-third Street and Fourth Avenue, Eighty-sixth
+Street and Madison Avenue, and Fiftieth Street and Eighth Avenue, could
+be purchased, provided we could obtain the bondholders’ consent.
+
+With that information, I proceeded. I requested Scanlon to obtain two
+extra blueprints for his proposed structure. A few days later, he came to
+my office with the plans and the architect’s picture of what the proposed
+sports arena would look like.
+
+The blueprint of the proposed structure was then published in the New
+York _Telegram_ with a story on the front page written by me. I pointed
+out that Rickard’s lease on the old Garden would soon expire and the
+building would be torn down within a few years; and to make certain
+that a substitute building to house sports in New York would be given
+the people, several sportsmen proposed to build a gigantic structure
+conveniently located near the theatrical district, the feature of which
+would be a skating rink and motion picture theatre.
+
+The story created a bombshell in New York. Rickard was besieged for
+confirmation; but all he could confirm was that his lease would be
+renewed for only one year. He knew nothing about any sportsmen becoming
+interested in the erection of a structure to take the place of the famous
+old landmark. The story in the _Telegram_, he said, was news to him, but
+he was interested.
+
+That was my ace. I was not only eager to get public reaction but also
+Rickard’s. I did not have long to wait. Rickard sent for Scanlon and me.
+Before meeting him, however, we made certain that we could obtain other
+backing in case Tex should turn a deaf ear to us.
+
+New York City at the time had a man of wealth in the building business.
+His name was George Backer. He had just completed a large commercial
+building on Fifth Avenue near Thirtieth Street, then the largest in the
+city. Scanlon, McLean, and I got in touch with him.
+
+It didn’t take us long to convince Mr. Backer that we had something worth
+while. He was quick to see the possibilities and promised us that if we
+could get Tex Rickard to organize a company to put up $2,250,000, he
+would back the venture with an equal amount. He told us to tell Rickard
+of his interest in the matter.
+
+Before we left Backer, he told us to see Judge Mayer again and find
+out at what price the barn opposite the _Morning Telegraph_ on Eighth
+Avenue, between Forty-ninth and Fiftieth Streets, could be purchased. He,
+like Scanlon and myself, favored that location because of its proximity
+to Broadway and the theatrical district, which, even then, was moving
+northward.
+
+Backer gave us permission to work with his architects on the preliminary
+plans. They estimated that it would require about $4,500,000 to erect the
+building and buy the land, and that was the amount we set out to get,
+half from Backer and the remainder from the Rickard syndicate.
+
+We were certain that with Mr. Backer behind it, the plan couldn’t
+fall through. With great faith in our eventual success, I arranged an
+appointment for Scanlon and myself to discuss the matter with Tex. The
+following day we went to his office in the Madison Square Garden tower,
+where the three of us, with Frank Coultry, Tex’s treasurer and Ike
+Dorgan, his publicity ace, went into conference.
+
+We unloaded our plan to the group telling Tex that Backer would show
+good faith by putting up $500,000 to underwrite the undertaking and the
+remainder when Rickard’s share was posted. We also placed before Rickard
+the blue prints for the installation of an ice floor in the arena, the
+new invention of a Philadelphian who had already tried out such a plant
+successfully in the Philadelphia Arena. We convinced Rickard that with
+this new system, he could use the rink floor for ice hockey one night and
+within ten hours, have the floor ready for a fight, basketball, horse
+shows or for any other purpose.
+
+He was keenly interested. He asked us to leave our plans with him and
+return in three days, which we did. With Rickard at our next meeting was
+Colonel John Hammond, a West Pointer, who later became vice-president
+of the Garden in charge of hockey promotion. Col. Hammond was an ardent
+ice fan, having been captain of the Cadets’ hockey team and he seemed
+impressed with the idea. Rickard was even more interested. We had brought
+the Philadelphia inventor with us and our backer’s legal adviser to give
+further details.
+
+Going more deeply into the plans, we showed Rickard where he could
+use the new building for all kinds of sports events and exhibitions,
+in addition to having a meeting place, bigger and better than the old
+Garden. Our plans called for a motion picture theatre on the street
+level, with an arcade leading to the arena. We had a tentative agreement
+from the Keith’s Theatre to lease that portion if the building was
+erected. The present Garden has only a few changes from the plan Scanlon
+and I offered.
+
+Rickard asked where we contemplated building if he decided to go in with
+us. We told him of our conference with Judge Mayer and his suggestion
+to call a bondholders’ meeting to get their consent. Judge Mayer also
+wanted us to show our good faith with a deposit of $25,000, and we had a
+certified check for that amount ready. We suggested that the best place
+would be the site of the car barns at Fiftieth Street and Eighth Avenue.
+Rickard assured us he would report to our syndicate in a few days, as he
+wanted more time to think it over and to discuss it with his financial
+backers. When we next met, however, we learned that he was not in favor
+of the project.
+
+“It’s too costly, Nat,” he said. “I spoke to John Ringling and others
+who might become interested, and they say it’s a foolish move. It would
+be a total loss. The location is no good, and the plan for an ice rink
+is out of the question. We couldn’t operate both fights and hockey; and,
+besides, we haven’t the teams here.”
+
+In an effort to induce Rickard to change his mind, Scanlon told Tex that
+Judge Mayer could probably get the barn site for $2,200,000, and I added
+that I was confident we could obtain it for less with cold cash.
+
+Rickard indicated it was too risky and Col. Hammond backed him on that.
+We couldn’t budge Tex, and thus our bubble burst. We thought he was the
+only sportsman to whom such a proposition could appeal, and when he
+refused to accept our offer, both on a percentage basis and on a stock
+partnership, Scanlon and I gave up.
+
+Behold our astonishment when three months later we learned through a news
+item delivered to the papers by Ike Dorgan, Rickard’s publicist, that
+Tex, with Colonel Hammond, had organized a Wall Street Company for the
+purchase of the Fiftieth Street car barns, and that a huge arena, a new
+Madison Square Garden, would be built there, featuring an ice plant for
+hockey and ice reviews! When I heard that Colonel Hammond was associated
+with Rickard and would be in charge of the hockey and ice department, in
+addition to being the representative of the Wall Street group that would
+back the project, I was furious.
+
+Scanlon and I went to Rickard and accused him to his face of
+double-crossing us. Scanlon told Tex that we were the originators of the
+new Garden arena plans and that he had stolen our idea, based on the blue
+prints submitted to him. We demanded that we be taken into the project
+and threatened to bring suit if we were not, but Rickard laughed us off.
+
+Well, within a year, the new Garden was built. Mike Jacobs, who later
+succeeded Rickard as the country’s foremost promoter and to whom Dinty
+and I had also broached the subject, was thoroughly conversant with the
+details and asked us not to bring suit as we had contemplated. Mike had
+become one of Rickard’s financial advisers. He found that Tex required
+more money than his backers were willing to put up, and it was through
+his efforts that additional funds were obtained to assure the completion
+of the structure.
+
+Despite Mike’s pressures, Scanlon was still bitter about Rickard’s
+maneuver, and had not George Backer died shortly after Tex’s
+announcement, Tex would have had a half million dollar suit on his hands.
+The only change made in the plans Tex finally used was the elimination of
+the motion picture theatre and the erection of stores, instead.
+
+Thus the new Garden came into being through the foresight of a great
+lover of ice sports, Dinty Scanlon, whose eagerness to find a place in
+New York where his champion Bobby McLean could exhibit his skill, was
+responsible for the design as he and I worked it out.
+
+Although the idea and the original plans were ours, credit for the final
+erection of the Garden belongs to Mike Jacobs. It was he who persuaded
+Judge Mayer to get the bondholders to sell the car barns at Fiftieth
+Street for $2,500,000 and it was he who urged Rickard not to accept the
+Eighty-sixth Street or Thirty-fourth Street sites, which Judge Mayer was
+more anxious to dispose of and which Tex was willing to take in order to
+avoid the Scanlon suit.
+
+I recall being present at a meeting when Rickard told Mike that the Wall
+Street combine to which he had appealed was favorably impressed with the
+Thirty-fourth Street and Madison Avenue site because of its nearness to
+the old Garden.
+
+“That’s where those fellers are wrong,” said Mike, “I agree with Nat and
+Scanlon that the Eighth Avenue car barns would be the best location. The
+trend for amusements is to the midtown section. It will soon be the heart
+of the theatrical district. Everything is moving up towards Fiftieth
+Street.”
+
+Thus did this man of foresight visualize New York’s future. The job
+of negotiating for the land was turned over to Jacobs. According to
+fable, the Garden was financed by a group of 600 millionaires, each of
+whom contributed the sum of $1,000. The fact is that $5,600,000 was
+required for the building and the car barns, and Jacobs manipulated the
+deal whereby Rickard obtained the funds. After giving Rickard his first
+$25,000 to turn over to Judge Mayer to show good faith in the proposed
+purchase, Mike negotiated a bank loan for Tex for an additional $100,000
+to start the ball rolling. It was not until then that a six-man syndicate
+headed by banker Richard F. Hoyt, came in, with the rest of the money.
+
+As for the 600 millionaires, they each put up $1,000 at a later date to
+become life members of the Garden Club. In return for their money, they
+also were given stock.
+
+Mike Jacobs, as Rickard’s agent, was handsomely rewarded for his loan
+and his very important part in the negotiations. He told me his prize
+totalled $117,000. It was only after the property had been bought that
+it became known that Rickard had been working on a “shoestring” and that
+had it not been for Jacobs, he would never have been able to put over the
+deal.
+
+As for Scanlon, the man who originated the idea and who with me, had the
+first plans for the new Garden drawn up, I don’t know whether he ever got
+any money from Rickard, but I received from Tex the sum of $2,500 and
+some stock, in settlement for my claim against him—small amount, to be
+sure, but being friendly with Tex, I decided not to press the issue.
+
+That’s the story of how the present Garden came to be, a story of
+intrigue that made Tex Rickard and Mike Jacobs millionaires.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: 14]
+
+DESTINY’S PARTNERSHIP
+
+
+As surely as there is a tide in the affairs of men, there are men marked
+out by fate to be carried by that tide to fame and fortune. All the
+forces of destiny seem to conspire to give them the breaks. Such a man
+was Tex Rickard.
+
+George L. “Tex” Rickard, boxing’s man of destiny, died on January 6,
+1929, at the age of fifty-eight. I knew him intimately for a quarter of
+a century. I wrote the story of his life and acted in a confidential
+capacity for him on many occasions. I have no hesitation in saying that
+he was one man in a hundred million marked out by fate.
+
+President of Madison Square Garden, acknowledged king of the boxing
+world, Tex Rickard lived long enough to put the fight game on the big
+financial map and to make himself and many other people millionaires.
+
+The Grim Reaper claimed him just as he was about to retire and, for the
+first time in his career, enjoy himself by taking things easy.
+
+I said good-by to him the day before he left New York for Miami, where he
+died following an operation for appendicitis.
+
+For a man of his years he looked youthful. The dark eyes were as keen as
+ever and the expressive lips just as ready to curl into a smile or to be
+compressed into a hard, fighting line.
+
+With his hat tilted on the back of his head, he looked at me and said in
+his usual quick manner and with his Texan cowboy drawl:
+
+“Nat, one big promotion, and I’m through.”
+
+I smiled. “I’ve heard all that before, Tex.”
+
+“This is straight. I’ve taken boxing from a thousand bucks to two
+million. One more big promotion, then I quit.”
+
+“You couldn’t quit if you tried, Tex,” I replied.
+
+To see Rickard towards the end of his life, king of the gilded age of
+boxing, one might have thought that he had been just lucky. Well, Tex had
+plenty of luck, and he needed it. But one must look into his personality
+and his career to understand the secret of his success.
+
+He was the last of the picturesque men of vision and daring: Western
+cowboy, gold-hunter, gambler, promoter: a man whose personality had as
+much color as a rainbow.
+
+“Nat, never lose your guts,” Tex once said to me after I had suffered a
+heavy financial loss. “If you do, you’re finished. Better shoot yourself
+and get out of it.”
+
+That stern creed was the rock on which Tex Rickard built his fame and
+fortune. But fate looked after him. For example, he left Goldfield,
+Nevada, in 1910 to sell copper properties to a big prospector.
+
+“I’m not interested in your copper,” the prospector said, according to
+Rickard, “but if you’ll promote a fight between Jack Johnson and Jim
+Jeffries out here at Reno, I’ll back you.”
+
+Every sports promoter in America was bidding for that fight but nobody
+had enough faith in the match to offer Jeffries what he wanted to come
+out of retirement. Tex staggered the fight world by offering $101,000,
+and he got the fight.
+
+I recall a scene in Naegeli’s Hotel in Hoboken, New Jersey, when Rickard
+appeared with several of his backers to clinch the fight. Tex walked into
+the hotel, waited for all hands to be seated, then opened the eyes of
+both Johnson and Jeffries by placing $20,000 in gold on the table. That
+gold settled the argument and got him the fight, for while other bidders
+for the bout were talking big, Rickard showed his good faith with money.
+
+Previous to the meeting in Hoboken, all the bidders and the principals
+had congregated in the Albany Hotel in New York City to discuss plans for
+the match. Almost every sports writer in New York, and many from cities
+as far west as California, were among those present. When the principals
+arrived to talk business, Police Commissioner Baker announced that he
+would be forced to arrest everyone if a contract for the fight were
+signed on the premises, for such a procedure would be against the law.
+That’s why the scene was shifted to Naegeli’s Hotel in New Jersey.
+
+Rickard made ring history with the match, for not only did he referee,
+but he drew gate receipts amounting to $270,755, high figures for the
+period.
+
+The result of the Reno fight convinced Tex that there was more money
+in the fight game than in mining, and thereafter most of his time was
+devoted to pugilism. When he decided to devote all his time to boxing
+promotion, the gilded era got under way.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+When Rickard came to New York, boxing was at a low ebb. He had
+successfully promoted shows in the West and when he took over the Garden,
+he saw no reason why his success should not continue.
+
+I recall a dinner party he tossed for New York journalists at the
+Biltmore Hotel. Free loaders crashed the gate in large numbers, but that
+didn’t disturb Rickard. He sat back as the boys made speeches in which
+some questioned his ability to make money on weekly boxing shows at the
+Garden, while paying rent amounting to $52,000 a year. At that time, as
+I have mentioned previously, the Garden was only occasionally rented out
+for events other than boxing.
+
+Tex said nothing. He leaned back and smiled as he puffed his Perfecto.
+He saw things in the future that the scribes were blind to. At that time
+boxers were wearing bathhouse suits and ordinary street shoes in the
+ring. Barbers, ham actors, bum politicians and stick-up guys occupied
+front row seats that should have been used by the press. Holders of
+ringside seats were pushed about, laughed out of their rightful chairs
+by rowdies and gangsters. The aisles were filled with loafers and gate
+crashers, blocking the view of people who had paid good money to see the
+fights.
+
+That’s how boxing was run in New York before Tex took over—not only in
+the Garden, but in all the other clubs. But he had seen boxing staged
+on a different level by Jim Coffroth in California and he decided to do
+the same thing on the East coast. Law and order prevailed at Coffroth’s
+promotions and people were seated properly. Coffroth had a fine
+organization and he ran his affairs in a decent manner, without delays
+and without mob ruling.
+
+Rickard remembered all those things when he came to New York and he lived
+to see the Garden take over where Coffroth had left off. He lived to see
+ushers in bright uniforms give each patron the seat the check called for.
+He saw women by the thousands at his shows.
+
+At Reno, at the time of the Jeffries-Johnson fight, I recall how Tex
+fooled the scribes with his “telephone booths.” A few days before the
+fight, the newspapermen went out to look the grounds over at Tex’s
+invitation. Over the entrance to the arena and right back of the last
+raised seat, about twenty-five feet from the ground, they noticed a row
+of covered boxes that looked like telephone booths. Tad Dorgan, grabbing
+Tex by the arm, pointed to the boxes and asked what they were for. Tex, a
+cigar in his mouth, and with his usual poker face, replied:
+
+“I put those in for the convenience of the newspapermen who want to phone
+after the fight.”
+
+No one thought of investigating. We accepted Tex’s explanation and the
+next day’s reports from the camp mentioned the item. But on the day of
+the fight we noticed that the booths were covered with curtains and upon
+checking further, found that Mrs. Rickard, Mrs. Jeffries, and other
+women, were seated in those “telephone booths,” all hidden from public
+view. That was the first effort Tex made to have women enjoy boxing
+without being molested.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Following the Reno battle, Rickard hit the trail southward. He went to
+Argentina, where he bought a ranch and raised cattle for export. Just
+about the time he decided to get back to the States, a young Colorado
+hobo-miner was making his way East after a few successful fights with
+unknowns like himself. His name was William Harrison Dempsey, and he was
+destined to become the perfect partner of the vast Rickard promotion
+enterprise.
+
+Hanging on the wall in my office today is a wrinkled right-hand boxing
+glove. On the back of it, stretching almost from the curled finger-tip to
+the wrist, is a dry, dark-brown stain. This glove is a souvenir of the
+three most furious rounds of fighting I have ever seen, and the stain was
+made by the blood of one of the bravest men who ever stepped into a roped
+square.
+
+Jack Dempsey wore those gloves to win the heavyweight championship of the
+world. He was, in my opinion, the most colorful fighter of the twentieth
+century. The blood stains came from Jess Willard on that unforgettable
+afternoon at Toledo, Ohio, July 4, 1919, under a blazing sun that caused
+the thermometer to register 101 in the shade.
+
+Fate must have smiled when Tex first clapped eyes on this young genius of
+the ring, with his dark, indrawn brows and curly black hair, for it was
+Rickard’s opinion that the gigantic Willard couldn’t be licked.
+
+Even when Dempsey knocked out the huge Fred Fulton in eighteen seconds,
+Tex couldn’t see that destiny had presented him with a fighter who,
+perhaps alone of all pugilists, could carry his daring and ambitious
+schemes to success.
+
+The Dempsey-Willard bout decided matters, although it was not a startling
+affair financially. I was in Toledo some days before the fight sizing
+up the chances of the men. Willard I knew to be a good, though not a
+brilliant champion. He was so contemptuous of his smaller opponent that
+he hadn’t troubled to get himself into proper condition.
+
+I went around to see him one morning at ten o’clock and found that he was
+still in bed. I mentioned the matter to Tex.
+
+“I know, Nat,” he replied. “He’s taking Dempsey too lightly. Thinks he’s
+got a cinch. I wish someone could make him see this fight more seriously.”
+
+Dempsey, the product of barefisted brawls in mining camps and hobo
+jungles throughout the West, had a string of knockouts to his credit, but
+he had never stacked up against so huge an opponent as Big Jess. Still,
+Rickard’s opinion of Willard was shared by all in the challenger’s camp.
+Jack had worked hard to get himself into condition. I shall never forget
+the wonderful physical appearance he presented, with his flashing dark
+eyes and skin tanned to the color of a hazel nut. He looked fit to fight
+the world the day he entered the Toledo ring for that title bout.
+
+All signs pointed one way, and the black stars of defeat began to
+cluster over the head of Willard, even before he climbed into the ring.
+But he didn’t seem to notice them. Ironically, his chief concern was that
+he might land himself in serious trouble by fatally injuring his youthful
+opponent.
+
+The night before the fight, I favored Dempsey, figuring that if the
+battle went any distance, condition must tell. And that is how it was
+with me when I took my seat by the ringside under a scorching sun which
+made me sick with heat.
+
+There were nearly twenty thousand people in the arena and the possibility
+of seeing the world heavyweight title change hands was too much for
+their nerves. They kept up a steady roar for an hour before the battle,
+and when the men entered the ring, a cyclone of shouts and yelling was
+unleashed.
+
+The first thing that struck me was Dempsey’s apparent nervousness. His
+perfectly trained body, I thought, was capable of standing the severest
+test, but what about his nerves?
+
+Here was an unknown factor.
+
+He sat in his corner, elbows on his knees and head down, scowling at the
+canvas. He was unshaven, and his growth of dark facial hair added to his
+tough appearance.
+
+Friends at the ringside shouted good luck to him, but he took no notice
+of them. He even seemed to resent the presence of his manager, Jack
+Kearns, who was talking to him earnestly.
+
+Contrasted with this dark, berry-brown man, Jess Willard looked like a
+high, blond animal. His face was tanned, but the skin of his body was
+as white as a woman’s. He looked arrogantly confident as he waved to
+friends, a superior smile on his lips.
+
+Ollie Pecord, the referee, called the men to the middle of the ring
+for instructions. Willard moved towards him with a long, sure stride.
+Dempsey, on the other hand, broke into a nervous run. I watched the
+scowl on his face deepen as Pecord was talking. Jack’s eyes never left
+the ground.
+
+Willard stood easily, listening, and occasionally throwing a contemptuous
+glance towards his young challenger. He towered over Dempsey, yet I could
+see that he was soft in comparison with the muscular, steel-hard man from
+Manassa.
+
+Back in their corners, the men got ready for the bell. Dempsey’s
+nervousness seemed to increase with every passing second. He fidgeted and
+shuffled his feet, as if unable to restrain the movement of his limbs.
+Little did I dream that he was about to give the greatest exhibition of
+fighting fury ever seen in an American ring.
+
+The entire arena and ring were flooded with white-hot light. The heat was
+terrific and most of the spectators had stripped to their shirts. I was
+grumbling to the man next to me about the scorching I was getting, when
+the gong sounded for the opening round. I didn’t notice the heat after
+that.
+
+Dempsey leaped from his corner like a tiger, facing the champion almost
+in his own corner. He feinted with his right and shot a left to Willard’s
+ribs. It connected with the noise of a wooden hammer, bringing a roar
+from the crowd.
+
+“By heavens, he can hit!” roared Bill McGeehan, famous New York scribe
+sitting near me.
+
+Seven times in that first round Willard was dropped to the canvas by
+the smashing blows of his challenger. Dempsey presented a figure of
+murderous fighting energy as he stood over his fallen opponent after
+every knock-down. He was quivering and snorting like a wild animal and
+his scowl was terrifying. Never had I seen human nature stripped so bare
+of civilized pretense.
+
+When Jess went down for the seventh time, Ollie Pecord started counting.
+The gong sounded ending the round when he reached seven, but Pecord had
+not heard it through the din and he lifted the arm of Dempsey in token
+of victory by a knockout in the first session.
+
+Pandemonium reigned. Dempsey leaped from the ring and was on his way to
+the dressing room when the error was noted, and he was called back.
+
+Willard seemed unaware of what was going on. He had been dragged to his
+corner where he sat with broken jaw, his eyes glassy and bloodshot, and
+the claret flowing from nose and mouth. Yet, to the astonishment of all,
+the Kansas Giant got to his feet to face additional punishment in the
+second round.
+
+I have never seen a fighter so badly battered. There were groans from the
+gathering. This was not a boxing match, but a slaughter, and when the
+challenger began to pick out Willard’s terribly damaged eyes for further
+attack, boos greeted him. Once Willard fought back, but it was a futile
+attempt to stem the tide.
+
+The spectacle of Willard, his face battered beyond recognition, standing
+defenseless before this human tiger, didn’t accord with ideas of true
+sport. Yet the fight went on!
+
+The final act of this savage, brutal affair, was yet to be fought. I
+watched Willard stagger to his corner. He was all in. He lacked the
+strength to stand up and had to be assisted to the stool. The spectators
+pleaded for the closure but Ollie Pecord, a referee of the old school,
+would have none of that. He would not stop a fight so long as the
+champion was able to come to scratch.
+
+I despair to give an impression of Willard when he came up for the third
+round—his last. He was almost blind and despite the ministrations of his
+handlers, who worked furiously to aid him, his face was one mash from
+forehead to chin. He hadn’t a chance in the world and as I looked at
+him with a feeling of pity, I blamed his seconds for not tossing in the
+sponge.
+
+Blind fighting instinct alone dictated Willard’s move forward as Dempsey
+leaped toward him when the third round got under way. This time Jess shot
+up his right to protect himself, and it caught Dempsey under the chin and
+jarred him. It sent his head back with a jerk—the only effective punch
+the champion had landed in the fight.
+
+There was a roar for the underdog. Everybody jumped up. The excitement
+made me catch my breath.
+
+But Dempsey recovered quickly, spurred to a fighting fury by the uppercut
+that almost downed him. The black scowl had been replaced by a terrible
+tigerish smile. He started pounding away at Jess’s body and jaw and when
+the round ended, both the challenger and the champion were exhausted.
+
+No words can depict Willard’s pitiful plight. He was half-dragged, half
+carried to his corner, where he was planted on his stool in a state of
+collapse. Ike O’Neil, his chief second, tried to revive him, but his
+beaten body could not respond. Realizing his condition, Jess told referee
+Pecord he could not continue.
+
+Thus one of the greatest heavyweight championship bouts I have ever seen
+came to an end, and the bloodstained right-hand glove that hangs on the
+wall of my office recalls every thrilling detail of it. This was Jack
+Dempsey’s high spot. I think it was also Jess Willard’s. To him goes an
+honor hardly less than that of his conqueror, despite the battering he
+took.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Were Dempsey’s gloves loaded?
+
+That question has been discussed time and again in magazine and newspaper
+articles by persons incapable of giving a proper answer except through
+hearsay or from comments made by persons supposedly “in the know.” I
+watched the crumbling of the Pottowatomie Giant and after the terrific
+shellacking that Willard took, I heard many remarks that no human could
+deal out so much punishment with padded mitts unless there was something
+hidden in his gloves. Even to this day, one reads about “loaded gloves,”
+and how plaster of Paris on Dempsey’s bandages cut Jess’ face to ribbons.
+
+I was at the fight. I watched Dempsey in training. I saw Jimmy Deforest,
+his trainer, tape Jack’s hands. I watched every move of the men in Jack’s
+quarters. I think I can clear the atmosphere once and for all time with
+an accurate version of what happened.
+
+Jack Dempsey had no loaded gloves, nor did he use plaster of Paris over
+his bandages. I make this assertion despite the recent statement by Jack
+Kearns, Dempsey’s manager in that contest, that he had sprinkled plaster
+of Paris powder over the bandages on Jack’s hands and then poured on
+alcohol to form a plaster cast. I watched the proceedings and the only
+person who had anything to do with the taping job was Deforest, who,
+after he had taped the hands, poured some water over the bandages to keep
+Jack’s hands cool. Of course, any solution poured over bandages will
+harden them, but that’s all that took place.
+
+Deforest became riled when the loaded gloves stories began to appear.
+I recall a press conference he had with several reporters, including
+myself, at which he angrily remarked:
+
+“I regard the stories that I put plaster of Paris on Jack’s bandages
+as plain libel. I’m tired of hearing people talk about such nonsense.
+It’s pure trash. These rumors affect my reputation for honesty and fair
+dealing. I did apply some water over the bandages when Jack complained
+about the extreme heat, and that was all. I did not apply any foreign
+substance to them. I used a hard adhesive tape. This certainly was not
+irregular. It was not against the rules. It was the same kind of tape I
+always used when I bandaged Kid McCoy’s hands.”
+
+Deforest’s statement should settle all further arguments. It was not
+until the recent fall-out between Kearns and Dempsey over the proposed
+movie of Jack’s life (in which Kearns plays no part) that the latter gave
+this new version of the bandaging of Dempsey’s hands. Kearns has always
+denied the plaster of Paris yarn over the years, only to change the story
+in the past few months.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+It was during the training camp period for the Toledo fight that Rickard
+first expressed to me his thinking for bouts to come. He had invited
+the Connecticut sportsman, Joe Mulvihill, the Mad Hatter of Danbury, to
+accompany us on a visit to Dempsey’s camp, and on the way, Mulvihill had
+remarked, “One of these days, Tex, we’ll have a million dollar gate.”
+
+Tex laughed and kidded him, but after Mulvihill had gone back to the
+hotel with several newspapermen, Rickard turned to me and said, “That
+ain’t a dream, Nat.”
+
+I could see that he was visualizing things, though he didn’t do much
+talking. He was keeping his plans to himself, but he did say to me: “What
+we need is one big international heavyweight championship and you’ll see
+the biggest crowd that ever attended a boxing match in this country.”
+
+It wasn’t long after Dempsey won the title that I went overseas as
+Rickard’s agent to seek the man that Tex wanted so badly for that million
+dollar gate. He soon signed French war hero Georges Carpentier, for a
+fight with Dempsey, and from the moment that the contract was made it
+looked as if Rickard’s dream would come true.
+
+I was Tex’s confidant in several of his boxing deals and I spent many
+hours with him about this time. Shortly after the Carpentier-Dempsey bout
+was made, orders started to pour into Tex’s office. Mike Jacobs, later
+Rickard’s successor as monarch of the fight game, was in control of the
+ticket sales, and he turned most of the tickets over to the agencies.
+
+The demand for ducats was so big that Tex could take nothing but cash
+or certified checks. Without putting down a cent of his own money, he
+constructed the huge arena in Jersey City known as Boyle’s Thirty Acres
+and still had enough to pay Dempsey and Carpentier their guarantees a
+week before they entered the ring.
+
+But it was a tremendous gamble, for if anything had happened to the
+fighters, Tex would have had to beat it out of the United States. He had
+little money of his own at the time and it would have been impossible for
+him to make a 100 per cent refund if the fight had been called off.
+
+Tex worried over this huge outlay when he started the promotion and
+bemoaned the fact that he had planned the arena with 60,000 seats.
+However, once the money started coming in, he knew he was clear as long
+as nothing happened to the fighters. I recall meeting with him and Mike
+Jacobs on an interview for a Sunday yarn. Asked for a rundown on the
+seating arrangements and the ticket sale, Tex hesitated, then replied:
+
+“I have 60,000 seats. I was worrying how we could get that many folks
+to come to the show, but Mike and I are now trying to see how many more
+seats we can put into the arena. We’re being flooded with requests. But
+I don’t want to say nothin’ about that in the paper, Nat. I’ll give you
+a good story, but it’s for the speculators who are grabbin’ all the
+ringside seats.”
+
+With that he told me how he put one over on them. He released a story to
+the effect that because of the run on his ticket offices, he had received
+permission from the Jersey City authorities to extend the arena stands
+and to add 30,000 seats to its capacity. The ringside seats, he informed
+the press, had been sold out during the first ten days, and to take care
+of the many requests that were piling up at his headquarters, other
+ringside sections were being built.
+
+The specs fell for that story and another wild rush was made for the
+ringside seats, the choicest of which Rickard had already allotted
+Uncle Mike because of the financial aid Jacobs had given to launch the
+promotion.
+
+When, at the last moment, the speculators found themselves stuck with
+many unsold ducats, Tex and Mike laughed.
+
+“Let them worry, it’s their headache now,” was Rickard’s comment.
+
+Rickard’s good angel smiled again and the take amounted to $1,789,238,
+the first million dollar gate in the history of pugilism!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+I met with Tex in his office after the Carpentier-Dempsey fight and got
+the story of his promotion plans for the future. He was dreaming of more
+big bouts and kept talking about another million dollar gate.
+
+“Colorful fighters are what I need,” he said. “There’s one coming up from
+Argentina and my people tell me he’s a big, husky fella from the Pampas
+who kin fight.”
+
+He was referring, of course, to Luis Angel Firpo. When he reached New
+York and was brought to the Madison Square Garden tower where Rickard
+had his quarters, I could see by the gleam in Tex’s eyes that he was
+exceedingly pleased with the appearance of this man who would come to be
+known as the Wild Bull of the Pampas and was planning another coup.
+
+During the years that Jack Dempsey laboriously climbed the pugilistic
+ladder, and even after his feet were firmly set on the top rung, many
+questioned his claim to greatness. It was generally conceded that he was
+a dynamic hitter, a fact that could not be disputed in view of his quick
+victories over so many opponents, but fistic critics doubted his ability
+to withstand punishment. It remained for Luis Angel Firpo to sweep away
+all such doubts.
+
+Firpo had only a vague idea of the finer points of pugilism, but because
+of his Herculean strength, iron nerves, and almost limitless courage, he
+was able to retire from the ring after three years with a million dollars
+to show for his effort.
+
+The Dempsey-Firpo fight was one of the biggest sensations of the modern
+ring. It was an unqualified success from every point of view. Tex took
+over a million dollars from the public and finally established himself as
+the greatest promoter boxing had ever seen. It was never generally known,
+however, that this memorable bout was within an ace of being called off
+only hours before ring time. I am one of the few people who can tell
+the whole story of just how close Rickard came to financial ruin that
+September day in 1923.
+
+Dr. William A. Walker, chief of the medical staff of the New York Medical
+Commission, was at the weigh-in to examine the rivals. William Muldoon,
+Chairman of the Commission, objected to the presence of newspapermen in
+the room, but after considerable persuasion, he permitted Jimmy Dawson
+of the New York _Times_, Dan Lyons of the New York _Globe_, and myself
+to remain. Dr. Walker, while placing the stethoscope over Firpo’s chest,
+accidentally bumped into the challenger’s left arm. Instinctively, Luis
+threw the arm upwards. Not a sound came from his lips.
+
+Thinking this a queer reaction, the doctor ran his fingers over every
+part of the arm, squeezing it here and there as he tested for a fracture.
+Firpo was smiling as Doc Walker’s probing fingers reached his elbow, but
+under the smile there were lines of pain.
+
+Boxing Commissioner Muldoon, one of the greatest physical culture experts
+I have ever known, was watching the examination closely. “There’s
+something wrong with that arm,” he remarked. He called Rickard over.
+
+“What’s the trouble?” inquired Tex.
+
+Walker tapped Firpo’s elbow. “This.”
+
+Rickard turned pale. He had staked a fortune on the fight. He stood
+there, clenching his jaws so that the muscles stood out. Despair was
+in his eyes. His face grew even grimmer as he heard Doc Walker say to
+Muldoon: “Firpo seems to have a dislocated fracture of the left arm.”
+
+Firpo, who spoke no English, apparently grasped what was going on, for he
+burst into a torrent of Spanish. The interpreter explained that the Wild
+Bull had kept his injury secret because he didn’t think it serious and
+didn’t want the fight called off. The doctor then asked the interpreter
+to explain to Luis that to fight in his condition was dangerous and
+against the law. The challenger laughed and said he was all right.
+Muldoon thought otherwise. He was seething with rage.
+
+“Why weren’t we told about this?” he demanded. “What the devil do you
+mean by keeping us in the dark about this?”
+
+Firpo waved his arms violently. He didn’t want to be called a quitter,
+he said. And then he screeched in Spanish, “I can beat Dempsey. It is
+nothing.”
+
+Then, as though to prove it, this man of iron courage raised his left arm
+and brought his fist down upon the table. The doctor was horrified, for
+he knew, more than the rest of us, how terrible the agony of that gesture
+must have been. But Firpo, with gritted teeth and a wild look in his
+eyes, smiled.
+
+Rickard and Muldoon looked on in amazement. Neither could understand the
+Wild Bull’s confidence in himself. Then Tex’s hard shell of calm left
+him. The poker face fell off like a mask, showing his features distorted
+with rage. Tapping his walking stick on the floor—always a sign that he
+had lost his temper—he swore at Firpo in Spanish, threatening him with
+God knows what.
+
+Muldoon, who had remained calm while sizing up the situation, laid a
+restraining hand on Rickard, saying “Tex, you’ve had a bad break, and
+I feel like taking the hide out of this fellow myself. We can’t get a
+substitute and if the fight isn’t staged, there’ll be a riot and you’ll
+lose a fortune. But I’ll see what we can do. From my examination, I think
+it’s a simple dislocation without a break. I’m sure I can handle it.”
+
+Walker had another probe at the left arm and agreed with the
+Commissioner. Muldoon asked Firpo to put out his left arm and when he
+did, suddenly jerked it forward, snapping the bone back into position.
+
+That, to me, was the moment when Luis proved his absolute gameness.
+Despite the suffering, he didn’t utter a sound, but the beads of
+perspiration on his forehead showed the torture he was going through.
+
+Firpo, with the arm tightly bandaged, remained in the doctor’s care for
+the next three hours. The swelling was reduced, but when it came time for
+Luis to go into the ring, I knew that he was in agony with every movement
+of his arm. Only his fighting heart carried him through. Nine out of
+ten men would have quit, but Firpo hurled himself into battle against
+Dempsey, the most ferocious scrapper of the age.
+
+Dempsey floored this magnificent fighting man seven times in the first
+round and twice more in the second before he was declared the victor. But
+believe it or not, the fist of that dislocated arm landed the punch which
+sent Jack tumbling through the ropes on to the typewriters of the working
+press.
+
+Firpo’s gameness paid off. The gate was nearly $1,200,000, the fans were
+satisfied, and Tex Rickard had been saved from ruin. Dr. Walker told me
+after the bout that this was the greatest example of courage he had ever
+come across in all his many years of association with fighters.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: 15]
+
+A SCOUT FOR TEX RICKARD
+
+
+After Dempsey had disposed of Firpo, Rickard suddenly woke up to the
+panicking fact that there wasn’t a colorful, international fighter
+anywhere who could be tossed in against Dempsey to keep the million
+dollar pot boiling. He had gotten accustomed to big crowds and big gates.
+Now that Dempsey had ploughed through Carpentier and Firpo, and these
+international bouts had drawn seven figure gates, Tex was through with
+small fry. With American soil unable to turn up big enough drawing cards,
+he decided to have Europe scouted.
+
+One day Rickard phoned to the New York _Telegram_ and asked if I could
+meet him that afternoon in the Garden. I did. My diary shows that it was
+on October 14, 1923.
+
+“Goin’ to Europe this winter?” he asked.
+
+“Yes,” I replied, “very soon in fact. I have my passage booked for next
+week. The paper wants me to do some articles on Germany. They’re making
+amazing strides in athletics, particularly in amateur boxing.”
+
+“How’d you like to scout for me?” Tex asked. “Look over the field, and if
+you see anyone you think I might be interested in, cable me.”
+
+I agreed. Scouting wouldn’t interfere with my newspaper assignment.
+
+My duties as outlined by Tex were to locate heavyweights of promise,
+particularly good European prospects who in due course could be pitted
+against our stars in top contests. He wanted men who could stand up in
+his million dollar program. Annually I spent from six to eight weeks
+abroad during my vacation and since only part of this period was paid for
+by the newspaper, I was on my own so far as the scouting was concerned.
+It didn’t interfere with my newspaper work.
+
+On October 22, our wedding anniversary, my wife Trudie and I sailed
+for Germany. I didn’t believe I could find any good boxing material on
+my first trip for Rickard, but I decided to study the field thoroughly
+and make contacts. I saw plenty of ring activity throughout Germany,
+but nothing that impressed me—not a professional worth discussing with
+Rickard.
+
+Fred Walker, Managing Editor of the New York _Telegram_ asked me to
+write a series for our special Sunday Section on “Reconstruction in the
+Fatherland,” and in that series I wrote:
+
+“Of one thing I am convinced—Germany is rapidly developing a nation of
+athletes, with boxing holding the attention of youth more so than any
+other sport. Germany is a nation to watch. Boxing is gaining a firm hold
+in the Fatherland.”
+
+The following year, after I had returned from a two-week trip to Central
+America, wife and I again left for Central Europe for another series of
+articles. Our trip called for a tour of Germany, France and Italy. This
+time I was confident I could locate at least one prospect and I promised
+Rickard I would have someone for him, but again I failed.
+
+I did, however, make the acquaintance of the best international referee
+in Europe, Arthur Buelow, and of Prof. Joseph Pilates, a physical culture
+instructor now the owner of a studio a stone’s throw away from Madison
+Square Garden. Both were behind the movement to develop boxing talent in
+Germany and were doing a fine job. Buelow, prior to the war, had taught
+the sport and had officiated in many international bouts as third man in
+the ring, and Pilates was an instructor of boxing and physical training
+in the Berlin Police Department and on the Isle of Wight where he had
+been a military prisoner during World War I. They steered me on the right
+path.
+
+Pugilism, they said, was sweeping the country like a jitterbug craze,
+and I found it to be so. Wherever I went, boys were engaged in club
+competition. Every village had an amateur club where boxing was on
+the daily program. From among the victors in the various district
+organizations, came the national champions, and with conditions as they
+were at the time, being a title holder meant a lot to the champion. Here
+boxing was being practiced on the largest scale I have ever seen.
+
+The leading promoter was Walter Rothenberg who operated in Berlin and in
+Hamburg. He staged the championship matches and occasionally, as an added
+attraction, had one or two professional bouts on the program in which
+several of the contestants were boxers who had been in America prior to
+the war, among them Jack Stanley, Jack Taylor and Paul Sampson, boxers I
+had seen in action in New York City and in Hoboken, New Jersey.
+
+The energy of the boys, their drive and enthusiasm, made a great
+impression on me. I was confident that out of this vast army of amateurs
+there would spring at least one heavyweight who would make ring history.
+Wherever the American flag flies, there the seeds of our national
+pastimes—baseball and boxing—are sown and so I found it in Germany in the
+years following World War I.
+
+Buelow and Pilates had written to me about a young, handsome boy, a
+powerful hitter and scientific boxer, who, after cleaning up in the
+amateur field, had now reached top rating among the professionals. They
+suggested that it would be worth while on my next visit to Germany, to
+see this boy in action. His name was Max Schmeling. Now on my third
+journey to Germany, I had decided to make the acquaintance of Max.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+One night in mid-August, 1926, accompanied by Buelow, Pilates and several
+newspapermen, I left Berlin for the town of Bernau, about thirty miles
+away, to see the finals of an amateur tournament and a couple of pro
+fights. Tracking over hills and a rocky valley, we reached a country
+roadhouse. There I was told we would soon see some good boxing matches.
+
+The place was jammed. To get to the meeting house we had to pass through
+subterranean passageways that had been in use during the war as shelters.
+Inside the building, situated in the far end of a spacious hall, was a
+ring about 10 feet long and 8 feet wide. It was set on a platform about
+3 feet off the floor. It had no mat covering nor any ring posts. The
+ropes—three strands—were attached to pulleys fastened to the walls.
+
+The spectators, more than a thousand, kept themselves in good humor
+guzzling beer from German mugs and eating sausages and sauerkraut. Men,
+women and children crowded the place. Some women dandled nursing babies,
+others played with dachshunds. It was the strangest gathering I had ever
+seen at a fight.
+
+Shouts and applause greeted every knock-down of which there were many.
+The people had the kind of naive enthusiasm you see in the old engravings
+and paintings, such as Hogarth’s _Southwark Fair_. The huge hall where
+all this took place was used both as a dining room and a meeting place
+for the townsfolk, but on this occasion it was turned into a boxing
+arena. My presence was expected due to advance announcements and after
+an introduction by the Mayor, and a few words of greeting by me, I was
+escorted to my seat.
+
+In the midst of the sprawling country scene, a voice bellowed in my ear:
+“Herr Nat. Herr Nat. There’s the boy you want to see. That’s Schmeling.
+If you haven’t heard about him yet, you will pretty soon.”
+
+The man who introduced us was Walter Rothenberg, the promoter.
+
+Schmeling was a smiling, handsome youngster, six feet of gangling brawn,
+a perfect specimen of physical fitness despite the poor living conditions
+in Germany at the time. He was not present to box that night. He had come
+to see his friend Otto Herse, later the champion’s sparmate and German
+lightweight champion, engage in a three round contest. All the amateurs
+received an equivalent in U.S. currency of two dollars for expenses with
+an additional two for each winner. This was given them in lieu of prizes
+since the lads were hungry; food was scarce and those in control informed
+me that the money was distributed to give the boys an opportunity to
+purchase food. That’s really what brought out so many competitors. It was
+like handing out a meal ticket to each.
+
+Buelow, standing at my side as I spoke to Schmeling, said that in the
+decade following the war, he had not come across a finer boxer nor harder
+hitter. He raved about Max’s boxing talent.
+
+“Schmeling,” he said, “has everything a boxer needs to reach the top.” He
+had taught Max the rudiments of boxing, watched him clean up the amateur
+field and had then taken over his management when he turned professional
+in 1924.
+
+I asked Buelow how long Max had been fighting.
+
+“Two years as an amateur and two as a professional,” he replied. When
+Max became a pro, his advancement was rapid. In 1926 he fought two draws
+for the light heavyweight title with the champion, Max Diekmann, won
+it the following year and a few months later carried off the German
+heavyweight crown.
+
+“He’s growing fast, Nat,” said Buelow. “I think he will be a heavyweight
+in another year. If you can bring him to America, you will be delivering
+to Mr. Rickard the next world heavyweight champion, and I will let you
+share in his management.”
+
+At this stage, Schmeling scaled 171 pounds. I liked Buelow, who spoke
+English and I promised to do what I could, but informed him that I had
+never managed a boxer and had no intentions of accepting such a post now.
+
+I realized that Buelow was one of the best judges of boxers in Europe and
+my curiosity was aroused after he had spoken in such glowing terms of
+Max. I was eager to see Schmeling in action against a top pugilist before
+trying to sell him to Rickard.
+
+Eleven days after my arrival in Germany, August 24, I had my chance. It
+was the second drawn battle between Schmeling and Diekmann for the light
+heavyweight crown. I saw a powerful hitter and expert boxer perform.
+Though he failed to win the title, the evidence of his fine boxing assets
+were on view that night. I liked his general work.
+
+I sent a message to Rickard that I thought I had found the man for whom
+he was hunting. I realized as did Buelow that Schmeling would soon
+outgrow the light heavy ranks and be ready to tackle men in the higher
+division. I cabled Rickard: “Have discovered an excellent fighter.
+Suggest cable round trip tickets for him and manager. Willing to come to
+America if guaranteed three fights minimum purse $10,000.”
+
+Tex answered: “Can guarantee only one fight with option. Will pay full
+expenses. You advance trip tickets.”
+
+That didn’t appeal to me nor to Buelow. I wasn’t the promoter and
+didn’t cherish the idea of advancing fares. Rickard’s gambling spirit,
+I thought, apparently had deserted him. I cabled back: “You’re making
+mistake. Schmeling is the goods. Can’t miss. Looks like coming
+heavyweight champion.”
+
+But Rickard was adamant. He turned down the terms with this cable: “Too
+much involved financially for the risk. Have him pay own fare. I’ll
+refund after signing contract.”
+
+But Max and Buelow had no money. Both were keenly disappointed. I engaged
+passage for New York and asked the fighter and manager not to make any
+arrangements for a trip abroad until they again heard from me. They
+agreed. In the meantime, in order to keep Schmeling busy, Buelow pitted
+him against the top fighters of Germany and several from France. After
+winning the light heavyweight crown from Hein Domgoergen in Leipzig, he
+won a ten-rounder from Gypsy Daniels of England but met with a severe
+setback when he was knocked out by Daniels in the opening round of a
+return bout. Rickard seemed to have lost all interest in the German
+following that disastrous affair.
+
+But I did not. I still had faith in Schmeling and so told Tex. I
+pleaded Max’s cause but without success. In the meantime Ishmael Pace,
+successful Buenos Aires promoter, cabled Buelow to bring Max to South
+America. Buelow, true to his promise, held off pending final word from me
+regarding the negotiations with Rickard.
+
+A few weeks passed, when to my surprise, I received a message asking that
+I meet Max and Arthur at a Hoboken pier. They had scraped enough together
+to make the trip across the Atlantic without Rickard’s help, so confident
+were both that the fighter could make good.
+
+But there was still another hurdle to jump. In his fight with Diener,
+Max had hurt his hand. He was very much in need of financial aid and
+was undecided whether to endanger his future by accepting one fight or
+to wait until the break had mended. I urged the latter course and sent
+him to Dr. Fralick, a bone specialist. Then I took him to the Garden to
+introduce him to Rickard and his matchmaker. Tex studied the handsome boy
+carefully. He took a liking to the German lad and agreed to sign him for
+a fight with Joe Monte, a ten round match.
+
+But now we faced more difficulties. Max had heard reports abroad of poor
+decisions in America and sought protection. He insisted that he would
+fight only if I agreed to become his co-manager with Buelow. Of course I
+refused. He and Buelow came to my office the following day and pleaded
+with me.
+
+“If you don’t accept,” said Buelow, “Max will go home. He doesn’t want
+to box here if you don’t help me handle his affairs. He is afraid that
+the breaks will be against him if he hasn’t an American to see that he is
+fairly treated.”
+
+I tried to convince Max and Arthur that decisions in America were as fair
+as anywhere in the world and that he needn’t fear a “raw deal,” but I
+couldn’t convince Schmeling. Then I hit upon a bright idea.
+
+I called in John (Ike) Dorgan, my partner in _The Ring_ magazine which I
+started several years before.
+
+“Ike,” I said, “I want you to meet the next world heavyweight champion,
+Max Schmeling, and his manager, Arthur Buelow. They want me to take a
+managerial interest in Max, but you know I don’t go in for that. How
+about you taking over as his American representative. There’s 10 percent
+in it for you and no cost to yourself.”
+
+Dorgan was an excellent publicist. Previously I had turned over to him
+Charley White of Chicago when White was one of the nation’s leading
+lightweights. White had dropped his manager and had asked me to take
+over. Well, Dorgan had reaped a fortune with White and I figured he could
+make as much or more by representing Schmeling. But to my amazement, Ike
+laughed my suggestion off, turning away thousands of dollars as later
+developments proved.
+
+“Why don’t you go away, Nat,” he said. “Haven’t you given me enough
+headaches with one German?”
+
+He was referring to Ted Sandwina, son of the strongest woman on earth,
+who, with her husband, had come to America for a tour with the Barnum
+and Bailey circus. Sandwina was a pretty good heavyweight but because of
+several injuries, he flopped as an attraction in New York. I had met the
+family in Europe and had suggested that they bring Ted to America for a
+campaign and I had him sign with Dorgan.
+
+When Ike refused to take over, Schmeling was prepared to go back home. I
+tried once more. I approached Jess McMahon, matchmaker for Rickard, and
+asked Jess’ advice.
+
+“Turn him loose if he feels that way about our officials,” said McMahon.
+
+But I didn’t. For friendship’s sake, I decided on a ruse. I would agree
+to sign a contract but would not take a penny of Schmeling’s earnings nor
+share any of his manager’s portion of Max’s purses.
+
+The following day I called Buelow and Max to my office and there, with
+brother Harold acting as attorney, an agreement was signed giving me a
+ten percent interest in all of Schmeling’s earnings for a period of six
+years. Buelow and Schmeling were elated. I took them to Rickard where
+a contract for the Monte fight was signed. In that contest, Monte was
+knocked out in the fifth round and the press raved over the excellent
+performance of his conqueror. His climb to fame had gotten under way.
+
+Time passed and the wheel of circumstance spun around. Schmeling became a
+golden boy. He made good with a vengeance. He reaped a fortune.
+
+Then Joe Jacobs, aided by Pete Reilly and Billy McCarney, his partners,
+a trio of international boxing managers, weaned Max away from Buelow with
+fabulous tales of what they could do for him.
+
+Schmeling gave Jacobs a ten percent interest in him. But that was
+insufficient for what Jacobs was eager to get—a firm grip on Max’s
+future. He and his pals were seeking permanent property and so they
+approached me. Jacobs offered me $5000 for my share of the contract I
+held. I refused to consider it.
+
+Jess McMahon came across with an offer of $10,000. Then Jimmy Johnston,
+who also was seeking to manage Schmeling, walked into my office one day
+and planted a certified check for $10,000 on my desk. “This is yours if
+you’ll give me the ten percent interest you have in Schmeling,” he said.
+
+Each realized the value of a contract with the man who was destined to
+win the world heavyweight championship. I turned all offers down. My sole
+interest was to protect my friends Buelow and Schmeling. On all sides
+there were intrigues. Buelow was the target. They wanted to freeze him
+out. He held 33⅓ percent. I told him not to yield. Legally he was fully
+protected with his contract on file with the Boxing Commission and no
+matter what Schmeling would now do to break away and go with Jacobs, I
+was confident Buelow could collect his share.
+
+The situation became tense. Threats were made against Buelow. But he had
+my whole-hearted support. Buelow now sued Max for breach of contract. I
+knew how hard he had worked to bring Max to the front and sympathized
+with him. After Schmeling defeated Paulino Uzcudun of Spain in fifteen
+rounds and gained a fortune for his fight with Jack Sharkey which he
+won on a foul in the Yankee Stadium, June 12, 1930, Schmeling agreed to
+settle matters with Buelow out of court. The suit was dropped with Arthur
+receiving $39,000.
+
+In his American campaign Schmeling appeared in bouts with gross receipts
+amounting to almost four million dollars, yet Rickard saw him only once,
+in the bout with Monte on November 23, 1928. Two years later Tex died,
+and one of the greatest ring attractions was left for others to exploit.
+
+As for me, I had a contract I never made use of. Had I exercised my
+rights, I would have collected close to $220,000 as my share of Max’s
+U.S. earnings. I never participated in the management of a fighter,
+though I did collect for services rendered at times as a scout for
+Rickard and his successor, Mike Jacobs, after I had left the New York
+_Telegram_ in 1929. Schmeling’s contract rests in my Garden Museum.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+It pleases me to realize what a part I played in the development of
+international boxing and good will in sports.
+
+Before lining up Schmeling for Rickard, I had been instrumental
+in bringing another foreigner to America who proved a tremendous
+attraction—Paulino Uzcudun. He had color, could sock, and was a fighter
+of tremendous strength. He was a man of considerable courage. Here is the
+story of Paulino—of how I discovered him in Europe and engineered the
+deal that brought him to America under Jack Curley’s guidance.
+
+It was on December 1, 1925, in Rothenberg’s Kaiserdam Autohallen in
+Berlin, that my wife and I watched Paulino, the husky Basque, knock out
+Hans Breitenstraetter of Germany, champion of his country. I cabled to
+Rickard:
+
+“Saw picturesque, hard-hitting Basque, Paulino, stop German champion.
+Looks fine prospect. Colorful. Managed by Descamps and Carpentier.”
+
+The next morning I received Tex’s answer by cable: “See Descamps. Offer
+two round trip tickets terms and fights to be agreed upon.”
+
+Then I witnessed one of the canniest pieces of press agentry in the
+business. Descamps was a manager of the old school. He knew Tex was on
+a spot. Descamps had a close friend in Jack Curley, American sports
+impresario who had promoted many world events, including the Jack
+Johnson-Jess Willard fight at Havana; and Descamps cabled Curley for
+advice. They were aware that Rickard would stake everything for a good
+heavyweight at this time and decided to hold out in order to obtain the
+best terms possible. In short, they were going to play their hand to the
+limit.
+
+After receiving his reply from Curley, Descamps fixed his Latin eyes on
+me, and with the nonchalance of a Machiavelli he said:
+
+“Tell Monsieur Rickard zat Paulino, he ess not ready for America. In a
+year perhaps. Who knows?”
+
+Then Descamps turned on a publicity campaign that would have shocked
+old man Barnum. All over the big cities of Europe he plugged a mammoth
+build-up, telling of my offer on behalf of Rickard. However, in the case
+of Paulino this was not necessary since he was a colorful boxer with a
+huge box office appeal. Descamps advertised Paulino as a cross between
+a Roman gladiator and King Kong. In France, for example, he plastered
+the barns and billboards and men’s comfort stations with huge four-color
+posters showing the Basque, axe in hand, toppling over a tree. The legend
+read:
+
+“Paulino Uzcudun, The Basque Woodchopper, Europe’s Greatest Heavyweight.”
+Then followed the modest subscript: “He can fell an ox with one blow.”
+
+I have one of the posters in my Garden Museum collection.
+
+There was nothing for me to do but to keep cool and wait for the
+publicity marathon to run itself out. But all the time I was in close
+touch with Rickard, keeping him informed of the progress I was making and
+of the activity of the man whose services he was not so eager to obtain.
+
+I followed Paulino to Barcelona and watched him knock out Constant
+Barrick in six rounds. I went with Descamps and Carpentier to Paris,
+where Paulino dropped Horace Jones with three punches—then on to Germany,
+where he and Franz Diener, the heavyweight champion of the Fatherland,
+fought a vicious draw.
+
+By now I was convinced that if Tex could get Descamps to change his
+mind, America would see a hard punching heavyweight who would fit in
+well with the plans of the Garden promoter. I kept after Descamps and,
+having received a cable from Rickard granting me permission to add to his
+previous offer, I felt confident I would land my catch.
+
+But before I could close the deal, Descamps received word from Curley
+to come to America by way of the Azores and Havana; he would book one
+or two easy opponents for him in Cuba to add to the publicity. Thus,
+I engineered a deal with Descamps who left Madrid with his party on
+December 15, 1926. On New Year’s Day Paulino opened his campaign on the
+American side of the Big Pond with a knockout in one round of Martin
+O’Grady in Havana. Two weeks later he scored another one-round knockout,
+this time over Antonio Fiero.
+
+Then the party sailed for Tampa where I met them and there Homer Smith
+was disposed of in the seventh round. With these preliminaries over,
+Descamps, Jack Curley, Paulino, and I left for New York to confer with
+Tex Rickard.
+
+Paulino was the first of the stream of Europeans to bring new life to
+American pugilism; and I was responsible for starting the ball rolling.
+The arrival of Paulino and later others from Europe and Cuba enabled
+Rickard to reap a bumper crop in his Garden promotions.
+
+Paulino held the spotlight for ten years. He started off in the United
+States by defeating Knute Hanson of Denmark and Tom Heeney of New Zealand
+on points and stopping Harry Wills in four rounds. He ended his days in
+Valencia, Spain, where he had been appointed Chief of Police by Franco,
+for whom he had been a chauffeur during the Spanish Civil War.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: 16]
+
+UNCLE MIKE JACOBS
+
+
+When Tex Rickard passed away, his chief aide, Mike Jacobs, took over the
+reins as top boxing promoter. I knew Uncle Mike as few of the sports
+writers did. I am familiar with the many facets of his personality and
+witnessed many of his joys, sorrows, defeats, and triumphs. His defeats
+were few and far between. His joys were many. His success was phenomenal.
+His victories were numerous and impressive; I played a big part in them,
+both before and after he took over the Madison Square Garden promotion.
+
+I saw him transform boxing into a gigantic industry, even greater than
+that which Rickard built in the Golden Era. During our thirty-five years
+of close association, I watched this product of the sidewalks of New York
+City become a captain of sports promotion. His success story is Horatio
+Alger stuff.
+
+Those who deal with the legends of boxing promotion like to hark back to
+the days of Rickard. It invariably has been Tex of the Wild West, Tex
+of the Klondike and the Pampas. He built an empire, it’s true, but had
+it not been for the aid given him by Jacobs, I doubt that he would have
+gained the international prestige that made his name a byword in fistic
+circles.
+
+A hard-headed business man, a cool and calm calculator who always had a
+sound reason for every move, Jacobs improved on Tex’s methods, though
+with less flamboyance. However, like Rickard, Jacobs lived in an aura of
+fistic glamour and romance.
+
+I first met Mike when he had his little ticket office in the Hotel
+Normandie on Sixth Avenue and Twenty-eighth Street in New York City and
+I was a cub reporter covering the Red Light District for news and the
+Longacre A.C. fights. The latter, owned by colorful Billy Newman, was on
+Twenty-ninth Street and the corner of Sixth Avenue, the scene of many
+thrilling contests.
+
+Jacobs achieved domination of boxing, which was Rickard’s dream but
+beyond his mental capabilities. Both Tex and Mike on many occasions
+conferred with me concerning important matches, and I had a big hand
+in starting negotiations for both of them in international bouts or
+championship contests. Often, long before his staff would arrive in his
+Garden offices to begin the day’s work, Mike completed his plans for
+major matches in _The Ring_ headquarters, where we met almost daily at
+seven-thirty in the morning.
+
+Pursuing the Rickard-Jacobs comparison, as I had an opportunity to
+study the pair at close range, I found that Uncle Mike never made the
+glaring mistakes which stand out in Tex’s biography. When Jacobs vacated
+his throne because of illness, boxing lost a master manipulator. A big
+figure in the boxing game had passed out of the picture! Another big
+organization, such as Rickard had left behind, died. Another rich chapter
+in boxing history had been written.
+
+Rickard had his Jack Dempsey; Jacobs had his Joe Louis. When the Manassa
+Mauler knocked out Jess Willard in three rounds at Toledo, Tex had the
+champion whose crowd appeal created the first of the million dollar gates
+and made it possible for the promoter to finance and build Madison Square
+Garden.
+
+When Louis knocked out James J. Braddock in eight rounds at Chicago, Mike
+had the champion whose popularity brought back the million dollar gates,
+and made it possible for Jacobs to move into Madison Square Garden.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The similarity between Rickard’s relationship with Dempsey and Jacobs’
+with Louis is striking. Jacobs was a successful promoter for the Hearst
+Milk Fund shows before he met Joe Louis. I had seen Louis in several
+of his amateur bouts in the West. I watched him in the National AAU
+championships in Boston and recognized a future world title holder. Then
+I saw him three times in professional fights in the Mid-West, and came
+back to New York raving about the young Negro whose clouting ability was
+a reminder of the early days of Dempsey. Several of my editorials about
+Louis attracted the attention of Damon Runyon.
+
+I was working for Jacobs on a radio program and, following a broadcast,
+Runyon, one of Mike’s partners in the New York Hippodrome, cornered me
+and asked: “Just how good a fighter is Louis?”
+
+Apparently my reply convinced him, because the following day he, Bill
+Farnsworth, and Ed Frayne—the Hearst stockholders in Mike’s Twentieth
+Century Sporting Club—got together with Jacobs and arranged a newspaper
+party for a trip to Detroit to see Louis in action against Natie Brown.
+But before embarking on the journey, Jacobs arranged a conference with
+Louis’ handlers, John Roxborough and Julian Black, at which, as things
+turned out, Mike signed Louis to an exclusive contract to fight under his
+control.
+
+Louis was a budding heavyweight then. The night the deal was set,
+following his victory over Brown in ten rounds on March 28, 1935, a
+partnership was formed that was to endure to the mutual benefit of both,
+until Louis chose to dissolve it by announcing his retirement at Miami
+Beach on March 1, 1949.
+
+On that night in Detroit when he took over, Jacobs made Louis and his
+managers two promises: his fights would always be on the level and he
+would make him the world heavyweight champion.
+
+Mike kept both promises. He kept them although there was considerable
+prejudice rampant at the time, and despite the fact that Jack Johnson,
+the only other Negro to hold the world title, had been an unpopular
+champion. Jacobs never asked Louis to do anything other than get in the
+ring and fight his best. And as the world knows, that best was more than
+good enough.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Starting from his little ticket office, Jacobs later opened small
+quarters on West 49th Street in New York City opposite the Forrest Hotel,
+and eventually moved into spacious offices in Madison Square Garden after
+he became a millionaire.
+
+The Carnival of Champions, held on September 23, 1937, at the Yankee
+Stadium lost money but Jacobs demonstrated that he controlled the fistic
+market by turning out a galaxy of stars to perform for him that night.
+The Garden directors were convinced and on October 27th of that year
+Jacobs moved into Madison Square Garden with Henry Armstrong topping his
+initial card.
+
+Armstrong came out punching to knock out Petey Sarron in six rounds and
+win the featherweight crown, the first of his three titles. Here’s the
+story of how Armstrong got his chance and the part I played in arranging
+the fight.
+
+Petey Sarron was in Johannesburg, South Africa, with Freddie Miller.
+On July 31, 1937, he had lost in ten rounds to Miller, from whom he
+previously had won the world championship. Then another bout was arranged
+for September 4 of that year—this time a twelve-round title bout—and
+Sarron retained the crown.
+
+Petey and his manager, Jimmy Erwin of Texas, were anxious to get back
+to the States. They had been gone a long time and were homesick.
+Furthermore, they couldn’t get any lucrative bouts and cabled me asking
+if I could obtain a title contest with Armstrong, who at the time had
+become a national fistic hero because of his whirlwind style of fighting.
+After an exchange of cables, I was given the power of attorney to sign
+for Sarron, provided he could get a guarantee of $15,000 for a title
+defense.
+
+I approached Mike and his Board of Directors. They were keenly interested
+and regarded this as an opportunity to start the ball rolling in the
+first Garden venture of the Twentieth Century Sporting Club with a
+championship mill. We arranged a conference the next day with Armstrong’s
+manager, Eddie Mead. Eddie and I were friends of long standing, and he
+was willing to have Armstrong fight for the crown, but he wanted more
+than the twelve-and-a-half per cent that Jacobs and his board of strategy
+(headed by his matchmaker, Al Weill) had offered.
+
+After almost a week of haggling, I finally induced Jacobs to raise the
+ante and Mead accepted a fourteen-and-a-half per cent guarantee, with the
+announcement:
+
+“I’m doing this only for Nat. He’s worked hard to put the match over
+and I’m convinced, as he is, that Sarron is ready to be taken. So I’ve
+accepted.”
+
+Sarron, informed of the arrangements, accepted the deal I put across and
+started back to the States to defend his title.
+
+Following the fight, Sarron and his manager visited my office and offered
+me ten per cent of Petey’s guarantee for having arranged the bout, but I
+turned it down. As on other occasions when I had an opportunity to cash
+in on deals I had engineered, I told them that I was not an agent in the
+true sense of the word. What I did for fighters was done in the interest
+of the sport.
+
+But Petey, like Henry Armstrong on another occasion, wouldn’t take no
+for an answer, and the next day he returned with a beautiful gold belt
+containing thirteen panels. It was given to him by the Johannesburg
+Express after he whipped Miller. He asked me to accept it. I took the
+trophy, and since then have placed in each panel the name of every
+featherweight king from Sarron to Saddler. The belt now rests in _The
+Ring_ Museum.
+
+As for Armstrong, shortly after he stopped Sarron to win the
+featherweight crown, he beat Barney Ross for the welterweight
+championship and outscored Lou Ambers to acquire the lightweight title.
+Thus, I was able to figure importantly in presenting him with the
+opportunity to become a triple champion, the only man in the history of
+boxing to hold three world titles simultaneously.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Before moving into the Garden, Jacobs took over the New York Hippodrome
+for fights, and I joined his publicity staff. One day, Damon Runyon
+approached me and asked me to a special conference with Farnsworth and
+Uncle Mike. It was an executive directors’ meeting and Uncle Mike spoke
+up:
+
+“You know, Nat, we’ve been losing a lot of money in our boxing promotion
+here. We’ll have to let some of our help out.”
+
+Before he could say any more, I realized what was coming and told him
+that so far as I was concerned, he could forget the $75 per week I was
+getting to act as radio contact man. He and Runyon were very pleased and
+thanked me profusely. Then a thought came to me.
+
+“I’ve got a proposition, Mike,” I said. “How would you like to have a
+sponsor for your fights? I think I can arrange it.”
+
+Runyon and Mike didn’t believe it could be done.
+
+“Nobody will pay to have our fights put on the radio,” said Jacobs.
+
+“I disagree with you,” I replied. Whereupon Jacobs, after a short
+conference with his colleagues, made me a proposition.
+
+“We have arranged eighteen fights for the Hippodrome but might run
+twenty-six. If you can get a sponsor to buy the radio rights for $5,000
+you can have ten per cent, and we’ll keep you on our staff and continue
+to pay your weekly salary of $75 so long as the broadcasts continue.”
+
+“That’s too cheap,” I replied. “I’m sure I can get you twice as much.”
+
+“If you can,” Jacobs quickly answered, “we’ll continue your salary and
+give you twelve-and-a-half per cent of the gross.”
+
+I accepted and we shook hands on the deal. I left the office, and the
+next morning returned with a report that I had sold the broadcast rights
+to Adam Hats at $1,200 per fight for the first eighteen shows, and at
+$750 for each fight over that number, with the stipulation that my buddy,
+Sam Taub, be assigned the broadcasting job. Thus I had arranged for
+the first paid sponsorship of boxing bouts in the world. My report was
+greeted enthusiastically by Jacobs and the press.
+
+Mike called in his partners and that afternoon Sol Strauss, his lawyer,
+drew up the contract which was brought to Elias Lustig of Adam Hats, and
+the deal was completed. Uncle Mike asked if I wanted a contract to bind
+his deal with me, but I told him I would take his word—no contract was
+required. However, as in other business deals between us, Mike reneged
+soon after the broadcasts got under way.
+
+He was that way. He never went back on his word when it came to
+transactions he had made with fighters and managers, but in private
+affairs I found that he was far from the honorable gentleman the press so
+often made him out to be. For several weeks he paid me my salary but not
+a penny of my commission on the radio deal. And when I pressed the issue,
+he let out a roar such as only he could make when angered.
+
+“You’re through,” he shouted. “The fights are drawing nothing here with
+radio. We don’t need you any more for publicity. We are scarcely pulling
+in enough to meet expenses.”
+
+“O.K., Mike,” I replied. “But what about my Adam Hats commissions? You
+can’t back away from that.”
+
+But he did. He had no scruples and was out to save what he owed me in an
+honorable business deal.
+
+“There’s nothing due you on the Adam Hats contract,” he snapped. “I could
+have gotten that without your help.”
+
+I was flabbergasted. Runyon was present and I asked him if he thought the
+deal I was getting was fair.
+
+“Certainly not,” he answered. “You are entitled to every penny due on
+that contract.”
+
+Damon fought my case but without success. So did the other two
+partners—Bill Farnsworth, sports editor of the New York _Journal_, and Ed
+Frayne, sports editor of the New York _American_—but Mike had his way and
+I left in a huff.
+
+Mike and I were not on speaking terms for many months, but I wouldn’t
+sue because I had been his friend for three decades. On one occasion he
+encountered me in Childs Restaurant near the Hippodrome and sat down at
+my table.
+
+“Nat, you and I have been friends for many years,” he said. “Why not
+continue?”
+
+He held out his hand to bind our reconciliation, then took ten one
+hundred dollar bills and placed them before me on the table.
+
+“Take these and let’s call it quits. There’s no reason for us being
+enemies,” he remarked.
+
+“I don’t want your money, Mike. You went back on our agreement.” I shoved
+the bills toward him. “You probably need that money more than I do,” I
+said quietly as I left the table.
+
+I took our break as one of those things that happen now and then between
+friends and decided to forget it and start anew. Although there was
+plenty of good in the make-up of this world-famous promoter, there was
+much that could be held against him. He wasn’t what I would call a man
+of honor. On the other hand, in all my business dealings with Rickard, I
+never once knew him to renege on a promise, though he did cross me on the
+Garden building proposition.
+
+Despite his shortcomings, I liked Jacobs, I got a thrill out of his
+promotions and enjoyed his company on the many trips I took with him,
+strange as that may seem in light of our unhappy business relationship.
+Between what he owed me on the Adam Hats contract, and what was due me
+on the agreement we made on the Farr-Louis match, I figured Uncle Mike
+reneged on close to $30,000.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The story of how Tommy Farr got a chance at the heavyweight championship
+is the perfect example of the science of manipulation expertly applied.
+Mike’s shrewd chessboard play enabled him to outguess and outsmart his
+rivals by such a wide margin that, in the parlance of the sports world,
+it was “no contest.” What he did was well within the law, although his
+maneuvering did bring about court action. The results, however, were in
+Jacobs’ favor.
+
+Farr was sitting pretty. He was the undisputed heavyweight king of the
+British Empire with victories over Walter Neusel, Max Baer, Bob Olin and
+Tommy Loughran. He had gained an international reputation and had reached
+the stage where the big money ordinarily starts flowing in. But this was
+not the case.
+
+Tommy, a Welshman with a keen commercial sense, was becoming restless. He
+thought that his manager, Ted Broadribb, was not getting him his proper
+share of worldly goods and the British papers were harping on a possible
+break between the pair. Sports editorials commented on the fact that
+Broadribb was suing Tommy before the British Boxing Board of Control to
+compel him to live up to their agreement.
+
+Broadribb and I were on friendly terms. He wrote to me about his
+troubles, asking if there was something I could do.
+
+I wrote an editorial praising Farr as the best British heavyweight in a
+quarter of a century, and I told how Broadribb had brought him along in
+easy stages to the high position he now occupied in fistic circles.
+
+The article pleased Farr immensely and he wrote me that his differences
+with Broadribb were not too great to iron out. He also asked if I would
+use whatever influence I had to get him a title bout in America.
+
+His letter launched me on a plan that gave me great satisfaction after it
+had been consummated, for it developed into the greatest event in British
+pugilism since Charley Mitchell fought John L. Sullivan.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Let’s trace the episode from the start. Max Schmeling had been shunted to
+the sidelines to make room for Joe Louis to fight Jimmy Braddock for the
+world heavyweight title. Schmeling, realizing his position, decided not
+to remain in America for the outcome of the Chicago battle, but to return
+to Germany and seek the support of European countries in his claim for
+championship recognition.
+
+He decided to do a little manipulating himself, and I couldn’t blame
+him. I supported his contention that he, not Louis, was entitled to get
+the first shot at Braddock’s crown, but Mike Jacobs was a great obstacle
+in his path. Mike had both Louis and Braddock under contract through
+a shady deal by which Braddock and his manager, Joe Gould, were to be
+handsomely rewarded for breaking their contract with Madison Square
+Garden to fight for Jacobs.
+
+Schmeling was informed through the press that Jacobs was dickering for a
+fight between Louis and Farr in the event that Louis gained the title,
+something Jacobs regarded as a foregone conclusion.
+
+Uncle Mike approached General Critchley and Syd Hulls, who were operating
+Wembley Stadium in London, and a deal was in the making whereby
+with Jacobs they would promote an international match for the world
+championship. Jacobs told me that he would take a party of seven New
+York reporters to cover the fight as his guests, and that I would be in
+charge. But he failed to consider the man whom he had thrust into the
+background when he arranged the Louis-Braddock fight.
+
+Schmeling, confident that he could whip both Louis and Farr, got the
+jump on Jacobs by making a tentative agreement with Broadribb for a
+Farr-Schmeling bout. Ted said he would give his consent provided the
+bout was staged in London, and when Max agreed, Broadribb got in touch
+with General Critchley and Hulls and offered them the contest. Since the
+British promoters could do nothing without Farr, they decided to ignore
+Jacobs and deal with Broadribb and Schmeling instead.
+
+I learned of the new deal and commented on it in my broadcast from
+Chicago over the NBC network, and the report caused considerable unrest
+in Jacobs’ camp. Mike found himself stymied. He tried to get Schmeling
+to return to America to fight Louis. He offered Max a title bout but
+Schmeling ignored the offer.
+
+Max figured that with Farr on his side, he could dictate the terms
+to Jacobs for a fight with Louis. He regarded himself as the world’s
+outstanding heavyweight, since through the German government he had
+obtained the support of the British Board of Control and the French
+Boxing Federation.
+
+Jacobs was furious but not yet defeated. In desperation he called the New
+York Commission on the telephone and requested that a cable be sent to
+Schmeling asking if he was prepared to accept an offer from Mike to fight
+Joe Louis in New York for the world title. Schmeling ignored this cable
+as he had the one from Jacobs.
+
+His plans for a championship fight up in the air, Mike called upon me,
+knowing that I had made many trips to England and was well known there
+and on the continent.
+
+“How close are you to Tommy Farr and his manager?” Jacobs asked me the
+day after Louis beat Braddock.
+
+We were in the Morrison Hotel in Chicago, headquarters of the New York
+sport writers. It was eleven o’clock at night when Jacobs was informed of
+Schmeling’s deal with Critchley and Hulls, Jacobs’ supposed partners in
+the British venture, and he was naturally upset.
+
+“I’m very friendly with both,” I told Mike, “especially with Broadribb.
+What’s wrong?”
+
+“Schmeling hasn’t answered my cable, and I’ve got to act quickly. He’s
+trying to prevent the Louis-Farr fight which I have planned. Schmeling
+is determined to fight Farr and get European countries to recognize the
+bout as a world championship fight. See if you can reach Broadribb on
+the telephone and get a low-down on the situation. If you can get Farr
+to fight Louis for me, I’ll give you ten per cent of my profits,” Jacobs
+said.
+
+I had received such promises from him before, and they really meant
+little to me. I was willing to help in order to get the bout in America
+and not because of Mike’s business proposition. I waited until one
+o’clock in the morning, and then put in a trans-Atlantic telephone call
+to Broadribb in London.
+
+At four in the morning, while Trevor Wignall, British writer, was sitting
+in my room with me awaiting the call, so that he could obtain a beat for
+his paper, the phone rang. It was Broadribb calling.
+
+“Hello, Ted,” I said. “Sorry to disturb you. I’m calling to get the
+low-down on the Farr-Schmeling fight. Have you signed? Mike Jacobs wants
+to give your man the chance that no British champion has had since
+Charley Mitchell’s days—an opportunity to fight here for the real world
+title. Will you accept?”
+
+“Sorry, old man, but I can’t do it. What would they think of me if I
+should suddenly say that I don’t want the Schmeling fight after I’ve told
+them to go ahead and get the German for Tommy?”
+
+“Ted,” I replied, “you knew right along that we were coming to London in
+a few weeks for a Farr-Louis match. Weren’t you told that?”
+
+“I read it here in Wignall’s column, but didn’t know definitely. Had I
+been sure, you know that nothing would have stood in the way. It would
+have been different. That’s the one fight we want and we would grab it.”
+
+“Well, Ted,” I answered, “it isn’t too late. You haven’t signed, and
+Schmeling is simply doing this in order to bolster his stock overseas.
+If he licks Farr he figures he’ll strengthen his claim to the title he
+thinks is his. Can’t you see that?”
+
+“I can’t say any more,” concluded Broadribb. “Let the matter rest until
+tomorrow. Your proposition looks good to me but I must confer with Hulls
+and Tommy.”
+
+With that he rang off and the first step in the negotiations that made
+English boxing history had been completed. We had set the stage for a
+heavyweight championship bout in which a British champion would come to
+American soil to fight for the title for the first time in thirty years.
+
+I told Jacobs of our conversation. He had been down in the dumps, but was
+somewhat cheered by the progress I had made.
+
+“I won’t let Schmeling cross me after what I was trying to arrange for
+him. He’ll either agree to fight Louis for the championship under my
+control in August or Farr will get the chance no matter what the cost.
+Call him again tomorrow.”
+
+I did, and at midnight the second day I again put in a call for
+Broadribb, this time with Jacobs sitting at my side. To what he had
+already told me, Broadribb now added:
+
+“I have been advised that the German Boxing Commission, the French
+Federation, and the British Boxing Board of Control have helped Schmeling
+by recognizing him, not Louis, as the champion, so that our fight will be
+for the title. How do I know that a Farr-Louis fight will be recognized
+as a world championship bout under such conditions?”
+
+“Ridiculous,” I answered. “Ted, you’re too smart to be fooled that way.
+Louis is the champion, and if you defeat Louis you’ll have realized your
+ambitions. If you have already signed, then I won’t dicker with you any
+longer. I don’t want to be a party to a broken agreement. Though my
+sympathy is with Schmeling, who got a raw deal, we can’t get away from
+facts—Louis is the world titleholder.”
+
+“I have no contract,” replied Broadribb. “Hull has an option on our
+services but unless he can get Schmeling and he meets the terms upon
+which the tentative arrangements have been made, there’ll be no fight
+with Schmeling.”
+
+“What are the terms?” I asked Ted.
+
+“He has offered Farr $30,000, and will advertise the bout for the
+championship and the fight must take place in London.”
+
+“How would you like to get double that sum, Ted?” I asked.
+
+“Do you mean that, Nat?” he inquired in surprise.
+
+“Yes, Ted,” I said. “Mike Jacobs is sitting here with me, and Mike told
+me to offer you double any sum you’ve been offered, if you have not
+signed yet. If you have, he says to call everything off.”
+
+Broadribb could scarcely speak. His voice quivered as he asked me to let
+the matter ride for another day.
+
+“I’d like to say yes, Nat,” he told me, “but I’m honor-bound to protect
+Hulls and General Critchley, and unless they fail to do what they have
+promised, I’m afraid I’ll have to say no until after Farr beats Schmeling
+which I tell you he’ll surely do.”
+
+“That’ll be too late, Ted,” I answered.
+
+With that, we said good-night, and I waited for two more days before I
+again heard from Broadribb. This time he called me.
+
+“Nat,” he said, “Hulls has violated our agreement. He was sworn to
+secrecy on the amount he was to pay Farr for Schmeling, but instead he
+has given out the story telling what Farr is to get, and that has riled
+Tommy. I don’t blame him. He’s raising havoc here, saying he’s worth
+every penny as much as the German, and not, as Hulls announced, half as
+much. I’ve told Hulls it’s all off. I’m ready to take on Louis for Mike
+if you say I should.”
+
+Jacobs was again at my side, and I told him the news.
+
+“Clinch the match!” he said. “You’ll share in my promotion.”
+
+And I closed the fight for Mike. I informed Broadribb that we would give
+Farr $60,000 guarantee, four round trip tickets, and 25 per cent of the
+movie and radio rights. That news flabbergasted the British manager, who
+remarked:
+
+“You mean that, Nat? That’s wonderful. Regard it as a deal. The bout
+is on. I’ll let you handle all matters for me. Tell Mr. Jacobs that he
+should cable the money for the tickets as soon as I notify him.”
+
+Thus the bout for Farr was arranged. After Broadribb had given his
+consent, Jacobs wanted me to go to London with Sol Strauss, his lawyer,
+to sign for the fight, and also to aid Ted and Farr in getting out of
+the country, as court action was threatened by Syd Hulls and General
+Critchley. I told Mike I couldn’t make it. Sol Strauss went alone and
+brought back Farr, and because of that he took all of the credit for
+making the match. Neither he nor Jacobs would have gotten to first base
+with Farr, had it not been for me. Farr and Broadribb confirmed that when
+they arrived for the bout.
+
+Farr, the day after Broadribb had agreed to accept on Tommy’s behalf,
+called me on the telephone and thanked me. He was overjoyed at the
+prospect of coming to America, and before we rang off, he said:
+
+“Nat, I’ll lick Louis. I’ll be the next champion. You did me a good turn
+and I shall not forget it. I’m eagerly awaiting your coming with Mr.
+Strauss to sign the contract. There’s no chance of a slip-up, is there,
+Nat?”
+
+I told him that I was not going to England and assured him there wasn’t a
+chance of a slip-up. Tommy added:
+
+“The opposition here has a story from Germany which is plastered all over
+the papers, saying that I’m a fool for agreeing to go to America to fight
+Louis, because only New York, of all the States, has recognized the Negro
+as champion. The story says that all the commissions except New York have
+decided that Schmeling is the real titleholder because he had complied
+with his terms of the agreement for the Braddock fight and Braddock had
+run out on him.
+
+“If that’s the case,” continued Tommy, “then I don’t want to fight Joe.
+It’s the champion that I want and whoever he is, Louis or Schmeling, he’s
+the chap I’m going to fight. Make certain that Louis holds the title
+before you have Strauss come over to sign me for the fight.”
+
+“Rest easy, Tommy,” I replied. “That story is a phoney. I give you my
+assurance that every State in the country, New York included, accepts
+Louis and not Schmeling as the champion. They have placed Max as the
+leading contender but give the title to Joe. If you think I’m spoofing
+you, I’ll have a story cabled over by the National Boxing Association
+within two hours. Cable me when you see it in the papers. If it doesn’t
+come, then we’ll forget the fight here and you can close the Schmeling
+deal.”
+
+I immediately called up the Rhode Island headquarters of Ed Foster,
+executive secretary of the National Boxing Association, and asked him
+to contact, at my expense, the various executive heads in each state
+in the N.B.A. as to whom they considered champion. Foster notified the
+Associated Press, United Press, and all of the other news services within
+an hour and a half that an executive telegram vote showed that every one
+of the thirty-one states in the N.B.A. supported Louis. This was cabled
+to Europe, by the various news agencies, and in about three hours from
+the time I had talked to Farr, I was on the telephone again, this time
+with Broadribb, who informed me that all the papers were carrying the
+correction.
+
+That’s how the Farr-Louis match was clinched. Can you blame me for
+feeling proud of the fact that it was through my efforts that a British
+fighter had an opportunity that no Englishman had had since the
+Corbett-Mitchell fight in 1894?
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The Schmeling forces accused me after that of having double-crossed Herr
+Max, with whom I was “supposedly” very friendly. That was not true. I
+had always been friendly toward Schmeling and still am, as a matter of
+fact, having recently visited him in Hamburg. No American writer had
+done as much as I had editorially to bolster his case before the public
+and to get him the chance at the title I believed he had earned. When I
+upset his plans by inducing Farr to come to America, I did so because
+Max had received ample opportunity to accept a fight with Louis for the
+championship, but had made no effort to accept. He apparently wanted to
+get universal recognition without fighting the man who had won the crown
+by stopping Braddock. He out-smarted himself by ignoring the cables
+offering him the match, and when he did decide to accept, it was too
+late, and only if he could receive the champion’s end of the purse, which
+he knew full well would be unacceptable to Louis and Jacobs.
+
+I know that at one time Jacobs offered Schmeling thirty per cent of
+the gate, Louis to get the other thirty, but Max scoffed at the terms.
+Therefore, I can safely say that in this transaction there was nothing
+that violated the spirit of fair play, no conniving or underhanded
+dealing. Farr got the match only because Schmeling wouldn’t take it.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Conceded by only a handful of followers to have the semblance of a chance
+against the Brown Bomber, Farr on August 30, 1937 in the Yankee Stadium
+surprised all by harassing the champion with a continuous bombardment,
+something no one other than Schmeling had been able to do throughout
+Louis’ professional career.
+
+Tommy fought the battle of all true-hearted, courageous Welshmen, but
+lost the verdict because of Louis’ superior boxing ability. It was the
+kind of fight that American sportsmen had been accustomed to see when
+such stalwarts as Jem Driscoll, Freddy Welsh, Jimmy Wilde, and Owen Moran
+appeared in this country.
+
+As for Jacobs’ agreement with me, he forgot all about his promise after
+he had Farr signed. Not only did I not share in the profits, but I didn’t
+even collect what I had spent on trans-Atlantic telephone calls and
+cables, and on wires to and from the N.B.A. executives.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+In many respects Mike Jacobs had a Jekyl and Hyde personality. He was
+cruel, inhuman at times to his help, particularly when things didn’t turn
+out the way he had hoped and planned; yet on other occasions, especially
+when he entertained at home, he couldn’t do enough to make his guests
+comfortable. I found him a complex character, to say the least. Though
+he lacked a formal education, he would come up with a knowledge of
+affairs that many a college professor might envy. A man of ideas, he knew
+publicity, fights, the stage, and people.
+
+If you decided Mike was too ardent in his pursuit of money, you learned
+of his many contributions to charity. If you made up your mind that he
+was just a tough Broadwayite, a graduate of the streets of New York, you
+discovered after a short stay at his magnificent Rumson Estate—one of the
+show places of New Jersey—that he loved the country, was proud of his
+farming, was wild about flowers, and had furnished his home with the very
+best that money could buy.
+
+Jacobs’ delight in horticultural pursuits and the furnishing of his home
+provided a striking index to his character. His sumptuous estate was
+located at Fair Haven, in the exclusive section of the Rumson colony
+of New Jersey. My brother Jack, who at the time was president of the
+National Auctioneers Association, had purchased the Shadow Lawn estate of
+Mr. Parsons, vice-president of the Woolworth Company.
+
+The contents of this luxurious home were put on public auction, and Mike
+and I visited the estate to make some purchases. To my surprise, he
+outbid the professionals in buying the cream of its contents, including
+a forty-foot-long Persian rug worth $30,000, some huge Grecian statues,
+and several oil paintings. Mike asked me to bid with him against the
+professionals, and when the bidding was concluded, he had obtained the
+beautiful rug for $7,800.
+
+“Know what I’m going to do with this?” he asked me. “I’m going to have
+enough cut off this rug to fit my living room, then I’m going to sell the
+rest. I’ll get back all I spent here.”
+
+This he did, to the horror of the aesthetes. And when the new deal
+was completed, Mike had all he needed of the rug in his living room
+cost-free, while selling the remainder of it for $12,500.
+
+The bathrooms of the Shadow Lawn estate had gold fixtures. Mike bought
+those to place in his home.
+
+“What was good enough for that house is worth putting in mine,” he told
+me. “Nobody in Rumson will have anything on Uncle Mike.”
+
+But he never made use of the fixtures. He disposed of them also at a huge
+profit without moving them. As a result of his shrewd bargaining, Jacobs
+fitted his home with the best that was in the Parson’s mansion without
+any cost to himself.
+
+Almost everything Uncle Mike put his hands to seemed to turn to gold.
+Only a few of the ventures into which he entered failed to return a
+handsome profit.
+
+When Farr came to America, Mike asked Tommy, Ted Broadribb, several
+British writers and myself to visit him at Fair Haven. Proudly he took
+us on a tour, showing us the rare gladioli with which he had won top
+prizes at the State Fair; beautiful peonies and thousands of the rarest
+type of American Beauty roses. Just as Mike began to explain how he grew
+these flowers and why he was so fond of farming, a bulldog belonging to a
+neighbor, to whom he rented a house, tore out across the garden of roses
+in pursuit of a cat.
+
+The owner stopped to apologize to Mike.
+
+“You keep that hound leashed or find yourself a new place to live. Those
+roses are far more important to me than your rent,” Jacobs shouted.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+We were on our way to Chicago—Jacobs, Hype Igoe, Murray Lewin, Jimmy
+Dawson, Jack Miley and myself. Mike held court in his pullman drawing
+room. There were midnight sandwiches, drinks, card playing, and general
+conversation until about three o’clock in the morning, when the party
+broke up and we went to our separate compartments.
+
+At six, there was a knock at my door. It was Mike.
+
+“I’m surprised you’re sleeping so late,” he said. “We’ll pull into
+Chicago in about three hours. Come on, let’s have some coffee.”
+
+I protested that I had only just gotten to bed.
+
+“You left my room at three didn’t you? Well, it’s six now,” he roared.
+
+I dressed and went to the diner with Mike. The chef was not ready for us,
+but Jacobs had no difficulty convincing him that it was in his interests
+to get that coffee up in a hurry, and he did.
+
+Getting up early and going after his coffee was a regular habit with
+Jacobs. Two nights before the Louis-Braddock fight in Chicago he was
+jittery and couldn’t sleep. I remained with him until about four in the
+morning, when I finally broke away and got to my room. Scarcely had I
+undressed when the telephone rang.
+
+“You’re not in bed yet, are you, Nat?” asked Mike. “Come down and we’ll
+have some breakfast.” I protested that I was sleepy and had three
+broadcasts that day and needed some rest.
+
+“What’s the matter with you guys?” he shouted. “You sleep your years
+away.”
+
+I yawned my way down into the coffee shop where Mike was sitting waiting
+for me, and we had our breakfast but no sleep.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Yes, a complex character was this many-sided guy off the Coney Island
+beats. And no matter what my grievances were against him, I always had a
+fond spot in my heart for him. It’s not likely that we’ll have his like
+again in the promotion field for many years.
+
+
+
+
+BOOK
+
+FOUR
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: 17]
+
+DONNYBROOKS
+
+
+The drama of American sport is superlative. Each branch has a thrilling
+story of its own, but for pulse-stirring interest, boxing is matchless.
+It is a game of contest and contact, of skill and stamina, of
+perseverance and grit—a battle between men. It has its romance, glamour,
+spectacular endings, and feats of unusual courage that make it an ever
+brilliant picture. They can all be listed under one title, “Fights I
+Cannot Forget,” and of these I shall select a few.
+
+One of my favorite fighters, most of whose bouts I reported, was Leach
+Cross. Few fighters in my experience have had a more brilliant career
+or fought as many tough battles. He was one of the standard bearers of
+boxing in New York in both the club membership and Frawley Law days.
+Leach, more than any other exponent of fisticuffs, popularized the
+sport among the Jews in his city and created sectional rivalry that
+often resulted in neighborhood fights. Through Leachie, thousands of New
+Yorkers who might never have followed boxing, became ardent fans who were
+largely responsible for the success of club membership shows before the
+sport was legalized in New York. His success blazed the trail for Benny
+Leonard, Ruby Goldstein and Sid Terris, among others. Cross and I were
+neighborhood buddies. I admired him for his fighting qualities.
+
+Of all of Leach’s fights, I pick that with Joe Bedell on March 16, 1911
+at the old Clermont Avenue Rink in Brooklyn, as his best. I saw Cross in
+most of his fights, but never in one so fast and furious as the Bedell
+affair. Leach had Bedell down twice, but after the second knock-down he
+pulled a boner. Thinking he had his opponent ready for the kill, he tore
+in wide open and Bedell met his rush with a blow that came up from the
+floor and landed Cross on the canvas with a thud. The bell saved him.
+
+After being carried to his corner, restoratives put Leach in condition
+to resume when the next round got under way. His fighting instinct alone
+enabled him to carry on through the eighth round, but in the ninth he
+went down again.
+
+Hopelessly beaten as he came out for the final session, Cross feigned
+grogginess—his favorite stunt—and, though weak, he maneuvered his
+tormentor into position for the shot that brought victory. It was a
+powerful smash to the jaw. Bedell went down, face forward, and was
+counted out.
+
+Another contest in which Cross participated thrilled me. It was St.
+Patrick’s Day, 1908, when Leach was scheduled to meet Frankie Madden at
+the Old Dry Dock Athletic Club at Tenth Street and Avenue D, one of the
+toughest sectors on the lower East Side of New York City. A huge stable
+and a very large lumber yard were located across the street.
+
+Madden was a product of the same district as his manager, Bowery gangster
+Jack Sirocco.
+
+That night, the house was packed with Irish and Italians, who overflowed
+into the aisles and jammed the exits. Hundreds were turned away—most of
+them Jewish supporters of Leach, who couldn’t buy an admission ticket
+that night or if they had one, couldn’t get into the club. Madden’s
+friends saw to that. I pushed my way into the club with the aid of
+Detective Martin Sheridan and my Police Reporter’s card.
+
+Madden came into the ring with a huge shamrock sewed on his tights. The
+crowd went wild with cheers for their favorite son. Cross was booed
+heartily when he was introduced by Charley Harvey. It was obvious
+that—except for his seconds and a few of us who had arrived early—Leach
+had no friends present that night.
+
+The fight got under way and for five rounds it was one of the most
+vicious, brutal battles I’d ever seen. In the fifth, Leach, coming out
+of a clinch, pressed the issue. He forced Madden towards the ropes and
+suddenly let go a right that came up almost from the floor. It struck
+Madden on the jaw and hurled him on top of the upper rope, where he was
+counted out.
+
+Now here’s the climax. Someone had telephoned the police that there was
+a riot at the club between the Jews and the Irish. Three patrol wagons
+loaded with bluecoats drew up to the club. But instead of finding a riot,
+Inspector Russell arrived to see Leach raised on the shoulders of two
+husky Sons of Erin. They were surrounded by a wild shouting group of
+Irish and Italian fans paying their respects to Cross for the manner in
+which he had gained his victory.
+
+It was a scene I’ll never forget! There was nothing for the cops to do
+except to order the club cleared.
+
+Incidentally, it was the first time that any Jewish newspaper had
+published the fight results. The morning after the fight, the _Jewish
+Forward_ carried Leach Cross’s picture on the front page.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Another fight I vividly recall was that between Cross and Young Sammy
+Smith of Philadelphia, whose true name was Isaac Rozetsky. It took place
+on February 3, 1911, at the Manhattan Casino. This was a low, rambling
+dance hall a stone’s throw from the Polo Grounds in New York—the same
+dusty arena where Benny Leonard later won the world lightweight title
+from Freddy Welsh. Young Sammy was a brother of the Sammy who had fought
+such top men as Terry McGovern, Young Corbett, and Joe Gans and had
+campaigned mostly in the Quaker City.
+
+Cross had never seen Young Sammy in action until they had climbed into
+the ring, and you can imagine Leach’s surprise when he noticed that his
+opponent wore glasses. I never knew another boxer to appear in the ring
+with such heavy lenses. They were a quarter of an inch thick. Smith had
+a habit of placing his head close to that of his opponent when he was
+called to the center for instructions, squinting through his glasses as
+though trying to study his man. He did this to Cross as Referee Dan Tone
+reviewed the rules. Leach laughed out loud as he pointed to Sammy and his
+cheaters, and, turning to brother Sam, his manager, he remarked as he
+went back to his corner:
+
+“Can you imagine giving me a blind opponent! If he can’t see me with
+those headlights on, how does he hope to see me when he takes ’em off?”
+
+The gong sounded. Off came Sammy’s glasses and a rushing tearing-in,
+two-fisted fighter tossed punches from all sides effectively. Cross in
+later years met better men than Smith, but I doubt that he took more
+punishment than Young Sammy meted out that night. When the final gong
+ended the fray, Leach told brother Sam:
+
+“I hate to think what he might have done if he had perfect eyesight!”
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The reason for Cross’s popularity was that he always gave the fans a run
+for their money. Though he never won a title, he was of championship
+caliber throughout his career. Most people flocked to the New York
+clubs hoping to see him knocked out, but they would invariably go home
+disappointed. Until Benny Leonard came along, Cross was New York’s most
+sensational battler. He was the cause of many Donnybrooks in New York
+clubs.
+
+It was something of a coincidence that Leach Cross began to slip the very
+night that Benny Leonard started his climb to fistic fame. That was on
+December 17, 1915, when Leach and Benny fought on the same card—Leonard
+against Joe Mandot and Cross against Ad Wolgast. Because of a law
+stipulating that the windup fight had to start no later than ten o’clock,
+Leach’s fight with Wolgast went on first. Wolgast was pretty well shot
+at the time and Cross stopped him in the second round. Ad’s legs were
+leaden, and it was obvious that he had passed his peak.
+
+Immediately after the fight Leach raced to his dressing room, and within
+ten minutes he came to the press box and sat with me to watch the
+Leonard-Mandot bout. Benny stopped Mandot that night in the seventh round
+and Leach raved about the boxing and hitting qualities of his successor.
+He watched him with more admiration than envy, but I could read his
+feelings in his expression, knowing as he did then that a young East
+Sider had come along to crowd him out of the picture.
+
+Cross was a great club fighter, and in his heyday that meant a lot. One
+who could sell tickets to his friends could be sure of considerable
+work, and there wasn’t a better salesman than Leach himself. He was the
+forerunner of a wave of Ghetto gladiators whose followers were legion,
+and who packed the Sharkey Club, Brown’s Gymnasium, the Fairmont A.C.,
+the Manhattan Casino, Empire A.C., the Dry Dock and Roman Athletic Clubs,
+Atlantic Gardens, and the Longacre Club. Each fighter had a distinct
+local following, and often the rivalry between East Siders and West
+Siders gave the minions of the law severe headaches. The fans often
+engaged in fist fights after the club battle.
+
+Many of the bouts I reported in New York had such endings. Another that I
+cannot forget, was that between Benny Leonard and Frankie Conifrey, who
+were billed for a ten-rounder at the Star A.C. in Harlem in 1916. At the
+time, Benny had not yet won the title, but he was a promising boy who
+had gained considerable publicity. He was the pride of the Ghetto and
+Conifrey was the pride of the Harlem Irish. The rivalry between the Jews
+and Irish was terrific in New York fight circles, and there was no let-up
+in neighborhood brawls. Frankie was a hard hitter and a clever boxer, but
+he met his master in Leonard.
+
+In the sixth round, Benny had Conifrey reeling, and Frankie’s brother
+leaped into the ring to halt the fight. Then the fun began. Conifrey’s
+enraged followers, who had big bets on the outcome, tossed chairs,
+bottles, and newspapers over the rail towards the ring. Some of these
+papers, in which beer bottles were wrapped, came hurtling towards the
+press box, and we newspapermen ducked for safety wherever we could find
+protection.
+
+The Conifrey mob then surged down to the ringside looking for Leonard
+rooters, and the riot was on in full force. Spectators scrambled for
+safety, but no matter which way they turned, there were Conifrey’s
+followers holding the fort.
+
+It wasn’t until the cops came racing into the arena that the fighting
+ceased. Bloody noses and split lips were the fashion of the evening, and
+many a broken head had to be stitched at the Harlem Hospital following
+that melee.
+
+Johnny Kewpie Ertle of St. Paul, claimant of the world bantam crown, and
+Mike Gibbons were spectators, and as they ducked out of the arena, I
+heard Ertle remark:
+
+“Hell, Mike, if this is the way things are done in New York, let’s get
+back to St. Paul. I don’t want to fight here.”
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+It was at the Howard Athletic Club in New York City in 1912 that I saw
+a reminder of the old bare-knuckle days. It was the greatest all-out
+Donnybrook ever staged outside Ireland. The three McGoverns—the famous
+Terry, and his brothers Hughie and Phil—engaged the three Leons—Casper,
+Jack, and Benny—in a family affair.
+
+In this sensational bout, Phil McGovern was fighting Benny Leon. Terry
+and Hugh McGovern were handling Phil in his corner, while Casper and Jack
+were looking after Benny.
+
+It was a marvelous scrap, and eventually Benny knocked Phil flat with a
+right cross. Terry McGovern, tricky as ever, reached for the arm of the
+timekeeper to prevent him from counting Phil out. Casper Leon took in the
+situation in a flash and rushed toward Terry.
+
+The audience stood on its feet yelling as these two ex-monarchs of the
+ring tore into each other. Before anybody knew what was happening, Hughie
+McGovern had dashed over to Terry’s aid and encountered Jack Leon en
+route.
+
+In an instant the crowd forgot all about the fight between Phil and
+Benny. The timekeeper made no attempt to count; it was hopeless. The
+spectators were in for an unexpected scrap of a kind that hadn’t been
+seen for years.
+
+To deafening cheers, the battling brothers went at it like infuriated
+terriers. The fighting blood of the Jews and the Irish was at the boiling
+point—and it was streaming down the faces of the contestants. Some of
+the spectators, unable to contain themselves, dashed into the fray, and
+then a full-dress riot began.
+
+It raged for the best part of half an hour and was quelled when Captain
+Reynolds and his police reserves rushed to the scene. These reserves knew
+their job. They were accustomed to being called out to subdue the riotous
+McGoverns, who spent the greater part of their time beating up the New
+York bluecoats!
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: 18]
+
+FIGHTING COURAGE
+
+
+I’ve traveled the world—by road, rail, sea, and air—in pursuit of stories
+of boxers and boxing. The five continents have been my hunting ground.
+I don’t know how many thousands of miles I have traveled nor how many
+thousands of fights I have seen, but I do know that I wouldn’t exchange
+the memories of that wonderful half-century in the fight game for all the
+gold and diamonds in the world.
+
+The great names flash through my mind like a dazzling star-studded
+parade: Jack Johnson, Tunney, Dempsey, Corbett, Willard, Attell,
+Driscoll, Leonard, Langford—down through the years to Louis, Marciano,
+and Floyd Patterson.
+
+I’ve known them all—in triumph and adversity, in poverty and luxury, in
+victory and defeat. Champions have wept on my shoulder and confessed
+their troubles to me. World-famous promoters have sought my advice.
+Managers of great, and not so great, fighters have burdened me with their
+worries. That’s all been in the game, the greatest game in the world—the
+fight game.
+
+For fifty years it has been the love of my life. I have criticized it,
+praised it, and lashed out at its shortcomings, but I have always been
+faithful to it. It is humanity personified, for it brings out all the
+qualities and failings which are in the make-up of man. The greatest of
+these qualities is courage.
+
+I have seen and wondered at all sorts of courage: raw and refined, blind
+and calculating, true and false. When I think of it, my mind is filled
+with the memories of great fights, with the full-throated roars of vast
+crowds. The incredible case of Luis Firpo, mentioned in an earlier
+chapter, is the best example of my belief that a fighter can lack almost
+everything and yet get somewhere in the boxing game if he isn’t a coward.
+
+But there are different kinds of courage. My mind goes back to my early
+days as a sports reporter, to the amazing Joe Grim. He had neither boxing
+skill nor punching power, yet he set himself up as a target for the most
+terrific heavyweight hitters of his time. And he was never knocked out.
+
+I remember when he was pitted against the mighty Bob Fitzsimmons, one of
+the most murderous punchers of all time. Before the gong sounded for the
+fight to start, Grim walked to the ropes and shouted to the crowd in a
+loud voice, “I’m Joe Grim. I fear no man on earth.”
+
+And he proved it. Throughout the six-round bout, Grim stood his ground in
+the middle of the ring, taking all the punishment Fitz could give him.
+
+Seldom in my ringside career have I seen a man take such a battering
+and stay on his feet. Fitz unleashed every punch he knew. He grew tired
+of using Grim as a punching bag; of seeing that swaying figure still
+standing up under the hurricane of blows.
+
+At the end of the fight—the referee gave “No Decision”—Grim was still
+defiant. He staggered to the ropes and mumbled, “I’m Joe Grim. I fear no
+man on earth!”
+
+And the crowd rose to its feet and roared its approval of the man who
+refused to bend the knee to the mighty Fitzsimmons.
+
+But was it real courage that enabled Grim to take such punishment?
+Sometimes I think not. I think perhaps madness or conceit might better
+describe the driving force behind such a display.
+
+Of similar stuff was the courage of world middleweight champion Mickey
+Walker, the Toy Bulldog. The memory of the way he stood up to heavyweight
+Max Schmeling will stay with me as long as I live.
+
+They met in the Long Island Bowl, September 26, 1932. Mickey, six inches
+shorter than the German, was giving away nearly twenty-five pounds in
+weight. He boasted that he would take on any fighter at any weight, and
+he faced up bravely but in vain to the giant Max, then one of the hardest
+hitters in the world.
+
+The Schmeling onslaught began with the first round. Punch after punch
+connected with Walker’s face and body until he was almost battered to
+a pulp. Yet he stood up gamely enough, taking terrible punishment and
+risking permanent injury.
+
+The sight of that reeling Mickey being smashed to senselessness was too
+much for his manager, Jack Kearns. The towel was thrown into the ring in
+the eighth round and Mickey was almost carried to his dressing room.
+
+Here again was a case of unreasoning courage, of gameness carried to the
+point of stupidity.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+There’s the other side of the picture. Some of the cleverest fighters
+of the last half-century confessed to me that rather than take further
+punishment in a losing battle, they preferred taking the count. And who
+shall blame them when they have seen the products of this misplaced
+courage—the punch-drunk derelicts who hang around the gymnasiums, their
+eyes as vacant as their minds? But the fact remains that courage,
+whether blind or logical, is a must in the make-up of the successful
+boxer. Sometimes courage ebbs and has to be revived.
+
+I can never forget the raw courage of Babe Risko in his fight with Jock
+McAvoy, December 20, 1935, in Madison Square Garden. This courage forced
+him to take terrible punishment, although he knew he hadn’t a chance to
+turn the tide. Six times the American had gone down from the trip-hammer
+blows of the British middleweight before Babe was counted out with still
+half a minute to go of the opening round. All I can say is that the boxer
+with a fighting heart can never be persuaded that he has had enough.
+
+But let’s take an example of refined courage—the kind displayed by
+Gene Tunney when he met Jack Dempsey in their first bout in the
+Sesquicentennial Stadium of Philadelphia. The pale-faced ex-marine showed
+remarkable coolness as he walked into the lair of the tiger-man to face
+blows that had battered the strongest into insensibility.
+
+Blind courage would have induced him to swap blows with the enraged,
+scowling Dempsey after the famous “fourteen” count in their second
+contest in Chicago, but he chose the way of refined courage, which
+changes blind instinct to thought and calculation—and so he saved the day.
+
+In Max Schmeling’s fight with Young Stribling, July 3, 1931, in
+Cleveland, and his first with Joe Louis, June 19, 1936, I saw examples
+of the calculating courage of a great fighter. In both, as indeed in all
+of Schmeling’s important battles, he plodded along until the opportune
+moment arrived. Then calculating courage transformed him into a fighting
+fury, when he had to take as well as give punishment.
+
+Packey McFarland, a boxer of consummate skill, was hurt on several
+occasions but never to the extent that he was forced to display courage
+to stick it out. He would never let anyone beat him up.
+
+On the day after his fight with Matt Wells on April 26, 1912, in New
+York City, I went to his dressing room. Both men had put up a wonderful
+show, but Packey had received far more punishment than he normally took,
+and I was surprised. I asked McFarland how he felt.
+
+“Nat,” he said, “I’m a clever boxer. I feel I can hold my own against
+anybody my weight, or ten pounds above my weight, but when the day comes
+that my cleverness will no longer protect me, I’ll quit. I don’t believe
+in what you writers term courage.”
+
+“But Packey,” I countered, “you mean to tell me that if you were badly
+hurt you’d toss in the sponge?”
+
+“That’s exactly what I would do.”
+
+“They would call you a coward,” I retorted. “If you showed a yellow
+streak, you’d be through.”
+
+Anger blazed in Packey’s eyes, but he controlled himself and spoke in his
+ordinary quiet and cultivated tones.
+
+“Yellow, eh?” he replied. “I know as well as you that no man in the
+boxing game has a right to be there if he has a faint heart. It takes
+a fellow with a lot of nerve to stand up and absorb punishment, but it
+requires even more courage for a man to know when he has had enough and
+to call a halt.
+
+“That’s not a yellow streak in a fighter. I say that’s ordinary common
+sense. When the going is good, keep firing. That’s my motto. But when you
+find the odds are against you, then quit.”
+
+This was the philosophy of one of America’s greatest boxers in a period
+which surpassed all other eras in lightweights and welterweights. Nobody
+ever doubted Packey’s courage, but that is how he had worked things out
+for himself.
+
+It was the logic of brain against the unreasoning instincts of brawn. I
+admired Packey for the stand he took, and in later years, when he became
+sponsor of the Catholic Youth Movement in the United States, he carried
+the same philosophy into his classes.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: 19]
+
+RINGSIDE THRILLS
+
+
+The walls of my office are covered with photographs of my heroes—sturdy
+Jim Jeffries, lanky Bob Fitzsimmons, debonair Jim Corbett, happy-go-lucky
+Jack Johnson, ponderous Jess Willard, the tiger of the roped square, Jack
+Dempsey, cultured Gene Tunney, fiery Jack Sharkey, smiling Max Schmeling,
+poker-faced Joe Louis and hard-hitting Rocky Marciano—a great array of
+heavyweight champions. I find pleasure in discussing their careers. The
+thrills I got watching these ringmen perform, come back to me as I sit
+at my desk and study the faces on my walls. I have seen seconds lead men
+into the morning glory of fame and fortune, and plunge others into the
+midnight of a defeat from which they never came back. Those pictures tell
+a story.
+
+Among the thrilling contests listed in my diary, three in which the
+great Benny Leonard was a contestant, stand out. Out of Chicago came
+a left-hook artist, Charley White, whose high, intellectual brow hid
+a slow-thinking brain. He was within four seconds of winning the
+lightweight championship from Leonard on a hot afternoon, July 5, 1920,
+at Benton Harbor, Michigan, but couldn’t make it. For four rounds Leonard
+had out-punched and out-generalled Charley, the Chicago left-hook phenom,
+skillfully posing him for the knockout. Then Benny got careless.
+
+In the fifth, the left hook landed on Benny’s jaw with lightning rapidity
+and the champion went flying through the ropes. The spectators howled
+like Indians. White had shaken off the fog that usually enveloped his
+brain, and from all appearances the title was within his grasp. But
+Leonard got back into the ring at the count of six, and so flabbergasted
+was his opponent that his brain seemed to go numb. It ceased to function
+and Charley became just another fighter.
+
+Leonard was quick to sense the situation and through the eighth round,
+he jabbed, hooked and uppercut White at will. In the ninth, Charley was
+downed on hands and knees but took only a short count. Once more he went
+down and then Benny knocked him over the ropes. Back into the ring he
+found Leonard waiting, poised for the “kill.” Though he again put Charley
+down, it took a fifth knock-down to end the thriller.
+
+Split seconds stood between the hard-hitting Chicago challenger and the
+crown, but as in the case of Leonard when he fought Tendler, brains
+triumphed over brawn. Had not Charley White “frozen” in that fifth round,
+he would have been returned the champion. At least that was the consensus
+among the newspapermen who watched Leonard pull through the round.
+
+Leonard was an extraordinary fighter—an artist when it came to providing
+thrills. Let’s take a look at his fight with Richie Mitchell, the
+Milwaukee lightweight on January 14, 1921, in Madison Square Garden for
+the benefit of Ann Morgan’s Devastated France Fund. Richie already had
+been stopped by Leonard in seven rounds, but he was a good pugilist and
+the return bout brought out a vast throng of society fans, among them
+Governor Al Smith who was viewing his first ring battle. There must have
+been a lot of ruined dresses that night, for before the proceedings were
+over, frenzy broke out.
+
+When the bell rang to start the fight, Benny, very cool and rather
+contemptuous of Mitchell, walked straight out to meet him with a left to
+the face and followed with a right aimed at the jaw. It missed the button
+and struck the Milwaukee boy on the cheekbone, but it dropped him flat.
+
+The referee started the count to a scene of excitement seldom surpassed
+in my experience. The society fans went wild. Mitchell’s seconds bawled
+at him to remain down and take his time.
+
+Richie may have heard them, for he didn’t get up until “nine.” He was
+groggy. His legs wobbled. He sought to embrace Leonard, but a short
+left-hook to the chin, sent Richie down again.
+
+And down he stayed until “nine.” When he got up, he reeled about in front
+of me. I saw that he had a nasty cut under his left eye.
+
+I saw Leonard leap forward again, bent on making a quick finish. He shot
+a left to the jaw, followed by a right. The Milwaukee boy rocked like a
+tree in a storm, then went down for the third time to a volley of rights
+and lefts.
+
+I got one of those reactions I often had when I saw a brave man taking
+too much punishment. The big thrill suddenly faded into revulsion. For
+with me there is no thrill without sport, and there can be no sport when
+one man is hopelessly beaten.
+
+Did I say beaten? The revulsion came too quickly. Richie Mitchell got
+up again at “eight” and ran into another terrific bombardment of solid
+smashes, hooks, and jabs; but still he wouldn’t go out. He actually
+fought back, getting home a few lefts to Benny’s face. He showed heroic
+courage, and courage will work miracles in the ring.
+
+Leonard, brushing aside the lefts, waded in. Then suddenly he stood
+still. I saw his whole body stiffen and sprang to my feet. Something was
+happening—had happened!
+
+Richie, almost out, had put all his strength into a left to Benny’s
+stomach. The glove buried itself, forcing the champion’s head forward.
+
+Like an arrow came Richie’s right, flush on Leonard’s jaw.
+
+There was a sudden hush. The atmosphere was tense with utter
+astonishment. Benny Leonard, the idol of New York, out on the canvas! It
+was unbelievable! Then pandemonium broke out.
+
+The count piled up as Benny struggled to get to his feet. I heard his
+handlers yelling:
+
+“Get up, Benny, get up!”
+
+I heard Billy Gibson, Leonard’s manager, shout:
+
+“Shake your head, Benny! Shake your head, Benny!”
+
+I saw Leonard get up and nod to Gibson, as if to say he was all right.
+And then we saw a superb exhibition of ringcraft. Benny feigned an
+attack, and as he closed towards Mitchell, he grabbed his opponent
+instead of striking and held on.
+
+Richie got in a light left, for he, too, was in bad shape. Benny fiddled
+about and kidded Richie into doing nothing until the bell rang. He had
+out-smarted his opponent at the critical time and robbed him of a title
+victory when it was there for the taking.
+
+This was one of the greatest rounds that I had ever seen in the ring, but
+it was only the beginning. The next session was a mill royal. Benny soon
+got up to his tricks again but Richie had him groggy with a terrific
+right to the jaw, and immediately afterwards Mitchell was almost out from
+a bombardment to the head.
+
+This sort of fighting went on for three more rounds.
+
+In the sixth, Benny put over a right with such force that Mitchell fell
+on his back. He was on his feet at “nine,” and went on the defensive,
+with chin tucked into his shoulder and taking most of Leonard’s blows on
+his arms. But he was a pitiful figure to behold. His lips were smashed
+and bleeding and his eyes almost closed. Yet they fought on.
+
+Richie went down again for “six” from body blows and with inhuman
+courage, he again got up only to be floored for another long count. There
+was Mitchell staggering about in a neutral corner, and there was Leonard
+firing away in an effort to stretch his rival flat. He finally succeeded.
+After another down Referee Haucap pushed Benny aside as the eight count
+was completed, and called a halt to one of the greatest ring battles seen
+in the old Garden under the regime of Tex Rickard.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+I had the good fortune to see many such hair-raising contests. Let’s take
+that between Ad Wolgast, lightweight king, and K. O. Brown, on February
+8, 1911. After that scintillating bout, the Michigan Wildcat was sitting
+in his dressing room when I entered, after having fought my way from
+the ringside in the Philadelphia arena where they fought a sensational
+ten-rounder. Had a decision been permitted—this was a no decision
+contest—by my scoring Brown would have won the crown, for the sturdy
+little New York Dutchman had given Wolgast a fine shellacking. For six
+rounds he had Ad at his mercy while the throng cheered. He had Wolgast on
+the brink of a knockout, but failed to take advantage of the situation
+and lost his golden opportunity.
+
+I was eager to learn why Wolgast, who had fought great battles with
+Battling Nelson and was one of the toughest of all lightweights, had
+permitted Brown to gain such a big advantage over him.
+
+Ad sat in a chair as I entered, his head in his hands. His manager was
+staring gloomily at the floor, his hands in his pockets and a cigar in
+his mouth. Mingled with the smell of the cigar was the odor of liniment.
+
+“Hello, Ad!” I said.
+
+Wolgast looked up. He was a short, square fellow, under five feet four in
+height, but with the shoulders of a middleweight. His fair hair, now lank
+and dark with water from the spongings, indicated his German ancestry.
+
+“Hello, Nat!” he responded mechanically.
+
+“What was wrong with you, Ad?” I asked.
+
+The manager looked at him as if he, too, would like an answer.
+
+“That fellow Brown,” replied Wolgast, “he’s a southpaw. I can’t do
+anything against them.”
+
+“You’re not telling me that, Ad,” I said. “I figured that being a
+southpaw, Brown would be easy going for you.”
+
+Ad looked up. “Well, he wasn’t easy. You saw how it was. I tell you that
+southpaw stance is a puzzler. I thought it would be easy, and I did do
+some of my training with a southpaw sparring partner to make sure. But he
+got me puzzled all right. I couldn’t get going, Nat.”
+
+“How do you figure it out, Ad?” I asked.
+
+“You never know from what angle those southpaws are going to hit. That
+got me all tangled up. Then this Dutchman can punch so that he leaves a
+dent wherever he lands. I’d rather fight two left-stance men in one ring
+than one southpaw, and I’m well out of this mess. You can figure the rest
+out for yourself, Nat.”
+
+Ad was piqued. He had taken a bad lacing. One of his eyes was nearly
+closed, and his lips looked as if they had been having an argument with
+a mincing machine. Judging from the manager’s sober expression, it
+wasn’t going to be a happy evening, so I wished Ad good luck and left
+Philadelphia for home.
+
+On my way back to New York, I got into an argument with some of the boys
+about southpaws. Most of them said the obvious thing—the southpaws should
+be easy meat for men who fought with the left arm and foot extended. But
+Ad Wolgast’s experience made that opinion extremely doubtful.
+
+“There has never been a southpaw champion yet,” said one of the boys.
+
+“You’re wrong there, pal,” I interposed. “Bendigo was a southpaw. He won
+the heavyweight championship of England by whipping Jem Burke just over a
+hundred years ago.”
+
+“Orthodox fighters have learned a bit since then, Nat.”
+
+“Well, all I can say is that Ad Wolgast isn’t one of them,” I replied.
+“And I’d like to see some of the other champs up against southpaws before
+I make up my mind.”
+
+Dissatisfied with his showing against Brown, Wolgast arranged another
+engagement with the blond, hard-hitting Dutchman within a month, March 3.
+
+“Dumb” Dan Morgan, K. O. Brown’s manager, had pressed for this second
+contest after his man’s impressive exhibition in Philadelphia. Wolgast
+had demanded a guarantee of ten thousand dollars—an enormous sum in those
+days, and certainly enough to put an end to negotiations. But “Dumb” Dan
+was so certain that K. O. Brown could put Wolgast to sleep within ten
+rounds that he went into the match on a very short purse which enabled
+Tom O’Rourke to meet Ad’s demands for the big guarantee.
+
+The seating capacity of O’Rourke’s New York club was only twelve hundred,
+but as soon as the match was signed, there was an enormous demand for
+tickets. Tom put up his prices and charged five, ten, and fifteen dollars
+for the seats, but even then there was a riot, and police reserves had
+to be called out to deal with fans who fought to get in. The jam was so
+great that the police had to rope off the entire block, clear it, and
+then control the stream of fans right into the hall.
+
+I have seen many wild gatherings at the scene of a big fight, but few to
+surpass this one. Although we knew we were in for a thrill, we didn’t
+quite figure on the sort of thrill we got. It was a savage bout from
+start to finish. Both men absorbed tremendous punishment.
+
+I had seldom seen such punching from lightweights. The two men fought
+toe-to-toe and wouldn’t concede a foot. On several occasions the
+lightweight crown tottered on Ad Wolgast’s head, as the ferocious
+Dutchman, with his baffling southpaw stance, crashed home his dynamic
+right on the champion’s cheeks, just missing the button.
+
+Then apparently it began to dawn on K. O. Brown that the championship was
+in his grasp, and that he would have to pay proper respect to Ad’s swings
+if he was to get away with it. Here the Dutchman made a mistake—and it
+cost him the world title.
+
+In the eighth round, Brown landed a punch on Wolgast’s chin that had
+the champion groggy. Ad went back on his heels, his eyes rolling. For a
+moment he staggered forward with open mouth, and the Dutchman just missed
+connecting with his deadly right. I saw him about to leap in, and then
+check himself.
+
+The crowd was yelling for him to finish Wolgast, but he stood fiddling
+about, feinting. Meanwhile, the groggy champion was slowly recovering his
+senses. What could have happened to Brown?
+
+He told me afterwards that at that instant he suddenly remembered how
+Cross shammed grogginess and then whipped over his terrific right and
+that memory decided K. O. Brown to take no chances.
+
+“Go in and finish him!” yelled “Dumb” Dan Morgan to Brown. “Finish him
+now!”
+
+I saw the Dutchman turn and shake his head to his manager.
+
+“Just one more, K. O.” pleaded Dan.
+
+Wolgast was helpless. He was reeling about the ring like a drunken man,
+out on his feet. But Brown refused to believe it. And there was a world
+championship at stake! My heart was in my mouth. But what of poor “Dumb”
+Dan, who had steered the Dutchman to this supreme moment, and now, in the
+very harbor of victory, Brown wouldn’t anchor!
+
+Only one punch was needed to settle it, but the Dutchman continued to
+fiddle his chances away. His southpaw stance had presented him with the
+great opportunity, but he couldn’t take it.
+
+For the next two rounds, Ad Wolgast, still groggy, managed to keep Brown
+out by a strictly defensive fight. Even when he had partially recovered
+his senses, he had no effective answer to his opponent’s style, and
+finished the fight—a no-decision affair—a loser on points, in my opinion.
+However, under the rules that governed boxing at that time, only a
+knockout could rob him of his world title, and the Dutchman had failed to
+deliver it.
+
+There was an extraordinary scene in Brown’s corner after the fight.
+
+Dan Morgan was frantic.
+
+“Just one blow,” he howled. “Any kind of a punch and you would have
+become the lightweight champion of the world!”
+
+The Dutchman looked sheepish.
+
+“Say something, you sap,” bawled Morgan. “You had the title in your hands
+and you let it slip away. Why didn’t you go after him?”
+
+“Aw, Mister Morgan, I didn’t know it,” said Brown. “I taut he vos kiddin’
+me.”
+
+K. O. Brown’s failure deferred the winning of a world title by a southpaw
+for three years when I saw George Chip, middleweight champion of the
+world knocked out in a huge fistic upset by Al McCoy in the Broadway
+Club of Brooklyn, April 6, 1914. Three years later, November 14, 1917,
+I saw McCoy dethroned in Brooklyn in another thriller by a tough Irish
+middleweight, Mike O’Dowd. That bout went into the sixth round when a
+terrific left split McCoy’s lips and a right to the jaw put Al away.
+McCoy was an ordinary fighter, but he takes his place in the Hall of Fame
+as the first southpaw to win a world crown in a gloves contest.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Every nation has had its quota of thrill providers in boxing—with the
+Irish and the Jews, in my opinion, leading the field during the years
+covered in my reminiscences.
+
+Sitting in my offices was Jack McAuliffe, the first recognized American
+lightweight champion who retired undefeated. He had paid me a visit about
+three months prior to his death and asked for help on an article he was
+writing on Irish fighters.
+
+“Tell me, Jack, what is it the Irish have that carries such appeal for
+the boxing enthusiasts?” I asked.
+
+Jack wrinkled his brow and with one word gave me the answer: “Gameness.”
+
+I thought he hit it on the head. One can’t discuss thrilling fights
+of the past half-century without bringing in the names of dozens of
+famous Irish battlers who fought to packed houses in New York in the
+club membership days and later under the Walker Law. Who can forget the
+performances of Harlem Tommy Murphy, Willie Lewis, Jack Britton, Mike
+McTigue, Mickey Walker, Mike O’Dowd, Jimmy McLarnin, Tommy Loughran,
+Philadelphia Jack O’Brien, Dave Shade and Jimmy Slattery? Some were
+powerful hitters, others scientific boxers, and many combined both
+hitting power and science to give us masterful exhibitions.
+
+The many contests between Britton and Ted Kid Lewis, the bouts between
+McLarnin and Barney Ross, the hair-raising bout between Billy Petrolle
+and McLarnin, November 21, 1930, in Madison Square Garden, the battle
+with Stanley Ketchel in which Philadelphia Jack O’Brien’s head rested in
+the rosin pan as the final gong sounded on March 26, 1909, in the Fiss,
+Doerr and Carroll Horse Mart ring—they were bouts one cannot forget.
+And then there were the great battles in which Mickey Walker was a
+contestant. His draw bout with Jack Sharkey, July 22, 1931, his knockout
+at the hands of Max Schmeling in the Long Island Bowl, September 26,
+1932, and his battles with Shade, McTigue and Harry Greb, all in 1925,
+were performances that brought out the fighting spirit of the Irish to
+its fullest extent.
+
+McLarnin’s three contests with Barney Ross, May 28 and September 17,
+1934, and May 28, 1935, the second of which was the only one the Irish
+lad won, are unforgettable affairs. When Jimmy fought Petrolle, November
+21, 1930, he displayed fighting courage that many thought was beyond
+reason. I recall the smashed, bloody figure of Jimmy, reeling under the
+terrific impact of Petrolle’s merciless wallops; yet as he stood in the
+ring, bathed in his own gore, hardly strong enough to keep his hands up
+in defense, he wouldn’t give in. Referee Haley, one of the best bantams
+in the pre-commission days, moved over to Jimmy and begged him to quit.
+
+“No, no, please don’t stop it. Don’t ask me to quit,” he pleaded. Weak,
+but still defiant, he staggered through to the finish of the tenth round.
+In their two subsequent contests, May 27 and August 30, 1931, McLarnin
+avenged the defeat, winning both.
+
+In the same ring in Madison Square Garden, January 6, 1928, I saw another
+splendid Irish pugilist, Tommy Loughran of Philadelphia, go down in the
+opening round from a bone-crushing right on the jaw delivered by Leo
+Lomski of Oklahoma. Nobody expected Tommy to get to his feet before the
+count could be completed. Yet he did! As the referee reached “nine,”
+Loughran arose, reeled, and was all but out on his feet. One of Lomski’s
+seconds yelled, “He’s out, Leo! Go get him! Get him now!”
+
+Lomski rushed forth, and there followed two minutes of the rawest
+melodrama. Tommy took a terrible shellacking but remained upright. He not
+only finished the fight, but won on points. It was a memorable battle. A
+salute to these great Irishmen for enriching the story of the ring!
+
+Not all the thrills I received as a reporter came from boxing. Wrestling
+had its share. It was truly a sport then, not the burlesque which it has
+become in recent years. Those were the days of George Hackenschmidt,
+Frank Gotch, the Zbyszko brothers, Stanislaus and Wladek, Ernest Roeber,
+Gus Schoenlein, Ed Strangler Lewis, Jim Londos, Jim Browning, Joe Rogers,
+Dr. Roller, and many others. I knew them all and covered the career of
+each in my book _From Milo To Londos_. My association with Jack Curley,
+the Tex Rickard of the mat sport under whose guidance the masters
+performed around the country, brought me into close contact with these
+world leaders.
+
+I often dined with Curley, George Bothner, and William Muldoon, a
+champion of the old school, and it was through my meetings with them
+that I gained my knowledge of wrestling. Frequently I would sit at the
+ringside of the old Madison Square Garden for two or more hours watching
+the skillful maneuvering of the contestants. I recall vividly the longest
+match I ever witnessed—that between Strangler Lewis and Stanislaus, the
+elder Zbyszko. It got under way at ten o’clock and it was well past one
+the following morning when we left the arena.
+
+Unlike the burlesque of current matches, their technique was masterly.
+I reported those wrestling affairs as I handled boxing—in detail—for
+the public was fascinated at the time. Watching Fred Beall apply his
+double-nelson; Jenkins his crotch and half-nelson; Lewis his famous
+headlock; Zbyszko his lightning rushes; and Joe Stecher his scissors
+hold, gave me as much of a thrill as I got out of viewing an exciting
+bout between top pugilists.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: 20]
+
+LAUGHS AND ODDITIES
+
+
+Often, though the contestants in a bout were of mediocre caliber or the
+fight lacked thrills, some amusing incident developed that enlivened the
+affair. There were many such over the years that I jotted down in my
+diary.
+
+It was in the spring of 1916. Billy Gibson, who managed three world
+champions, was operating at the old Manhattan Opera House in New
+York City, on West 34th Street. He matched Charley Weinert, Newark
+heavyweight, not yet nineteen, with rugged veteran Andre Anderson in
+a ten round bout. Despite his youth, Weinert already had established
+himself with the nation’s front-line heavyweights. The Jersey youngster’s
+speed and flashy boxing had carried him to victories over the likes of
+Battling Levinsky, Jim Coffey, Tom McCarty, Porky Flynn, George (Boer)
+Rodel, Gunboat Smith, and Jim Savage—all top men.
+
+Anderson was a holdover from the turbulent “White Hope Era” and was a
+tough campaigner who had faced the best of the heavies. The ring was
+pitched on the stage of the opera house. In the second round, Weinert
+jolted Anderson with a left hook and followed through with a vicious blow
+to the jaw. Andre reeled, tumbled backward through the ropes, rolled off
+the stage, and fell into the orchestra pit where an assortment of musical
+instruments had been stacked. He landed seat first in the wide, inviting
+mouth of the big bass horn, to the keen delight of the spectators. That
+incident saved the show.
+
+Tightly wedged into the horn, Andre strove in vain to extricate himself
+while Billy Joh reached across the ropes and tolled off the fatal ten.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+It was some twenty-five years ago that Hollywood’s Victor McLaglen
+arrived in New York to make a personal appearance at the premiere of one
+of his movies. That same day, February 3, 1933, Boston heavyweight Ernie
+Schaaf was billed to box Primo Carnera, the Italian Behemoth, at Madison
+Square Garden. Vic, who had been a boxer and wrestler himself prior to
+gaining fame in the movies, was an ardent fight fan. As soon as his
+personal appearance was concluded, he rushed over to the Garden to watch
+the main event.
+
+I was sitting directly in front of him at ringside when McLaglen suddenly
+rushed from his seat upon seeing Phil Schlossberg, one of Schaaf’s
+seconds, accompanying his fighter down the aisle to the ring. Vic greeted
+Phil with a mighty slap on the back and broadly grinned as both recalled
+their six-round match at Vancouver in 1908.
+
+Curious as to the details of their bout, I questioned him after he had
+returned to his seat.
+
+“I’ll always remember that fight with Phil,” he replied, “because it
+almost resulted in my death. For two rounds we were fighting on even
+terms. In the third, Phil split my lip with a punch and the blood began
+to flow freely down my throat. When I returned to my corner, my second,
+a nervous fellow, asked me to toss my head back, and as I did, he poured
+a ‘healing lotion’ down my throat. I collapsed immediately, and as I was
+unable to catch my breath, I had to be carried to my dressing room. What
+I’d had was ammonia—a good dose of it.
+
+“You can take it from me, Nat,” concluded Victor, “I never again took a
+mouthwash without smelling it to make sure it wasn’t ammonia!”
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+On December 15, 1947, I saw a comical performance by Mexican welterweight
+Nava Esparza, in a bout with Brooklyn’s Rocco Rossano at the St. Nicholas
+Arena in New York City.
+
+Twenty-six seconds after the fight began, Esparza was counted out in the
+quickest knockout in the history of the St. Nick Club. After the ten
+count had been tolled, Nava was helped out of the ring. He climbed down
+clear-eyed, apparently in complete control of himself. As he got to the
+bottom step he reached down and picked up his own water bucket.
+
+Quickly reversing his movements, he climbed back into the ring with the
+bucket. What for? To await the next fighter. Later in the dressing room
+he snapped back into focus, and was surprised to find out that while
+dazed, he had attempted to become a second.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+A yarn that got a big laugh from servicemen to whom I told these stories
+during my visits to training camps and hospitals during the last war,
+concerned Sam Langford’s fight with Jim Smith, an inexperienced but
+towering 6′ 2″ Negro.
+
+It was in the Autumn of 1911, and I was assigned to cover the fight at
+the Atlantic Gardens on the Bowery in New York City, a famous old club
+that operated during the Frawley Law club membership days. Lew Raymond,
+a colorful figure, was matchmaker and promoter. Langford, a frequent
+performer at the club, was popular with the patrons who packed the arena
+every time he fought. Smith came into the ring physically unfit, and Sam
+decided he would end the affair in a hurry.
+
+I was in the dressing room with Sam and his manager, Joe Woodman, when
+Smith and his handlers passed Langford’s dressing room on the way to the
+ring.
+
+“Yuh gonna let me off easy, Sam, ain’t yuh?” Smith asked.
+
+“Yuh gonna stay so long as ah think it’s good fer yuh,” replied Sambo.
+
+The bout got under way. Smith started dancing around the ring to avoid
+Sam’s hits. Now and then Sam did contact his opponent’s body, but he
+couldn’t get over a clean shot.
+
+Came the fifth round.
+
+“Fer why yuh keeps running like dat?” inquired the angry Langford, as he
+stopped in mid-ring and looked at his opponent with disgust. “Is yuh so
+frightened you’se afraid to fight? Come on in an’ do some fightin’!”
+
+But all he got was a laugh from Smith.
+
+Suddenly, as Smith wheeled about to get out of the corner, Sambo leaped
+forward, let go one that came up from the floor and struck Smith with
+such force on that part of his anatomy where the monkey has his tail,
+that Big Jim was raised off the floor and landed with a thud on the
+canvas. He lay flat as Referee Billy Joh counted him out.
+
+When Smith finally got to his feet, he looked angrily at Sam and said:
+
+“Why yuh ’it me dere?”
+
+“Cause yuh got eyes in yoh head but dere’s none you got behind yuh.”
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Here’s another on Sambo that took well with servicemen.
+
+In 1913, Sam was booked to fight John Lester Johnson, a burly Negro who
+could hit and who had fought a ten round no-decision bout with Jack
+Dempsey when the Manassa Mauler made his début in New York. Raymond had
+booked the pair for the Atlantic Gardens, and the place was jammed on
+the evening of the affair. Johnson was a “new one” on Sam’s list, but
+he knew enough about Sambo not to gamble on his punch. So when the bout
+began, like many other Langford opponents, he started to race around the
+ring.
+
+Several circuits had been made when Sam suddenly halted, stood a foot or
+so away from the ropes, and watched his man scamper about like a scared
+jack-rabbit. He was convinced that his opponent wouldn’t remain long
+enough in one place to make a fight of it, so he did some quick thinking.
+He estimated the speed at which Johnson was moving, then let a winding
+right go at his fleeing rival. The punch caught John Lester “on the fly”
+and halted his flight with dramatic suddenness. The fist landed on the
+base of the spine, and Johnson went crashing to the floor. His head was
+clear, but the clout had paralyzed his legs, and he was counted out and
+had to be carried to his dressing room.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+It was at the Howard Athletic Club in 1908, that I first met Stonewall
+Allen, the Negro “Fighting Parson.” He was one of the strangest
+characters in the New York sporting world. A good boxer, he always
+prayed publicly before he left his corner for the first round. On this
+particular night he met a tough sailor boy, Mike McGarry, the “Fighting
+Tar.”
+
+Half-way through the first round the sailor caught Stonewall with a smash
+on the mouth and knocked out three of his teeth. As the “Parson” stopped
+to pick them up, a wild swing caught him on the jaw and flattened him out
+for the full count.
+
+When he recovered his senses, Allen, as was his custom, knelt and prayed.
+The boys in the gallery began to razz him. One of the sports writers at
+the ringside asked him in a loud voice what he was praying for after
+being knocked out.
+
+He rose to his feet and, rolling his eyes heavenward, answered:
+
+“I’se thanking de Lawd for gibing me a soft spot to land on.”
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Al Singer was a terrific puncher. He was so confident of his ability to
+punch holes in anything on two legs that he entered into a match with
+Jimmy McLarnin, September 11, 1930, then the hardest hitter, pound for
+pound, of any boxer in the game. It was an overweight affair, and Al
+ought to have known better.
+
+For two rounds he outboxed McLarnin. In the third session, Jimmy induced
+Al to swap punches. It was a terrific spectacle to see these two human
+battering rams going at it without any attempt at defense. The crowd was
+whipped to fury as the bone-crushing smashes struck home. But it was
+too good to last. McLarnin unleashed a straight right to the point of
+Singer’s jaw, and down he went.
+
+Jimmy was so certain that Al was out for keeps that he did a few
+handsprings, his usual procedure after a victory. But Singer began to
+rise at “nine,” and as Referee Johnny McAvoy was bringing down his arm
+for the “ten,” Al leaped to his feet.
+
+McLarnin was just finishing a handspring at the time, and Singer, seeing
+his chance, rushed in. He missed a crashing punch by the fraction of an
+inch, and McLarnin replied with a smashing left hook to the jaw which
+finished Singer’s interest for the evening.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+A few months later, Al Singer fought Tony Canzoneri in Madison Square
+Garden, November 13, 1930. Tony nearly set up a record by battering Al
+into submission in one minute and six seconds. The knockout came with
+dynamic suddenness and swept the fans off their feet. A left hook caught
+Al off his balance and drove him back on his heels. Another punch of the
+same sort finished him.
+
+I was staring fascinated at the drama when Ed Hughes, a sportswriter
+and cartoonist, sitting next to me said, “What the hell happened? I was
+writing that the boys had come into the ring!”
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+I also recall the strange ending to the New York début of Babe Herman,
+flashy young Californian, whom Jack Kearns managed during the early
+1920’s.
+
+Herman’s opponent was Irish Johnny Curtin, colorful Jersey City slugger,
+and the scrap was held at Charley Doesserick’s Pioneer Club.
+
+For five rounds it was Herman’s brilliant boxing and sharp-shooting
+against Curtin’s rugged two-handed aggressiveness.
+
+The Babe nailed Irish Johnny on the chin with a vicious right just as
+the bell clanged the end of the fifth. Beyond jolting him as it landed,
+the punch seemed to have no serious effect on Curtin. Gingerly, Irish
+Johnny turned to walk to his corner. He had taken about two steps when,
+suddenly, the full force of that wallop caught up with him, and he
+pitched forward on his face.
+
+Despite the frenzied manipulations of his handlers during the minute’s
+rest, Irish Johnny was still out and unable to answer the gong for the
+sixth.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The bizarre results of “delayed-action” punches also gave a strange twist
+to the ending of a battle I saw in New Orleans in 1921 between Happy
+Littleton, hard-hitting local middleweight, and Jack Bloomfield, clever
+Englishman.
+
+Littleton clipped Bloomfield on the chin in the ninth. Jack staggered for
+a moment, then turned away from Littleton, groped his way to a corner,
+and started to stumble along the ropes.
+
+While the bewildered Littleton looked on, Bloomfield, in the manner of
+a Leon Errol or Jimmy Barton, reeled around three sides of the ring and
+was headed for a complete lap when his legs finally caved in, and he
+collapsed to the canvas to be counted out.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Can a man, standing on his feet, be unconscious and be counted out by
+the referee? It has been done, and I’ve seen it. I saw a lightweight
+championship change hands, May 28, 1917, in such a bout. Benny Leonard
+had cornered champion Freddy Welsh. Welsh was unsteady on his feet and
+desperately trying to hold himself up. He slipped one arm over the
+highest rope, and braced himself just as Leonard landed a hard punch to
+the jaw. Welsh started to fall toward the floor to get a moment’s rest.
+Benny, always a very shrewd fighter, started a quick flurry of punches
+which knocked Welsh across the top rope.
+
+Kid McPartland, a very good referee, made Leonard step back. The champion
+was out, hanging on the ropes, his feet on the canvas. McPartland counted
+the final ten over him, and as convincing proof that poor Welsh was
+absolutely unconscious, he slid off the ropes at the end of the count and
+fell in a limp heap on the canvas.
+
+Not long after his victory over Welsh, Leonard beat Phil Bloom in a fight
+that had a peculiar ending. Benny hit Phil on the chin, and Phil retired
+from the fight with a broken ankle. He had sat on it when he went down.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+I recall a discussion which once arose between a group of sports writers
+and experts concerning queer happenings in the ring.
+
+One mentioned the case of Willie Lewis and Sailor Burke. I saw that fight
+at the Fairmont Club, on August 13, 1909. It was a ten-rounder, and both
+men were tough and clever.
+
+Willie Lewis was a really great welterweight. He met and beat the
+top-liners of a period which included such battlers as Billy Papke, Harry
+Lewis, Dixie Kid, Mike Gibbons, and Curley Watson. But Sailor Burke had
+a big punch and was as hard as granite. In the first round he dropped
+Willie with a hard right to the chin for a count of six.
+
+Willie returned the compliment in the second session by putting the
+Sailor down for nine. It was a peach of a blow—a left hook that lifted
+Burke clean off his feet.
+
+Then came the fantastic third round. Both men were mixing in the middle
+of the ring, with Lewis having a shade the better of the milling. They
+stood toe-to-toe, hammering away at each other with lefts and rights to
+the body and jaw, when suddenly Burke started a right hook.
+
+Willie tried to beat him to the punch with a similar blow. Both wallops
+landed good and true—both men staggered—and then, to the roar of the
+crowd, both slumped to the canvas.
+
+Referee Billy Joh was amazed. For a moment he didn’t know what to do.
+Shouts came from all over the house. In both corners the handlers were
+wild with excitement, yelling their heads off. Then Billy jumped between
+the fighters, and with head down, started to count.
+
+It was an extraordinary situation. Burke, who had landed on his face, was
+trying to turn on his side, but Lewis, in falling, had toppled in such
+a position that part of his body was resting on the Sailor’s knees, and
+this prevented him from getting to his feet.
+
+The count went on; “three ... four ...” Then Lewis started to wriggle,
+partly releasing Burke “... five ...” Willie was scrambling to his feet.
+“... six ...”
+
+The gong went for the end of the round and saved the situation.
+Eventually Lewis put Burke out for keeps in the sixth round, but the
+thrill of that third session had drained the spectators of interest.
+
+As soon as the fight was over, I went to the dressing room and had a
+talk with Billy Joh. I was anxious to know what would have happened, if
+neither man had been able to get up and the gong had not sounded.
+
+“I was puzzled for a moment, Nat,” said Billy, “but I soon remembered we
+are fighting no-decision bouts. For the sake of records, I should have
+continued the count and the man who got to his feet first would have been
+the winner.”
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Two of the strangest knock-downs I have ever seen took place at the same
+Fairmont Club, one between Boyo Driscoll and Biz Mackey and the other
+between Soldier Kearns and “One Round” Davis, both in 1911.
+
+In the fight between Kearns and Davis, the latter was handing a whale of
+a beating to Kearns and apparently had victory well in hand. But Kearns
+stepped in and like lightning shot up a magnificent uppercut which turned
+Davis over in a back somersault.
+
+A cry rose from the crowd as Davis finished the somersault on the back of
+his neck, his head bent under him and his toes resting on the floor.
+
+“Good heavens!” said a voice near me. “That must have broken his neck!”
+
+The referee began to count, and Davis still maintained his dangerous and
+grotesque position.
+
+“Pick him up!” the crowd roared. “His neck’s broken!”
+
+And it looked as if a tragedy had happened. I saw Kearns step forward to
+help his fallen opponent, but his handlers shouted for him to keep still.
+Davis didn’t move, and the count went pitilessly on.
+
+As soon as he had ticked off “ten,” the referee rushed in and raised
+Davis from the canvas. He was still out and his head swung helplessly on
+his shoulders. His handlers ran into the ring to cries of “Get a doctor!”
+They carried him to his corner, where a few minutes later he was revived.
+
+Half-an-hour later, I was talking to him. He was still slightly dazed,
+but so far as I could see, really none the worse for his experience. How
+he escaped severe injury to his neck was a mystery to me.
+
+Billy Joh refereed the Boyo Driscoll-Biz Mackey fight and was forced to
+count over both men at the same time. This extraordinary affair began
+when the boys were close to the ropes, hammering away at each other’s
+body.
+
+Billy Joh stepped in and separated them. As he did so, the fighters went
+for each other with everything they had. Both landed with a right to
+the jaw simultaneously. Driscoll went spinning toward one side of the
+ring and Mackey toward the other. They were stretched out flat while
+spectators howled with delight. Mackey was up at “Seven,” swaying like
+a drunken man. At “nine” Driscoll stumbled to his feet. Each staggered
+about the ring unable to do any fighting. It was extraordinarily comic.
+Laughter rocked the house as the men groped blindly to find each other.
+When eventually their gloves met, they fell into a clinch and remained
+that way without doing anything to each other until the gong sounded.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Many things that look queer to spectators are no joke to the fighters,
+but I must confess that I have often sat at ringside and enjoyed some of
+the antics. Some years ago two husky lightweights, Hugh Ross of Kentucky
+and Tom Kelly of New York were pitted against each other in a ten-round
+bout. When the final gong sounded, Ross was all in, on the verge of
+collapsing. As he fell into his chair, grasping the ropes, he turned to
+his second:
+
+“What round was I knocked out in?” he inquired.
+
+Seconds later the announcer was hailing Ross the winner, but the groggy
+fighter didn’t realize it. In the dressing room he couldn’t be convinced
+that he hadn’t been kayoed. He thought his handlers were spoofing.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: 21]
+
+CHAMPS AND CHUMPS
+
+
+Every profession has its quotas of goofs and bulge-heads. Boxing leads
+them all in quality and quantity of whims, fancies, peculiarities, and
+idiosyncrasies. The history of the champs and chumps of fistiana is a
+saga of trickery, superstition, and practical jokes that would fill a
+good-sized public library.
+
+Since the gaslight days when fighters wore skin tights and fought
+bare-knuckled for a hundred rounds, performers of the roped square—an
+amazing collection of grotesque personalities—have used tricks that
+would confound a Hindu fakir, and followed fetishes that would stymie a
+practitioner of Voodoo.
+
+Of the fighters I have known intimately, Leonard, Johnson, and Young
+Corbett ruled the roost when it came to making disconcerting remarks
+that enabled them to regain their equilibrium while they were palming
+off the hot stuff on their opponent. Philadelphia’s Lew Tendler wasn’t
+quite certain that he had knocked champion Benny Leonard bow-legged in
+the eighth round of their fight at Boyle’s Thirty Acres in Jersey City,
+July 27, 1922, and forgot to put across the finishing touches when Benny,
+smiling, said to him:
+
+“You hit pretty hard, Lew. Why don’t you hurt me?”
+
+Tendler, uncertain how to take the remark, permitted Leonard to hold on
+and to talk until it was too late to put over a haymaker. Leonard was as
+happy as a lark when he pranced to his corner with the knowledge that he
+had hoodwinked Tendler into missing an opportunity for a knockout.
+
+Leonard had another favorite ruse that he’d use whenever he faced a tough
+opponent, as in the meeting with Richie Mitchell in the old Garden.
+Benny, while taking the referee’s instructions, turned to his rival and
+remarked:
+
+“Now, boy, let’s make it a real fight. Those fans want to see action. But
+if I knock you down, don’t get up too soon. Take nine, you may need it.”
+
+Of course, he usually spoke so that the ringside scribes could hear what
+he had said, and that added to the discomfiture of his opponent. Benny’s
+remarks paid good dividends.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Harlem Tommy Murphy would cut loose with a line of gab every time he
+dropped an opponent. A talkative fellow, Harlem Tommy would upbraid his
+man for not doing well, and then, after he had dropped him for the count,
+he would remark:
+
+“Sorry, old top. Give my regards to the folks when you get home.”
+
+Former world bantamweight champion Johnny Coulon, came to pay me a
+visit when I was in Chicago recently. We discussed some of his fights,
+especially the one in which he beat Frankie Burns in New Orleans in a
+twenty-round bout, February 28, 1912. Coulon asked me if I recalled how
+he kidded Burns out of a possible knockout in the fourteenth round, when
+Frankie had caught the champion with a corking right to the chin.
+
+Coulon was tossed back on his heels. It looked as if he would tumble to
+the canvas, but he caught himself in time, grasped the left arm of his
+opponent, backed Burns against the ropes and then, while trying to clear
+his head, said:
+
+“Why, Frankie, you’re a sap. You have a good punch but you don’t know
+how to toss it. Watch me!” Instead of taking advantage of the position
+he held by virtue of that stunning wallop, Burns tore himself away from
+Johnny’s grip and covered up while maneuvering himself out of range of
+Coulon’s right. While he retreated, the champion fully regained his
+faculties and, following Burns, actually caught him with a powerful right
+to the chin that almost dropped the challenger.
+
+Burns never knew that he had been duped. But it wasn’t the first time
+Coulon had come up with this stunt when stunned.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Fighters are probably the most superstitious of all athletes. In
+many years of experience with their ways, I have come across some
+extraordinary cases of ring superstition. Few boxers I have met are free
+from it.
+
+One of them was Gene Tunney. He dismissed luck as a factor in the fight
+game, although he had plenty of it—for example the “long count” he was
+given in his contest with Jack Dempsey at Chicago. But Gene affected to
+despise everything that savored of superstition.
+
+“It’s up to me,” he would say coolly.
+
+Incidents that would have driven most fighters into a state of
+superstitious fear had no effect on Gene, and his almost inhuman calm
+sometimes had a bad influence on his opponents. He never batted an
+eyelash. He was cool, collected, a study in perfect composure. No fighter
+in recent years, with the exception of Loughran, approached Tunney’s ring
+demeanor.
+
+Dempsey, on the other hand, was like Jeffries in that he was so nervous
+that he twitched and tossed, moved his feet to and fro in the resin,
+worked his hands over the upper strand of the ring, and could scarcely
+await the call to battle. He was pulling at the leash every moment he
+waited for the bell.
+
+Dempsey had his full share of superstition. He always went into the ring
+with a dirty old maroon sweater thrown across his shoulders. Once I asked
+him about it.
+
+“That sweater, Nat,” he said, “has been with me ever since I began
+fighting. I bought it in St. Louis out of my first ring earnings, and I
+have never been beaten while wearing it. Once I left it off and lost the
+decision.”
+
+Jack handed the tattered garment to me for inspection. It was certainly
+an odd fetish for one of the best-dressed boxers of modern times.
+
+“You may laugh at me, Nat,” he went on, “but that old sweater brought
+me luck against Fred Fulton, Carl Morris, Bill Brennan, and Georges
+Carpentier, and I’m sticking to it—to the last thread.”
+
+I didn’t laugh, because I have often thought that fighters in the heat of
+battle get a clearer insight into the nature of things than most of us.
+
+Just before Dempsey left his dressing room for his memorable fight with
+Luis Firpo, “Doc” Kearns decided that Dempsey was so invincible that he
+no longer needed his lucky garment.
+
+I was at the ringside and saw Jack climb into his corner. He was wearing
+a brand-new white sweater with which he’d entered the ring.
+
+“Here, Doc, take this,” he said. “I don’t want to see it again. For my
+next bout give me that old sweater you wouldn’t let me wear tonight.
+That Firpo fellow nearly put me out because I didn’t wear that sweater.”
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Many Catholic fighters cross themselves before the first gong. Johnny
+Summers, star British boxer, among others, always took a rosary into the
+ring.
+
+When Harry Wills, the ebony-skinned New York heavyweight, fought Jack
+Sharkey, both fighters were asked to say a few words to the radio
+audience before the bout started. Sharkey obliged by shouting into the
+microphone:
+
+“I’ll whip Wills tonight. I’ll knock the bozo out!”
+
+“Harry, will you say something?” asked the announcer.
+
+“Sorry,” replied Wills, “I’m superstitious. I never say anything before a
+fight. It brings me bad luck.”
+
+But when the fight was over and Wills had been declared the loser on a
+foul, he rushed to the mike and cut loose with a barrage against referee
+Patsy Haley, who had disqualified him.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Bob Fitzsimmons was very superstitious.
+
+“Nat,” he said, “I’ve often heard people ridicule others who told them of
+a dream that affected their careers. I believe in dreams as I do in the
+Gospel, and my reason for this strong feeling is that almost every dream
+I have had has come true.
+
+“More than ten years ago, the night before my fight with Jim Jeffries on
+Coney Island, I dreamed I was fighting a tough battle, and that I was
+knocked out. When I got up in the morning I told my wife about the dream.
+
+“‘Rose,’ I said, ‘I’m afraid it’s all over. I’m going to lose my
+championship.’
+
+“‘Don’t be silly, Bob,’ she said. ‘What makes you say such things?’
+
+“I told her of the dream I had had the previous night.
+
+“‘I shall lose all right, Rose. I’ve never known a dream of mine not to
+come true.’
+
+“You know what happened, Nat. I lost the championship to Big Jeff in the
+eleventh round.”
+
+And then Fitz went on to tell of several other dreams that had come true.
+
+Like his old opponent, Jim Corbett, he also believed that horseshoes
+brought good luck, and he told me that when he began his training
+for the fight with Corbett at Carson City, he himself—for he was a
+blacksmith—made a large horseshoe and placed it on the floor of his
+dressing room.
+
+“I made two horseshoes every week I was in training, Nat,” he said, “and
+gave them away to newspapermen and my handlers. When I had made the
+thirteenth horseshoe I decided to keep that for myself. One morning I was
+out on the road. My wife was following me on horseback. Suddenly I got a
+hunch. I stopped running and said to her:
+
+“Rose, I’m going to stop Corbett in the thirteenth round. The horseshoe
+has told me so.”
+
+As a matter of historical record, Fitzsimmons knocked out Jim Corbett
+with his famous solar plexus punch in the fourteenth round—only one round
+beyond that which he had predicted.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+A few years ago, I flew to San Francisco to attend the Ezzard
+Charles-Joey Maxim fight. I met Tom Sharkey, and together with Rocky
+Marciano and some sports writers, we went to San Quentin Prison to
+entertain the inmates. Old Tom was in a reminiscent mood. He told us that
+while he was preparing for his fight with Gus Ruhlin, Bob Fitzsimmons had
+sent him two peacocks.
+
+“When those birds arrived I nearly passed out, for I remember an old
+woman once telling me in Ireland that the owner of a peacock never had
+any good luck,” said the fighter who gave Jim Jeffries his toughest
+battles. “I wanted to send those birds back to Fitz, but I loved him like
+a brother and didn’t want to offend him. All through my training, I wept
+thinking of the unlucky peacocks, and when I lost to Gus in the eleventh
+round, I blamed it on those Jonah birds.”
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Negro fighters are usually very superstitious. Tom O’Rourke, manager of
+the original Joe Walcott, once told me that Joe refused to train unless
+Tom presented him with a rabbit’s foot.
+
+“No rabbit’s foot, no luck,” Joe would say.
+
+I once asked Sam Langford if he believed in the jinx.
+
+“Yes, sah,” replied Sambo, “my jinx is colored fighters, sure.”
+
+The goal of his ambition was to annex the world title, but Jack Johnson
+stood in his way, and Langford blamed his failure to become the champion
+on members of his own race.
+
+The Boston Tar Baby preferred to fight white men once a week to Negroes
+once a month. His record shows that he was whipped by Dave Holly, Young
+Peter Jackson, Joe Jeannette, Harry Wills, and Jack Johnson—all colored
+boxers.
+
+“White men are my meat,” he told me, “colored men are my hoodoo!”
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Joe Humphreys, who at one time helped me to collect data for a life story
+of Terry McGovern, in one of our many conversations told me, “Nat, there
+was probably never a fighter who believed more in lucky omens than Terry.
+I’ll never forget the day he fought Aurelia Herrera in San Francisco. He
+climbed into the ring all smiles, greeted his friends at ringside and
+then sat down to await the instructions of the referee.
+
+“Suddenly, one of the spectators signalled to Sam Harris, Terry’s
+manager, and pointed to McGovern’s left shoe. It was unlaced.
+
+“This was one of Terry’s deepest superstitions. During the preliminary
+work, between the time that McGovern entered the ring and went to the
+middle for instructions, the trainers had purposely neglected to tie the
+lace.
+
+“When the referee motioned the fighters to the middle of the ring, Terry
+took off the unlaced shoe, spat in it for good luck, put it on again, and
+told one of his handlers to lace it.”
+
+A mass of superstitious fears, the Brooklyn Terror also believed in the
+“lucky kiss.” He was convinced that unless he received a good luck kiss
+from his wife before a fight, he would be sure to lose.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Tiger Flowers, the Georgia Deacon, boxed in New York City quite
+frequently during 1925 and 1926. The Deacon, who won the world
+middleweight championship from Harry Greb, not only would kneel and pray,
+but would carry a Bible into the ring and offer to the Almighty a few
+words from this precious book. Unfortunately, an eye infection resulted
+in gangrene, and Flowers died soon after becoming champion.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+During the vaudeville tour of Jim Jeffries and Tom Sharkey, I listened
+to Jeffries tell his audience that he regarded a twisted lace as a sign
+of ill-fortune. Whenever he noticed that a lace was twisted, he made his
+handlers remove the glove and relace it. He also said that he insisted
+on having a certain seat at the training table in camp, and would never
+permit a change to be made after the arrangements had been completed. A
+change, he said, meant bad luck.
+
+On my visit to Burbank to attend Jeffries’ seventy-fifth birthday, he
+told me a story about a dirty penny which he found on the road in Asbury
+Park while training for his fight with Fitzsimmons. Jeff and Tommy Ryan
+were taking a run, and when they halted Jeff kicked aside a penny that
+was in his path. The coin was covered with mud, and Jeff was loath to
+touch it, fearing bad luck.
+
+He asked Tommy to pick it up. But Ryan was also superstitious and
+refused. Jeff then remarked:
+
+“Tommy, I’ll pick it up. If it’s heads up, I’ll surely beat Fitz. If it’s
+tails, I’m a sure goner.”
+
+Heads it was, and Jeff told me that he was as happy as a lark that day.
+
+And he, of course, won the battle.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+And so it goes. Superstition is part of human nature. The world’s most
+famous fighters have used rabbits’ feet, praying beads, lucky charms, the
+lucky handshake, the wife’s or sweetheart’s handkerchief, and many other
+talismans to bring them luck in the ring.
+
+
+
+
+BOOK
+
+FIVE
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: 22]
+
+ADVENTURES ABROAD
+
+
+I was struck with the wanderlust at an early age. I liked traveling and
+made up my mind in my youth that I would see the world, and I carried out
+my plan successfully as I grew older. From the time I was fourteen to
+the present day, the aggregate mileage I’ve covered would go many times
+around the globe. Collecting material for sports stories, visiting places
+of interest to better acquaint myself with world boxing conditions,
+hunting for world boxing talent, and on occasions officiating as referee
+in international bouts, both amateur and professional, enabled me to meet
+the leading sportsmen and sports writers of our country, Canada, South
+America, Europe, Asia, Australia, and New Zealand.
+
+Prior to World War Two, I frequently acted as third man in the ring in
+contests in Spain, Germany, Venezuela, Panama, Cuba, Canada, and Puerto
+Rico. Including matches in the United States, I officiated in more than
+1,000 boxing bouts, and probably refereed in more foreign countries than
+any other American.
+
+Most of my trips were taken by air, though in the days when I was Sports
+Editor of New York dailies, I made many sea voyages, particularly to
+Central and South America. In 1948 I flew close to 60,000 miles to
+attend world boxing conferences, to see international contests and to
+study boxing conditions. That year I made three flights to Europe, four
+to various parts of Canada, three to Central America and one to South
+America, in addition to many in our own country.
+
+On one of the European trips I flew to London, Dublin, Glasgow, Paris,
+Rome, Barcelona, Madrid, Brussels, Copenhagen, Stockholm, and Lisbon to
+look over youthful boxing talent. Such long journeys were the rule rather
+than the exception. Twice in 1951 and again during April, May, and part
+of June of 1952, I journeyed almost as far on behalf of boxing. In 1954 I
+flew around the world twice.
+
+I was in Panama the year that the Canal was finished and opened for
+navigation and the following year, 1912, I made another trip to spend a
+vacation with the Duke family, owners of the Panama Railroad, the bank,
+and practically every other worthwhile financial enterprise in that old
+Spanish city, including the lottery. Two of the Duke boys were football
+players at Fordham University, and that’s how I became acquainted with
+them. I was still with the _Press_ at that time, and had taken a three
+months’ leave of absence in order to gather material for special series
+which I had decided to write on “Sports in the Caribbean.”
+
+I received a letter of introduction to Major General Goethals, builder of
+the Canal, from his West Point classmate, Irvin Wardman, Editor-in-Chief
+and part owner of our paper. Upon my arrival in Panama, I stopped at the
+Washington Hotel, where General Goethals was quartered. Presenting my
+letter, I was ushered into the presence of an elderly and stately looking
+Army man, kind but firm in tone. We spoke of Mr. Wardman and of New York,
+and then he asked me if I would care to go on a tour of inspection of the
+Gatun Lock and up the Chagres River.
+
+I was delighted. The next morning we boarded a government motorboat, the
+_General Christie_. In addition to General Goethals, our party consisted
+of his Superintendent of Construction, several Army engineers and myself.
+It wasn’t long after we started that we heard a thunderous roar. To our
+right we saw a mountain of dirt drop into the Culebra Cut. A Japanese
+ship, the _Maru Tamuiri_, was caught in the rush and became wedged in
+between tons of earth and rocks.
+
+I had my camera with me and with a newspaperman’s instinct, I clicked and
+clicked and got a splendid set of photos of the great slide. It was a
+break that comes once in a lifetime for a newspaperman.
+
+There was no trip on the Chagres River that day. We returned to
+headquarters from where General Goethals sent his report to Washington,
+and I mailed a story to my Sunday magazine section and with it went the
+plates with the pictures of the slide.
+
+My photos and story reached the office of the New York _Press_ too late
+and to hold off another week wouldn’t do. John Hennessey, our Managing
+Editor, chanced to meet Carl Van Anda, the Editor of The New York
+_Times_, at the Press Club and offered the material to him. He was elated
+at the opportunity to obtain a first hand photo illustrated story from an
+eyewitness and two months later, when I returned from Panama to resume my
+work in New York, Mr. Hennessey explained why he had let the _Times_ use
+the photos. After congratulating me, he told me that Mr. Van Anda wanted
+to see me.
+
+I got in touch with him immediately and received a warm greeting. He
+thanked me, and as I was about to leave, he remarked:
+
+“By the way, that must have been an expensive trip. What did it cost you?”
+
+Imagine my surprise a few days later when I found a letter from him on
+my desk containing a check with this message: “This is in payment for
+the splendid pictures you sent from Panama.” That check paid for a good
+portion of my long trip.
+
+I’ve often told that story in discussing newspaper work with young boys
+whom I broke into the sports writing field. I should like to add that
+every office boy who worked for me is now an executive, or was one, on a
+New York newspaper.
+
+There was Robert Maher, one of my first copy boys, who became night
+sports editor of the _Evening Sun_; Eddie Galiani, my New York _Telegram_
+office and copy boy, who later became assistant racing editor of that
+paper; Donald Pratt, another from the _Morning Sun_, whom I took under
+my wing as a sports writer, is the Editor-in-Chief of the Fairchild
+Newspapers, the largest chain of commercial journals in the country.
+There were many others of whom I am proud to say got their start and
+guidance in sports writing from me.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+In 1911, the year previous to the Culebra Cut Slide, I spent two months
+in Panama City and on one occasion, with one of the wealthy Duke boys to
+guide the party, we went many miles up the Chagres River which enters
+into the Canal. There on the banks of a settlement, I photographed
+Indians standing on the beach and others in shell-like canoes. I was
+amazed by their physical appearance! They had light hair, pinkish eyes
+and white-spotted bodies.
+
+About fifteen years later, New York newspapers carried big headlines of a
+tribe of Albinos discovered along the Chagres River in Panama and several
+were brought to New York to be exhibited at the Grand Central Palace.
+I was confident that I had seen such creatures many years before in my
+travels, but was joshed considerably until I decided to hunt through
+some of my old pictures and located a photograph of three such Indians
+posing for me. Perhaps those I had snapped were not from the same tribe
+as those discovered by the New York Historical Society’s representatives,
+but their features were identical. They were Albinos who lived about 50
+miles up the Chagres River. Thus I lay claim to a “discovery,” though I
+wasn’t aware of it until I read the story of the “find” by the Historical
+Society.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+It was in 1911 that I put on the first professional fight ever held in
+Panama. I also staged one for a benefit conducted by the Panama _Herald_
+in which I was the referee, and the boxers, with the exception of one
+giant Negro, were all from American Army camps.
+
+I saw my first cock-fight in Panama that year, and enjoyed the sport very
+much—primarily because I had a good run of beginner’s luck and cleaned up
+on the fights. I left the arena, a dilapidated shack, more than $200 the
+richer and carried away with me a set of old time Spanish spurs which I
+bought as a souvenir and still have on exhibition in my _Ring_ office.
+
+I also had the chance there to spin the wheel for the first Panama
+lottery, the winner of which was an undernourished, little old woman upon
+whom Dame Fortune smiled that day to the extent of $20,000. A part ticket
+I held, won third prize, and I collected $60.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Among the many exciting experiences I had during my tours in various
+parts of the world as a referee or judge of important international
+boxing matches, two stand out—my encounter with gunmen in Caracas,
+Venezuela, and in San Juan, Puerto Rico. In April, 1939, I was on a
+Central American tour and while in Puerto Rico, I was asked to officiate
+in the world bantamweight championship match between Sixto Escobar and
+Kayo Morgan. The bout was staged under conditions such as I never again
+encountered.
+
+At the time there was considerable dissension among the natives regarding
+American rule. The Nationalist Party on several occasions tried to
+assassinate the leading legislators and had gone so far as to incite
+insurrections in Ponce where a number of persons, including the chief of
+police, were killed. Four of the leaders were sentenced to the Atlanta
+Penitentiary for long terms by the U.S. Government. Governor Winship, an
+ardent boxing fan, had returned on the day of the fight from Washington,
+where he held a conference with President Roosevelt on the Island’s
+unrest.
+
+Four boxes were reserved for him and his party at the Stadium and unusual
+protection was arranged by Police Chief Orbeta because of reports that an
+attempt would be made on the Governor’s life. The bout was delayed for
+almost an hour due to the late arrival of the guests of honor, and then,
+amid wild cheers from an overflow gathering, the contest got under way.
+
+Seven rounds had been completed when a terrific downpour drenched us. The
+tropical storm caused a stampede among the thousands of spectators who
+sought shelter. Like all such torrential rains, the storm lasted only
+a short time but was sufficient to give those seeking the lives of the
+Governor and members of his cabinet a chance to carry out their work.
+
+Within minutes after the cloudburst, the arena and an area within a mile
+or more surrounding the stadium, were in total darkness. The electric
+wires had been cut and during the blackout, while spectators were being
+drenched, shots were fired. There was a flash from the top of one of
+the walls surrounding the arena. The Secret Service guards immediately
+crowded around Governor Winship and his party and a speedy exit was
+made under heavy guard with torchlights guiding the way. Many persons
+took refuge under the ring and hundreds crowded around it. The fighters,
+managers Harry Baxter and Lou Brix, and I, couldn’t get out of the ring.
+
+For almost three quarters of an hour we remained in total darkness
+wondering what was in store for us. While the commotion continued,
+mobsters broke down the gates of the stadium, and a mad rush was made
+towards the ring. The bleachers were bulging from the sides, and the
+grandstand and ringside seats were full to the limit when the fight had
+started. When the rain stopped and the bout was resumed, fist fights
+added to the confusion, as those who had paid ten dollars for their seats
+battled with the hoodlums who had rushed the gates.
+
+But the fight went on, and after eight more rounds, Escobar was awarded
+the decision, thus holding on to his crown. Fortunately, Governor
+Winship was unharmed. Those who tried to assassinate him had been keenly
+disappointed, for if ever a stage was perfectly set for such an attempt
+on the life of a notable, this was it.
+
+In their escape, the guerillas left many blood stained handkerchiefs on
+top of the wall enclosing the arena. On the inside of the stone wall,
+blood indicated that more than one person had been on the job. The cuts
+were sustained from jagged glass that had been fitted into the cement on
+top of the fence by city officials as a protection against gate crashers.
+It was indeed fortunate that no one was killed.
+
+The day after the fight I wrote a story for _El Mundo_, the leading
+paper in Puerto Rico, in which I covered the attempted assassination
+thoroughly, including the findings of Harry Baxter, manager of Kayo
+Morgan, and myself. The story created a sensation. The government denied
+that any attempt had been made on the life of Governor Winship, and a
+rival paper, which was supporting the rebels against the United States,
+battered my brains out editorially. However, Chief of Police Orbeta
+acknowledged the facts with a declaration to the press:
+
+“The culprits who cut the electric wires in an attempt to kill our
+Governor, will be caught and punished!”
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Puerto Rico, like Cuba, was a second home for me for many years. Scarcely
+a winter passed that I didn’t spend a month or more in those Islands
+where I am as well known as in my native city. I refereed fights in
+Havana and San Juan and often wrote boxing yarns for papers in those
+cities.
+
+In July, 1939, I was asked by the Venezuelan Commission to arrange the
+fight between world featherweight champion, Joey Archibald, and Simon
+Chavez, the Central American titleholder. The bout was to be held in the
+bull ring at Caracas and I was to referee.
+
+Jess Losada, one of Cuba’s leading radio commentators on sports and
+a sports columnist, managed Chavez; and Al Weill, who in later years
+was the matchmaker for the Twentieth Century Sporting Club and the
+International Boxing Club, and handled several champions, including Rocky
+Marciano, managed the featherweight king. Losada and Weill couldn’t get
+together on terms for the Venezuelan fight, hence my aid was sought. I
+was told to offer Weill $10,000 and two round trip tickets, plus the
+privilege of 40 per cent of the gate. I was also to inform him that the
+Boxing Commission would request me to act as guest referee. On those
+terms Weill accepted.
+
+I flew to Caracas a week before the fight. I stopped at the Hotel
+Majestic, where Archibald and Weill’s representative, Sammy Richman, were
+also staying.
+
+The publicity was excellent and interest in the fight was keen. The day
+before the bout, which took place on a Sunday afternoon, the bull ring
+was sold out. The stage was set for the biggest gathering that had ever
+seen a glove fight in Caracas and a record gate was assured.
+
+That night, I was sitting in my room listening to a Spanish music program
+on the radio. I had donned my pajamas because of the extreme heat. A call
+came in from the desk clerk informing me that two men were eager to see
+me. Although it was late, I told him to send them up to my room.
+
+They introduced themselves as Miguel and Arturo Mendez, brothers who
+had lived in Brooklyn prior to making Venezuela their home. They told
+me they were bookmakers. The Spanish are heavy bettors on sports events
+and thousands of _bolivas_, they said, had been wagered with them on the
+fight. They themselves were betting heavily on Chavez to win.
+
+“We know you well, Nat,” said Miguel, the taller and huskier of the pair,
+“and we come to see if everything is all right.”
+
+“In what respect?” I inquired.
+
+“Simply that we don’t want to lose our money. Archibald is a big favorite
+and we want to see that our man doesn’t lose. The Americans here have bet
+a lot on him.”
+
+“You want me to protect your money by giving the decision to Chavez? Is
+that it?” I angrily asked.
+
+“You guessed it right,” replied Miguel. “Are you with us? It will be well
+worth your gamble.”
+
+With that Miguel nodded to his brother, who took out a wad of bills from
+his coat pocket and placed it on my bed.
+
+I brushed the money to the floor and ordered the men out of the room.
+
+“Not so quick,” snapped Arturo. “You’re making a big mistake. Think it
+over,” he said, as he gathered up the money, and then taking a gun from
+his pocket, twirled it close to me as a sign of what might happen if I
+didn’t cooperate.
+
+“We’ll go now but we’ll call you at ten tomorrow. We want our answer
+then,” Miguel said as they left.
+
+I reached for the telephone, got the chairman of the boxing commission
+at the Caracas Country Club, and told him what had happened.
+
+“I’m not going to referee,” I informed him. “I’m coming up to see you,
+and I’ll return the $600 that was advanced to me for my flying fare.”
+
+There were two other members of the boxing board with him when I arrived.
+
+“You are the drawing card as much as your champion,” he said after
+hearing my story. “You cannot turn us down. I will see that you have full
+protection. A policeman will be with you all day tomorrow and you’ll have
+plenty of protection at the arena.”
+
+We then drove up to the promoter’s house and from there back to the Hotel
+Majestic, where I repeated my story to Sammy Richman and Losada. I was
+finally persuaded to change my mind and accept the assignment.
+
+The next day at the arena, I was placed in a small room during the
+preliminaries and was closely guarded by two armed soldiers. At a given
+signal, I was ushered to the ringside and entered the ring as Chavez and
+Archibald came down the aisles.
+
+Gendarmes and soldiers encircled the ring at four-foot intervals
+throughout the fight for my protection should the decision go contrary to
+the wishes of the two former Brooklyn thugs, who had apparently learned
+about sure-thing gambling during their stay in New York.
+
+For four rounds Archibald battered Chavez all over the ring. I had
+visions of what would happen after the fight and sweated it out, but
+there was nothing I could do about it, since I was determined to give an
+honest decision, come what might.
+
+Early in the fifth round, Chavez caught Archibald with a right to the jaw
+that staggered the American. He gave Archibald a sound beating throughout
+the round and that was the turning point of the fight.
+
+The high altitude had affected Joey to such an extent that he had shot
+his bolt in those first four sessions, and thereafter he was at the mercy
+of his opponent In the last two rounds, Archibald could scarcely raise
+his arms and when the final gong sounded, I quickly lifted the hand of
+Simon Chavez, the winner.
+
+The scene that followed was something to remember. Chairs were broken by
+partisan enthusiasts in the wild rush for the ringside. Hats were tossed
+into the air. Wild shouts, as only the Spanish can screech and shout,
+rent the air.
+
+And there I was, resting against the ring post, my uniform wet from
+perspiration, but happy in the knowledge that I had defied the gangsters
+who tried to have me fix that fight and that my presence had helped bring
+in a gate of $36,700, a record.
+
+Nine months later, the same promoter paid Jack Dempsey $5,000 and two
+round trip tickets for himself and Ned Brown, his publicity man, to
+come to Caracas to referee the fight between Chavez and Sixto Escobar,
+of Puerto Rico. It was expected that the presence of the great Manassa
+Mauler would add greatly to the figures grossed by Archibald and Chavez,
+with me as referee, but the fight was a complete flop. The gate reached
+only $18,432, and the promoter went in hock for plenty.
+
+They couldn’t understand what had happened, but the answer was simple.
+Dempsey reached Caracas a day before the fight, thus preventing the
+promoter from publicizing his presence, whereas I was on the job a week
+in advance, went on the air to help the show, appeared daily at the
+training camps, and even wrote stories which were translated into Spanish.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The incident that caused me the most personal embarrassment occurred
+during my visit to Havana during the winter of 1958. I had received an
+invitation from the Cuban government through General Fernandez y Miranda,
+head of the Cuban Sports Commission, to attend the dedication of the new
+Havana stadium, the most beautiful and completely equipped arena I have
+ever seen. I had visited General Miranda, President Batista and Ernesto
+Azua, chairman of the Cuban Boxing Commission, a few weeks before to
+arrange the program for the sports carnival scheduled for that week.
+
+Unfortunately, my presence was commented upon in a six-page article
+entitled “Unhappy Cuba’s Cockeyed Week” in the March 6 issue of _LIFE_
+magazine. Among the many photos was one of General Miranda and me which
+bore the caption “Slot king is Batista relative, Fernandez y Miranda,
+here talking with boxing historian Nat Fleischer.” Needless to say, this
+caused me considerable embarrassment as the article was an _exposé_ of
+mobster activities in the Cuban capital. There was nothing in the story
+to indicate that I had any connection with gambling in Havana, but the
+intimation was there.
+
+I was besieged by calls for days following the article’s appearance.
+Friends and acquaintances joshed me continually about my association
+with racketeers, and to each I had to explain that my appearance in
+Havana was on behalf of sports and in no way connected with gambling.
+Through my work as a journalist I have met many of the mobsters mentioned
+in the _Life_ story, as most of them were New York’s top shots of the
+Prohibition era. They are now firmly entrenched in the Nacional, Riviera
+and Capri hotels running their investments into gigantic fortunes.
+
+As for General Miranda, I know him only as a member of President
+Batista’s cabinet in charge of physical education and sports. He has
+frequently visited Madison Square Garden and _The Ring_ office and
+is a most charming man. I wasn’t aware that he was “king of the slot
+machines,” in Havana, but I do know that he is one of the six finest
+shots in Central America, where he holds many records, not only for
+shooting but for track and field and amateur boxing and wrestling.
+
+It should be noted that through General Miranda’s efforts there is far
+less juvenile delinquency in Havana than there is in New York. A little
+more of the Cuban athletic spirit and enthusiasm for boxing, baseball,
+basketball and swimming would undoubtedly be welcome in America’s largest
+city.
+
+The sports carnival itself was marred by a tragic opening day accident in
+the Gran Premio, a 315 mile automobile race. Fidel Castro’s rebels had
+kidnaped Fangio, Argentina’s great road champion, in the hopes that his
+absence would prevent this major event from taking place, but the race
+got underway after an hour-and-a-half postponement.
+
+The objective of the rebels seemed to be attained a few minutes later,
+however, when the car of Armando Garcia Cifuentas skidded on an oily
+stretch and crashed into the crowd, leaving a toll of seven persons dead
+and thirty-seven injured. The race ended in confusion.
+
+That morning I was in the Nacional Hotel with Truman Gibson, Secretary of
+the International Boxing Club, which sponsored the boxing show held two
+days later, when the telephone rang and a voice asked:
+
+“Is that Nat Fleischer, _The Ring_ editor?”
+
+“Yes. Who is this please?”
+
+Instead of answering the voice continued:
+
+“You know what happened to Fangio?”
+
+“Yes,” I replied. “What about it?”
+
+“Well you also a big shot—you in boxing. You are helping Batista. Look
+out.”
+
+And with that statement, down went the receiver with a bang.
+
+I laughed and Truman asked me what was so funny. I repeated the
+conversation and added that someone is playing a prank.
+
+“Prank, hell,” he quickly answered. “Watch your step. That guy means
+business. You’ve had a big part in arranging the details for the show
+here. I think you’ll find it safer in the Casino than in this lobby.”
+
+I paid little attention to the threat, assuming, then, that it all was a
+joke. Now I’m not so sure.
+
+Nothing did happen. I attended the opening of the sports arena, where,
+instead of the full house expected, less than 10,000 were present. Many
+were secret service men, police from the security bureau, and men of
+the armed forces, since the government, like the folks who might have
+attended had the rebel scare not kept them away, had been warned that the
+building would be bombed. As each spectator entered the arena, he was
+searched for arms—not a very pleasant way to start an evening’s outing!
+
+As for the main event, which had World Champion Joey Brown pitted against
+Orlando Echevarria, champion of Cuba and Central America, it lasted less
+than a round. The Cuban was counted out in two minutes and five seconds.
+The rest of the program, which featured two Latin-American championships,
+was exceptionally fine and thrilling.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: 23]
+
+A DREAM COME TRUE
+
+
+As a youngster, I thought that traveling in the Orient was reserved for
+books and dreams—or Marco Polo. Yet as a grown man I found myself in
+the land of my dreams. I may say now that my childhood fancies did not
+measure up to the dazzling reality: the violent contrasts of fabulous
+wealth and unbelievable squalor; the customs so strange to me; the
+glorious color of temples and palaces; the beautifully exotic land itself.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Early in 1954, I received a cable from Brigadier General Pichai
+Kullavanijya inviting me to visit Bangkok as the guest of the Thailand
+government for a world bantamweight championship fight that had
+been arranged for May 2 between Jimmy Carruthers of Australia, the
+titleholder, and Chamrern Songkitrat, Orient champion, a young Thai
+sublieutenant of police. I accepted, and when I left for the scene of
+action, it was my first flying trip around the world. I have since taken
+several.
+
+The trip was an eventful one but it was Thailand, more than any other
+country I visited, that impressed me. Its beautiful temples; its
+barefooted priests with their yellow loose robes, an umbrella in one hand
+and a bag of food in the other; naked children roaming the roads; people
+of many races crowding the colorful market places; three-wheeled vehicles
+jamming the streets with their fares—they left an impression I shall
+never forget. Hong Kong with its mixed races, its crowded thoroughfares,
+its beautiful fragrant flower market, and its poverty; Tokyo with its
+pretty kimono-dressed women; Manila with its reminder of the atrocities
+that befell its inhabitants during the Japanese invasion; ancient Asia
+Minor cities with their historic biblical shrines; the ruins of Athens;
+Istanbul with its Byzantine architecture; beautiful Rome and Paris; busy
+London, colorful Stockholm, Copenhagen, Antwerp, and Amsterdam—they all
+hold the tourists’ interest, but not like Siam. I enjoyed my visit to
+each, but Bangkok left the greatest impression.
+
+Let me tell you about the stage setting for the two championship bouts
+I saw there. In a scene unparalleled in ring history, a scene that was
+reminiscent of the historic Dempsey-Tunney world heavyweight championship
+bout in Philadelphia, a gathering of 59,760 persons paid 5,000,700
+ticals, $227,304.90 in American money, to see Carruthers retain his
+throne by a hairline margin and, following his victory, announce his
+retirement. Unlike championship bouts in other countries, this one was
+limited to twelve rounds. I arranged it so.
+
+Those who witnessed the Dempsey-Tunney contest in Philadelphia can
+imagine what we encountered in Bangkok by picturing a tropical storm
+that started three days before the fight, drenched the spectators who
+braved it, made a lake out of the ring, and flooded the muddy streets
+over which thousands trekked to the National Stadium.
+
+Bulbs from the overhead lighting system crashed to the canvas from time
+to time, forcing temporary halts to the fight while a broom brigade I
+had organized swept the glass and water from the ring. It was the first
+championship fight staged in that country, and the sports-loving folk of
+that little kingdom went all out to see it. As the guest of the Thailand
+government I was appointed overseer of the affair, and in view of the
+unbelievable conditions under which the contest was staged, I granted
+permission for the boxers to enter the ring in their bare feet to lessen
+the danger by making the footing more firm.
+
+I had never seen anything like it before. Dignitaries from Thailand and
+other nations, most of them dressed in their native garb; nobility from
+many lands; fight fans who came to the scene by foot, bicycle, tricycle,
+horse back, auto, train, and wagon—a reminder of the picturesque scenes
+portrayed in stories of bare-knuckle fights in England—all headed for
+the Stadium, the national sports arena. Traffic was so congested that it
+took me more than an hour to cover less than a mile from the Government
+Resident Palace, where I lived for a month, to the arena.
+
+The mass of humanity, trudging through the streets unmindful of the
+adverse conditions or the ruin of their colorful garments, was a picture
+to behold: the varicolored holiday dress of the Siamese, Hindus,
+Japanese, Chinese, and other Asiatics in contrast to the conventional
+Western dress of the Australians and Americans, many of whom were from
+our government agencies.
+
+Between weighing-in time and the fight, thousands visited the Emerald
+Buddha Temple where the scene was most impressive. Hundreds gathered
+within its walls. We knelt in prayer with shoes parked outside—the
+native custom. When I emerged, the rain was coming down so heavily that
+I pleaded with Carruthers to have the fight postponed, but he wouldn’t
+think of it.
+
+“Let’s get it over with,” he said. “I’ll take my chances.”
+
+Since I had the final decision, I held a confab with the principals and
+the government officials, and it was decided that a postponement would be
+dangerous: because of the housing shortage it would be impossible to care
+for the many visitors. The bout went on. We called it “the Battle of the
+Typhoon.”
+
+I sat through the fight with my clothes soaked. In spite of an army
+raincoat I had borrowed, the water flowed down my body, yet I enjoyed
+the affair more than any I had ever witnessed. When the fight was over,
+before we were able to get to the military car that had been assigned to
+me, we walked almost knee-deep through a sea of mud for half a mile, and
+when we got to the Resident Palace, my suit had shrunk to such an extent
+that my valet found it necessary to slit the trousers to remove them. I
+couldn’t use my shoes and coat again.
+
+When the contest was over, Referee Bill Henneberry of Australia, the only
+official, quietly raised the hand of Carruthers, “the winner and still
+champion.”
+
+It was a very close affair, and many in the vast arena booed the verdict.
+Never having attended a fight in the Orient before, I was expecting a
+riot momentarily. But fast thinking on the part of the defeated young
+boxer turned what might have been a disaster into a wild ovation.
+
+Chamrern quickly took the microphone from the announcer, held up his hand
+for silence, and standing in mid-ring he said in his native tongue:
+
+“My dear friends, I am proud to have been able to bring fame to
+my country by being the first Thai boxer to contend for the world
+bantamweight championship, and I am personally satisfied that the
+decision was fair and beyond doubt. If I am not sorry, my friends and
+countrymen, why are you?”
+
+The sportsmanlike remark was greeted with thunderous applause, and
+eventually restored decorum. At a banquet the following day, tendered in
+honor of High Police Commissioner Delaney of New South Wales and myself,
+General Phao Sriyanonda, Director General of the National Police and
+later Thailand’s Prime Minister, presented Songkitrat with an advanced
+rank in the Police Department, and to me he gave a handsome silver
+cocktail set with other gifts of silver for my daughter.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+A few months after Carruthers had announced his retirement, the Thailand
+government again requested that I act on its behalf in arranging a bout
+to obtain Carruthers’ successor. Since Songkitrat had already gone
+twelve rounds with Carruthers, and Robert Cohen of France was recognized
+throughout the world as the leading challenger, I brought the pair
+together with the consent of the European Boxing Federation, the New York
+Commission, and the National Boxing Association. The story of how that
+bout was arranged is well worth telling.
+
+With the crown vacant, the Thailand government contacted me while I
+was in London and requested that I offer Cohen 10,000 pounds sterling
+($28,000), tax free, with all expenses for himself and his managers,
+if he would agree to meet Songkitrat for the title. Before starting
+negotiations, as a member of the Advisory Board of the World Boxing
+Championship Committee, I contacted its members and obtained their
+consent. Then I did the same with the European Boxing Federation, the New
+York Commission, and the National Boxing Association, and when I got the
+green light from all, I flew to Paris to see Cohen’s manager. He asked me
+to discuss the matter with his partner, Robert Diamond, in London.
+
+With the guarantee agreement set, I drew up a contract which called for
+the contest to be staged on September 19, 1954, in Bangkok, with Teddy
+Waltham, secretary of the British Boxing Board of Control, as neutral
+referee at a fee of one thousand dollars. A Thai official and myself
+were to act as judges. With this set, and accompanied by Diamond, I went
+to the Thailand Embassy in London, and there the Ambassador affixed his
+signature on behalf of his government, Diamond signed for Cohen, and I
+signed for the World Boxing Championship Committee, of which I am an
+honorary member.
+
+Thus for the first time in the history of boxing, an Ambassador signed a
+contract for a boxing match. I was proud of my achievement and prouder
+still of the manner in which the affair was handled.
+
+Boxing received its greatest recognition in recent years when Their
+Majesties King Bhumibol Adulyadej and Queen Sirkt, the Thai cabinet,
+ambassadors and ministers from foreign countries, with high-ranking
+officers from the Allied Forces stationed in the Far East, all sat in
+a specially constructed grandstand to watch the fight—despite another
+torrential rain that kept up until about half an hour before the bout
+went on.
+
+A gathering of 69,819 that paid $200,952.24 saw the Thai champion go down
+to defeat.
+
+As on my first visit, I was quartered in the spacious Resident Palace, a
+lone occupant except for a valet, two maids, and a cook to look after my
+comfort. I was given a military car and chauffeur and an English-speaking
+Police Lieutenant aide, throughout my stay. Outside my residence, two
+sentries were on duty day and night.
+
+On the day of the fight, despite another heavy tropical rain storm, as
+before, all roads leading to the battleground were jammed throughout the
+day. People headed for the stadium on foot and in vehicles of various
+sorts, and to take care of the heavy traffic, two thousand police and
+members of the armed forces were brought in from the provinces to help
+the Bangkok force. People from the bordering countries of Cambodia and
+Laos crowded streets already full of Chinese, Hindus, Filipinos, and
+Siamese.
+
+Outside the stadium, hawkers were carrying huge rolls of cellophane and
+plastic sheets, which they cut and sold in large strips to take the place
+of rain coats. These street merchants reaped a harvest. Their merchandise
+went like hot cakes at 15 bahts (50 cents) a strip. With these over their
+heads and shoulders, the fans entered the arena and sat in varicolored
+chairs—blue, white, brown, red, orange, and yellow—arranged in rows.
+
+The day following the bout, General Phao gave a dinner in my honor at
+which the French Ambassador and many government notables were present. At
+this affair His Majesty awarded me the Fourth Class of the Most Exalted
+Order of the White Elephant, the highest honor that may be conferred on a
+foreigner. The white elephant is a sacred animal in the land of Buddha,
+and Buddhism is Thailand’s national religion. It is sacrilegious to kill
+a white elephant—the symbol of purity.
+
+In addition, I received a silver and gold combination humidor and pipe
+rack, built around the head of a tiger that had been shot by General
+Phao, and a stuffed tropical bird whose gay plumage and song I had
+admired in the palace garden the previous day. He also presented me with
+a necklace and bracelets of beautiful Siamese silver for my daughter,
+Joan.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+I shall always recall the wonderful greeting I received on this second
+visit to Bangkok. As our Pan-American plane approached the field, we
+could see hundreds of children waving American and Thai banners, and as
+the plane landed, a roar went up. It was as much a surprise to me as it
+was to the others to hear Captain Max Webber announce:
+
+“Will all passengers kindly remain seated while a guest of the Thai
+government gets off the plane first.”
+
+That guest, I soon learned, was me. As I stepped out of the plane,
+General Pichai and General Mora, headed a large delegation of government
+officials who had come to escort me. Applause and shouts of “Our Uncle
+Nat is here,” made me feel very much at home.
+
+I was swamped with garlands, each made up of fragrant flowers with red,
+white, and blue ribbon holding them together. So heavy was the load
+across my neck that I requested to be permitted to hold some. There was
+a military escort of motorcycles and jeeps, followed by fifty cars and
+buses, each flying the American and Thailand flags, and banners blazing
+the words “Welcome Our Uncle Nat Back to Thailand.”
+
+It was an amazing tribute to boxing since I was representing the sport.
+
+At dinner that evening General Pichai asked if I would like to see
+Siamese boxing. What a question! What baseball is to the Americans,
+cricket and soccer to the British, and Sumo to the Japanese,
+hand-and-feet fighting is to the Thai folk. It brings out the throngs
+and has its idols of whom Songkitrat is one. Whether they win, lose, or
+draw, these heroes are decorated with wreaths, receive beautiful gifts of
+silver, and are showered with attention wherever they go.
+
+It’s a sport in which the rules and regulations that govern international
+boxing are tossed aside. The code which governs it prohibits gouging,
+hair-pulling, and striking an opponent when he is down—otherwise
+everything goes. The contestants use their feet, knees, and elbows as
+offensive and defensive weapons, and once the action gets under way, fur
+flies. The bouts are usually thrillers, with not a moment of inactivity.
+
+The foreign visitor watching a Siamese boxing match is not so much
+attracted by the hand-and-feet fighting as the opening ceremony that
+often lasts from five to ten minutes. It is called “Ram.”
+
+It is a peculiar combination of praying, limbering-up exercises, an
+acknowledgement to the fans for their presence, and a salute to the
+opponent, instead of the usual handshake to which we are accustomed.
+The fighters first bow until their heads touch the ground. This is when
+the prayer to Buddha is made. Then each fighter twists his head toward
+his manager’s corner with another prayer, this time for the man who has
+trained the fighter. Next comes a salaam to the crowd. Then with head
+still bowed in reverence and with hand upraised towards heaven, the
+fighters recite a prayer for victory. The final stage of the ceremony
+is that in which the fighters prance around the ring like toe dancers
+and shadowbox as they have been taught by their masters. They move their
+hands in mystic waves, kicking their legs high, then each goes to the
+other’s corner and bows to his opponent.
+
+A band of six musicians plays during this ceremonial prelude, and
+continues to play throughout the fight. The weird music is reminiscent
+of medieval days; and the entire “Ram” rites, I was informed, may be
+compared to the ceremonies attending the opening of athletic tournaments
+in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries.
+
+With the conclusion of the ceremonies, the fighters are called to the
+ring center where the action gets under way. Each has a white band on his
+arm. It is known as the Holy Band or _mongkol_ in Thai language, and is
+supposed to give strength and courage to the contestants. Beneath this
+band is a small charm, a tiny Buddha statue, or a pebble from the holy
+soil of a Buddha Temple.
+
+The referee calls for time, and as soon as the fight gets under way, six
+musicians begin their quaint music with two high-pitched guitars, two
+oriental drums, and two flutes. This accompaniment is nerve-wracking to
+an American. Those accustomed to it would regard a match dull without it.
+The tempo speeds up as the bout progresses and the action in the ring
+remains rhythmic as the boxers keep pace with the musicians.
+
+The Siamese boys make our boxers look like novices as far as their
+courage and ability to take punishment are concerned. They take a
+shellacking, giving and receiving blows, and European rules would call
+for quick disqualification.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: 24]
+
+THE FITZSIMMONS CLAN
+
+
+The 1956 Olympic Games were over. My long stay in Melbourne, where I
+had gone to report the international boxing competition, was completed.
+Should I journey back to the States by way of the Far East, stopping off
+in cities familiar to me through previous visits?
+
+That was a decision I had to make quickly because of the heavy
+transportation problem, and it didn’t take me long to do so.
+
+I remembered a letter I had received from Timaru, New Zealand, from
+Betsy McKenna of the Club Hotel, whose mother was the patroness of the
+New Zealand Sports Association and whose father for many years was a
+prominent sportsman in the South Island. Shortly before his death, his
+daughter had invited me to visit Timaru if I went to the Olympic Games.
+This decided me: I would take a trip to New Zealand where famous American
+boxers had performed in the days of Eddie McGoorty, Jimmy Clabby, George
+Chip, Jeff Smith, and Billy Papke. I would visit Auckland, Wellington,
+Christchurch, and Timaru.
+
+So on to Auckland I flew, a six-hour flight from Sydney; and from that
+point in the North Island as my headquarters, I headed down south, my
+final destination being Timaru, the home of many of the Fitzsimmons
+family.
+
+Everywhere I went, friendly hands greeted me. Radio recording was a
+must in each of the cities where I stopped. I was on the air, on radio
+and television, a total of twenty-nine times, including six special
+recordings for the Government-controlled national radio—so great was the
+interest there in international boxing.
+
+Timaru was my objective because of the many entertaining hours I had
+spent with Bob Fitzsimmons during his stage career. I was out to gather
+material about the Fitzsimmons family, and I obtained what I was after.
+
+Two of the greatest boxing figures made their start in the Southern
+Hemisphere. Fitzsimmons in Timaru and Les Darcy in Maitland, New South
+Wales. These fistic stars were idolized in their homelands. Mention the
+name of Darcy or Freckled Bob in any pub, and you’ve started a discussion
+that may last for hours.
+
+In my journeys through Australia and New Zealand, I met many sports
+enthusiasts who knew Les and Bob. Some at three score and ten have vivid
+recollections of the early days of these men whose names occupy a niche
+in the Fistic Hall of Fame.
+
+When I visited Maitland to unveil the Darcy Memorial and spoke to a
+gathering of about 5,000 who had come from all parts of the Commonwealth
+to honor the memory of their idol, I thought I had met all of the
+pugilistic celebrities of the past and present who had any part in
+keeping boxing alive in that part of the world. But my subsequent trip
+to Timaru uncovered still more.
+
+Timaru is a small dot on the southwestern coast of the mainland in
+the South Island of New Zealand. It is seldom in the itinerary of the
+tourists, and receives little attention even from New Zealanders.
+
+Yet this little city of only 23,000 inhabitants, in the sheep farm
+district 100 miles from Christchurch and about 200 miles from Auckland,
+can stand on its own as an historic athletic center. It has a unique
+claim to fame in the sports field, having produced five of the world’s
+greatest athletic performers.
+
+Remember Jack Lovelock, the famous 1500-meter king to whom Hitler
+presented an oak tree—part of the Olympic ceremonies at that time? Jack
+brought it home to Timaru, presented it to the high school, and today
+it stands 75 feet high in the school yard, as a memorial to this famed
+middle distance runner who died in America.
+
+Then there was the race horse, Phar Lap, known as the “Red Terror”; it
+thrilled the turf world with its great performances before dying soon
+after being shipped to America.
+
+And Dick Arnst, the world-renowned sculler, had few equals. He was born
+in Timaru and lived there all his life.
+
+The little city that had less than 3,000 inhabitants when the Fitzsimmons
+clan first settled there, also boasted of a great billiard player, Clark
+McConachy. A master of the cue, he was one of the greatest in the game.
+
+But Timaru bases its greatest claim to athletic fame on the first
+man to win three world championships—Bob Fitzsimmons, holder of the
+middleweight, heavyweight, and light heavyweight crowns. The city claims
+Bob as its very own, although the British have always been free to take
+credit for his accomplishments on the grounds that he was born in England.
+
+The Timaru folk keep Ruby Robert’s name alive with stories about his
+escapades and thrilling anecdotes about the strength of his dad, the
+ability of his brother Jarrett as a mighty smithy, and the fighting
+spirit of the entire family. The citizens—average country people such as
+one meets in any farm land—are proud of the part their city has played in
+international sports.
+
+They take you to the street where Bob first learned the blacksmith trade,
+point to a little camera shop now occupying what once was Fitzsimmons’
+place of business; the alley adjoining where the horses were kept until
+ready to be shod; the little passageway, a short street now occupied by
+stores, where Bob made his start at fist tossing; the anvil on which
+he worked, now owned by Joe Stewart, blacksmith to the Timaru Harbor
+Board, and an old building where the sign that was displayed outside the
+original Fitzsimmons’ horse shoeing establishment hangs with the legend,
+“J. Fitzsimmons, Veterinary Shoeing Forge.”
+
+Visiting the Fitzsimmons’ clan was a delight. So much has been written
+about Bob and his birthplace—Elston, Cornwall, England—and so little
+about his adopted city, where he worked as a blacksmith during his
+boyhood years, and learned the rudiments of the trade in which his fists
+were to gain for him an international reputation, that if my visit to
+Timaru did nothing more than to put it back on the fistic map, I will be
+delighted.
+
+Bob’s picture hangs in almost every hotel lounge in Timaru. And you
+can’t get to first base if you try to convince them that Ruby Robert was
+a Cornishman and not a New Zealander. Mention of my itinerary to Kiwis
+invariably brought forth the statement: “That’s where Fitzsimmons lived.
+We’re proud of him.”
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Ruby Robert’s first job, his relatives recalled, was in Reid’s and Grey’s
+Foundry in Stafford Street North, a short distance from where the
+Dominion Hotel now stands. Boxing had far greater appeal for him than
+any other sport, and he took to it like a duck to water. One of the old
+settlers I interviewed remarked:
+
+“There’s many a time when Bob, left alone in the shop, would go down the
+alley to have a little go with the gloves. He didn’t have much difficulty
+getting some one to spar with him while another kept a lookout at the
+blacksmith shop.”
+
+“Did the family ever speak of Jem Mace who is credited with having taught
+Bob the finer points of boxing?” I inquired of blind Jack Fitzsimmons.
+(A steel splinter had penetrated his right eye while he was working as a
+smithy.) He’d talk for hours about boxing and the prowess of his uncle if
+he could get a listener.
+
+“Yes,” he replied. “His sister Catherine had a vivid recollection of
+Bob’s early days and often told us of the celebrities with whom Bob
+associated. Mace, she told us, was Bob’s teacher and a mighty good one.
+He had a night school where he taught boxing and Bob attended it after
+working hours.”
+
+Continuing after a short pause, Jack said, “She told us that Uncle Bob
+began boxing at the age of fifteen, and our father said that Bob had
+engaged in three bare-knuckle bouts with heavyweights when he scaled only
+142 pounds. Father, you know, was Bob’s brother and he, like Bob, was
+strong and vigorous. He had thin legs—a family trait, I believe; from the
+waist down, they were similarly built.
+
+“I recall Dad saying that it wasn’t long after Mace took charge of Uncle
+Bob’s training that he was fighting all comers of any weight class in
+South Canterbury. Bob’s fame spread, and stories of his prowess drifted
+to Australia; at the age of twenty, he left Timaru for Sydney, where he
+fought in matches arranged by the great Larry Foley.”
+
+I was amazed at the boxing knowledge of Jack Fitzsimmons. Blindness
+hadn’t affected his memory. He recalled dates and places which normally
+require research in _The Ring Record Book_ for accuracy. I was shocked
+upon my return to America to learn that Jack died shortly after I had
+left for home.
+
+Discussing Ruby Robert’s sense of humor, Jack Fitzsimmons remarked:
+
+“Aunt Catherine told us that he grew up with plenty of it in his make-up.
+And from what we learned from our father and read in _The Ring_ and
+elsewhere, his antics in his training camps and in his social gatherings
+portrayed the picture well. He was full of pranks and never was disturbed
+when they were played on him, Dad said. It was his easy-going temperament
+that enabled him to make friends wherever he went.”
+
+Jack added, “You know when Uncle Bob was fighting in Australia there
+was little difference between amateurism and professionalism. When Mace
+arranged the affair in which Uncle Bob gained his first prestige as a
+boxer, ten other boxers competed in the tournament and the rounds weren’t
+limited as they are today when amateurs compete. A bout finished only
+when one was knocked out, yet the Mace tournament was advertised as an
+affair for amateurs.”
+
+Wes Jack took out some mellowed newspaper clippings telling of Ruby
+Robert’s visit to Timaru, following his retirement from boxing. In one,
+Fitzsimmons tells of the time he won the New Zealand title.
+
+“I didn’t have things easy,” he told his interviewer. “As a young man who
+weighed at the time less than 125 pounds, I had to face tough opposition
+with opponents far heavier. But I reached the top, although in so doing I
+had to fight men of all sizes and weights.”
+
+Discussing the blacksmith shop, a story related by Bob’s brother,
+Jarrett, two of whose sons became heavyweight champions of New Zealand,
+held my attention. Jarrett, who died in Timaru at an old age, telling his
+sons about the power in the arms and shoulders of his brother, said:
+
+“I’ve often been asked how brother attained his strength. I think it
+came from fighting and subduing crazy horses brought into our blacksmith
+shop. If there was anything Bob liked, it was to be assigned to shoeing a
+brute. He would remark:
+
+“‘It strengthens my arms and legs when I’m kicked across the shop and it
+helps develop the sand in a man.’”
+
+In _The Ring_ museum in Madison Square Garden there is a letter from
+Fitzsimmons addressed to me. I had seen him in Chicago in 1914, at which
+time I interviewed him, and when I mailed the article to him, he added to
+his statement:
+
+“The cave-men of the ring are extinct. Champions such as we had when I
+was in my prime are gone, never again to return. The champions of the
+future will be as children compared to the rough and ready battlers of
+twenty or more years ago. Fighting, like all other sports, is reaching
+out along lines of improvement. The men of today realize that boxing is
+more important than is slugging.
+
+“They are beginning to see the advantages of knowing how to block and
+feint and those who still can retain their punch are the ones who will
+reach the top. You’ll find as the years pass that fighting will become
+more and more scientific and championships will change hands on points
+and not on knockouts.”
+
+Those were the words of one of the greatest champions of all time. He
+foresaw many years ago the change that already has taken place.
+
+
+
+
+BOOK
+
+SIX
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: 25]
+
+BIRTH OF _THE RING_
+
+
+With the February issue of 1957, _The Ring_, my boxing publication,
+completed thirty-five years of service in the interest of the sport;
+years of war, prosperity, gloom, and world turmoil. They were years
+that included “The Golden Era” of boxing and a paralyzing depression;
+and throughout the three decades, _The Ring_, which started with a
+circulation of 2,500, carried on without interruption. From a small
+magazine confined to the environs of New York it grew into a world
+publication, published in America and in England with a total circulation
+of over 200,000.
+
+_The Ring_ made its wavering début on February 10, 1922, to combat
+attacks against boxing. I operated out of a cubbyhole in the old Madison
+Square Garden, in a little room donated by Tex Rickard. It was a one-man
+job. I was editor, business manager, circulation manager, and general
+handy man, though the stock was owned by four of us. About half a year
+after the first issue was published, Eddie Borden, well known in boxing
+circles, joined me as an assistant.
+
+Between 1917 and 1920, when the Walker Law went into effect following the
+demise of the Frawley Law, boxing in America was in a sad state. But the
+Walker Law brought about a change, a promise of order in what had become
+a corrupt racket.
+
+Rickard had come East soon after the Walker Law was passed, and decided
+to promote fights and other sports events in the old Garden and at the
+Polo Grounds. He was so successful that he aroused the envy of crooked
+politicians who found it more profitable to operate without state
+supervision. They tried to put him out of business and to kill legalized
+boxing. Those politicians formed an unholy alliance with reformers
+against the new boxing bill. With the help of Rickard, I enlisted the
+services of friends, most of them nationally known newspapermen, to fight
+for the life of legalized boxing.
+
+Rickard asked me what could be done to halt Governor Smith from killing
+the sport. I suggested that we flood the Albany Senate and Assembly with
+pamphlets outlining our reasons for opposing the bill which would have
+halted boxing. He agreed. I received the support of every sports writer
+in New York to help the cause.
+
+Articles were written for the pamphlet by New York’s leading sports
+editors and columnists: Bill McGeehan, Damon Runyon, Walter Trumbull,
+George Daley, Wurra Wurra McLaughlin, Ned Brown, George Sands, Bat
+Masterson, Bill McBeth, Harry Cross, Charles F. Mathison, Francis
+Albertanti, Grantland Rice, George B. Underwood and myself. Copies were
+sent to every member of the New York State Legislature.
+
+With Senators Frawley and Walker fighting our battle in the Senate, and
+Assemblyman Marty McCue, a former pugilist, doing the chores for us in
+the Assembly, we fought a winning campaign. Governor Smith listened to
+the plea and then made his historic decision, saving boxing for New York
+State. He said that though he didn’t like boxing and had never attended
+a show, he was highly impressed by the editorial comment of the sports
+writers and those who had gone to Albany to attend the hearing. He vetoed
+the measure of the reformers and boxing was saved.
+
+Following that narrow escape, I decided that a publication devoted wholly
+to the sport would be worth starting. I asked for Rickard’s help, but he
+balked at spending any more money. I argued that if a pamphlet such as
+we presented to the State Legislature and the Governor of New York could
+do so much good for boxing, a magazine devoted to the sport, an organ to
+give boxing an articulate mouthpiece, would be a venture worth tackling.
+Rickard was not impressed. I was to be only too grateful for this later
+on.
+
+But I wasn’t licked. I. C. Brenner, of _Golfers’ Magazine_, had heard
+of my plans, and he came to my rescue. He knew the magazine field
+and offered to help launch a publication if someone would back it
+financially. I became the backer.
+
+I went to Frank A. Munsey, my employer, who had ditched the New York
+_Press_ and had purchased the New York _Telegram_ to which I was shifted,
+and I asked permission to bring out the publication. He gave me the green
+light after I promised that the work would not interfere with my duties
+as sports editor, and that I would keep the contents clean and do nothing
+to hurt _The Telegram_.
+
+With Brenner, I took as partners (without any financial aid from them)
+Frank Coultry, treasurer of Madison Square Garden, and Ike Dorgan,
+brother of the famous cartoonist, Tad. Ike was Rickard’s publicity chief.
+I gave each of them equal shares at 25 per cent.
+
+Three months later, Coultry and Brenner retired from the enterprise. They
+didn’t think the magazine would be a success and sold their stock to Ike
+Dorgan and me. But within a year, the magazine had jumped from 2,700 to
+13,000 and from 24 pages to 38.
+
+Thereafter there was a steady rise. From America’s leading newspapers and
+magazines foremost writers were added to the staff. The appearance of the
+book was improved.
+
+In 1929, I bought out Dorgan’s stock and became the sole owner. I had
+constant faith in the magazine and despite the depression, I decided
+to take over the ownership and put everything I had into it. However,
+trouble came when I lost my bankroll in the financial crash, and for
+two years I accepted Bernarr MacFadden as my partner. In 1931 that
+arrangement was abandoned, and since then I have carried on as publisher
+and editor. With the help of an excellent staff, I have built the
+publication to its present circulation of over 200,000 in the U.S. and
+in England and aided by the good management of Nathaniel R. Loubet, my
+son-in-law, we have modernized the format to meet current needs.
+
+Rivals have come and rivals have gone, but _The Ring_ continues, steadily
+improving, with a record of never having missed an issue since its
+inception. We suffered losses during the war years, but never faltered.
+The friends we made by shipping _The Ring_ gratis to all areas where our
+men were fighting, more than offset those losses, for we gained good will
+we couldn’t have purchased with money.
+
+While many magazines were forced to discontinue during World War II, _The
+Ring_ continued to serve its readers, those in hospitals and in training
+camps, a service unequalled in the history of American publications.
+Lectures with motion pictures of famous fights were given through _The
+Ring_ in camps and hospitals, and no expense was spared to see that the
+men received what they cherished most in reading matter—boxing news. In
+addition, we organized _The Ring’s_ Servicemen’s Athletic Fund, which
+purchased athletic paraphernalia for camps in all parts of the world.
+
+One of the greatest achievements of _The Ring_ is the publication of its
+annual record book (an international guide to boxing), and its annual
+rating of boxers, a listing that is used by promoters and commissions in
+pairing fighters.
+
+Many years ago the late Walter Camp initiated the custom of designating
+the outstanding football players of the year as the All-American or
+best-players of the season. A flood of imitators adopted this idea and
+today All-American football team selections are almost as numerous as the
+players.
+
+When Camp died, I thought of having some sort of honor roll of boxing
+similar to his gridiron ratings. Looking around for a boxing figure of
+equal prominence to make the selections, I chose Tex Rickard.
+
+The fabulous Tex was in his heyday then, and following the announcement
+that he was to make a selection of the world’s ranking boxers, his
+ratings were awaited with tremendous interest.
+
+The forerunner of the detailed and highly classified _Ring_ rankings of
+today appeared in the February 1925 issue for the first time and caused
+world-wide comment. Such ring immortals as Jack Dempsey, Benny Leonard,
+Mickey Walker, Harry Greb, Gene Tunney and Pancho Villa were in action
+at the time, and, of course, their names led all the rest in their
+respective divisions.
+
+Dempsey was naturally rated top heavyweight, with his perennial shadow,
+Harry Wills, in the number two spot. Tunney was a light heavyweight in
+those days and was ranked first in the 175-pound division. Young Willie
+Stribling and Kid Norfolk were second and third, respectively.
+
+The great Harry Greb headed the middleweights, and the man who was to
+succeed him, Tiger Flowers, was in the runner-up spot. Mighty Mickey
+Walker was welterweight kingpin, followed by Dave Shade, who was to
+trail the Toy Bulldog throughout his career. The peerless Benny Leonard
+was still showing his heels to a new generation of lightweights, his
+old rivals having fallen by the wayside. Sid Terris and Sammy Mandell,
+a couple of up-and-coming youngsters, had edged the oldsters out of the
+second and third positions.
+
+Kid Sullivan topped the junior lightweight division, a favorite of the
+time, and Louis Kid Kaplan led the feathers. Cannonball Eddie Martin was
+ranked best of the bantams, and Pancho Villa headed the popular flyweight
+division as world champion.
+
+Rickard continued to make his choices in the pages of _The Ring_ for some
+years, but Tex, while a genuine connoisseur of heavyweight material, was
+not always as painstaking in his examinations of the smaller fellows.
+It was difficult to convince him that the selections in the lighter
+divisions were just as important. The big lads were always closest to
+Tex’s heart. That was where the money was. They were the raw material for
+the promotional extravaganzas that had placed Rickard at the top of the
+heap in his field.
+
+After Rickard’s death in 1929, I had Jack Dempsey make the selections.
+However, Jack suffered from the same shortcomings as his predecessor. He
+knew all the answers so far as heavies were concerned, but was inclined
+to overlook the lighter classes. He lasted only one year.
+
+By this time _The Ring_ rankings had attained such a position that I
+realized that their compilation required the knowledge of one whose
+boxing interest and knowledge included all the divisions. The Matchmaker
+of Madison Square Garden seemed an obvious choice because he had to be
+fully informed concerning boxers in all classes all over the world. Tom
+McArdle, then occupying that position in the Garden, fell heir to the
+job, which he capably performed for the next few years.
+
+As the interest in ratings grew, however, I decided on a staff
+compilation, and in 1933 I inaugurated the present system of rating
+boxers on the basis of a census of _Ring_ correspondents throughout the
+world. Their decisions are looked upon as the official ranking in every
+division by the European Boxing Union and the various boxing commissions.
+
+The wide range of opinion to which the ratings are exposed has put the
+name of many an obscure but talented lad before the public. A typical
+example of this was Billy Conn, whose first real recognition by Mike
+Jacobs came as a result of the high ranking he received in _The Ring_.
+Conn’s was just one of many similar cases.
+
+The year-end rankings also serve the important function of starting off
+the new year in a flurry of comment and enthusiasm. Boxing has thus
+received a much-needed stimulus and I’m proud to think that I inaugurated
+the system.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: 26]
+
+MEET THE PRESS
+
+
+Let me tell you about some of the outstanding sports writers in American
+journalism. I am not going to attempt to list all the great reporters,
+past and present, who have kept the achievements of our athletic heroes
+in the headlines, because it would take far more space than can be
+devoted to it here.
+
+Of all the colorful writers from all parts of the world with whom I
+worked, my first choice is Tad Dorgan, whose boxing cartoons were
+unexcelled and whose coinage of words formed the pattern for later-day
+sports writers. Tad held an amazing place in American journalism. He was
+not only a great writer about fighters and an expert in the game, but
+he was one of the most graphic cartoonists we have had on the west side
+of the Atlantic. He was the John Leech of the modern school—now, alas,
+modern no longer. In England the closest to him is Tom Webster, whom I
+also esteem among my friends.
+
+When Tad Dorgan died, a stout heart ceased to beat; he was a man who
+had given pleasure and a laugh daily to hundreds of thousands of people
+throughout the world. In the quarter of a century that I knew Tad, I can
+recall at least fifty “nicknames” that he had originated to describe
+fighters with certain peculiarities; and the names by which he called
+them are to this day their identification in the fistic world. He was the
+most accomplished coiner of the sports page phrase. He and Damon Runyon
+and Bill McGeehan contributed more to the slang expressions that swept
+the country from time to time than any other writers.
+
+Battling Nelson, Tad dubbed “The Bat” and the “Durable Dane.” Billy
+Petrolle in later years he called the “Fargo Express” because of his
+speed, and the “Fargo Express” he remained throughout his fighting days.
+Jem Driscoll, to Tad, was the “Will O’ The Wisp.” ...
+
+Tad’s comic strips, his humorous, human interest cartoons and wisecracks
+continue to retain the appeal they had years ago. Tad had a flavor and
+the tang that no man in the boxing game has ever been able to duplicate.
+
+As a boxing commentator Tad rated with the best: Bill Naughton, Bill
+McGeehan, Ed Smith, Charley Van Loan, Hugh Fullerton, George Siler, Macon
+McCormack, Bat Masterson, Charley Mathison, Sam Austin, George Touhey,
+and others whose articles made them famous authorities on boxing in
+America.
+
+Tad was an intimate of every sportsman of note from the early nineties
+to the day of his death. He was a good friend of James J. Corbett, John
+L. Sullivan, Jim Jeffries, and Jack Johnson—the four aces in his list of
+fistic celebrities. Jim Corbett once said that Tad, who was born in the
+same district as Gentleman Jim, when only a lad showed all the symptoms
+of becoming “the funniest man in the world.”
+
+When Tad became famous as a cartoonist and a writer, he often referred to
+Jim’s remark. Among Tad’s favorite sports writers were Hype Igoe, Bill
+McGeehan, and Rube Goldberg, each a noted man in his profession.
+
+“The gamest man I ever knew,” is what Gene Tunney called Tad, and Tunney
+knew something of many kinds of courage. Tad was responsible for the
+discovery of many young writers who later became stars in the sports
+world. It was he who encouraged the famous Charles E. Van Loan, whose
+books on sports are well known in England and in the United States. Van
+Loan became one of the greatest baseball writers in America while working
+on the San Francisco _Bulletin_ and later, when Van Loan accepted a post
+in Denver, he discovered another youth—now known to the sports and movie
+world as Damon Runyon.
+
+Though Tad did not originate all the famous slang expressions credited to
+him, he at least was responsible for popularizing them. Remember when “23
+skidoo” was the rage? That was one of Tad’s expressions.
+
+It was he who named Jack Johnson “Lil Arthur” at the time that the giant
+Negro was in training for his fight with Jim Jeffries at Reno. Tad was
+the only fistic expert in Reno who picked Johnson to win by a knockout.
+
+Joe Gans was dubbed “The Old Master” and Harry Wills, he called “Ol Har.”
+Pete Stone, one of the favorites in Stanley Ketchel’s camp when Hype Igoe
+was Ketchel’s manager, Tad nicknamed “Pete the Goat.” He called Jack
+Dempsey, “The Manassa Mauler” and “The Killer” and these “titles” have
+been identified with Dempsey ever since.
+
+The stories about Tad are so numerous that it would take a volume to
+tell them. His escapades in “Jack’s,” a famous New York restaurant of
+pre-prohibition days, are frequently told in sports circles. The story of
+how two song writers picked up his expression, “Yes, we have no bananas”
+and made a million out of it, is an old one.
+
+If making millions laugh every day qualifies a man to call himself an
+artist—and I know of no higher art—then Tad was an artist. I enjoyed his
+company and was proud to have been numbered among his friends. Not only
+did he bring laughter into the world with his “Silk Hat Harry,” “Judge
+Rummy,” “Indoor Sports” and other famous drawings, but created words that
+Webster never dreamed of.
+
+Tad was the “Emperor of Prince Regent,” and “High Commissioner” of
+the sports gatherings in New York. He loved that bawdy life and he
+understood it as few others did. His greatness lay in his understanding
+of humanity. Shams never fooled him. He looked behind them, and saw
+human emotions—petty, silly, or noble. He loved Broadway and the sports
+world with a passionate intensity which he transmitted to others in the
+journalistic profession.
+
+Several years before heart trouble made it impossible for him to attend
+fights, I saw him in Tex Rickard’s office and we discussed old times.
+
+“I don’t go to as many fights as I used to,” he said. “It’s the same old
+thing—fight after fight; fouls, holding, referees interfering with the
+boys and poor decisions. I’m fed up on it, Nat. The boys rush in headlong
+and then slap their way through the bouts, round after round. They either
+have their eyes shut or their hands open.
+
+“Remember the old Barnum saying, ‘There’s a sucker born every minute?’
+The population is bigger now so that the sucker crop is much greater than
+in his day, but they’re still falling.”
+
+We discussed Johnson, Jeffries, Tom Sharkey, Ketchel and a few others
+among the old time greats and compared them with the fighters of this
+era. Tad challenged me to name eight topnotchers who came to the front
+since 1916. I started but he cut me short.
+
+“What’s the use?” he asked. “Even if you name fifteen, you won’t find
+four equal to those I’ve named. I like to talk about the stars of
+other days because they were the real masters. Their names will go on
+forever, just as those of the great actors, musicians, painters and
+writers—Dickens, Cruikshank, Leech, Shakespeare, Balzac, Dore, Kipling,
+O. Henry and Jack London. Birds like that will continue to be chatted
+about. They were the cream in their specialty as were Corbett, John L.,
+Jeffries, Fitz, Ryan, Sharkey, Johnson, Choynski, Walcott, Gans, Dixon
+and Attell in theirs.”
+
+We had attended a show a few nights before in the Garden at which about
+16,000 persons had crowded the arena, but the main event was marred by
+repeated holding and waltzing and Tad, turning to me, remarked:
+
+“Just because 16,000 fight fans saw that bout and only about 800 saw
+some of the ring classics of the past, some of the stirring contests we
+used to attend, doesn’t prove that the boxer of today is better than the
+fellows of twenty years ago. Where do they get off to compare these birds
+to men like George Kid Lavigne, Bat Nelson, Gans, Jack McAuliffe, Frank
+Erne, and many others of their brand I can name? A magazine writer today
+gets ten times what Dickens got fifty years ago, but that doesn’t mean
+anything so far as comparative ability goes. Half of the fans of today
+think that they’re seeing great fights, when as a matter of fact, they’re
+just being entertained by dubs.”
+
+Tad knew his fights and fighters. He had the facts. The day before the
+Berlenbach-Delaney fight, I sat with Tad and we discussed the coming
+battle.
+
+“Is a great left better than a great right hand?” he asked.
+
+I thought for a moment and then replied that I thought the best fighters
+in recent years were those who possessed good, powerful lefts.
+
+“Let’s see,” Tad answered. “Take a pencil and jot down these names.”
+
+Both Tad and I got our pencils out and we started to name good fighters
+who could hit hard, and we found that the man with powerful lefts rated
+higher than those who had a good right. Tad remarked that Billy Delaney,
+the old-time trainer who handled three champions—Corbett, Jeffries,
+and Johnson—said that he wouldn’t handle a man who didn’t possess a
+good left. “The left,” according to Delaney, “is the best fighting hand
+because it is the natural hand for hitting purposes.”
+
+Tad recalled Jack Johnson’s telling him that a fighter is never off
+balance or out of position after leading with the left, whereas he is all
+wet after the right is shot.
+
+Among the fighters with great rights whom Tad named were John L.
+Sullivan, Peter Maher, Bert Keyes, Gunboat Smith, Joe Choynski, Aurelia
+Herrera, Georges Carpentier, Australian Billy Murphy, Willie Fitzgerald,
+Young Corbett, and Jack Delaney. Those with powerful hitting lefts were
+Stanley Ketchel, Bob Fitzsimmons, George Dixon, Dal Hawkins, Frankie
+Neil, Fred Fulton, Jim Corbett, Nonpareil Jack Dempsey, Paul Berlenbach,
+and Kid McCoy.
+
+Tad’s favorite fighter was Gans, with Jack Johnson rating a close second.
+He thought that Dempsey was a great scrapper, but he told me on several
+occasions that Dempsey never saw the day when he could whip “Lil’ Artha.”
+He saw Dempsey at Toledo and watched Jack beat Billy Miske in Benton
+Harbor. That was the last fight he viewed from ringside. Thereafter, he
+listened to them on the radio.
+
+He often remarked that the radio was a God-sent gift to him, and it
+undoubtedly prolonged his life. Always a great hand for forming likes and
+dislikes for figures in the sports world, he got to taking impressions
+from the radio and on many occasions his follow-up story and drawings
+on a great fight event which he didn’t see but to which he listened were
+amazingly accurate.
+
+In covering a fight or other important sports event, Tad’s ability to cut
+loose with a flow of descriptive writing that spread the picture before
+the eye and the mind of the reader surpassed that of any other writer of
+his time. He was uncanny in the accuracy of his description.
+
+I recall the first time the word “hard boiled egg,” was used in a sports
+story. The expression was coined by Tad following a heated discussion
+over the division of a fight purse, in which Harry Pollock and Dan
+McKettrick played leading parts. When an agreement could not be reached,
+Tad came forth with a cartoon depicting the wrangling and a caption
+beneath the cartoon of Pollock read:
+
+“How a hard boiled egg looks when fighting for the dough.”
+
+That expression became extremely popular in a short time and soon was
+used as a gag on the stage and in stories of crime to indicate a tough
+character. Still later he dropped part of the expression and simplified
+it to just plain “egg,” and thereafter that word took its place in
+English slang, meaning ordinary, useless, unfit.
+
+There never lived a more ardent fight-fan than Jack London; as a matter
+of fact, Jack, though he never boxed in public, was a nifty hand with the
+gloves. The first time I met him was in Jack Cooper’s New York Gymnasium,
+the place where Mike Donovan, Theodore Roosevelt, and many other noted
+New Yorkers gathered. London was exercising with the mitts, and he
+surprised me with his skill. I asked him where he learned to spar.
+
+“I was a pupil of the greatest teacher in the world,” he responded. “Old
+Professor Hard Experience drilled me. When I was a kid I traveled with a
+tough gang, and had to learn how to scrap, or get my block knocked off
+every day,” he said. “Then in my hobo days, riding on freights in box car
+pullmans, I was up against a still tougher game. A young fellow needs to
+know how to handle himself if he elects to carry on in the tramp life.
+
+“But I picked up a lot of glove knowledge sparring with Battling Nelson
+when Bat was lightweight champion, with Jimmy Britt, Young Corbett, and
+other cracks. I always liked the game.”
+
+London wrote some of the finest fight fiction ever published. He had the
+gift of making a reader actually see and feel what he described within
+the ring. Jack had some newspaper experience on San Francisco papers,
+but the reporter phase didn’t last long, as his talent for fiction soon
+transferred him to a more lucrative field.
+
+Even after he became famous as a novelist, the newspapers and syndicates
+often paid him big money to act as ring correspondent for championship
+matches. It was while covering the Battling Nelson-Jimmy Britt match
+for the world’s lightweight championship in 1905 that London coined the
+phrase “abysmal brute,” applying it to Nelson’s seeming insensibility
+to punishment. The iron-jawed Dane took everything Britt could give him
+in the punching line, until he wore Jimmy down and kayoed him in the
+eighteenth round.
+
+London greatly admired the clever Britt and wanted him to win, but it
+wasn’t in the cards for Jimmy to come out top-dog. Jack also was anxious
+to see Jeffries whip Johnson. He was engaged by a newspaper syndicate to
+cover the Jeffries-Johnson battle at Reno, Nevada, in 1910, and he was
+hurt as much as Jeffries when Johnson knocked the big Californian out.
+London was Jeff’s most ardent rooter.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Like Tad, Bill McGeehan, famous Sports Editor of the New York _Herald
+Tribune_, was a coiner of phrases. While Tad made friends through his
+cartoons, McGeehan gained an army of readers through his unique style
+of sports journalism. His sarcasm, often biting to the marrow, held the
+attention of his readers to the very end. He was a master of satire, and
+founded a school of sports writers in this vein which now numbers among
+its clan some of the best scribes in America—men like Westbrook Pegler of
+the _Chicago Tribune_ Service and Joe Williams of _The World-Telegram_.
+They, like McGeehan, are members of the school of sports debunking.
+
+However, McGeehan’s coinage of sports epithets led the field, his
+phrases far outnumbering those of Tad. The fight game was McGeehan’s
+richest source, although his dubbing of Notre Dame football players
+as the “Fighting Irish” is probably the most memorable nickname he
+ever created. Among his most popular descriptions of boxing were “The
+Manly Art Of Modified Murder,” and “The Cauliflower Industry.” The
+“Scrambled Egg Brigade” he applied to fighters in general. In the area of
+particularization, one of his best-remembered tags is the one he hung on
+Primo Carnera: “The Tall Tower Of Gorgonzola.” “The Battle Of What Of It”
+he applied to any fight that he judged to be worthless.
+
+“The Ex-Millionaires Hole,” was the name he gave to the Madison Square
+Garden Bowl, after the Depression depleted the fortunes of many of
+the directors of the Garden. “The Boy Bandit,” was his epithet for
+Jimmy Johnston, while “The Exploiter of Pachyderm,” was Jack Curley’s
+designation.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+When boxing was attacked in the New York State Legislature in 1921, and
+it looked like the sport would receive its death blow from the Governor,
+McGeehan, Damon Runyon, Bill McBeth, George B. Underwood, Charles F.
+Mathison and I, went up to Albany to plead for the continuation of
+boxing. We were fortified with facts to prove the sport was conducted on
+as high a plane as any other.
+
+McGeehan, known in our circle as “the Sheriff,” made the hit of the
+meeting when he spoke up:
+
+“Prize fighting, Governor, is not a sport. It is a gigantic business. As
+a business, I dare say it is conducted as honestly as American politics
+or the average business, and I venture to say, a little more honestly
+than the stockmarket. Every profession has its crooks, its gamblers, its
+undesirables, even the profession of politics. Then why condemn boxing
+and whitewash all other business?
+
+“Prize fights today are merely entertainments staged for the box office.
+The sporting element went out when the business became legal and
+respectable. If this legislature should kill boxing, it would do a gross
+injustice to hundreds of boys who are engaged in it as a profession; to
+managers who handle them; and to the promoters who hire them for the
+public’s entertainment. Such action will result in only one thing—boxing
+will go back to the bootlegging days.”
+
+So impressed was the Governor with that statement that you could read his
+thoughts as he absorbed every word McGeehan uttered.
+
+McGeehan was dubbed by his fellow writers as “the man with the fighting
+pen.” He waged war on crookedness in every branch of athletics, as do my
+good friends Dan Parker and Jimmy Cannon today.
+
+Probably the best informed sports writers of my time, among those with
+whom I was well acquainted and with whom I worked, were Charles F.
+Mathison, my boxing critic on the _Press_, _Sun_, and _Telegram_, and the
+man who formulated the rules of boxing which became known as the Walker
+Law; Ed Smith of Chicago, and Arthur Lumley, who handled the _Illustrated
+News_ and was several times manager of John L. Sullivan. He also wrote
+for my _Ring_ magazine.
+
+Mathison, who at one time was the editor of the Detroit _Free Press_ and
+also of the New York _Globe_ and the _Morning Telegraph_, had a vast
+acquaintance in the boxing world. He, like McGeehan, was a tough man for
+the crooked element in boxing. Neither showed any mercy. It was their
+vitriolic writings that did much to save the sport at a time when it was
+in danger of annihilation.
+
+McGeehan was a very heavy drinker, and he frequently ran into trouble
+when he was assigned to cover a fight story of national importance. I
+recall his arrival the day before the Sharkey-Stribling fight in Miami
+Beach.
+
+As I remarked in a previous chapter, Steve Hannigan, Sid Mercer, and I
+handled the publicity and hotel accommodations. I reserved rooms for the
+most prominent reporters from New York and other big cities, including
+the British visitors, in the George Washington Hotel, where my wife and I
+occupied a suite.
+
+McGeehan reached Miami Beach with Don Skene, his protégé, and Graham
+McNamee, then America’s outstanding sports announcer, working for the
+National Broadcasting Company. Graham was to do the broadcasting. All
+three had imbibed too much, and I quickly realized that I had a job on
+my hands. McGeehan walked into press headquarters supported by Skene and
+Graham, and in a gruff, commanding tone he demanded to know where his
+room was. When I told him that he had a reservation in the Fisher Estate
+where Bill Carey was living, he shoved me aside and walked down the
+corridor. My wife Trudie had emerged from her room and as the door was
+open, Bill stopped in front of the room, walked in, opened the window and
+started to toss out our trunk and handbags. I rushed in as he was about
+to throw out my suit and remonstrated with him. But it did no good. He
+dispossessed us and took over. Within a short time, he and Don Skene were
+fast asleep, and my wife and I had to find new quarters.
+
+On the day of the fight, McGeehan was nowhere to be found and Skene was
+so far gone that he couldn’t see the typewriter keys. After the contest,
+messages kept pouring into our headquarters asking for the New York
+_Tribune_ stories. To cover the absence of the reporters, Sid Mercer
+tackled McGeehan’s yarn, while I wrote one for Skene. We tried as closely
+as we could to imitate their style, a mighty tough task. After Mercer had
+filed McGeehan’s story, the editor sent the following message:
+
+“What happened to McGeehan’s report? What we received was not written by
+him.”
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Batting for a fellow writer was nothing new in the sports field in those
+days. My friend Warren Brown, in his excellent book, _Win, Lose or Draw_,
+confirmed that. He has a good yarn in that book on McGeehan.
+
+“At Benton Harbor, Bill had particularly rough going the night before the
+Dempsey-Miske fight and on the day of the contest, he was almost as bad.
+He made his way by forced march to the press headquarters to finish his
+story. When he got there, the only typewriter available was one of those
+old-fashioned Olivers on which the type faces rose from left to right on
+slender ovals.
+
+“As McGeehan thrust his fingers on the keyboard, coils of these type
+faces rose from both sides and met in the center in an appalling knot.
+Bill shuddered as he surveyed the scene, rose unsteadily, and made his
+way out of the place. He was next heard from when he arrived in the
+press box in the Cleveland Baseball Park two days later. His clothes and
+personal belongings were forwarded to him. His story on the fight reached
+his paper on time. It wasn’t pure McGeehan, but it got by!”
+
+In Miami, where we had more than 450 newspapermen from all parts of the
+world on hand for the first fight promoted by the Garden without Tex
+Rickard’s help, many such yarns were telegraphed without aid from the
+reporter whose name was signed without ever seeing the copy. Sid Mercer
+and I often worked fourteen or more hours daily to write specials for
+visiting writers who for six weeks were having the time of their lives
+while we two were slaving to meet their deadlines. Even some of the
+British newspapermen soon caught on to the American style of covering a
+fight camp, and I had to send special cables out for them as well.
+
+In most cases newspapermen assigned to camps in the years preceding
+the Jim Norris regime, were from an entirely different school than the
+present day boxing writers. The majority were more thorough in their work
+and possessed a keener knowledge of boxing than the writers of this era.
+They knew the game from A to Z, were more familiar with the techniques,
+knew the background of the characters who were the hangers-on in the
+camps and didn’t depend on the stereotyped reports of the publicity
+bureau for an angle.
+
+Today most of the boxing reporters are copyists who take what is handed
+out to them on a silver platter and merely elaborate. Few investigate.
+The majority take for granted what is given to them by the press bureau.
+Few go in for digging feature material as we did daily.
+
+How different the old school was! The most prolific of all fight
+publicists was the late Francis Albertanti, who for many years was my
+star boxing reporter on the _Telegram_. He prepared more fighters for the
+opening bell than any one I knew, and his camp reports, when he was in
+charge of the ballyhoo, were tops. I know of no writer who could beat him
+in obtaining human interest material. He often had the other reporters
+tearing their hair because of the number of “scoops” he scored for our
+paper. Many a bonus Francis received from our Managing Editor, Fred
+Walker.
+
+On one occasion when Francis was out of work, Mike Jacobs asked him to
+take charge of Billy Conn’s camp when Billy was preparing for his second
+fight with Joe Louis. Mike offered him $1,200 for three weeks work plus
+all expenses. Francis turned it down. “You need the money more than I
+do,” he replied in a huff. “I’ll take the job for $5,000—nothing less.”
+
+Then he added: “You’re a millionaire; I’m an ordinary working man. I can
+get along on ham and beans. You need steaks daily.”
+
+So Mike and Francis parted, and for the first time in years, they were
+not on talking terms. But Francis was a frequent visitor in Conn’s camp,
+and one day after Billy’s workout, a mediocre one, Joe Williams, who took
+my place as Sports Editor of the _Telegram_ asked Francis for his opinion.
+
+“Billy looks great,” said Francis with a straight face. “He’s full of
+energy. He is fast, sharp, hits well, punches with accuracy. He’s clever
+and game. He’s determined to win.”
+
+Then after a short pause, Albertanti wound up his commentary with a
+knockout punch at Uncle Mike’s ballyhoo: “But I pick Louis to take the
+kid out any time Joe wants to. He’s a cinch in my book to keep the title.”
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Ed Smith was another scribe who played a dominant part in American sports
+for half a century. The by-line of Ed Smith, so well known to readers
+of _The Ring_ for which he wrote for many years, was known throughout
+the world of sports. For twenty-six years he wrote for the Chicago
+_Chronicle_, the Chicago _American_ and the Los Angeles _Examiner_.
+Back in the “good old days” it was sacrilegious to stage a fight or a
+wrestling match of national importance without Smith acting as referee.
+
+Recognized as one of the best referees, there was never a complaint about
+his honesty or his ability. He was third man in the ring when Luther
+McCarty fell dead in his bout with Arthur Pelkey in Calgary. He also
+officiated at the memorable international wrestling championship match
+between Hackenschmidt and Gotch at Dexter Pavilion in Chicago in 1911.
+He took part in thousands of other famous contests, a complete list of
+which would fill a record book.
+
+Lumley, Mathison, Bat Masterson, and Smith were among the last of the old
+school of sports writers, which also included Joe Vila of _The Evening
+Sun_ of New York, one of the most fearless boxing writers in America.
+Like Lumley, Smith and Mathison revelled in the past. They saw the
+romance that ended with the commercialization of boxing, and they kept
+the old days alive with thrilling and absorbingly interesting tales.
+
+Arthur Lumley was editor of the _Police Gazette_ fifty years ago. He
+came into the spotlight at a time when the writers wore long beards,
+curling moustaches, high boots, and other disguises when they went to
+cover a fight. I visited Lumley just before his death a few years ago.
+He had broken his leg in a fall, and this injury, combined with another
+ailment, had left him an invalid. His failing sight could hardly discern
+my presence.
+
+“Come closer, Nat,” he said to me. “I won’t treat you like they used to
+treat reporters fifty years ago, when I went the rounds to do my work.
+You know, prize fight promoters and fighters didn’t want newspapermen
+about, then. It was too dangerous. Everything had to be kept quiet so
+that there couldn’t be a give-away to the cops.”
+
+He then told me the story of his attempt to cover the fight between Paddy
+Ryan and Joe Goss in 1880, at Collier’s Station, West Virginia.
+
+“I decided that I would report that fight and I went along with the few
+who knew where it would be staged. When I got to the scene, those in
+charge drove away every member of the press except me. I seemed to be a
+privileged character.
+
+“They let me stay because I stood in well with several bank robbers who
+were associated with the promotion. We had an awful time getting to the
+scene of action and still worse a time convincing the principals that it
+was all right for me to remain and report the fight for my paper. We took
+a boat and started across Lake Michigan for Canada, but when we got to
+the Canadian shore we found a company of British soldiers and six cannon
+facing us, so we decided it was best not to attempt to land.
+
+“We turned back, but before we reached the Michigan shore, the Governor
+had been tipped off that we were on our way and he had a posse after
+us, so we couldn’t land there, either. We ran into the same trouble in
+Indiana and later in Ohio, but we finally made it into West Virginia.
+
+“It was a tough fight to stage and tougher to handle because of constant
+danger of being discovered by the law. The fight lasted eighty-seven
+rounds, with Ryan the winner. It was the first big event I covered after
+becoming sports editor of the _Police Gazette_ in 1879.”
+
+Speaking of the old _Police Gazette_, which the author of this book
+bought in 1932 when the Fox family, because of heavy losses, decided to
+give it up after controlling it for half a century, Lumley remarked:
+
+“We covered all the prize fights in _The Gazette_, and we also went in
+for sensations. We gave the readers all sorts of dots and dashes—little
+spicy items of divorces, separations, escapades, and crime. You know,
+the kind of personal bits they couldn’t get elsewhere. That made an
+instantaneous hit and our circulation doubled. Then we decided to give
+them any news that wouldn’t be printed in the daily papers and featured
+stories of hold-ups, stabbings, murders, debauchery, wild west fights,
+Indian uprisings, floods, and the like, and what a hit we made!
+
+“_The Gazette_, under my management with Richard K. Fox, the owner,
+became internationally known and the craze for the sheet in England was
+as great as it was in America. We decided to go after more circulation
+and at my suggestion, we opened a page for the barbers and the
+bartenders, and by running the pictures of favorites, the paper sold like
+hot cakes. Everybody wanted a copy. We were the oldest illustrated paper
+in America and _The Gazette_, as we ran it, was the forerunner of our
+modern tabloids.”
+
+A splendid reporter and editor, Lumley was also a manager. In addition to
+Sullivan, he handled Nonpareil Jack Dempsey and Jack McAuliffe. Unlike
+the manager of today, he never got a cent out of such management. It was
+the honor the managers went after in those days, and, as Lumley said to
+me:
+
+“I didn’t make a sou out of them. It wasn’t the custom in those days to
+take money from a fighter. However, I made up a medallion of the three
+Jacks—McAuliffe, Sullivan, and Dempsey—and I sold these all over the
+country and made plenty. In my opinion, they were three of the greatest
+fighters, barring no one, America has ever seen.”
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+England, like America, had many excellent boxing writers of the old
+school, the most prominent being Hugh Bradley, Harry Cleveland, Trevor
+Wignall, Ben Bennison, Fred Dartnell, James Butler, Norman Hurst, and a
+wonderful sports cartoonist, Tom Webster.
+
+They represent the gallant old guard who wrote many thrilling and
+interesting tales. Their stories, many of which are in my possession,
+I can read over and over again and never tire. We covered many
+international affairs together.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+No sporting writer in his day was more popular in the Middle West than
+Harry Weldon, who for many years was the active and genial Sports Editor
+of the Cincinnati _Enquirer_. He was an all-round sporting man whose
+forte was boxing and baseball. He had a wide reputation for honesty, and
+his opinion settled bets throughout the nation.
+
+George Touhey of Boston was another writer of note, and one who
+contributed a mass of data on the history of American boxing, in addition
+to being a prominent promoter and manager. Then there was Joe McGinn,
+grand old man of the Associated Press and first president of the Old
+Sports Writers Association of New York.
+
+I recall going to a private fight with McGinn and Jim Bagley, who was a
+master of slang before George Ade ever was heard of. In the latter years
+of his life, Joe was a teetotaler, but at the time I speak of, he would,
+upon occasion, indulge in the cup that cheers.
+
+It was a cold, wet, rainy night. We had to walk more than a mile through
+mud and wet fields before we found the roadhouse where the bouts were
+held. The cold rain and the mud offered a fitting excuse for a nip or two
+along the way—an excuse for several, in fact—and Joe became more than a
+little drunk. He knew it and feared the reception he would get from the
+boss.
+
+“Never mind, Joe,” hiccoughed Jim, “I’ll square you with the boss. I’ll
+write a heartbreaking story about this trip through the rain and mud and
+how all of us braved pneumonia and had to liquor up to save our lives.”
+
+Bagley wrote the story, giving a moving account of the privations endured
+by the correspondents. He told, as only Bagley could tell, of the march
+through the mud and rain and how the writers wandered for miles in the
+darkness in a vain search for the roadhouse where the fight took place.
+
+“All of a sudden,” wrote Bagley, “out of the rain and the wet and the mud
+and the stark, black darkness of the night, loomed a building. It was all
+lit up like Joe McGinn.”
+
+That is the way Jim Bagley squared Joe McGinn, if squaring with reverse
+English can be considered help.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The great boxing matches in the huge stadiums of the present day are
+marked by perfect order and decorum. They are wonderful things, but
+once in a while some of us can’t help longing for the days when the
+boxing game was sowing its wild oats. We sigh for the lost romance and
+adventure. Say what you want, you fellows, those were the days! Those
+were the good old days!
+
+A new school of boxing writer has developed in recent years, one that
+mixed the new with the old and thus continued to give some sense of the
+romance of the old prize ring days. There were writers who, like myself,
+had passed through the transition period and could appreciate the glamor
+and the thrills of those old times.
+
+Leaders of this school were Damon Runyon, Hype Igoe, “Doc” Almy,
+veteran of the Boston _Post_, Westbrook Pegler of the Chicago _Tribune_
+Syndicate; Paul Gallico of the _Daily News_, Sid Mercer of the New York
+_Journal_, and Harry Smith, the dean of the California critics, who
+died the day of the Ezzard Charles-Joey Maxim fight in San Francisco in
+January 1952, at the age of seventy-six. He had been at every big fight
+since 1890, and was one of my dearest friends.
+
+These men stood out not merely as sports specialists but as all-round
+reporters. In many cases, outstanding sports writers during my early
+years as a journalist were recruited to cover major news events on
+the “outside,” such as lurid murder trials, kidnapings, Presidential
+campaigns, and the like.
+
+Other notable journalists with whom I frequently worked on assignments
+include Jersey Jones, now of _The Ring_ staff, who covered boxing for
+the New York _Globe_; Dan Parker, Sports Editor of the New York _Daily
+Mirror_; James P. Dawson of _The Times_; Frank Graham and Bill Corum of
+the New York _Journal American_; Red Smith and Jesse Abramson of the
+New York _Herald Tribune_; Daniel M. Daniel, Joe Williams, and Lester
+Bromberg of the New York _World-Telegram_; Barney Nagler of the _Morning
+Telegraph_; Jim Jennings of the New York _Daily Mirror_; Arthur Daley
+and Joe Nichols of the New York _Times_; Bob Considine, star columnist
+of the Hearst organizations; Ted Smits, Jack Hand, and Murray Rose
+of the Associated Press; Jack Cuddy and Oscar Fraley of the _United
+Press_; Harry Grayson of the NEA service, and Al Buck and Jimmy Cannon
+of the New York _Post_. Also Harry Markson of the _Bronx Home News_
+and Murray Goodman of the New York _American_, both now members of the
+International Boxing Club staff; Hugh Bradley and Murray Robinson of the
+_Journal-American_, Murray Lewin of the _Daily Mirror_ and Gene Ward
+and Jimmy Powers of the New York _Daily News_. They all contributed to
+journalistic history as sports writers.
+
+Others were Warren Brown, Johnny Carmichael, Gene Kessler, Charley
+Dunkley, and Arch Ward in Chicago; Ed Wray, Bill McGoogan, Roy Stockton,
+and Sid Keener in St. Louis; Harry Salsinger, Bob Murphy, Lyall Smith,
+and Leo McDonell in Detroit; and Bill Cunningham, Dave Egan, and Harry
+Hirschfield in Boston.
+
+Friendly hands stretched across the continent through the years: Jack
+Laing of Buffalo; Bill Lee of the Hartford _Courant_; Whitey Lewis of the
+Cleveland _Press_; Ed Bang of the Cleveland _News_; Max Kase of the New
+York _Journal-American_; George Barton, veteran writer of the Minneapolis
+_Tribune_; Elmer Ferguson of the Montreal _Herald_; Harry Keck of the
+Pittsburgh _Sun-Telegraph_; Bill Keefe of the New Orleans _Item_; and
+Roger Pippin of the Baltimore _Sun_.
+
+Also, Al Abrams of the Pittsburgh _Post-Gazette_; Royal Brougham of the
+Seattle _Post-Intelligencer_; Jack Kofoed of the Miami _Herald_, whom I
+started on the big-time circuit in New York; Dink Carroll of the Montreal
+_Gazette_; George Davis of the San Francisco _Express_; Jack Fried of the
+Philadelphia _Bulletin_; and Sec Taylor of the Des Moines _Register_.
+
+Others who shared countless ringside thrills with me were Hy Goldberg
+and Ed Friel of the Newark _News_; Tony Merenghi of the Newark _Star
+Ledger_; L. H. Gregory of the Portland _Oregonian_; Curley Grieve of the
+San Francisco _Examiner_; Ray Grody of the Milwaukee _Sentinel_; Eddie
+Muller of the San Francisco _Examiner_; Shirley Povich of the Washington
+_Post_; Willie Ratner of the Newark _Evening News_; Wilfred Smith of
+the Chicago _Tribune_; Frank Mastro of the Chicago _Tribune_; and Pat
+Robinson of the _International News Service_.
+
+There are many, many others. In England, where I am as much at home as
+in my own country, I frequently reported international boxing matches
+and other events with Frank Butler, Tom Phillips, George Whiting, Peter
+Wilson, Maurice Smith, Harold Mayes, Lanson Wood, John Macadam, Ralph
+Hadley, Desmond Hackett, Reg Gutteridge, Joe Bromely, L. N. Bailey,
+Gerald Walter and Bill Mann.
+
+The Fourth Estate’s sports writers constitute a grand crew, doing a
+tremendous job in a vital department of American and British journalism.
+They are the men whose dynamic prose has brought pleasure to sports fans
+the world over.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: 27]
+
+A SUMMING UP
+
+
+On June 6, 1958, I completed my thirtieth round trip to Europe. During
+my five-weeks’ tour of the continent I appeared on a number of radio and
+television programs, and, as has been the case on other such occasions,
+I was asked to compare ranked fighters of this era with the stars of
+the past. Queries pertaining to the respective punching powers of Jack
+Dempsey, Joe Louis and Rocky Marciano; the cleverness of Ray Robinson;
+the cause of boxing’s decline; television’s effect on pugilism; the
+International Boxing Club’s difficulties with the government, and the
+investigations into boxing in various parts of the United States, seemed
+to be of particular interest to my interviewers.
+
+Watching the passing sports parade during my many years as a journalist,
+I have been most impressed by the changes that have taken place in
+boxing, changes which I enumerated in my overseas talks. There have been
+changes in style, and the brutality that predominated in pre-commission
+days has been eliminated. Boxing has spread throughout the world and
+there is no doubt that it enjoys a greater following today than ever
+before in its history.
+
+However, in most major sports the champions of today are as good, and
+in sports such as track and field, far superior, to those who ruled the
+roost when I covered sports as a cub reporter. This is definitely not so
+in boxing. All one need do is to watch some of the televised bouts that
+are dished out as main events to realize that fighting talent has gone
+into an amazing decline. It is difficult to grow ecstatic over what one
+observes nowadays as compared with the really first class matches of the
+past.
+
+There is at present a general lack of knowledge of the finer points of
+the game which can be attributed to the training and management of young
+fighters by incompetents. Prior to World War II the difficulty in ranking
+fighters lay in selecting ten from an outstanding field of possibly
+fifteen or more prominent performers. Today’s headache comes from trying
+to find a sufficient number of worthies in any division after the first
+three or four have been listed.
+
+The factors that make a great fighter, or even a good one, are the
+ability to deliver a crushing blow, the ability to stand up against
+punishment, and the ability to avoid punishment through ring cleverness.
+Cleverness can be developed through gymnasium workouts, but it requires
+far more than that to acquire the toughness and fighting spirit of the
+old timers, who, in most cases, were men who had followed a difficult
+manual trade before taking up pugilism as a livelihood.
+
+The trades that developed our greatest fighters were those which had to
+do with swinging a hammer, mining, or hauling heavy loads. Take a glance
+over the list of all-time greats in _The Ring Record Book_. There’s Bob
+Fitzsimmons, one of the few men who could bring down an opponent with a
+single shot. He developed his tremendous power and stamina by pounding
+out horse shoes on an anvil.
+
+Jack Dempsey, the Nonpareil, a top middleweight, was a cooper by trade,
+as was the famed Jack McAuliffe, who retired as undefeated lightweight
+king. Both developed their punching muscles by pounding the hoops on
+barrels, which in their day were made by hand.
+
+Jim Jeffries, the man whom Tex Rickard called the toughest of all the
+heavyweights, was a boilermaker by trade. The electric hammer had not
+been invented when he started working and the rivets were driven in by
+hand.
+
+Jack Johnson, whom I consider the best all-around man among the
+heavyweights, past and present, gained his strength and endurance as
+a stevedore lifting heavy bales of cotton on a Galveston wharf. Harry
+Wills, almost as sound physically today as he was in his prime, is
+another who developed on the docks of the South.
+
+Jack Dempsey, the Manassa Mauler, whose powerfully built shoulders and
+iron fists brought him into the million-dollar class of fighting men,
+started out in the Colorado mines. Even the great John L. Sullivan,
+a heavy drinker and a tough one to handle in training, did a lot of
+laborious work before he became a professional prize fighter. And though
+Jim Corbett never wielded a hammer, he spent hour upon hour, even as a
+bank clerk, in outdoor exercise.
+
+One cannot gain ring fame by the easy pink tea route or the playboy road.
+Many fighters learn this lesson at the price of a heavy shellacking,
+which more than likely kills their ambition altogether. But the fact that
+so many of the fine performers of yesterday were blacksmiths, lumbermen,
+stevedores, teamsters and piano movers is testimony to the fact that it’s
+the boys who have to battle their way to the top who make the grade.
+
+The fighters themselves can’t be blamed for everything. Much of the
+responsibility for present day mediocrity lies in poor coaching. Men like
+Billy Delaney, Parson Davies, Doc Robb, Tom O’Rourke and Young Otto,
+among dozens of others of the old school, knew the game thoroughly. Many
+of today’s trainers know less about boxing than the lads they are trying
+to instruct. Doc Robb taught Benny Leonard to box when Benny was a kid,
+and even when Leonard was champion he looked to Robb to advise him on the
+finer points.
+
+Years ago, pugilism was an art and good instructors were in abundance.
+They were the “professors” who taught their charges proper stance before
+any other aspect of boxing was discussed. Watching today’s lads in
+gymnasiums both here and abroad, or in ring battles, one can see how
+little most present day boxers have been taught. For every top coach or
+trainer today there are a dozen or more poor ones who have no business in
+the ring looking after a fighter. Among the few who rate high in my book
+as teachers today are Whitey Bimstein, Jimmy August, Angelo Dundee, Bill
+Gore, Freddie Brown, Dan and Nick Florio, Izzy Kline, George Chemaris,
+Johnny Sullo, Chickie Ferrera, Charley Goldman and Doc Moore.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The art of boxing was at its height long before padded gloves took the
+place of bare fists. The oldest of sports, it began before the Christian
+era dawned. Boxing matches were fought with the cruel metal-studded
+cestus, one of which, discovered in the old ruins of Pompeii by me in
+1922, now rests in _The Ring_ Museum in Madison Square Garden.
+
+The cestus was abandoned as civilization advanced. Bare fist fighting
+became a leading sport in Great Britain during the eighteenth century,
+and from there it spread to America. It was only slightly less dangerous
+than the old Roman way of boxing and those who practiced it just had
+to learn how to protect themselves. Since necessity is the mother of
+invention, the bare knuckle warriors discovered much that continued to
+be useful after gloves were introduced. Unfortunately, much of this has
+been forgotten with the passage of years as fighters became less cautious
+of their weapons and correct hitting began to give way to wild swinging.
+
+In the bare knuckle days, a straight left was the foundation of ring
+strategy. It was not a tap to be ignored, such as one frequently sees
+today, but a punishing blow that often produced a knock-down. Feinting,
+which was best exemplified among gloved fighters by Jack Johnson, is for
+the most part a lost art today, as is punching with the full weight of
+the body behind the blow.
+
+This is not to say that all the really good fighters were of prehistoric
+vintage, for there have been some notable examples of distinction
+in recent times. There is no doubt that Joe Louis and Ray Robinson
+would have stood out in any era, and Rocky Marciano was as strong and
+courageous as any man who ever stepped into the roped square. But the
+deterioration of fighters in general is strikingly obvious when I
+consider the overwhelming preponderance of old-timers in my ranking
+of top ringmen from the first Marquis of Queensberry heavyweight
+championship bout between Sullivan and Corbett in 1892 to the present.
+
+Leading my list of fighters whose best performances were given in the
+last sixty-six years is my favorite heavyweight, Jack Johnson. I rate
+James J. Jeffries second, and close on his heels are Bob Fitzsimmons,
+Jack Dempsey, James J. Corbett, Joe Louis, Sam Langford and Gene Tunney,
+in that order.
+
+Tunney was not a colorful battler, but he was a cool, mechanical operator
+who mastered the technical ends of the game and definitely has been a
+much underrated fighter. He proved in his two bouts with Dempsey that he
+was far superior to the rest of the heavyweight fighters during the years
+that Jack held sway.
+
+Dempsey came at a time when boxing was badly in need of a man of his
+stamp. Jess Willard had lifted the crown from Johnson, thus ending the
+era of the “white hopes,” but somehow boxing fans could not get it into
+their heads that Willard had won the world’s title squarely. His was an
+empty triumph that thrilled nobody.
+
+Along came the Mauler from Manassa. Along came Tex Rickard. This
+wonderful combination of fighter and promoter revived the sport and
+resuscitated its finances, and the old guard suddenly discovered that the
+“good old days” had come again. Boxing was lifted into the million-dollar
+class. And Dempsey did it. He did it with his dynamic right, his bobbing
+and weaving style, his popularity with the public, and his ability to
+produce electric shocks. Those qualities make him the fourth greatest
+fighter of the modern era in my book.
+
+As for the recently retired, undefeated heavyweight champion, Rocky
+Marciano, he was a great hitter, but I’d rate Max Schmeling, of Germany,
+above him in the number nine spot.
+
+In the light-heavyweight class, I give the wily Kid McCoy, the corkscrew
+artist, top rating, with clever Philadelphia Jack O’Brien next in line,
+and Jack Dillon, the “Hoosier Bearcat,” in third place.
+
+Stanley Ketchel, the “Michigan Assassin,” Tommy Ryan, and Harry Greb,
+“The Pittsburgh Whirlwind,” occupy the top positions, respectively, among
+the middleweights, with Mickey Walker, the “Toy Bulldog,” and “Sugar” Ray
+Robinson following in that order.
+
+The great Joe Walcott, the “Barbados Demon,” who fought in four classes
+with considerable success, is my choice as the leading welterweight,
+while the mighty Joe Gans and Benny Leonard lead the lightweights. Each
+was a ring marvel. There was very little difference between the pair in
+cleverness and general ability.
+
+Terry McGovern, clever Jem Driscoll, and Abe Attell, are the leading
+figures in the featherweight class, which includes such wonderful boxers
+who made ring history in this division as Johnny Dundee, Johnny Kilbane,
+Kid Chocolate, Willie Pep, and Young Griffo.
+
+The bantam division produced such memorable names as George Dixon
+(“Little Chocolate”) Pete Herman, and Kid Williams.
+
+Looking over the list of heavyweight champions from Sullivan to
+Patterson, we find that the majority of the leaders were fighting men who
+could hit. Who hit the hardest? That’s a matter of opinion.
+
+Tommy Burns, Jack Johnson, and Jess Willard were harder hitters than
+Corbett or Tunney, but of the trio, only Johnson possessed the cleverness
+and speed that distinguished these two master boxers.
+
+Johnson was a marvelous boxer with all-around ability, and I am not
+the only boxing writer to rate him as the kingpin of the heavyweights.
+However, as a powerful hitter he lacked the punishing effectiveness of
+Jeffries, Fitzsimmons, Tom Sharkey, Dempsey, Louis, and Marciano.
+
+Willard had a heavy wallop, as his fight with Bull Young, whom he killed
+in the ring at Vernon, California, in 1915, certainly proved. But
+that tragic misfortune made Big Jess extremely cautious in all of his
+subsequent battles. In his fight with Dempsey, after being floored seven
+times in the opening round, and battered about the ring until he was
+virtually helpless, he jarred Jack with a right to the jaw in the third
+round that almost floored him.
+
+Coming down to Tunney, we find in him the cleverest of all heavyweights
+from the time of Corbett. He was a master boxer, an excellent jabber, and
+extremely fast. In him, Dempsey faced his cleverest opponent, a boxer
+who, despite the much-discussed “long count,” whipped him decisively
+both in Philadelphia and in Chicago. But Tunney’s inability to stop
+Dempsey when he had him at his mercy in Philadelphia was fair proof of
+his deficiencies as a puncher. He crashed his fists so frequently against
+Jack’s face that one of Dempsey’s eyes was partially closed in each
+contest, but Gene couldn’t finish his man. The big wallop which men like
+Sullivan, Jeff, Fitz and Dempsey were able to deliver in their heyday,
+was the missing ingredient in Tunney’s make-up.
+
+As for Joe Louis, there is no need to go into details about his hitting.
+He was on a par with Dempsey in that respect, but wasn’t as fast and
+couldn’t take it on the chin as could Jack. Joe was an exceedingly slow
+starter, yet one of the greatest in the division for setting up an
+opponent for the “kill.” His record as a heavyweight is one of the best.
+
+His successor as a hitter was Rocky Marciano. We cannot compare Rocky
+with Louis or Dempsey, except as a puncher. One thing we do know—the
+public loves a hard hitter, and in Rocky, the “Brockton Blockbuster,” it
+had such a champion.
+
+One fighter who should have become an all-time great but didn’t, was Max
+Baer. The Californian had the size, the strength, the ruggedness, the
+stamina, and as deadly a punch as the heavyweight class has known, but
+Max was too much of a psychological problem. His clout did carry him to
+the top of the heavyweight heap, but he didn’t remain there long. He was
+too irresponsible and undependable.
+
+Here is a detailed breakdown of my evaluation of the fighting abilities
+of the heavyweights under discussion here:
+
+    Best Boxer                                      James J. Corbett
+    Fastest                                         James J. Corbett
+    Best All-Around                                     Jack Johnson
+    Best Uppercut                                       Jack Johnson
+    Best Defensive                                      Jack Johnson
+    Best Counter Puncher                                Jack Johnson
+    Most Crafty                                         Jack Johnson
+    Best at Feinting                                    Jack Johnson
+    Best Left Hand Hitter                          James J. Jeffries
+    Best Knockout Puncher                            Bob Fitzsimmons
+    Best Hooker                                      Bob Fitzsimmons
+    Most Damaging Body Puncher                       Bob Fitzsimmons
+    Best Heart Puncher                                  Jack Dempsey
+    Best at Infighting                                  Jack Dempsey
+    The Roughest                                        Jack Dempsey
+    Best combination, right to heart and left to chin   Jack Dempsey
+    Best Two-Hand Hitter                                Jack Dempsey
+    Smartest Boxer                                       Gene Tunney
+    Best Jabber                                          Gene Tunney
+    Best Conditioned                                     Gene Tunney
+    Best Straight Right                                    Joe Louis
+    Best Finisher                                          Joe Louis
+
+As for my all-time rankings in each division, they are as follows:
+
+_Heavyweights_
+
+     1—Jack Johnson
+     2—James J. Jeffries
+     3—Bob Fitzsimmons
+     4—Jack Dempsey
+     5—James J. Corbett
+     6—Joe Louis
+     7—Sam Langford
+     8—Gene Tunney
+     9—Max Schmeling
+    10—Rocky Marciano
+
+_Middleweights_
+
+     1—Stanley Ketchel
+     2—Tommy Ryan
+     3—Harry Greb
+     4—Mickey Walker
+     5—Ray Robinson
+     6—Frank Klaus
+     7—Billy Papke
+     8—Les Darcy
+     9—Mike Gibbons
+    10—Jeff Smith
+
+_Light Heavyweights_
+
+     1—Kid McCoy
+     2—Philadelphia Jack O’Brien
+     3—Jack Dillon
+     4—Tommy Loughran
+     5—Jack Root
+     6—Battling Levinsky
+     7—Georges Carpentier
+     8—Tom Gibbons
+     9—Jack Delaney
+    10—Paul Berlenbach
+
+_Welterweights_
+
+     1—Joe Walcott
+     2—Mysterious Billy Smith
+     3—Jack Britton
+     4—Ted Kid Lewis
+     5—Dixie Kid
+     6—Harry Lewis
+     7—Willie Lewis
+     8—Henry Armstrong
+     9—Barney Ross
+    10—Jimmy McLarnin
+
+_Lightweights_
+
+     1—Joe Gans
+     2—Benny Leonard
+     3—Owen Moran
+     4—Freddy Welsh
+     5—Battling Nelson
+     6—George Kid Lavigne
+     7—Tony Canzoneri
+     8—Willie Ritchie
+     9—Lew Tendler
+    10—Charley White
+
+_Bantamweights_
+
+     1—George Dixon
+     2—Pete Herman
+     3—Kid Williams
+     4—Joe Lynch
+     5—Bud Taylor
+     6—Johnny Coulon
+     7—Pal Moore
+     8—Frankie Burns
+     9—Eddie Campi
+    10—Panama Al Brown
+
+_Featherweights_
+
+     1—Terry McGovern
+     2—Jem Driscoll
+     3—Abe Attell
+     4—Johnny Dundee
+     5—Johnny Kilbane
+     6—Kid Chocolate
+     7—Willie Pep
+     8—Young Griffo
+     9—George K. O. Chaney
+    10—Louis Kid Kaplan
+
+_Flyweights_
+
+     1—Jimmy Wilde
+     2—Pancho Villa
+     3—Frankie Genaro
+     4—Fidel La Barba
+     5—Benny Lynch
+     6—Elky Clark
+     7—Johnny Buff
+     8—Midget Wolgast
+     9—Peter Kane
+    10—Pascual Perez
+
+It will take a long time, probably years after I’m gone, before we will
+thrill again to the likes of these men. I do not live in the past, but I
+do believe that the romance of the prize ring rests almost entirely in
+the years gone by.
+
+There is no end to what one can recall when one attempts, as I have,
+to jot down the names of fistic heroes whose acquaintances I have made
+and whose friendships I cherished. The vivid anecdotes associated with
+their names, and the names of others close to boxing in my lifetime, the
+thrilling contests I’ve seen, the people I’ve met in my world travels, my
+experiences in far-off countries, have all left their special impression
+on me which I have tried to pass on to you.
+
+Down the years I have meandered, telling a bit about this and a bit about
+that, and with all, having as fine a time as I hope you have had in
+following my journalistic career.
+
+As for the future, I don’t agree with those who predict nothing but gloom
+for boxing while they lament the lost glories of Rickard and Dempsey,
+Jacobs and Louis. Studio television will dominate promotional efforts
+during the coming years and eliminate the fear of financial failure.
+There is no end to the fabulous returns the future holds for world
+championship matches with television wired for theater and home pay
+viewing exclusively. The receipts of the golden era of boxing will seem
+insignificant measured against what can be grossed with this new medium.
+
+I see America’s boxing monopoly broken now that the sport has taken a
+firm hold in far-off countries hitherto unseen on the fistic map. South
+America, Central America, Europe and Asia will crown world champions.
+
+Whatever the caliber of present and future talent as compared with olden
+times, the pulse-stirring excitement will still be there. The humor,
+pathos and glamour of the ring will never cease.
+
+Were I to live my life over again, there is nothing I would cherish more
+than to be a part of the boxing scene and play the role that has been
+mine during the past half century.
+
+[Illustration: Stanley Ketchel, the famed “Michigan Assassin,” was
+the most exciting fighter I have ever seen. I rate him the greatest
+middleweight of all time and often wonder what other ring glories might
+have been his, had he not been shot and killed by Walter Dipley at the
+age of 24.]
+
+[Illustration: Here Ketchel (left) poses with Billy Papke prior to
+their second 1908 title fight in San Francisco. Stanley regained the
+championship with an eleventh round knockout.]
+
+[Illustration: Though not a popular champion, Jack Johnson ranks as the
+best all-around fighter of modern times in my book. The demand for his
+dethronement brought aging Jim Jeffries out of retirement. Tex Rickard
+promoted the bout in Reno, July 4, 1910 and refereed it. Sentiment rode
+with the balding Jeffries (shown above sparring for an opening in an
+early round), but age soon told as the cat-like Johnson battered him
+into submission. The end came in the fifteenth round (below) as Sam
+Berger threw in the sponge and referee Rickard pushed Jack off the fallen
+ex-champ.]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration: Johnson’s unpopular reign as champion continued until
+high living and Jess Willard caught up with him in Havana, June 10, 1914
+(above). Willard’s great size and strength proved decisive as the bout
+wore on and Jack was finally counted out in the twenty-sixth round. He
+claimed afterwards to have taken a dive. In the picture below it appears
+that Johnson is shading his eyes from the sun. However, such a gesture
+is not uncommon for a beaten fighter (see photo of Billy Conn on another
+page), and since I was present at the Havana fight, I cannot agree with
+Johnson’s version.]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration: Tex Rickard’s rise to greatness coincided with the
+appearance of hobo camp brawler Jack Dempsey on the heavyweight scene.
+Paired together by destiny, the rough, pug-nosed battler from Manassa,
+Colorado, and the imaginative promoter personified Boxing’s Golden Age.]
+
+[Illustration: Dempsey had been nothing more than a rugged in-and-out
+slugger until he fell into the hands of Jack Kearns (white cap, above),
+who groomed him for the title meeting with Willard at Toledo, July 4,
+1919. Jack gained fistic immortality with an explosive three-round
+knockout victory. The beating that Jess suffered was so severe as to seem
+impossible to administer with only padded gloves. The false rumors that
+Jack’s gloves were “loaded” with plaster of Paris persist until this day.
+Jimmy Deforest (standing next to Dempsey), who bandaged Jack’s hands,
+denied the story. Below we see Willard down for the seventh time in the
+opening round.]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration: Above is the architect’s sketch for a new Madison Square
+Garden which Dinty Scanlon had drawn up and which appeared with my
+exclusive story in the _New York Telegram_, May 22, 1923. We submitted it
+to Tex Rickard the following day. Tex feigned disinterest, calling our
+proposal impractical. However, he used our idea to get financial backing
+for the building of his own Garden, as is indicated by his architect’s
+drawing (below) which was not submitted to the press until more than a
+year later.]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration: For breath-taking excitement, the Dempsey-Luis Firpo
+title fight at the Polo Grounds, September 14, 1923, was the wildest
+I have ever witnessed. In the picture above, Jack, who was down
+twice himself—once completely out of the ring—stands over the fallen
+challenger. Though as courageous as any man I’ve ever seen, the mammoth
+Firpo was finally knocked senseless and the fight ended with his tenth
+knock-down at 1:12 of the second round. Luis was floored seven times in
+the first round and twice in the second before the knockout punch was
+delivered.]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration: Dempsey’s dominance of the heavyweight division was
+brought to an end by handsome ex-Marine Gene Tunney, who took the title
+with a ten round decision in Philadelphia, September 23, 1926. Jack’s
+defeat stunned the entire sporting world. Rematched before 104,000 in
+Chicago’s Soldier’s Field, September 22, 1927, Dempsey flashed his old
+time fury in flooring Gene in the seventh round (above). The long count
+resulting from his delay in going to a neutral corner (below) remains a
+subject for debate until this day, for Gene regained his feet, and his
+senses, and went on to victory.]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration: One of the more colorful fighters of the 1920s was the
+unschooled primitive, Battling Siki, who somehow managed to swarm over
+Georges Carpentier to win the light heavyweight championship of the
+world, September 24, 1922.]
+
+[Illustration: Here is one of the greatest arrays of fistic talent ever
+assembled for an evening of boxing. Shown at the weigh-in for the Milk
+Fund Show at Yankee Stadium, June 26, 1924, are (l. to r.) Harry Greb,
+Tommy Loughran, Young Stribling, Sandy Seifer, Ted Moore, Gene Tunney,
+Ermino Spalla, Dan Lieber and Panama Joe Gans.]
+
+[Illustration: Rickard’s death in 1929 closed as exciting an era as the
+fight game has ever known. Though marred by depression, the decade that
+followed was almost as eventful, with shrewd Mike Jacobs the heir to
+Tex’s promotional mantle. I negotiated Mike’s first title fight between
+Henry Armstrong and Petey Sarron (above) at Madison Square Garden,
+October 29, 1937. Jacobs’ meal ticket was Detroit “Brown Bomber” Joe
+Louis (below), who ruled the heavyweights from 1937 to his retirement in
+1949.]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration: Joe’s first title defense saw him gain a fifteen-round
+decision over the Welshman Tommy Farr in the Yankee Stadium in New York
+City, August 30, 1937. Farr earned the respect of the American sporting
+crowd, but he never would have gotten the match had it not been for my
+trans-Atlantic telephone negotiations in Jacobs’ behalf.]
+
+[Illustration: A devastating puncher with either hand, Louis was one of
+the greatest finishers the ring has ever seen. His destruction of Max
+Schmeling in 2:04 of the first round of their meeting, June 22, 1938, at
+Yankee Stadium is often compared with the carnage wrought by Dempsey at
+Toledo.]
+
+[Illustration: Jacobs had to wait five years to rematch Louis with Irish
+Billy Conn after their sensational 1941 meeting. This $100 a ringside
+seat offering saw a heavier and not so daring Conn fall beneath Louis’
+fists in the eighth round at Yankee Stadium, June 19, 1946. Conn is
+shading his eyes as did Jack Johnson in his bout with Willard.]
+
+[Illustration: Joe retired in 1949, but financial difficulties forced him
+to return to the ring wars in 1950. He lost a fifteen round decision to
+then champion Ezzard Charles, but managed to campaign successfully among
+the other challengers until hard punching Rocky Marciano belted him into
+permanent retirement with an eighth round kayo at Madison Square Garden,
+October 26, 1951.]
+
+[Illustration: This shot of me in a familiar ringside setting was made
+for a fight sequence in Rocky Graziano’s 1957 film biography, “Somebody
+Up There Likes Me.” Also shown with me are some of my longstanding
+pals among the fight scribes: (l. to r.) the late Jim Jennings of the
+_Mirror_, the late Caswell Adams of the _Journal-American_ and Joe
+Nichols of the _Times_.]
+
+[Illustration: My work has taken me around the world several times
+through the years. The picture above shows part of the crowd of
+69,962 that sat in the huge Bangkok stadium to watch the Chamrern
+Songkitrat-Robert Cohen bantamweight championship match on September 19,
+1954, despite a terrific downpour that lasted until the main event was
+about to get under way. Cohen, shown (left) in an early exchange below,
+won the title by decision. I am proud to have been associated in the
+negotiations for the battle and to have acted as judge.]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration: Here bantam king Cohen and myself greet New York State
+Athletic Commissioner Julius Helfand upon his arrival in Paris for a
+meeting of the World Boxing Championship Committee in 1955.]
+
+[Illustration: This picture of my 1958 visit with Cuban Sports
+Commissioner, General Fernandez y Miranda, caused me considerable
+embarrassment when it appeared as part of a _Life_ Magazine feature
+article on gambling and gangsterism in Cuba. A long time sports friend,
+Miranda is also a Batista relative and in _Life_ was alleged to have
+interests in slot machines.]
+
+[Illustration: Here I am chatting with my life-long friend, Dan Daniel,
+at _The Ring_ offices. Dan and I have shared many an exciting moment
+through my more than fifty years of sports writing.]
+
+[Illustration: This is part of the Boxing Hall of Fame, which I organized
+in 1954 to commemorate the many truly great fighters of days gone by.
+Those of modern times are selected by the votes of a panel of more than
+100 of the leading sports writers of the world. To be elected, a fighter
+must receive at least 75 percent of the total votes cast. The old timers
+are chosen by a panel of twenty veterans who have covered the sports
+field for forty or more years.]
+
+
+
+
+Books by Nat Fleischer
+
+
+_History_
+
+    THE HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONS
+    FROM MILO TO LONDOS—_The History of Wrestling from 2000 B.C._
+    BLACK DYNAMITE—_A Five-Volume History of the Negro Race in Boxing_
+    THE RING RECORD BOOK AND ENCYCLOPEDIA—_14 Volumes_
+
+_Biography_
+
+    RECKLESS LADY—_The Life Story of Adah Isaacs Menken and her Husband,
+      John C. Heenan_
+    JOHN L. SULLIVAN—_The Champion of Champions_
+    GENTLEMAN JIM—_The Life Story of James J. Corbett_
+    TERRIBLE TERRY—_The Brooklyn Terror_
+    YOUNG GRIFFO—_Will O’ the Wisp of the Ring_
+    STANLEY KETCHEL—_The Michigan Assassin_
+    JACK MCAULIFFE—_The Napoleon of the Prize Ring_
+    LEONARD THE MAGNIFICENT
+    JACK DEMPSEY—_The Idol of Fistiana_
+    GENE TUNNEY—_The Enigma of the Prize Ring_
+    MAX BAER—_The Glamour Boy_
+    THE JOE LOUIS LEGEND
+
+_Instruction_
+
+    COMMANDO STUFF
+    MODERN WRESTLING
+    TRAINING FOR BOXERS
+    HOW TO BOX
+    HOW TO JUDGE AND REFEREE A FIGHT
+    BLOCKING, HITTING AND OTHER METHODS OF SELF-DEFENSE
+
+
+
+
+INDEX
+
+
+  Abrams, Al, 271
+
+  Abramson, Jesse, 270
+
+  Adam Hats, 144-146
+
+  Ade, George, 269
+
+  Adulyadej, King Bhumibol, 5-6, 230
+
+  Akoose, Paul, 33
+
+  Albany Hotel (New York City), 110
+
+  Albertanti, Francis, 17, 47, 246, 264-265
+
+  Alberts, Jim, 33
+
+  Alger, Horatio, 55-56
+
+  Allen, Stonewall, 192-193
+
+  Almy, “Doc,” 59, 60, 270
+
+  Ambers, Lou, 143
+
+  Anderson, Andre, 188-189
+
+  Archibald, Joey, 218-221
+
+  Armstrong, Henry, 141-143, 282
+
+  Arnst, Dick, 237
+
+  Associated Press, 14, 15, 154, 269, 271
+
+  Astor, John Jacob, 16
+
+  Atlantic Gardens, 168, 190, 192
+
+  Attell, Abe, 171, 256, 279, 282
+
+  August, Jimmy, 276
+
+  Austin, Sam, 253
+
+  Azua, Ernesto, 222
+
+
+  Backer, George, 102-103, 105
+
+  Baer, Max, 147, 280
+
+  Bagley, Jim, 269
+
+  Bailey, L. N., 272
+
+  Baker, Police Commissioner, 110
+
+  Bald, Cannonball Eddie, 32
+
+  Baltimore _Sun_, 271
+
+  Bang, Ed, 271
+
+  Barbour, W. Warren, 55-62
+
+  Barbour, Colonel William, 56, 58, 61, 62
+
+  Baron Wilkes’ Hotel (New York City), 76
+
+  Barrick, Constant, 136
+
+  Barton, George, 271
+
+  Batista, Gen. Fulgencio, 222, 223
+
+  Battling Norfolk, 94
+
+  Battling Siki, _see_ Siki, Battling
+
+  Baxter, Harry, 217
+
+  Beall, Fred, 187
+
+  Becker, Charles, 49
+
+  Bedell, Joe, 164
+
+  Bedell, Johnny, 33
+
+  Bedell, Menus, 33
+
+  Bendigo, 182
+
+  Bennison, Ben, 268
+
+  Berlenbach, Paul, 32, 92-93, 256, 257, 281
+
+  Bernaugh, Peter, 17
+
+  Biltmore Hotel (New York City), 111
+
+  Bimstein, Whitey, 276
+
+  Black, Julian, 141
+
+  Black Colossus, _see_ Johnson, Jack
+
+  Bloom, Phil, 195
+
+  Bloomfield, Jack, 194
+
+  Bonhag, George, 33-34, 43-44
+
+  Borden, Eddie, 246
+
+  _Boston Post_, 59, 270
+
+  Bothner, George, 187
+
+  Boyle’s Thirty Acres, 119, 200
+
+  Boys’ Club (New York City), 7, 10
+
+  Brace Memorial School, 7, 8
+
+  Braddock, James J., 6, 140, 147-149, 153, 155, 158
+
+  Bradley, Hugh, 268, 271
+
+  Brady, William A., 32
+
+  Breitenstraetter, Hans, 135
+
+  Brennan, Bill, 32, 202
+
+  Brenner, I. C., 247-248
+
+  Britt, Jimmy, 259
+
+  Britton, Jack, 185, 281
+
+  Brix, Lou, 217
+
+  Broadribb, Ted, 147-154, 157
+
+  Broadway Club (Brooklyn), 185
+
+  Brocco, 33
+
+  Broderick, Johnny, 37
+
+  Bromberg, Lester, 270
+
+  Bromely, Joe, 272
+
+  Bronx Home News, 271
+
+  Brougham, Royal, 271
+
+  Brown, Freddie, 276
+
+  Brown, Joey, 224
+
+  Brown, K. O., 180-184
+
+  Brown, Major, 26
+
+  Brown, Natie, 140-141
+
+  Brown, Ned, 221, 246
+
+  Brown, Panama Al, 282
+
+  Brown, Warren, 263, 271
+
+  Browning, Jim, 187
+
+  Brown’s Gymnasium, 168
+
+  Buck, Al, 271
+
+  Buelow, Arthur, 127-134
+
+  Buff, Johnny, 32, 282
+
+  Burke, Jem, 182
+
+  Burke, Joe, 60-61
+
+  Burke, Sailor, 195-196
+
+  Burns, Frankie, 201, 282
+
+  Burns, Tommy, 77, 279
+
+  Butler, Frank, 272
+
+  Butler, James, 268
+
+  Butler, Tom, 32
+
+  Butt, Captain Archibald, 16
+
+
+  Cameron, Ruth, _see_ Johnson, Mrs. Jack
+
+  Camp, Walter, 249
+
+  Camp Greenleaf (Chattanooga), 27
+
+  Campi, Eddie, 282
+
+  Cannon, Jimmy, 261, 271
+
+  Canzoneri, Tony, 193, 282
+
+  Capone, Al, 46, 47-49
+
+  Capone, Mrs. Al, 48
+
+  Carbo, Frankie, 46
+
+  Carey, Bill, 262
+
+  Carmichael, Johnny, 271
+
+  Carnera, Primo, 189, 260
+
+  _Carpathia_, 16
+
+  Carpentier, Georges, 90, 91, 93, 119-121, 125, 135, 202, 257, 281
+
+  Carroll, Dink, 271
+
+  Carruthers, Jimmy, 225-229
+
+  Castro, Fidel, 223
+
+  Catholic Youth Movement, 175
+
+  Chaney, George K. O., 282
+
+  Charles, Ezzard, 4, 204, 270
+
+  Chavez, Simon, 218-221
+
+  Chemaris, George, 276
+
+  Chicago _American_, 265
+
+  Chicago _Chronicle_, 265
+
+  Chicago _Tribune_, 48, 260, 270, 272
+
+  Chip, George, 184, 236
+
+  Choynski, Joe, 256, 257
+
+  Christodora House, 7
+
+  Cifuentas, Armando Garcia, 223
+
+  Cincinnati _Enquirer_, 268
+
+  City College (New York City), 8, 10
+
+  Clabby, Jimmy, 236
+
+  Clark, Elky, 282
+
+  Clarke, Jackie, 33
+
+  Cleveland, Grover, 12
+
+  Cleveland, Harry, 268
+
+  Cleveland _News_, 271
+
+  Cleveland _Press_, 271
+
+  Coe, Bill, 34
+
+  Coffey, Jim, 32, 188
+
+  Coffroth, Jim, 111
+
+  Cohen, Robert, 229-230
+
+  Cohn, Harvey, 34
+
+  Conifrey, Frankie, 168
+
+  Conn, Billy, 251, 264-265
+
+  Considine, Bob, 271
+
+  Cooper, Jack, 24, 58, 59, 258
+
+  Copeland, Al, 17
+
+  Corbett, James J., 6, 28, 32, 58, 154, 166, 171, 176, 199, 204,
+      253-254, 256, 257, 275, 277, 279, 280, 281
+
+  Corbett, Young, 257, 259
+
+  Corum, Bill, 270
+
+  Coulon, Johnny, 200-201, 282
+
+  Coultry, Frank, 103, 247-248
+
+  Critchley, General, 148-149, 152, 153
+
+  Cross, Harry, 246
+
+  Cross, Leach, 9-10, 32, 163-168, 183
+
+  Cuba, 218, 221-224
+
+  Cuddy, Jack, 271
+
+  Cunningham, Bill, 271
+
+  Curley, Jack, 83, 135-137, 187, 260
+
+  Curtin, Johnny, 194
+
+
+  Dale, Grover, 9, 10
+
+  Daley, Arthur, 271
+
+  Daley, George, 246
+
+  Daly, John, 34
+
+  Daniel, Daniel M., 17, 38-41, 43-44, 270
+
+  Daniels, Gypsy, 131
+
+  Darcy, Les, 236, 282
+
+  Dartmouth College, 33
+
+  Dartnell, Fred, 268
+
+  Davies, Parson, 276
+
+  Davis, George, 271
+
+  Davis, “One Round,” 197
+
+  Dawson, James P., 122, 158, 270
+
+  Deforest, Jimmy, 118
+
+  Delaney, Billy, 257, 276
+
+  Delaney, High Police Commissioner, 229
+
+  Delaney, Jack, 256, 257, 281
+
+  Dempsey, Jack (heavyweight), 4, 6, 28, 32, 57, 64, 78, 84, 112-124,
+      125, 140, 171, 174, 176, 191, 201, 202-203, 221, 226, 249, 250,
+      254, 257, 263, 273, 277-280, 281, 283
+
+  Dempsey, Jack (the Nonpareil), 268, 275
+
+  Des Moines _Register_, 271
+
+  Descamps, François, 135-137
+
+  Detroit _Free Press_, 261
+
+  Dexter Pavilion (Chicago), 266
+
+  Diamond, Robert, 229-230
+
+  Diekmann, Max, 130
+
+  Diener, Franz, 131, 136-137
+
+  Dillon, Jack, 278, 281
+
+  Dipley, Walter, 74
+
+  Dixie Kid, 195, 282
+
+  Dixon, George, 28, 32, 57, 256, 257, 279, 282
+
+  Doesserick, Charley, 194
+
+  Dolan’s restaurant (New York City), 29-30
+
+  Domgoergen, Hein, 131
+
+  Donovan, Mike, 23, 24, 32, 258
+
+  Dorgan, John (Ike), 103, 104, 132-133, 247-248
+
+  Dorgan, Tad, 70, 112, 247, 252-260
+
+  Drew, John, 34
+
+  Driscoll, Boyo, 197, 198
+
+  Driscoll, Jem, 155, 171, 253, 279, 282
+
+  Dry Dock Club, 50, 168
+
+  Duke family, 212
+
+  Duffy, Arthur, 34
+
+  Dundee, Angelo, 276
+
+  Dundee, Johnny, 32, 279, 282
+
+  Dunkley, Charley, 271
+
+  Durborrow, Louis, 37-38
+
+
+  Echevarria, Orlando, 224
+
+  Edgren, Bob, 34
+
+  Egan, Dave, 271
+
+  Egan, Pierce, 28
+
+  Eighteenth Amendment, 46
+
+  Einstein, Izzy, 50
+
+  Elks, Harry, 32
+
+  Empire Athletic Club, 168
+
+  Erickson, Egon, 40-41
+
+  Erne, Frank, 256
+
+  Ertle, Johnny Kewpie, 169
+
+  Erwin, Jimmy, 142
+
+  Escobar, Sixto, 216, 217, 221
+
+  Esparza, Nava, 190
+
+
+  Fairchild Newspapers, 214
+
+  Fairmont Athletic Club, 168, 195, 197
+
+  Fangio, 223
+
+  Farnsworth, Bill, 140, 143, 145
+
+  Farr, Tommy, 146-155, 157
+
+  Ferguson, Elmer, 271
+
+  Ferrera, Chickie, 276
+
+  Firpo, Luis, 4, 78, 121-124, 125, 172, 202-203
+
+  Fiss, Doerr, and Carroll’s Horse Mart, 67, 186
+
+  Fitzgerald, Willie, 257
+
+  Fitzsimmons, Bob, 24, 32, 172-173, 176, 203-204, 206-207, 236-241,
+      256, 257, 275, 277, 279, 280, 281
+
+  Fitzsimmons, Catherine, 239, 240
+
+  Fitzsimmons, Jack, 239-240
+
+  Fitzsimmons, Jarrett, 238, 240
+
+  Fitzsimmons, Rose, 203-204
+
+  Fitzsimmons family, 235-241
+
+  Flaherty, Martin, 79
+
+  Fleischer, Harold, 133
+
+  Fleischer, Jack, 156
+
+  Fleischer, Joan, 231
+
+  Fleischer, Mark, 8
+
+  Fleischer, Trudie, 126, 135, 262
+
+  Fleischer family, 8
+
+  Florio, Dan, 276
+
+  Florio, Nick, 276
+
+  Flowers, Tiger, 32, 206, 249
+
+  Flynn, Jim, 84
+
+  Flynn, Porky, 70-71, 188
+
+  Fogler, Joe, 33
+
+  Foley, Larry, 239
+
+  Foster, Ed, 154
+
+  Foster, Judge, 42-43
+
+  Fox, Richard K., 267
+
+  Fox family, 267
+
+  Fraley, Oscar, 271
+
+  Fralick, Dr., 132
+
+  Franco, Gen. Francisco, 137
+
+  Frank, Dago, 49
+
+  Frawley, Senator, 246
+
+  Frawley Law, 49, 163, 190
+
+  Frayne, Ed, 140, 145
+
+  Frazee, Harry, 83
+
+  Fried, Jack, 271
+
+  Friel, Ed, 272
+
+  Frohman, Charles, 16
+
+  Fullerton, Hugh, 253
+
+  Fulton, Fred, 113, 202, 257
+
+
+  Galiani, Eddie, 214
+
+  Gallico, Paul, 47, 48, 270
+
+  Gans, Joe, 32, 166, 254, 256, 257, 278, 282
+
+  Genaro, Frankie, 282
+
+  George, W. G., 33
+
+  Gibbons, Mike, 169, 195, 282
+
+  Gibbons, Tom, 281
+
+  Gibson, Billy, 32, 179, 188
+
+  Gibson, Truman, 223
+
+  Goethals, Major General George, 212-213
+
+  Goldberg, Hy, 272
+
+  Goldberg, Rube, 254
+
+  Goldman, Charley, 276
+
+  Goldstein, Ruby, 164
+
+  Goodman, Murray, 271
+
+  Gordon, Lady Duff, 16
+
+  Gordon, Joe, 10
+
+  Gore, Bill, 276
+
+  Goss, Joe, 266-267
+
+  Gotch, Frank, 187, 266
+
+  Gould, Mrs. Jay, 10
+
+  Gould, Joe, 148
+
+  Goulett, Al, 33
+
+  Graham, Frank, 270
+
+  Grayson, Harry, 271
+
+  Greb, Harry, 32, 186, 206, 249, 278, 281
+
+  Gregory, L. H., 272
+
+  Grenda, Al, 33
+
+  Grieve, Curley, 272
+
+  Griffin, Hank, 78
+
+  Griffo, Young, 279, 282
+
+  Grim, Joe, 172-173
+
+  Grody, Ray, 272
+
+  Grosvenor, Walter, 9
+
+  Guerrero, Gus, 33
+
+  Gulick, Dr. Luther Halsey, 8
+
+  Gutteridge, Reg, 272
+
+  Gyp the Blood, 49
+
+
+  Hackenschmidt, George, 187, 265-266
+
+  Hackett, Desmond, 272
+
+  Hadley, Ralph, 272
+
+  Hale, Teddy, 32
+
+  Haley, Referee Patsy, 186, 203
+
+  Hall, Captain, 26
+
+  Hammond, John, 103, 104
+
+  Hand, Jack, 271
+
+  Hannigan, Steve, 47, 262
+
+  Hanson, Knute, 137
+
+  Harlem Hospital, 169
+
+  Harriman, Mrs. Oliver, 10
+
+  Harris, Sam, 205
+
+  Hartford _Courant_, 271
+
+  Harvard University, 21, 23, 24
+
+  Harvey, Charley, 165
+
+  Haucap, Referee, 180
+
+  Hawkins, Dal, 257
+
+  Hayes, Johnny, 20, 33
+
+  Heeney, Tom, 137
+
+  Hegelman, Pete, 33
+
+  Henie, Sonja, 100
+
+  Henneberry, Bill, 228
+
+  Hennessey, John, 16, 50-51, 213
+
+  Henry, O., 32
+
+  Herman, Babe, 194
+
+  Herman, Pete, 32, 279, 282
+
+  Herrera, Aurelia, 205, 257
+
+  Herse, Otto, 129
+
+  Hillman, Harry, 33
+
+  Hippodrome (New York City), 140, 143-145
+
+  Hirschfield, Harry, 271
+
+  Hitler, Adolf, 237
+
+  Hoff, Boo Boo, 46
+
+  Holly, Dave, 205
+
+  Horton Law, repeal of the, 6, 45
+
+  Howard, Phocian, 57
+
+  Howard, Roy, 18
+
+  Howard Athletic Club, 169, 192
+
+  Hoyt, Richard F., 106
+
+  Hughes, Ed, 193-194
+
+  Hulls, Syd, 148-153
+
+  Humphreys, Joe, 205
+
+  Hurst, Norman, 268
+
+  Hurst, Tim, 36, 69
+
+
+  Igoe, Hype, 66, 70, 72, 81, 158, 254, 270
+
+  _Illustrated News_, 261
+
+  International Boxing Club, 218, 223, 271, 273
+
+  International News Service, 272
+
+
+  “Jack’s” (New York restaurant), 254-255
+
+  Jackson, Peter, 205
+
+  Jacobs, Joe, 133-134
+
+  Jacobs, Mike, 6, 105-107, 119, 120-121, 135, 138-159, 251, 264-265,
+      283
+
+  Jeannette, Joe, 32, 78, 205
+
+  Jeffries, James J., 32, 58, 59, 75, 77-78, 84, 109-110, 111, 176,
+      202, 203-204, 206-207, 253, 254, 255, 256, 257, 259, 275, 277,
+      279, 281
+
+  Jeffries, Mrs. James J., 112
+
+  Jenkins, 187
+
+  Jennings, Jim, 270-271
+
+  _Jewish Forward_, 166
+
+  Joh, Billy, 189, 191, 196-197, 198
+
+  Johnson, Jack, 56-59, 75-89, 109-110, 111, 136, 141, 171, 176, 199,
+      205, 253, 254, 255, 256, 257, 259, 275, 277, 278, 279, 280, 281
+
+  Johnson, Mrs. Jack, 76, 77
+
+  Johnson, John Lester, 191-192
+
+  Johnston, Jimmy, 32, 134, 260
+
+  Jones, Horace, 136
+
+  Jones, Jersey, 270
+
+  Jones, John Paul, 34
+
+  Joyce, John, 34
+
+
+  Kane, Peter, 282
+
+  Kaplan, Louis Kid, 250, 282
+
+  Kase, Max, 271
+
+  Kaufman, Al, 84
+
+  Kearns, Jack, 114, 118-119, 173, 194, 202
+
+  Kearns, Soldier, 197
+
+  Keck, Harry, 271
+
+  Keefe, Bill, 271
+
+  Keener, Sid, 271
+
+  Kellerman, Annette, 37
+
+  Kelly, Judge, 70
+
+  Kelly, Tom, 198
+
+  Kennedy, Bill, 32
+
+  Kessler, Gene, 271
+
+  Ketchel, Stanley, 63-74, 186, 254, 255, 257, 278, 281
+
+  Keyes, Bert, 257
+
+  Kid Chocolate, 279, 282
+
+  Kilbane, Johnny, 279, 282
+
+  King, Harry, 17
+
+  Kiviat, Abel, 33
+
+  Klaus, Frank, 282
+
+  Kline, Izzy, 276
+
+  Kofoed, Jack, 271
+
+  Kottman, Dr., 11
+
+  Kullavanijya, Brig. Gen. Pichai, 225, 232
+
+
+  La Barba, Fidel, 282
+
+  Laing, Jack, 271
+
+  Langford, Sam, 32, 78-80, 171, 190-192, 205, 277, 281
+
+  Lanigan, Ernie, 11
+
+  Lavigne, George Kid, 256, 282
+
+  Lee, Bill, 271
+
+  Leon, Benny, 169
+
+  Leon, Casper, 169
+
+  Leon, Jack, 169
+
+  Leonard, Benny, 32, 164, 166, 167, 168, 171, 177-180, 195, 199, 200,
+      249, 250, 276, 278, 282
+
+  Levinsky, Battling, 188, 281
+
+  Levy, Papa, 94
+
+  Lewin, Murray, 47, 158, 271
+
+  Lewis, Ed Strangler, 187
+
+  Lewis, Harry, 195, 282
+
+  Lewis, Ted Kid, 185, 281
+
+  Lewis, Whitey, 49, 271
+
+  Lewis, Willie, 32, 71-72, 185, 195-196, 282
+
+  Lieb, Frederick G., 11, 17
+
+  _Life_ Magazine, 222
+
+  Littleton, Happy, 194
+
+  Littlewood, 33
+
+  Ljungstrom, Gusta, 33
+
+  Lomski, Leo, 186-187
+
+  London, Jack, 258-259
+
+  Londos, Jim, 187
+
+  Long, Tom, 21
+
+  Long Island Bowl, 173, 186
+
+  Longacre Club, 168
+
+  Longboat, Tom, 33
+
+  Losada, Jess, 218, 220
+
+  Los Angeles _Examiner_, 265
+
+  Loubet, Nathaniel R., 248
+
+  Loughran, Tommy, 147, 185, 186-187, 202, 281
+
+  Louis, Joe, 4, 6, 80-81, 140-141, 146-155, 158, 171, 174, 176, 265,
+      273, 277, 279, 280, 281, 283
+
+  Louis, Lefty, 49
+
+  Lovelock, Jack, 237
+
+  Luchow’s Restaurant (New York City), 72
+
+  Lumley, Arthur, 261, 266, 267, 268
+
+  Lustig, Elias, 144
+
+  Lynch, Benny, 282
+
+  Lynch, Joe, 32, 282
+
+  Lyons, Dan, 122
+
+
+  Macadam, John, 272
+
+  Mace, Jem, 239, 240
+
+  MacFadden, Bernarr, 248
+
+  Mackey, Biz, 197, 198
+
+  Madden, Frankie, 49, 164-165
+
+  Madden, Owney, 46
+
+  Madison Square Garden, 8, 30-37, 99-107, 108, 110, 111, 121, 127,
+      132, 137, 138, 140, 141, 148, 174, 178, 180, 185, 186, 187, 189,
+      193, 200, 222, 241, 245, 246, 250, 256, 260, 263, 276
+
+  Madison Square Garden Corporation, 47
+
+  Maher, Peter, 32, 257
+
+  Maher, Robert, 214
+
+  Mandell, Sammy, 250
+
+  Mandot, Joe, 167
+
+  Manhattan Casino, 166, 168
+
+  Manhattan Railway Company, 101
+
+  Mann, Bill, 272
+
+  Marciano, Rocky, 4, 171, 176, 204, 218, 273, 277, 278, 279, 280, 281
+
+  Marianao (Oriente) Race Track (Cuba), 83
+
+  Markson, Harry, 271
+
+  Martin, Cannonball Eddie, 250
+
+  Martin, Denver Ed, 78
+
+  Martin, Plugger Bill, 32
+
+  Masterson, Bat, 246, 253, 266
+
+  Mastro, Frank, 272
+
+  Mathison, Charles F., 11, 17, 246, 253, 260, 261, 266
+
+  Maxim, Joey, 204, 270
+
+  Mayer, Judge Julius, 101-106
+
+  Mayes, Harold, 272
+
+  McArdle, Tom, 250
+
+  McAuliffe, Jack, 28, 185, 256, 268, 275
+
+  McAvoy, Jock, 174
+
+  McAvoy, Johnny, 193
+
+  McBeth, Bill, 246, 260
+
+  McCarney, Billy, 133
+
+  McCarty, Luther, 36-37, 82, 83, 265
+
+  McCarty, Tom, 188
+
+  McConachy, Clark, 237
+
+  McCormack, Macon, 253
+
+  McCoy, Al, 185
+
+  McCoy, Kid, 32, 118, 257, 281
+
+  McCue, Marty, 247
+
+  McDonald, Pat, 34, 92
+
+  McDonell, Leo, 271
+
+  McFarland, Floyd, 33
+
+  McFarland, Packey, 174-175
+
+  McGarry, Mike, 192
+
+  McGeehan, Bill, 115, 246, 253, 254, 259-263
+
+  McGinn, Joe, 269
+
+  McGoogan, Bill, 271
+
+  McGoorty, Eddie, 236
+
+  McGovern, Hughie, 169-170
+
+  McGovern, Phil, 169-170
+
+  McGovern, Terry, 8, 9, 166, 169-170, 205-206, 279, 282
+
+  McGrath, Matt, 34
+
+  McGuinness, James K., 17
+
+  McKenna, Betsy, 235
+
+  McKettrick, Dan, 258
+
+  McLaglen, Victor, 189-190
+
+  McLarnin, Jimmy, 185, 186, 193, 282
+
+  McLaughlin, Wurra Wurra, 246
+
+  McLean, Bobby, 100, 102, 105
+
+  McMahon, Jess, 133, 134
+
+  McNamee, Graham, 262
+
+  McPartland, Kid, 32, 195
+
+  McTigue, Mike, 91, 185, 186
+
+  McVey, Sam, 78
+
+  Mead, Eddie, 142
+
+  Meadows, Fred, 33
+
+  Mechanics Building (Boston), 59
+
+  Mellor, Sammy, 33
+
+  Mendez, Arturo, 219
+
+  Mendez, Miguel, 219
+
+  Mercer, Sid, 47, 262, 263, 264, 270
+
+  Meredith, Ted, 34
+
+  Merenghi, Tony, 272
+
+  Merriwell, Frank, 56
+
+  Miami _Herald_, 271
+
+  Michaels, Bobby, 32
+
+  Michigan Assassin, _see_ Ketchel, Stanley
+
+  Miley, Jack, 158
+
+  Military Athletic League, 43
+
+  Millard, Joe, 17
+
+  Miller, Freddie, 142, 143
+
+  “Millionaire Kid,” _see_ Barbour, W. Warren
+
+  Milwaukee _Sentinel_, 272
+
+  Minneapolis _Tribune_, 271
+
+  Miranda, General Fernandez y, 221-223
+
+  Miske, Billy, 257, 263
+
+  Mitchell, Charley, 32, 147, 150, 154
+
+  Mitchell, Big Jim, 36
+
+  Mitchell, Richie, 32, 178-180, 200
+
+  Mizner, Wilson, 70
+
+  Monte, Joe, 132, 133, 135
+
+  Montreal _Gazette_, 271
+
+  Montreal _Herald_, 271
+
+  Moore, Doc, 276
+
+  Moore, Pal, 282
+
+  Mora, General, 232
+
+  Moran, Frank, 32, 84
+
+  Moran, Owen, 155, 282
+
+  Morgan, “Dumb” Dan, 182-184
+
+  Morgan, Kayo, 216, 217
+
+  Morrissey, John, 46
+
+  _Morning Telegraph_, 102, 261-262, 270
+
+  Morris, Carl, 83, 202
+
+  Mott Haven Athletic Club, 40
+
+  Muldoon, William, 122-123, 187
+
+  Mulhare, Hughey, 17
+
+  Mullins, Paddy, 60
+
+  Muller, Eddie, 272
+
+  Mulvihill, Joe, 119
+
+  _Mundo, El_, 83, 217
+
+  Munsey, Frank A., 17, 247
+
+  Murphy, Billy, 257
+
+  Murphy, Bob, 271
+
+  Murphy, Harlem Tommy, 185, 200
+
+  Murray Hill Hotel (New York City), 16
+
+  Myers, Lon, 33
+
+
+  Naegeli’s Hotel (Hoboken, N.J.), 110
+
+  Nagler, Barney, 270
+
+  National Boxing Association, 154, 156, 229
+
+  National Sporting Club (New York City), 71
+
+  Naughton, Bill, 253
+
+  Neil, Frankie, 257
+
+  Nelson, Battling, 32, 180, 253, 256, 259, 282
+
+  Neusel, Walter, 146
+
+  New Orleans _Item_, 271
+
+  New York _American_, 145, 271
+
+  New York _Daily Mirror_, 270, 271
+
+  New York _Daily News_, 48, 270, 271
+
+  New York _Evening Sun_, 214, 266
+
+  New York _Globe_, 122, 261, 270
+
+  New York _Herald_, 14, 38, 44
+
+  New York _Herald Tribune_, 259, 270
+
+  New York _Journal_, 81, 145, 270
+
+  New York _Journal American_, 270, 271
+
+  New York Life Insurance Company, 100-101
+
+  New York _Mail-Telegram_, 17
+
+  New York _Morning Herald_, 17
+
+  New York _Morning Sun_, 17, 23, 27, 28, 36, 214
+
+  New York _Post_, 271
+
+  New York _Press_, 10, 11, 14-17, 22, 35, 37, 40, 44, 49, 212, 213,
+      247, 261
+
+  New York _Sun_, 261
+
+  New York _Sun Press_, 17
+
+  New York _Telegram_, 17, 38, 100, 101, 102, 125, 126, 135, 214, 247,
+      261, 264, 265
+
+  New York _Times_, 122, 213, 270, 271
+
+  New York _Tribune_, 14, 38, 263
+
+  New York University, 10, 11
+
+  New York _World_, 14, 66
+
+  New York _World-Telegram_, 260, 270
+
+  New Zealand, 235-240
+
+  New Zealand Sports Association, 235
+
+  Newark _Evening News_, 272
+
+  Newark _News_, 272
+
+  Newark _Star Ledger_, 272
+
+  Newman, Billy, 139
+
+  Newspapermen’s Military Corps, 25-26
+
+  Nichols, Joe, 271
+
+  Norfolk, Kid, 249
+
+  Norris, Jim, 264
+
+
+  O’Ben, Frank, 20
+
+  O’Brien, Jack, 67-70, 84, 185, 186, 278, 281
+
+  O’Connor, Jerry, 40-41
+
+  O’Donnell, Steve, 23-24
+
+  O’Dowd, Mike, 185
+
+  O’Grady, Martin, 137
+
+  Old Sports Writers’ Association, 269
+
+  O’Leary, Dan, 33
+
+  Olin, Bob, 147
+
+  O’Neil, Ike, 117
+
+  Orbeta, Police Chief, 216, 218
+
+  Orchid Kid, _see_ Carpentier, Georges
+
+  Oregon Athletic Club, 9, 10
+
+  Oriente Park Race Track (Marianao, Cuba), 83
+
+  O’Reilly, Nan, 17
+
+  O’Rourke, Tex, 83-89
+
+  O’Rourke, Tom, 71, 182, 205, 276
+
+
+  Pace, Ishmael, 131
+
+  Palmer, Pedlar, 8
+
+  Palzer, Al, 32
+
+  Panama, 212-215
+
+  Panama _Herald_, 215
+
+  Papke, Billy, 63, 71, 195, 236, 282
+
+  Parker, Dan, 261, 270
+
+  Parsons, Mr., 156-157
+
+  Patterson, Floyd, 57, 58, 171, 279
+
+  Payne, Emory, 59-60
+
+  Pecord, Ollie, 114-117
+
+  Pegler, Westbrook, 47-49, 260, 270
+
+  Pelkey, Arthur, 36, 82, 83, 265
+
+  Pennsylvania, University of, 33
+
+  Pep, Willie, 279, 282
+
+  Perez, Pascual, 282
+
+  Perry’s “drug store” (New York City), 30
+
+  Pershing, General John, 26
+
+  “Pete the Goat,” _see_ Stone, Pete
+
+  Petrolle, Billy, 185, 186, 253
+
+  Phal, Louis, _see_ Siki, Battling
+
+  Phao Sriyanonda, General, 229, 231
+
+  Phar Lap (race horse), 237
+
+  Philadelphia _Bulletin_, 271
+
+  Philadelphia Jack, _see_ O’Brien, Jack
+
+  Phillips, Dad, 79, 80
+
+  Phillips, Tom, 272
+
+  Pietri, Dorando, 20, 33
+
+  Pilates, Joseph, 127-128
+
+  Pilgrim, Paul, 34
+
+  Pippin, Roger, 271
+
+  Pitinoff, Rose, 38-40
+
+  Pittsburgh _Post-Gazette_, 271
+
+  Pittsburgh _Sun-Telegraph_, 271
+
+  Plattsburg Citizens’ Training Camp, 26
+
+  Plimmer, Billy, 32
+
+  _Police Gazette_, 266, 267-268
+
+  Pollock, Harry, 32, 258
+
+  Polo Grounds, 246
+
+  Poole, Bill, 46
+
+  Portland _Oregonian_, 272
+
+  Pottowatomie Giant, _see_ Willard, Jess
+
+  Povich, Shirley, 272
+
+  Powers, Jimmy, 271
+
+  Powers, Pat, 32
+
+  Pratt, Donald, 214
+
+  Pratt Institute, 10
+
+  Price, James R., 11, 14, 17, 83
+
+  Public Schools Athletic League, 8, 11-12
+
+  Puerto Rico, 215-218
+
+
+  Rademacher, Peter, 57, 58
+
+  Ratner, Willie, 272
+
+  Raymond, Lew, 190, 191
+
+  Reilly, Pete, 133
+
+  Reynolds, Captain, 170
+
+  Rice, Grantland, 246
+
+  Richman, Sammy, 218, 220
+
+  Rickard, George L. (Tex), 6, 31, 32, 33, 34, 37, 47, 57, 99-124,
+      125-127, 130-133, 135-137, 138-140, 146, 180, 245, 246, 247, 249,
+      250, 255, 263, 275, 278, 283
+
+  Rickard, Mrs. George L., 112
+
+  _Ring, The_, 81, 132, 139, 222, 240, 245-251, 265, 270
+
+  _Ring Record Book, The_, 240, 274
+
+  Ringling, John, 32, 104
+
+  Risko, Babe, 174
+
+  Ritchie, Willie, 32, 282
+
+  Robb, Doc, 276
+
+  Robinson, Murray, 271
+
+  Robinson, Pat, 272
+
+  Robinson, Ray, 273, 277, 278, 282
+
+  Rodel, George (Boer), 83, 188
+
+  Rodenbach, Billy, 58
+
+  Roeber, Ernest, 187
+
+  Rogers, Joe, 187
+
+  Roller, Dr., 187
+
+  Roman Athletic Club, 49, 168
+
+  Roosevelt, Franklin D., 216
+
+  Roosevelt, Theodore, 16, 19-24, 58, 258
+
+  Roosevelt, Theodore, Jr., 19-20
+
+  Root, Eddie, 33
+
+  Root, Jack, 281
+
+  Rose, Murray, 271
+
+  Rose, Ralph, 34
+
+  Rosenthal murder case, 49-51
+
+  Ross, Barney, 143, 185, 186, 282
+
+  Ross, Hugh, 198
+
+  Ross, Tony, 84
+
+  Rossano, Rocco, 190
+
+  Roswell, 33
+
+  Rothenberg, Walter, 127, 129, 135
+
+  Roxborough, John, 141
+
+  Rozetsky, Isaac, _see_ Smith, Sammy
+
+  Ruhlin, Gus, 204-205
+
+  Rumson Estate, 156-157
+
+  Runyon, Damon, 47, 49, 140, 143-144, 145, 246, 253, 254, 260, 270
+
+  Russell, Inspector, 165
+
+  Rutgers University, 10
+
+  Rutt, Walter, 33
+
+  Ryan, Paddy, 266-267
+
+  Ryan, Tommy, 206-207, 256, 278, 281
+
+
+  St. Nicholas Arena, 190
+
+  St. Yves, 33
+
+  Salisbury, Kendall, 59, 60
+
+  Salsinger, Harry, 271
+
+  Sampson, Paul, 127
+
+  San Francisco _Bulletin_, 254
+
+  San Francisco _Examiner_, 272
+
+  San Francisco _Express_, 271
+
+  Sands, George, 246
+
+  Sandwina, Ted, 133
+
+  Sarron, Petey, 141-143
+
+  Savage, Jim, 188
+
+  Scanlon, Dinty, 100-107
+
+  Schaaf, Ernie, 189
+
+  Schlossberg, Phil, 189
+
+  Schmeling, Max, 4, 80-81, 128-135, 147-155, 173, 174, 176, 186, 278,
+      281
+
+  Schoenlein, Gus, 187
+
+  Schultz, Dutch, 46
+
+  Scott, James, 14, 15
+
+  Scripps-Howard Syndicate, 17-18, 48
+
+  Seattle _Post-Intelligencer_, 271
+
+  Sesquicentennial Stadium (Philadelphia), 174
+
+  Shade, Dave, 185, 186, 250
+
+  Shadow Lawn estate, 156-157
+
+  Sharkey, Jack, 6, 32, 47, 134, 176, 186, 203, 262
+
+  Sharkey, Tom, 32, 204, 206, 255, 256, 279
+
+  Sharkey Club, 168
+
+  Sheppard, Mel, 33
+
+  Sheridan, Martin, 34-35, 37, 165
+
+  Shock, Al, 32
+
+  Shrubb, Alf, 33
+
+  Siki, Battling, 32, 90-95
+
+  Siler, George, 253
+
+  Singer, Al, 193
+
+  Sirkt, Queen, 230
+
+  Sirocco, Jack, 165
+
+  Skelly, Jack, 57
+
+  Skene, Don, 262, 263
+
+  Slattery, Jimmy, 185
+
+  Smith, Al, 178, 246-247, 260-261
+
+  Smith, Billy (Mysterious), 281
+
+  Smith, Ed, 253, 261, 265-266
+
+  Smith, Gunboat, 83, 188, 257
+
+  Smith, Harry, 270
+
+  Smith, Homer, 137
+
+  Smith, Jeff, 236, 282
+
+  Smith, Jim, 190-191
+
+  Smith, Lyall, 271
+
+  Smith, Maurice, 272
+
+  Smith, Midget, 32
+
+  Smith, Moe, 50
+
+  Smith, Red, 270
+
+  Smith, Sammy, 166-167
+
+  Smith, Wilfred, 272
+
+  Smits, Ted, 271
+
+  Songkitrat, Chamrern, 225-229, 232
+
+  Spanish John, 49
+
+  Speed, Keats, 27
+
+  Stanley, Jack, 127
+
+  Star Athletic Club, 168
+
+  Stead, William, 16
+
+  Stecher, Joe, 187
+
+  Stevens, Harry, 35
+
+  Stewart, Joe, 238
+
+  Stockton, Roy, 271
+
+  Stoddard, Alexander, 14-15
+
+  Stone, Pete, 72, 73, 254
+
+  Strauss, Nathan, 16
+
+  Strauss, Mrs. Nathan, 16
+
+  Strauss, Sol, 144, 153, 154
+
+  Stribling, Willie, 47, 174, 249, 262
+
+  Sullivan, John L., 24, 28, 32, 147, 253, 257, 261, 268, 275, 277,
+      279, 280
+
+  Sullivan, Kid, 250
+
+  Sullo, Johnny, 276
+
+  Summers, Johnny, 203
+
+
+  Tammany Hall, 46
+
+  Taub, Sam, 144
+
+  Taylor, Bud, 282
+
+  Taylor, Jack, 127
+
+  Taylor, John B., 33
+
+  Taylor, Major, 32
+
+  Taylor, Sec, 271
+
+  Tendler, Lew, 177, 200, 282
+
+  Terris, Sid, 164, 250
+
+  Thailand, 225-234
+
+  Thomas, Joe, 63
+
+  _Titanic_, 13-16
+
+  Titus, Fred, 32
+
+  Toby, 72, 73
+
+  Tone, Don, 166
+
+  Touhey, George, 253, 269
+
+  Townsend, Harris Hall, 8
+
+  Trumbull, Walter, 246
+
+  Tunney, Gene, 5, 6, 32, 78, 171, 174, 176, 201-202, 226, 249, 254,
+      277, 279-280, 281
+
+  Twentieth Century Sporting Club, 140, 142, 218
+
+  Twist, Kid, 50
+
+
+  Underwood, George B., 11, 17, 35, 70, 72, 246, 260
+
+  United Press, 154, 271
+
+  Uzcudun, Paulino, 134, 135-137
+
+
+  Valentine, Howard, 17, 34
+
+  Van Anda, Carl, 213-214
+
+  Van Loan, Charles E., 253, 254
+
+  Venezuela, 218-221
+
+  Vila, Joe, 266
+
+  Villa, Francisco (Pancho), 25-26
+
+  Villa, Pancho (boxer), 249, 250, 282
+
+
+  Wahle, Judge Otto, 51
+
+  Walcott, Joe, 205, 256, 278, 281
+
+  Walker, Fred, 126, 264
+
+  Walker, Mickey, 173, 185, 186, 249, 250, 278, 281
+
+  Walker, Senator, 246
+
+  Walker, Dr. William A., 122-124
+
+  Walker Law, 185, 246, 261
+
+  _Wall Street Journal_, 101
+
+  Walter, Gerald, 272
+
+  Waltham, Teddy, 230
+
+  Walthour, Bobby, 33
+
+  Ward, Arch, 271
+
+  Ward, Gene, 271
+
+  Wardman, Irvin, 212-213
+
+  Washington _Post_, 272
+
+  Watson, Curley, 196
+
+  Webb, Capt. Matthew, 37
+
+  Webber, Captain Max, 232
+
+  Webster, Tom, 253, 268
+
+  Weill, Al, 142, 218
+
+  Weinert, Charley, 188-189
+
+  Weldon, Harry, 268
+
+  Wells, Bombardier Billy, 32
+
+  Wells, Matt, 174-175
+
+  Welsh, Freddy, 5, 32, 155, 166, 195, 282
+
+  Wembley Stadium (London), 148
+
+  Weston, Edward Payson, 33
+
+  White, Charley, 58-62, 132, 177, 282
+
+  White, Stanford, 31
+
+  Whiting, George, 272
+
+  Wignall, Trevor, 150, 268
+
+  Wilde, Jimmy, 155, 282
+
+  Willard, Jess, 4, 57, 83-89, 113-118, 136, 140, 171, 176, 278, 279,
+      280
+
+  Williams, Joe, 18, 48, 260, 265, 270
+
+  Williams, Kid, 279, 282
+
+  Wills, Harry, 137, 203, 205, 249, 254, 275
+
+  Wilson, Peter, 272
+
+  Wingate, General George W., 8
+
+  Winship, Governor, 216-218
+
+  Wolgast, Ad, 167, 180-184
+
+  Wolgast, Midget, 282
+
+  Wood, Major General Leonard, 25, 26
+
+  Wood, Lanson, 272
+
+  Woodman, Joe, 78-80, 191
+
+  World Boxing Championship Committee, 229, 230
+
+  Wray, Ed, 271
+
+
+  Yankee Stadium, 134, 141, 155
+
+  Young, Bull, 83, 279
+
+
+  Zbyszko, Stanislaus, 187
+
+  Zbyszko, Wladek, 187
+
+  Zyhariat, Walter, 42
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78585 ***
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+
+<body>
+<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78585 ***</div>
+
+
+<h1 class="sans">50 YEARS AT RINGSIDE</h1>
+
+<figure class="figcenter illowp37" id="boxer" style="max-width: 15.625em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/boxer.jpg" alt="">
+</figure>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<p class="titlepage sans larger"><span class="larger">50</span><br>
+YEARS AT<br>
+RINGSIDE</p>
+
+<p class="titlepage sans mid">NAT FLEISCHER</p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter titlepage illowp100" id="boxers" style="max-width: 43.75em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/boxers.jpg" alt="">
+</figure>
+
+<p class="titlepage">FLEET<br>
+PUBLISHING<br>
+CORPORATION,<br>
+NEW YORK</p>
+
+<p class="titlepage smaller">COPYRIGHT 1958 BY NAT FLEISCHER</p>
+
+<p class="center smaller">ALL RIGHTS RESERVED</p>
+
+<p class="center smaller">PROTECTED UNDER INTERNATIONAL COPYRIGHT CONVENTION<br>
+AND THE PAN AMERICAN COPYRIGHT CONVENTION</p>
+
+<p class="center smaller">LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOG CARD NUMBER: 58-8780</p>
+
+<p class="center smaller">PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="FOREWORD">FOREWORD</h2>
+
+</div>
+
+<p>If the readers of this autobiography of one of the standout
+sports reporters of the half century, and a pre-eminent authority
+on boxing in particular, get half the thrills I enjoyed
+while going over the advance proofs, it will take its place with
+the most successful efforts of its kind.</p>
+
+<p>Here we have the eye witness accounts of the Pepys of the
+ring scene these last fifty years.</p>
+
+<p>This is a story which nobody has produced in the past, and
+certainly is not going to duplicate in the future.</p>
+
+<p>It is the life story of a man who lived through increasingly
+exciting eras of the nation’s history, and the nation’s sports annals.
+The conditions which obtained through those eventful
+decades will not come again. The man who banged his typewriter
+through these crowding years will not come again upon
+a similar sequence in the sports kaleidoscope.</p>
+
+<p>Here are behind-the-scenes pictures, the inside stories of so
+many developments which have waited, until now, for my
+lifetime friend Nat Fleischer to reveal them.</p>
+
+<p>Here are pathos, comedy, and intrigue; the seamy, sombre
+stories, and the funny ones as well. Ring heroes of the past
+come to life in these pages to reveal themselves in the full
+panoply of their championship stature, or in the meaner
+habiliments of the character on the fringe.</p>
+
+<p>It is a fine book, and I thank Nat for having written it.</p>
+
+<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Dan Daniel</span></p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p class="center larger sans">To Trudie</p>
+
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2 class="nobreak sans" id="TABLE_OF_CONTENTS">TABLE OF CONTENTS</h2>
+
+<div class="figcontainer">
+<figure class="figright illowp33" id="chapter00" style="max-width: 6.25em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/chapter00.jpg" alt="">
+</figure>
+</div>
+
+</div>
+
+<table>
+  <tr>
+    <td colspan="3" class="sans"><a href="#FOREWORD">FOREWORD</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td colspan="3" class="sans"><a href="#BOOK_1">BOOK ONE</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdr">1.</td>
+    <td>THE DRAMA OF SPORT</td>
+    <td class="tdpg sans"><a href="#CHAPTER_1">3</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdr">2.</td>
+    <td>MY BOYHOOD YEARS</td>
+    <td class="tdpg sans"><a href="#CHAPTER_2">7</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdr">3.</td>
+    <td>MY WORK AS A REPORTER</td>
+    <td class="tdpg sans"><a href="#CHAPTER_3">13</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdr">4.</td>
+    <td>AN INTERVIEW WITH ROOSEVELT</td>
+    <td class="tdpg sans"><a href="#CHAPTER_4">19</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdr">5.</td>
+    <td>I FIGHT TO BE A SOLDIER</td>
+    <td class="tdpg sans"><a href="#CHAPTER_5">25</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdr">6.</td>
+    <td>OLD NEW YORK</td>
+    <td class="tdpg sans"><a href="#CHAPTER_6">29</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdr">7.</td>
+    <td>THE UNDERWORLD IN BOXING</td>
+    <td class="tdpg sans"><a href="#CHAPTER_7">45</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td colspan="3" class="sans"><a href="#BOOK_2">BOOK TWO</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdr">8.</td>
+    <td>AN AMAZING AMATEUR</td>
+    <td class="tdpg sans"><a href="#CHAPTER_8">55</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdr">9.</td>
+    <td>THE MICHIGAN ASSASSIN</td>
+    <td class="tdpg sans"><a href="#CHAPTER_9">63</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdr">10.</td>
+    <td>JACK JOHNSON</td>
+    <td class="tdpg sans"><a href="#CHAPTER_10">75</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdr">11.</td>
+    <td>A BLACK OMEN</td>
+    <td class="tdpg sans"><a href="#CHAPTER_11">82</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdr">12.</td>
+    <td>BOXING’S HARLEQUIN</td>
+    <td class="tdpg sans"><a href="#CHAPTER_12">90</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td colspan="3" class="sans"><a href="#BOOK_3">BOOK THREE</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdr">13.</td>
+    <td>A STORY OF INTRIGUE</td>
+    <td class="tdpg sans"><a href="#CHAPTER_13">99</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdr">14.</td>
+    <td>DESTINY’S PARTNERSHIP</td>
+    <td class="tdpg sans"><a href="#CHAPTER_14">108</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdr">15.</td>
+    <td>A SCOUT FOR TEX RICKARD</td>
+    <td class="tdpg sans"><a href="#CHAPTER_15">125</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdr">16.</td>
+    <td>UNCLE MIKE JACOBS</td>
+    <td class="tdpg sans"><a href="#CHAPTER_16">138</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td colspan="3" class="sans"><a href="#BOOK_4">BOOK FOUR</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdr">17.</td>
+    <td>DONNYBROOKS</td>
+    <td class="tdpg sans"><a href="#CHAPTER_17">163</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdr">18.</td>
+    <td>FIGHTING COURAGE</td>
+    <td class="tdpg sans"><a href="#CHAPTER_18">171</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdr">19.</td>
+    <td>RINGSIDE THRILLS</td>
+    <td class="tdpg sans"><a href="#CHAPTER_19">176</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdr">20.</td>
+    <td>LAUGHS AND ODDITIES</td>
+    <td class="tdpg sans"><a href="#CHAPTER_20">188</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdr">21.</td>
+    <td>CHAMPS AND CHUMPS</td>
+    <td class="tdpg sans"><a href="#CHAPTER_21">199</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td colspan="3" class="sans"><a href="#BOOK_5">BOOK FIVE</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdr">22.</td>
+    <td>ADVENTURES ABROAD</td>
+    <td class="tdpg sans"><a href="#CHAPTER_22">211</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdr">23.</td>
+    <td>A DREAM COMES TRUE</td>
+    <td class="tdpg sans"><a href="#CHAPTER_23">225</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdr">24.</td>
+    <td>THE FITZSIMMONS CLAN</td>
+    <td class="tdpg sans"><a href="#CHAPTER_24">235</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td colspan="3" class="sans"><a href="#BOOK_6">BOOK SIX</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdr">25.</td>
+    <td>BIRTH OF <i>THE RING</i></td>
+    <td class="tdpg sans"><a href="#CHAPTER_25">245</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdr">26.</td>
+    <td>MEET THE PRESS</td>
+    <td class="tdpg sans"><a href="#CHAPTER_26">252</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdr">27.</td>
+    <td>A SUMMING UP</td>
+    <td class="tdpg sans"><a href="#CHAPTER_27">273</a></td>
+  </tr>
+</table>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter" id="BOOK_1">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_1">[1]</span></p>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak hide">BOOK<br>ONE</h2>
+
+<figure class="figcenter illowp25" id="book1" style="max-width: 12.5em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/book1.jpg" alt="BOOK ONE">
+</figure>
+
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_2">[2]</span></p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_3">[3]</span></p>
+
+<div class="figcontainer">
+<figure class="figright illowp30" id="chapter01" style="max-width: 6.25em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/chapter01.jpg" alt="1">
+</figure>
+</div>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_1"><span class="hide">1<br></span>
+THE DRAMA OF SPORT</h3>
+
+</div>
+
+<p>I am a sports romanticist. For me, the annals of the
+ring are unparalleled in their appeal. The saga of what has
+been called the “Sour Science” achieves peaks of interest and
+excitement that are found in no other recreation or entertainment.</p>
+
+<p>That boxing has this unmatched position is not to be wondered
+at. A contact sport in its simplest form, it is an individual
+battle which tests the courage, skill and stamina of two
+men.</p>
+
+<p>Each era has its own heroes. Boxing styles keep changing.
+The demands of the public change as the years roll along. New
+faces gain popular acclaim and heighten popular controversy,
+and the interest in the sport gains new momentum as these
+colorful characters make the headlines.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_4">[4]</span></p>
+
+<p>Since controversy is the life blood of the sport, it is easy to
+see why stories about boxing and the non-combatants closely
+associated with its promotion, management, matchmaking,
+and supervision, offer a special appeal to the reader.</p>
+
+<p>There is romance in boxing. There is a spectacular glamor
+to the fight parade as it rolls along through the years: the explosive
+violence that was Jack Dempsey winning the heavyweight
+championship by a knockout over the behemoth, Jess
+Willard; Dempsey punched out of the ring and coming back
+to stop Luis Firpo in the wildest four minutes ever seen in
+boxing’s violent history; Joe Louis getting his quick, lethal
+revenge on Max Schmeling; Ezzard Charles achieving a once-in-a-lifetime
+peak to go fifteen close rounds with slugging
+Rocky Marciano—these moments brighten the pages of boxing
+history.</p>
+
+<p>Not all the thrills are to be found in the padded ring. The
+side show often furnishes the laughs, pathos, color, and the
+drama that make boxing what it is; but the anecdotes that
+have the greatest appeal are those of the champions.</p>
+
+<p>The intimate side of the ring’s title holders, the behind the
+scenes tales of the wizards of the roped square, the hair-raising
+experiences, both in and out of the ring—these are the human
+interest stories that make boxing a world sport.</p>
+
+<p>Five decades of sports writing furnish the backbone of this
+book, material I’ve gathered from my diary of more than half
+a century of reporting and collecting.</p>
+
+<p>During my many years of association with sports, I’ve
+studied the likes and dislikes of champions; their eccentricities
+and fighting qualities, as they compare with those great fighters
+of another era. It is part, I suppose, of the capacity for
+hero worship that is more or less inherent in us all.</p>
+
+<p>I’ve found champions in boxing a different breed from the
+average person who engages in sports as a recreation. When I
+asked a newly crowned champion how he felt when he finally
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_5">[5]</span>reached the heights, “No different,” was usually the answer I
+would get. Anticipation always exceeds realization.</p>
+
+<p>I recall an interview with Freddy Welsh after he had won
+the world lightweight crown; “Somehow, now that I’ve won
+the championship, it doesn’t look so big,” he told me.</p>
+
+<p>I was present at a dinner at which Gene Tunney, retired
+undefeated heavyweight king, and I were the guest speakers,
+and when I asked Gene the same question, he answered:</p>
+
+<p>“In human endeavor, the most important thing is not so
+much the realization of the goal; the effort of the chase is
+worth more to the hunter than the actual capture. I cherish
+the crown. But my greatest thrills came not in winning it but
+in my climb to the top. Now that the goal has been reached,
+it is just another incident in my boxing career.”</p>
+
+<p>There is no rosy road to success. But once it has been obtained,
+the hero worship begins. In boxing there are those
+whose names typify crashing power; others whose cleverness
+and defensive skill place them in the category of great ringmen.
+Still others are remembered for their intriguing personalities,
+their humor, wisecracks, and <i>color</i>.</p>
+
+<p>In these pages you will find the human side of these vivid
+personalities; first hand information on fights and fighters that
+is authoritative; the elements in boxing that made ring history;
+the never-to-be-forgotten incidents that make boxing the
+fascinating sport it is.</p>
+
+<p class="mt2">My work as a journalist has brought me in contact with
+sportsmen the world over. I have interviewed presidents and
+kings, promoters, managers, and fistic celebrities from the four
+corners of the globe. I have received <i>La Medaile d’honneur
+d’or de education physique et des sports</i> from France; the
+<i>Constantine Ordine Militare de San Georgie di Antioche</i> and
+the <i>Commandatore della Stella al Merito Sportivo</i> from Italy;
+and the Order of the White Elephant from King Bhumibol
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_6">[6]</span>Adulyadej of Thailand for my work on behalf of international
+boxing.</p>
+
+<p>I have been on intimate terms with every heavyweight
+champion since James J. Corbett. When Corbett died, I wrote
+thirty articles on his career for the King Features Syndicate.
+To my headquarters, facing the main entrance of Madison
+Square Garden, have often come Jack Dempsey, Gene Tunney,
+Jack Sharkey, Joe Louis, Jimmy Braddock, and many
+other great names of the past and present. Their photographs
+look down on me from the walls of my office and jog up my
+memory as the fleeting scenes of the days that have gone into
+the record books press for my attention.</p>
+
+<p>Although there aren’t as many great fighters around today
+as in the past, they are the best we can now muster and we
+must be content with them. As a class, the boxers today are
+more wholesome, more eager for the good things of life than
+those of the old days who often spent their substance and
+their genius with the prodigal hand of the waster.</p>
+
+<p>I have seen almost every heavyweight championship bout
+in the past half century, and most of those in other divisions—bouts
+that reach across a stretch of many exciting years—years
+of prosperity, war, depression, and change in boxing technique.
+They are years that saw the legalization of boxing
+throughout the world, the promotional extravaganzas of the
+great Tex Rickard and the million dollar gates, the reign of
+two of the greatest heavyweights of all time, Jack Dempsey and
+Joe Louis, and the rise and fall of Mike Jacob’s empire.</p>
+
+<p>I entered the field of journalism as a sports writer during
+the transition period of boxing—the repeal of the Horton Law
+abolishing the sport, the beginning of the club membership
+era, and the subsequent adoption of legalized boxing throughout
+the world. It is satisfying to be a part of the new era, but
+a nostalgic treat to be able to look back on the old.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">[7]</span></p>
+
+<div class="figcontainer">
+<figure class="figright illowp30" id="chapter02" style="max-width: 6.25em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/chapter02.jpg" alt="2">
+</figure>
+</div>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_2"><span class="hide">2<br></span>
+MY BOYHOOD YEARS</h3>
+
+</div>
+
+<p>I became interested in boxing the day I learned how
+to make a fist.</p>
+
+<p>I began to show interest in journalism when I contributed
+to the monthly magazine at Public School No. 15 in Lower
+Manhattan. Later I became its editor.</p>
+
+<p>As a youngster, I loved athletics of all kinds. I played baseball,
+basketball, rode a bike with sufficient skill to do tricks on
+it, boxed and wrestled. And right here I want to pay tribute
+to the Boys’ Club, the Brace Memorial School, and Christodora
+House, which all through the years have done so much
+for the youngsters of the East Side of New York where I was
+born, November 3, 1887.</p>
+
+<p>At the Brace Memorial School and the Boys’ Club, I learned
+to appreciate the value of organized, supervised athletics. It
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">[8]</span>was one thing to exercise in the streets and yet another to become
+involved in the closely regulated activities of a club.</p>
+
+<p>The Public Schools Athletic League provided another fine
+influence on boys like myself. For years, school sport in New
+York was run on a haphazard, catch-as-catch-can basis. Then
+came the P.S.A.L., in which General George W. Wingate and
+Dr. Luther Halsey Gulick were the moving spirits, and school
+sports became organized, supervised, regulated.</p>
+
+<p>The P.S.A.L.’s first big track meet was held in Madison
+Square Garden, and there I competed in my first important
+race and won the 220-yard dash. It was there, too, that I first
+heard the roar of the crowd. I have been listening to it ever
+since.</p>
+
+<p class="mt2">My parents came to America in 1868. They brought a large
+family into the world. Among nine who survived, five of us
+have passed our seventieth birthday. Grandfather died at the
+age of 102 and grandmother, 101, and dad was close to 80 when
+he passed away. So you see the Fleischer family comes from
+hardy stock.</p>
+
+<p>Brother Mark and I were the family athletes. I was thirteen
+when I entered Townsend Harris Hall, the preparatory school
+for City College. There, and at college, I continued my interest
+in sports and won many prizes.</p>
+
+<p>My experiences during adolescence paved the way for my
+future career. In 1899, for example, I saw my first professional
+fight, a contest in which Terry McGovern was pitted against
+Pedlar Palmer, British champion. I’ve lived that fight over
+and over again. For me, that was the thrill of thrills: to be
+twelve years old and present at one of the most talked-about
+bouts in American pugilism!</p>
+
+<p>My home was but a few doors away from the Brace Memorial
+School for newsboys, an organization opposite St.
+Bridget’s Church on the corner of Avenue A and Eighth
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">[9]</span>Street. I did chores after school hours for Superintendent
+Walter Grosvenor and Grove Dale, athletic director. The walls
+of Dale’s room were decorated with photographs of famous
+athletes, and McGovern was among his favorites.</p>
+
+<p>I had completed dusting when Dale, pointing to McGovern,
+remarked: “There’s a great little fighter. I’m going to see
+him box for the championship tomorrow. Mr. Grosvenor was
+to accompany me, but he can’t make it. If you can get permission
+from your ma, I’ll take you along.”</p>
+
+<p>I was delighted at the invitation, but needless to say, I didn’t
+ask my mother, knowing her answer would be “no.” Instead
+I rushed out of the building, waited a while, then returned to
+tell Dale that permission had been granted.</p>
+
+<p>The impression that fight left with me patterned my future.
+Henceforth, I became a collector of the fight pictures distributed
+by various cigarette companies, and to this day, I have
+more than 5,000 in my attic. They cover almost every fighter
+of note among the greats of the past.</p>
+
+<p>A fortnight later, I joined a boxing class organized by Dale,
+and in a short time I was the captain and star of his outfit, as
+well as president of the Oregon Athletic Club, which he sponsored.
+We not only boxed, but had an excellent baseball and
+basketball team. I was catcher and first baseman of the ball
+club and participated in the club’s other activities.</p>
+
+<p>As a boxer, I scaled only 122 pounds, but was fairly clever
+and could hit well. Leach Cross, later one of the toughest lightweights
+in the professional field, was my age. He was one of
+the neighborhood’s best scrappers, a lad who would put up his
+fists at the least provocation, and on many occasions we crossed
+each other’s path and settled matters without the aid of gloves.</p>
+
+<p>I remember a baseball game in which Leach and I were on
+opposite sides and he resented the manner in which I tagged
+him out at the plate, preventing his team from tieing the
+score. He rushed at me and in a jiffy we were rolling all over
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">[10]</span>the grass. Mr. Dale separated us and suggested that we settle
+our differences with the gloves. We agreed and what a shellacking
+I took! In later years when I became a reporter, I took
+keen delight in watching Leach do to others what he had
+done to me.</p>
+
+<p>As captain of the Oregon Athletic Club, I accepted a request
+of Mrs. Oliver Harriman and Mrs. Jay Gould, sponsors
+of the Boys’ Club, to have our team meet the Boys’ Club members
+as part of the inaugural program arranged for the opening
+night of their new gymnasium. The second bout on the
+program was between Joe Gordon and me. Gordon scaled ten
+pounds more than I did, and I refused to go on until I was told
+that the rounds would be cut to two minutes each, and we
+would box only two rounds.</p>
+
+<p>I walked into the ring with chest out, proud as a peacock as
+I received the plaudits of the gathering. However, the show
+ended within a few minutes. We sparred, and in seconds, the
+lights went out for me. I was knocked cold. I recall, as I regained
+consciousness, seeing Mrs. Harriman rubbing my forehead
+and Mrs. Gould patting my hand, yet I didn’t know what
+was wrong. I couldn’t understand what the fuss was about,
+until I learned from Leach Cross that my opponent, Gordon,
+was a ringer, a “pro” fighting under an assumed name. The
+incident almost caused a ban on boxing at the club.</p>
+
+<p class="mt2">Though I was only five feet two inches tall, I was a good
+sprinter and broad jumper at City College. In a meet with
+Rutgers, I cleared 19 feet 8 inches for a winning leap, and in
+a triangular meet with Pratt Institute and New York University,
+I did two inches better.</p>
+
+<p>In 1904 I had become a City College correspondent for the
+<i>Morning and Sunday World</i> and the New York <i>Press</i> and two
+years later I was accepted by the <i>Press</i> as a cub reporter on part
+time service, doing general reporting and copyreading under
+the supervision of both the sports and city editors.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">[11]</span></p>
+
+<p>When I graduated from college in 1908 with a Bachelor
+of Science degree, I was assigned to work under James R. Price
+in the sports department. He was one of the best teachers I
+could have wished for. He primed me for the sports editor’s
+post which I later held on several New York dailies for a quarter
+of a century. I also had the fine guidance of three experts:
+Ernie Lanigan in baseball, George B. Underwood in track
+and field and general sports, and Charles F. Mathison in boxing.
+A year later we were joined by another baseball expert,
+Frederick G. Lieb.</p>
+
+<p>Although I liked my work, I had a strong hankering for
+commercial chemistry and matriculated in a postgraduate
+course at New York University. My hours on <i>The Press</i> were
+long. I seldom reached home before one in the morning, yet
+for three months I spent my mornings at the University, bending
+over Bunsen burners, retorts and vials. One morning, exhausted,
+after a long tour at the paper, I mixed several chemicals
+that caused an explosion that blew me out of N.Y.U. I
+was asked to pack up and quit. So ended my budding career
+as a chemist.</p>
+
+<p>I still was undecided about continuing as a reporter, and
+since I had passed an examination to teach in the New York
+schools, I accepted an assignment as an instructor in a sixth
+grade class of girls in Public School No. 7 on the lower East
+Side of Manhattan. I worked there until school closed at three,
+then reported to <i>The Press</i>, where I seldom left before eleven
+in the evening. It was a gruelling grind I had mapped out for
+myself, and two months before summer vacation I handed in
+my resignation to Dr. Kottman, the school principal.</p>
+
+<p>I also held a license to teach during the summer in the playgrounds,
+and for two summers I was a supervisor of athletics
+in the Red Hook section of Brooklyn, a tough neighborhood
+where my boxing knowledge came in handy. During that time
+I organized the first Fourth of July schoolboy track and field
+meet under the supervision of the Public Schools Athletic
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">[12]</span>League. This later became an annual event for many years
+under the direction of the Park Playgrounds’ Board.</p>
+
+<p class="mt2">I have passed through three depressions and have a vivid
+recollection of each. Though I was only six years old when
+the nation’s businessmen went into mourning during the
+crash in President Grover Cleveland’s administration, I recall
+how my brothers and I sold newspapers to make both ends
+meet. However, despite hard times, six of us graduated from
+college.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[13]</span></p>
+
+<div class="figcontainer">
+<figure class="figright illowp30" id="chapter03" style="max-width: 6.25em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/chapter03.jpg" alt="3">
+</figure>
+</div>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_3"><span class="hide">3<br></span>
+MY WORK AS A REPORTER</h3>
+
+</div>
+
+<p>April 14, 1912.</p>
+
+<p>That’s a date I shall always remember.</p>
+
+<p>It was the day on which I received my baptism of fire as a
+big time reporter. It was the day of the sinking of the <i>Titanic</i>,
+then the world’s largest ship. The mishap to that gigantic
+craft which was hit by an iceberg and went down in mid-ocean
+with many world celebrities aboard was largely responsible for
+my promotion to the executive post of sports editor.</p>
+
+<p>Ever hear of the “dog-watch?” If you have any friends in
+the newspaper field, they’ll tell you that it is a term used to
+designate the desk men who remain on the job after the early
+edition goes to press. They must handle any startling news that
+might arise, news of sufficient importance to necessitate revamping
+the front page and setting new material for the late
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">[14]</span>editions, or in cases of extreme emergency, to get out a special
+extra. To the “dog-watch” I owe much.</p>
+
+<p>On that April night I took over the sports desk of the New
+York <i>Press</i>, filling in for Jim Price, the editor. I was there
+alone. My desk was full of proofs and I was busily engaged in
+reading them when Alexander Stoddard, who filled in as night
+editor, interrupted me.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Stoddard that evening was in charge of the news department
+and he, like me, was sitting in on the “dog-watch” when
+the biggest news item of the year broke through the Associated
+Press. The news was carried in envelopes to the city editor
+every twenty minutes by an Associated Press messenger. It
+was the last delivered envelope that stirred things around the
+“Press” building to a pitch of excitement that I’ve never since
+seen duplicated in my newspaper career.</p>
+
+<p>The message carried in that delivery read: “Flash—Titanic
+Strikes Iceberg in North Atlantic—Report All Safe!”</p>
+
+<p>That flash brought about action in our newspaper office
+that set an all time record. Alex Stoddard, James Scott, chief
+of the composing room, and I immediately got everything in
+motion for what was probably the quickest edition ever put
+out in New York.</p>
+
+<p>Our first edition was closed. The paper was about to go to
+press. The New York <i>World</i>, the New York <i>Herald</i>, and the
+New York <i>Tribune</i> all had a half hour earlier edition than
+<i>The Press</i> so when that flash came through, these papers were
+already on the street while <i>The Press</i> alone still had a chance
+to make the news in its first edition. We had the jump on
+everybody, and Alex Stoddard made the best of it with the
+speed and cooperation that only experienced newspaper hands
+can give. The morgue was next to the sports department.
+Stoddard ordered me to locate a copy of the passenger list of
+the maiden voyage of the gigantic and magnificent <i>Titanic</i>, a
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[15]</span>list that had been furnished by the Associated Press before
+sailing time. He called the composing room to acquaint Scott
+with the big news and Scott, at Stoddard’s command, had page
+one ripped apart as the paper was about to be put “to sleep.”</p>
+
+<p>The superintendent of the press room was told to clear the
+presses for a quick extra, and all hands were alerted.</p>
+
+<p>The Circulation Manager was apprised of the news and he
+in turn called in all available men in the delivery room, had
+his wagons lined up for the emergency, collected newsboys
+from Park Row, then the journalistic center of the city, and
+the stage was set, so far as the mechanical departments were
+concerned, for the biggest scoop of the era.</p>
+
+<p>While this was going on, another Associated Press envelope
+was delivered which read:</p>
+
+<p>“Cape Race, Newfoundland—Sunday night April 14—at
+10:25 tonight the White Star <i>Titanic</i> called ‘C.Q.D.’ to the
+Marconi Wireless Station here and reported having struck an
+iceberg. Immediate assistance was requested. So far no report
+on condition of passengers.”</p>
+
+<p>With that as a lead and the names of the passengers, I helped
+to get out a front page story of one of the greatest disasters of
+our time.</p>
+
+<p>I didn’t think human hands could work so rapidly! Within
+half an hour our papers were in circulation along lower
+Broadway and around the Brooklyn Bridge. Newsboys ran
+pell-mell along the thoroughfares shouting their wares. The
+Press delivery wagons were speeding up Broadway to Herald
+Square and Times Square, the two busiest sections of the city
+for early morning life, and there our extra was out a good
+twenty minutes before any other paper could publish the news
+of the disaster in a make-over edition.</p>
+
+<p>For days after that feat, the New York <i>Press</i> was the talk of
+the newspaper world. Of course, we were fortunate in going
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[16]</span>to press a little later than the other papers, but the big thing
+in our scoop was the fact that the “dog-watch” was on the alert.</p>
+
+<p>When the <i>Titanic</i> sailed on her maiden voyage, the largest
+ship afloat at the time, she carried a notable list of passengers.
+Among the 1,517 passengers who went down were Nathan
+Strauss and his wife; Captain Archibald Butt, aide to President
+Theodore Roosevelt; John Jacob Astor; William Stead
+of the <i>Review of Reviews</i>, a London magazine editor who
+wrote the sensational book, <i>If Christ Came to Chicago</i>, and
+Charles Frohman, America’s greatest theatrical producer.</p>
+
+<p>When the <i>Carpathia</i>, which had rescued most of the 690
+survivors, arrived in New York, the commotion about the
+dock was much like that occasioned on the arrival of a hospital
+ship during the First World War. Thousands flocked to
+the <i>Carpathia</i> pier, but only newspapermen and officials were
+permitted inside the police lines, I among them.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Duff Gordon of London, was among those saved. As
+she was good copy, most of the reporters were assigned to interview
+her in her suite at the Murray Hill Hotel.</p>
+
+<p>The room was crowded with newspapermen when she recounted
+her story of thrilling rescues, episodes of heroism
+among passengers and crew; pathetic scenes in a sea strewn
+with dead, maimed, and shrieking men, women, and children.</p>
+
+<p>I have had many memorable moments in my newspaper
+career but the assignment from John Hennessey, the Managing
+Editor, to work with the veteran members of our staff on
+the sinking of the <i>Titanic</i> gave me my greatest reportorial
+thrill.</p>
+
+<p class="mt2">I had a guarantee of only $10 per week as my take home
+pay when I started my journalist career, but following the
+<i>Titanic</i> disaster, my minimum was raised to $45 per week plus
+whatever I could make at space rates above that sum. In those
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">[17]</span>days many of us were paid in that manner. During my first
+two years as a cub reporter, I often sat around for ten hours
+with little to do other than a few rewrite stories and frequently
+finished a week with $15 or less in my pay envelope.</p>
+
+<p>The raise I received elated me. It was the biggest money I
+had earned as a reporter. It wasn’t long, however, before I
+became Sunday editor of the Automobile section and Scholastic
+sports editor in addition to writing feature articles and covering
+general sports events.</p>
+
+<p>When <i>The Press</i> was merged with the <i>Morning Sun</i> and
+Jim Price resigned as sports editor, Frank A. Munsey, the new
+owner, appointed Joe Millard to take charge, with me as his
+assistant. Millard had been covering racing and was a heavy
+drinker, and he didn’t last long. I took his place within a few
+months after the merger. I served under Mr. Munsey on every
+paper which he purchased in New York. I was his sports editor
+on the <i>Sun Press</i>, <i>The Morning Herald</i>, <i>The Morning Sun</i>,
+<i>The Mail-Telegram</i> and <i>The Evening Telegram</i>.</p>
+
+<p>As Sports Editor I gathered around me a staff of experts
+that made <i>The Telegram</i> outstanding for its sports coverage.
+In addition to Underwood, Mathison, and Lieb, I had Dan
+Daniel, Francis Albertanti, Peter Bernaugh, Hughey Mulhare,
+Harry King, Nan O’Reilly, Howard Valentine, Al Copeland,
+and James K. McGuinness—experts every one of them, each
+capable of reporting any branch of sports.</p>
+
+<p>For thirteen years I was Frank A. Munsey’s top man in the
+sports department. Every time he junked a newspaper by
+amalgamating it with another, he placed me in charge. The
+break came in 1929 when the Scripps-Howard interests bought
+the New York <i>Telegram</i>. I had been in Europe on a two-month
+feature assignment on the reconstruction era in Central
+Europe following the war and knew nothing of the loss of my
+position, until I was informed by ship news reporters at Sandy
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">[18]</span>Hook upon my arrival home. Roy Howard ousted me to make
+way for Joe Williams, a Cleveland sports writer from the
+Scripps-Howard organization.</p>
+
+<p>I pondered for several weeks over my future and finally
+decided that I would devote all my time to <i>The Ring Magazine</i>
+which I had organized in 1922. I also continued as American
+correspondent for several British and French newspapers,
+posts I still retain.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">[19]</span></p>
+
+<div class="figcontainer">
+<figure class="figright illowp30" id="chapter04" style="max-width: 6.25em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/chapter04.jpg" alt="4">
+</figure>
+</div>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_4"><span class="hide">4<br></span>
+AN INTERVIEW WITH ROOSEVELT</h3>
+
+</div>
+
+<p>“Like father, like son,” is an adage as old as the hills,
+but it is very often true. I was in San Juan, Puerto Rico, in
+1932 to referee a fight and paid a visit to the Governor, Theodore
+Roosevelt, son of the great “Teddy.” Years ago, when I
+was a reporter, I made the acquaintance of the grand old warrior
+of the Roosevelt family, and meeting his son in San Juan,
+I was deeply impressed by the resemblance of the offspring to
+the sire.</p>
+
+<p>Teddy Jr. was a chip off the old block. The smile, the handshake,
+and the energy put into his work as Governor were not
+the only reminders of his illustrious dad. His love for sports
+was another. Teddy Jr., like his father, was an expert at squash
+tennis and racquets and a boxing enthusiast.</p>
+
+<p>A few days after young Governor Roosevelt was inaugurated
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">[20]</span>at San Juan, I watched him box Frank O’Ben, the Island’s
+leading instructor, at the latter’s well-equipped gymnasium.</p>
+
+<p>His father, President Theodore Roosevelt was a remarkable
+man: politician, ranchman, soldier, hunter, and all-around
+athlete. The Roosevelt boys were brought up on an athletic
+diet and each was taught the art of self-defense at school. Boxing
+was always one of Teddy’s favorite hobbies.</p>
+
+<p>I recall the day in 1908 that the American Olympic team
+returned triumphantly from London, where little Johnny
+Hayes, our marathon runner, gained international fame in his
+race with Dorando Pietri, the Italian who collapsed at the
+finish. I met the homecoming team at Sandy Hook and accompanied
+the victorious brigade back to New York City.</p>
+
+<p>The hero, of course, was Hayes. When the ship reached
+quarantine, we received word that President Roosevelt had invited
+the entire Olympic contingent to spend the following
+day at his Oyster Bay Estate where he would officially welcome
+each of the members.</p>
+
+<p>Out to Oyster Bay the little army traveled, and when we
+reached President Roosevelt’s estate, we were met by the
+Roosevelt family, government officials, and a large delegation
+of home town folk. It was heart warming.</p>
+
+<p>I learned much about Theodore Roosevelt, the athlete that
+day. Beaming with delight, he shook the hand of every member
+of the returning team. Then he told us how he had become
+so interested in athletics. In his youth he was referred
+to as a chicken-livered kid because his delicate health did not
+permit him to play in vigorous games with other lads. He
+didn’t like being kept in the background, however, and had
+no scruples about letting his parents know it.</p>
+
+<p>“I made my health what it is today,” he said. “When I
+found that physically I was not the equal of other boys, I was
+determined to make myself fit.”</p>
+
+<p>Here he was, receiving America’s foremost athletes, the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">[21]</span>young men upon whom the youth of the land looked with
+envy and admiration, and he immediately realized the opportunity
+to bring home a point to hundreds of thousands of
+American children.</p>
+
+<p>“When a boy,” he continued, “I was sent to Moosehead
+Lake to rid myself of asthma. I was brought up by a maiden
+aunt who decided that the change of air would help my ailment
+and also help to build me up. While en route, I became
+acquainted with three lads who took a keen delight in teasing
+me. They called me ‘Sissy’ and other names I didn’t like, and
+my pride was hurt. I made up my mind that I would learn how
+to defend myself against such attacks, and that’s how I came
+to take up boxing.</p>
+
+<p>“On my return home, I told father what had happened. He
+laughed it off but consented to have Tom Long, a former
+fighter, teach me the manly art. When I was in the third year
+at school, I became the lightweight champion. Then I took up
+wrestling, another sport I liked, and by the time I matriculated
+in college, I was pretty good at both.”</p>
+
+<p>He told of the day he stopped by the Harvard gymnasium
+for some recreation and exercise, and one of the members of
+the Harvard boxing team invited him to spar. Roosevelt admitted
+he was quick to oblige. They donned the gloves,
+stepped to the center of the ring, and as Roosevelt put forth
+his right hand for the customary boxing handshake, he received
+a powerful blow to the jaw. The punch staggered him,
+and according to the President, he was flabbergasted at the unsportsmanlike
+display.</p>
+
+<p>“The students were quick to note the discourteous act,” he
+said, “and cries of ‘shame’ and ‘foul’ filled the air. Much to the
+discomfiture of my opponent, I held my hand out until he
+complied with the courtesy of the ring, and then I proceeded
+to hand him a business-like shellacking.</p>
+
+<p>“I taught that fellow something,” continued the President.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[22]</span>“I taught him that boxing was a sport for sportsmen in which
+the rules of fair play must be observed, and he and I were the
+greatest of pals throughout the remainder of our college days.”</p>
+
+<p class="mt2">Roosevelt, when Police Commissioner of New York, followed
+boxing with a keen interest. When the police attempted
+raids in the old club membership days, he urged them to be
+lenient. Often he had them stand at the ringside to guard the
+contestants until the fight was over before he would permit
+them to interfere and make the arrest.</p>
+
+<p>Back in 1916, when I was sports editor of the New York
+<i>Press</i>, I went out to Oyster Bay to get an interview with the
+retired United States President. At the time, the boxing game
+was being threatened by certain disgruntled politicians and
+blue law agitators, and things looked black for the sport. The
+flame against boxing had become so widespread that it seemed
+as if nothing could extinguish it, and I thought that a talk
+with Roosevelt would be timely.</p>
+
+<p>I remembered my interview with him years before, and I
+recalled how ardent a fight enthusiast he was. So I figured
+that a story from him on the good points about boxing would
+help our cause. Here is his statement as I published it:</p>
+
+<blockquote>
+
+<p>“When I became a member of the New York State Legislature,
+there was considerable commotion up at Albany by a
+faction that was opposed to boxing. I took up the issue with
+them. Like my father, who believed that a fair, stand-up
+fight would do a boy a lot of good, I arose to defend boxing.
+I surprised, even shocked, many mothers when I said that
+‘the boy that won’t fight is not worth his salt. He is either a
+coward or constitutionally weak. I have taught my boys to
+take their own part and fight their way whenever they must.
+Cowardice is not in their make-up. I do not know for which
+I should punish my boys quicker—for cruelty or flinching.
+Both are abominable.’</p>
+
+<p>“I have never been able to sympathize with the outcry
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">[23]</span>against boxing. The only objection I have to prize fighting,
+is when there is talk of fake or crookedness, and such talk
+is common. Where there is smoke, there is fire and I figure
+that such gossip is never entirely unfounded.</p>
+
+<p>“Outside of that, I regard boxing, professional and amateur,
+as a vigorous, healthful sport that develops courage,
+keenness of mind, quickness of eye, and a spirit of combativeness
+that fits every boy who engages in it for the daily
+tasks that confront him.</p>
+
+<p>“It is not half so brutalizing or demoralizing as many forms
+of big business, and certain legal work that is often carried
+on to help such business.</p>
+
+<p>“I have often thought that if we had more boys’ clubs
+where the manly art was taught, we would have fewer youthful
+criminals, the street corner type of hoodlum, and would
+breed a better class of young American citizens—the future
+voters. Boxing develops elements of character that are difficult
+to obtain in other sports—fairness, the spirit of give-and-take,
+courage, and alertness.</p>
+
+<p>“It is only the bully who always wants to give and to avoid
+the taking. If boxing were taught in every public and secondary
+school and in college, this nation would soon find
+itself rid of the bullies and would develop in our youth a
+spirit of manhood, a spirit that teaches fairness to our fellow
+men. We would be rid of street corner rowdies and cowards,
+and make our boys a better, sturdier, healthier lot.”</p>
+
+</blockquote>
+
+<p>In Washington, President Roosevelt frequently boxed with
+Professor Mike Donovan of the New York Gymnasium and
+Steve O’Donnell, another former fighter. When, after a long
+lapse, Harvard, of which Roosevelt was an alumnus, decided
+to restore boxing as an inter-collegiate sport, Roosevelt was
+instrumental in obtaining for his friend O’Donnell the post
+of boxing instructor. After the appointment, O’Donnell received
+a letter from Roosevelt which he permitted me to publish
+in the <i>Morning Sun</i>. Here is the letter which is now in
+my museum:</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">[24]</span></p>
+
+<blockquote>
+
+<p class="noindent">“Dear Steve:</p>
+
+<p>You know of my interest in boxing since I often put
+on the gloves with Mike Donovan, Jack Cooper, and you.
+I had to abandon the sport after an eye injury, sustained in a
+sparring match with a young Captain of Artillery who cross-countered
+me on the eye, and blinded me. Fortunately it was
+the left eye but had it been the right, I never would have
+been able to go shooting—my hobby.</p>
+
+<p>When I was in the legislature and was working very hard
+with little chance to get outdoors, all the exercises I had were
+in boxing and wrestling. I was extremely fond of both and
+still am.</p>
+
+<p>Naturally through my enjoyment of boxing I grew to
+know a good many fighters and to most of those, I grew
+genuinely attached. I have as a result never been able to
+sympathize with the outcry against the sport. I have always
+regarded it and still do, as a fine, healthy, manly form of entertainment
+and have never thought of it as brutalizing. Of
+course matches can be conducted under conditions that will
+make them brutalizing, but this is just as true of football and
+other highly strenuous contact sports.</p>
+
+<p>Bob Fitzsimmons was a good friend of mine. I admired
+him as a pugilist. For a long time I enjoyed his friendship
+and that of John L. Sullivan. There never was a better prize
+fighter than the “Boston Strong Boy.” When he was in his
+prime, no finer fighter ever stepped into a ring.</p>
+
+<p>When I went to Africa to hunt wild game, Sullivan presented
+me with a gold mounted rabbit’s foot. I carried it
+through my African hunting trip and it certainly brought me
+plenty of luck. I believe that boxing should form a major part
+of the athletic recreation of our Army and Navy and should
+be included in the physical education program of every
+college.</p>
+
+<p>I congratulate Harvard on its acceptance of boxing as an
+inter-collegiate sport and you on your appointment as Harvard’s
+boxing coach.”</p>
+
+<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Theodore Roosevelt</span></p>
+
+</blockquote>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[25]</span></p>
+
+<div class="figcontainer">
+<figure class="figright illowp30" id="chapter05" style="max-width: 6.25em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/chapter05.jpg" alt="5">
+</figure>
+</div>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_5"><span class="hide">5<br></span>
+I FIGHT TO BE A SOLDIER</h3>
+
+</div>
+
+<p>Back in 1914, when the Mexicans were raiding the
+Texas Border and it looked as if Uncle Sam would have to
+take a firm hand in subduing Pancho Villa and his gang of
+marauders, Major General Leonard Wood, commanding the
+Second Army Corps at Governors’ Island in New York Harbor,
+at the suggestion of several New York newspapermen,
+decided to drill members of the Fourth Estate in soldiering.
+The reporters who had organized a Newspapermen’s Military
+Corps, with the object of mastering the Manual of Arms, received
+permission from the State Armory Board to use the
+drill floor of the Seventy-First Regiment Armory, where twice
+a week they assembled for instruction.</p>
+
+<p>On Monday evenings, from five to six o’clock, they were
+taught how to drill by regular army officers, while on Thursdays
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[26]</span>they attended lectures on maneuvers and the use of arms.
+I was among the organizers, our aim being to get the jump on
+others in the event war was declared, so that we could be mustered
+into service as junior officers. For a time it was a novelty
+for the people in the vicinity of the armory to see the scribblers,
+tall and small, lean and fat, shouldering muskets and
+drilling through the busy business thoroughfare of midtown
+New York.</p>
+
+<p>Then came General Pershing’s campaign against Villa, and
+that, with the outbreak of war in Europe, intensified the uneasiness
+of our country. There followed an order for the New
+York regiments to leave for the Mexican border and many
+of the members of the Newspapermen’s Military Corps accompanied
+the boys, better fitted to serve in the campaign,
+than they ordinarily would have been.</p>
+
+<p>Those who didn’t go continued their drills in New York
+with Major General Leonard Wood in charge, and Major
+Brown and Captain Hall, both of Governors’ Island, as our instructors.
+And when the United States joined the Allies in
+1917, it was the Newspapermen’s Military Corps that became
+the nucleus of the famous Plattsburg Citizens’ Training
+Camp. Among the first graduates were the writers who for two
+years had been drilling under General Wood and his aides
+while working as reporters or desk men on New York papers.</p>
+
+<p>I was the smallest member of the original group, only 5
+feet, 3 inches at the time, and when I filed my application for
+Plattsburg, though I had had considerable military training
+and was a good drill master, I was turned down because of my
+height. I protested vigorously and even went so far as to place
+my complaint before General Wood and Captain Hall, but
+was informed that nothing could be done for me.</p>
+
+<p>Then came the draft. Time for enlistment was short. I was
+thirty-one years old. I was eager to serve because I was not a
+raw novice, and I realized that men of experience were now
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[27]</span>needed. I tried to enlist in the Regular Army but I was turned
+down here too. I then offered my services to the Marine Corps,
+but the same old remarks greeted me—“Sorry, you’re under-sized.”
+The Navy likewise turned me down. I decided that
+there must be something radically wrong when a government
+will turn thumbs down on men it could use in an emergency
+but whom the officials deemed too short.</p>
+
+<p>Even the draft boards were instructed not to accept anyone
+who was not at least 5 feet 4 inches tall, and it was then that I
+got busy. I went to see my Congressman and my United States
+Senator. I told each of my military training and my experiences
+with the officials in our military service.</p>
+
+<p>I suggested that the Army, Navy, and Marine Corps could
+make good use of almost anyone, regardless of size, and that
+those who were unfit physically to shoulder a gun could be
+utilized in general camp work, thus relieving other servicemen
+for the tougher task of fighting. My suggestion was seconded
+by my boss, Keats Speed, Editor of <i>The Sun</i>. I was called before
+a military board in Washington to state my case and
+within a week, I received a notice directing the military authorities
+to lessen the minimum height for enlistments to 5
+feet, 3 inches.</p>
+
+<p>Within two months, when further enlistments were halted
+and the draft went into effect full force, the order called for
+a minimum of 5 feet 2 inches, and still later, in order to give
+the service the fullest man power possible, every physically fit
+man, regardless of his size, was ordered accepted for service.</p>
+
+<p>Thus I felt I played an important part in bringing down
+barriers that were keeping from the Army men who were
+eager and willing to serve. I have in my collection the editorial
+in <i>The Sun</i> based on my argument in Washington.</p>
+
+<p class="mt2">I served through the war as an instructor at the School for
+Sergeants at Camp Greenleaf, Chattanooga, Tennessee, and
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[28]</span>when I was mustered out of service I reported back for duty
+as sports editor of the <i>Morning Sun</i>.</p>
+
+<p>At home “a big surprise” awaited me. Wherever I’ve traveled,
+I’ve browsed about in search of boxing books, photographs
+of famous fighters, old watches—particularly those that
+belonged to famous fighters or sportsmen—stamps, and cigarette
+pictures of baseball players and boxers. My boxing library
+contains more than 1500 books, many of them rare
+volumes on fistiana and wrestling, some dating back 300 years.
+When I left for camp in 1918, I filled my room with my collection.
+I also packed away many old trophies: gloves worn by
+John L. Sullivan, spiked shoes worn by Sullivan and Corbett
+in their battle at New Orleans, John L’s diamond studded
+cane, the colors of Jack McAuliffe, Jack Dempsey and George
+Dixon, among many other relics I treasured.</p>
+
+<p>When I returned home, honorably discharged by the Army,
+my sister, with whom I lived following the death of my
+mother, smilingly greeted me.</p>
+
+<p>“I’m happy you’re home again,” she said. “I have a big surprise
+for you. Look in your room.”</p>
+
+<p>I did, and what a shock I received! It was almost empty. She
+had gotten rid of all my publications and many of the relics,
+including a valuable set of Pierce Egan’s <i>Boxiana</i> in the original
+boards.</p>
+
+<p>“I knew you’d like a clean room. I called in a junkman and
+let him have what Mother so often called ‘your junk!’”</p>
+
+<p>That “junk” meant a fortune to me, but there was nothing
+I could do but try to redeem some of the property. Fortunately
+the books had been sold to a second hand dealer and I salvaged
+them, but at an exceedingly high price.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[29]</span></p>
+
+<div class="figcontainer">
+<figure class="figright illowp30" id="chapter06" style="max-width: 6.25em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/chapter06.jpg" alt="6">
+</figure>
+</div>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_6"><span class="hide">6<br></span>
+OLD NEW YORK</h3>
+
+</div>
+
+<p>Unlike us poor mortals, cities die and are reborn.
+Who of you whose locks are graying around the temples, visiting
+the place of your birth, would recognize it as the city of
+your boyhood days? Only here and there have the world’s largest
+cities retained their ancient sameness.</p>
+
+<p>I knew New York when it was far different from the town it
+is today, and in it I passed the happiest days of my life. We
+old-timers realize this more poignantly as we grow older and
+look back.</p>
+
+<p>Thinking of the high cost of living today, I recall Dolan’s
+restaurant, the most noted among the many coffee and cake
+places spread in that busy downtown section of New York.
+Dolan’s was in the old Potter Building on Park Row, the
+gathering place for the humble and the big shots in the field
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[30]</span>of journalism. Ham and beans was the most delicious dish.
+The most called-for item on the menu, it could be obtained
+for only ten cents with an additional five cents for a cup of
+java. One could have his choice of ham or corned beef, and
+with it went bread and butter on the side.</p>
+
+<p>And the sinker! For ten cents one could have his coffee and
+biscuits soaked in warm butter. We called this the sinker dish,
+much like the coffee and doughnuts we get today. Within
+minutes after a paper was put to press—usually about eleven
+o’clock at night—a rush was made for Dolan’s. Office boys, compositors,
+printers’ devils, editors, and reporters—they all made
+a bee-line for the beanery. The place was known as a newspaperman’s
+institution. Scarcely an editor in Park Row’s newspaper
+environ wasn’t a habitué of this famous eating place.</p>
+
+<p>And then there was Perry’s “drug store” where one could
+get drinks at all times of the day or night. That was situated in
+the old World Building and was an exceedingly popular
+drinking emporium. The literary geniuses of Park Row were
+its patrons.</p>
+
+<p>This old New York has long passed. Its heart is still beating,
+the same streets remain, many of its old buildings are still
+standing, scores of persons whose acquaintance I made when
+I was a cub reporter, continue to enjoy its pleasures—but it is
+not the same city in which I grew up.</p>
+
+<p>The Old Madison Square Garden, the very heart of New
+York, is gone, and figuratively speaking, that was New York
+to us. You could ask a New Yorker how to get to the Museum
+of Natural History, the Aquarium, City Hall, the Metropolitan
+Opera House, and other noted buildings, and he would
+hesitate, but he could direct you to Madison Square Garden
+on 26th Street and Madison Avenue without difficulty. After
+telling you the easiest way to reach it, he’d probably wind up
+by asking you, “What’s going on there tonight?”</p>
+
+<p>The Old Garden is gone, but in its place is a new one, the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[31]</span>building I call home during business hours, and like the one
+which Stanford White designed, it is the rendezvous of both
+fans and athletes from all over the world.</p>
+
+<p>Whatever was of New York, or for New York, was staged in
+the old Garden just as now it is staged in the “House that Tex
+Built” on Eighth Avenue between 49th and 50th Streets. I
+could write the story of our times with the Garden as my only
+backdrop, for so much of New York’s business, political, social,
+and sporting history was made between its walls. There the
+world’s greatest statesmen have addressed huge audiences and
+the rafters reverberated with the soaring, ringing phrases of
+orator and demagogue. The world’s greatest song birds were
+heard in the arena.</p>
+
+<p>During the First World War, it was the stamping ground of
+thousands of patriotic Americans who flocked there to listen
+to war talks and to aid in charity for the war wounded. Many
+noted French, Belgian, and British war heroes gathered under
+its roof from the hectic period of 1917 to the signing of the
+armistice.</p>
+
+<p>The Garden was one of the triumphs of its architect, Stanford
+White. Originally built to house the horse show, it soon
+became a show place for every conceivable kind of event, but
+particularly sports. The Arion Ball and the French Ball were
+fixtures there—annual festive affairs of a Bohemia that is no
+longer seen in New York.</p>
+
+<p>But the shows were the big thing in the old Garden: horse,
+cat, chicken, automobile, motor boat, airship and sporting
+goods shows; wild west rodeos; boxing and wrestling matches;
+walking, running and cycling races (especially the six-day
+bike races); and biggest of all annually—the circus. Every winter
+saw expositions that drew thousands to the Garden. Its
+history was truly the history of New York over half a century.</p>
+
+<p>Madison Square Garden and its neighborhood will always
+have a special place in American literature, for in its environs,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">[32]</span>in a park across the street, O. Henry sat and listened as the
+“Voice of the City” gave up its tales to him.</p>
+
+<p>With the old Garden gone, the memories that live the longest
+and most vividly are those of its great sporting events—affairs
+I frequently reported.</p>
+
+<p>It was there that William A. Brady, who managed Jim Corbett
+and Jim Jeffries, and later became one of the world’s leading
+theatrical producers, staged many thrilling events. Smiling
+Bill Kennedy, the rotund Pat Powers, debonair and handsome
+Harry Pollock, dapper and energetic Jimmy Johnston, astute
+Billy Gibson, and colorful Tex Rickard and his partner, John
+Ringling—each had a hand in making the Garden the show
+place of New York.</p>
+
+<p>The great John L. Sullivan leads the array of fistic talent
+that paraded before the public in the old Madison Square Garden
+arena. Other celebrated ringmen of the past who made
+history within its walls included James J. Corbett, Charley
+Mitchell, Mike Donovan, Tom Sharkey, Peter Maher, Kid
+McCoy, Bob Fitzsimmons, Joe Gans, George Dixon, Sam
+Langford, Billy Plimmer, Kid McPartland, Battling Nelson,
+Joe Jeannette, Willie Lewis, Freddie Welsh, Willie Ritchie,
+Leach Cross, Jack Dempsey, Benny Leonard, Johnny Dundee,
+Midget Smith, Bill Brennan, Frank Moran, Bombardier Billy
+Wells, Al Palzer, Jim Coffey, Joe Lynch, Pete Herman,
+Johnny Buff, Gene Tunney, Battling Siki, Paul Berlenbach,
+Richie Mitchell, Young Jack Sharkey, Harry Greb and Tiger
+Flowers. Since the old bare-knuckle days, there was scarcely a
+ring idol who didn’t at some time in his career take part in a
+Garden fight. The same was true of the wrestlers. The only
+ones I failed to see were those who fought before my time.</p>
+
+<p>And amid a whirr of whirling wheels, there were little
+Bobby Michaels, the Welsh Rarebit; Major Taylor, Harry
+Elks, Cannonball Eddie Bald, Plugger Bill Martin, Al Shock,
+Tom Butler, Fred Titus, Teddy Hale and a host of others of
+the go-it-alone years, when the cyclists rode six days and nights,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">[33]</span>made their marks in the bike-riding world. I spent many hours
+watching them circle the Garden track. Later these stars gave
+way to Walter Rutt, Bobby Walthour, Joe Fogler, Jackie
+Clarke, Menus and Johnny Bedell, Floyd McFarland, Eddie
+Root, Al Goulett, Al Grenda, and Brocco—among others.</p>
+
+<p>As the Garden was the temple of cycling when New York
+was wrapped in the throes of the cycle craze, so it was earlier
+when the six day go-as-you-please pedestrian races were all the
+rage. Those who starred in that field were Dan O’Leary, Jim
+Alberts, Gus Guerrero, Pete Hegelman, Littlewood, Roswell,
+and Weston. Such races would be wasted on half empty
+arenas today, but they played to full houses when I reported
+them.</p>
+
+<p>In the field of marathoners, as an old-timer, I recall the
+running of Tom Longboat, Alf Shrubb, Johnny Hayes, Paul
+Akoose, Fred Meadows, St. Yves, Gusta Ljungstrom, Sammy
+Mellor, and Dorando Pietri.</p>
+
+<p>Remember Dorando, the man who lost the marathon to
+Hayes in London in the summer of 1908, when he collapsed
+at the finish line? Well Dorando made a pot of gold by that
+fall. He came to America and later, after piling up a little
+fortune, established himself as a baker and confectioner in
+Italy. I recall the wild scenes in the Italian quarters of New
+York when Tex Rickard paraded him as a publicity stunt.</p>
+
+<p>The Garden was the scene of many other foot races besides
+marathons, and I was on the scene for most of them.</p>
+
+<p>Will we of the old school ever forget the memorable match
+race between Lon Myers and the great Englishman, W. G.
+George? Who of us who reported the race, will ever forget the
+great ‘600’ between John B. Taylor, the famous Negro athlete
+of the University of Pennsylvania (and forerunner of the
+corps of Negro athletes who now dominate middle distance
+running in this country), and Harry Hillman, later coach of
+Dartmouth College.</p>
+
+<p>The stirring finishes of Mel Sheppard, Abel Kiviat, George
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">[34]</span>Bonhag, Harvey Cohn, John Paul Jones, Ted Meredith, Arthur
+Duffy, John Drew, John Daly, Paul Pilgrim, Howard
+Valentine and John Joyce still set an oldtimer’s heart to pulsing
+faster.</p>
+
+<p>And the discus throwing of Martin Sheridan and Bob
+Edgren; the hammer throwing of Pat McDonald, Bill Coe,
+Ralph Rose, Bob Edgren, and Matt McGrath—And so many,
+yes, hundreds of other limber-legged, winged-footed, mighty
+sons of track and field who made the old Garden famous!</p>
+
+<p>For forty-four years the old Garden catered to all classes
+and all types, millionaire and stevedore, banker and clerk.
+But time in its march has covered many leagues. New York
+outgrew the old Garden and then a bigger, more modern,
+up-to-date structure took its place as a monument to Tex
+Rickard, who, in the last days of the old building, made the
+lovely statue of Lady Diana atop the Stanford White Tower
+proud of her surroundings.</p>
+
+<p>Before Tex Rickard took the helm, the old Garden was a
+haven for the crooks. Pickpockets flourished there, and the
+safety of the patrons at a bicycle race or a fight was entirely a
+matter of luck. Rickard changed all that by ousting the objectionable
+characters and making the Garden what it is today—an
+arena where men, women, and children may go without
+fear of being molested.</p>
+
+<p>I recall a six-day bicycle race in 1909. It was bitter cold
+and the rowdies, gangsters, and hoodlums of New York flocked
+to the arena to keep warm. They could then obtain a gallery
+seat for fifty cents and remain from the time the show opened
+until it closed—if they could last that long.</p>
+
+<p>Complaints were pouring into Police Headquarters as pickpockets
+plied their trade with impunity. Several overcoats
+were stolen, and certain patrons of the arena were waylaid
+and robbed in the basement. I was assigned to Police Headquarters
+for the evening and learned that Martin Sheridan,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[35]</span>the best all-round athlete the police force ever had, would
+conduct a raiding party on the nimble-fingered gentry at the
+Garden starting at eleven o’clock. Sheridan was at the head of
+a Broadway pickpocket squad at the time, and he was to take
+with him six of the best detectives on the force.</p>
+
+<p>At seven that evening, Sheridan asked me out to dinner.
+We dined with two of his squad and my colleague, George B.
+Underwood, of the New York <i>Press</i>, and at ten o’clock we
+started for the Garden. Into Harry Stevens’ bar we went, that
+being the rendezvous for the police who were to do the raiding,
+and while waiting for the late comers, Sheridan invited
+us all to a drink.</p>
+
+<p>It was pay day at Police Headquarters and pay day on our
+paper, and when all hands were served, I asked for the bill.
+Martin would have none of that. He not only insisted on
+footing it but ordered another round of beer and then came
+the pay-off.</p>
+
+<p>It was time to get going. The raid would soon be in order,
+and Officer Sheridan was anxious to get his men stationed.
+He asked for the account, placed his hand in his pocket to pay
+it, and then he let loose!</p>
+
+<p>“Holly Gee, they picked my pocket! They took my pay envelope!”</p>
+
+<p>Officer Sheridan was the only one who didn’t enjoy the joke.
+He pleaded with me not to make mention of the theft in my
+story, and then he got busy. He made up for his lost bank roll
+by making every gangster in that arena pay a share of the loss.
+A battered, bleeding, frightful looking lot of pickpockets,
+hold-up guys, and confidence men were taken down in the
+basement, and to the tune of a rubber hose or black jack,
+they were given unmerciful beatings. There were no more
+coats stolen or pockets picked at the bike races that week.</p>
+
+<p>It was on the occasion of the last go-as-you-please fun in the
+Garden, a year later, that less than a hundred persons braved
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">[36]</span>the howling wind to see the opening race. The big arena
+looked like a deserted barn. Almost all those present came on
+Annie Oakleys, as we called free passes in those days. The
+half frozen newspapermen covering the race were seated at
+a long table near the entrance and were busy grinding out
+their copy and trying to dispel the gloom that hung over the
+place. Suddenly Tim Hurst, who managed the Garden, was
+observed beckoning wildly from the other end of the hall.</p>
+
+<p>“Come here,” roared Tim, “Quick! Quick! Come here!”</p>
+
+<p>Thinking a murder had been committed, we scrambled
+from our chairs and rushed down to where Tim was standing.</p>
+
+<p>“Look! Look!” he excitedly said, pointing to the box office.
+“See that sucker and his gal buying a ticket!”</p>
+
+<p>We all laughed, but that sucker gave us a good story a few
+minutes later. Sitting in a box above the track, he placed his
+heavy, fur-lined coat on a chair behind him, while his girl
+placed her squirrel coat over the rail. The pair looked like
+aristocratic kids out on a slumming tour. Within ten minutes
+after entering their box, the man’s coat was stolen right under
+his nose. He demanded action from Tim Hurst, a fighter of
+the old school—but Tim paid no attention.</p>
+
+<p>“Who told you to come here?” shouted Tim in his well-known
+way. “Why didn’t you stay where you belong? You got
+just what was coming to you for going out slumming.”</p>
+
+<p>The “sucker” hauled off and caught Tim with a beautiful
+right on the whiskers and down went the Garden promoter
+right into the lap of Big Jim Mitchell, the hammer thrower,
+who was then writing for the <i>Morning Sun</i>. The offended
+patron happened to be Arthur Pelkey, the man who two years
+later caused the accidental death of Luther McCarty in a
+“white hope” match in Calgary, Canada. He had never met
+Tim Hurst and Tim had never laid eyes on Arthur, but after
+the blow was struck, some of the scribes recognized the fighter
+and a handshake ended further arguments. Pelkey recovered
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[37]</span>his coat a few hours later when the culprit who stole it was
+found sleeping on it in the basement.</p>
+
+<p>Johnny Broderick, successor to Sheridan as head detective
+in the old Garden, told me many times that before Tex Rickard’s
+regime, probably half of the rogues gallery could be located
+between dusk and dawn at a six-day race. Overcoat stealing
+was so common as to pass without comment. During those
+races, members of the homicide squad were assigned to patrol
+the Garden in pairs, and many fugitives from justice were
+picked up.</p>
+
+<p class="mt2">Of course, as I fondly recollect the early Garden days, not
+all my interesting sports experiences as a reporter in the big
+city took place there. For example, I was very much involved
+in the development of distance swimming in the New York
+area.</p>
+
+<p>Sitting around in the office of the New York <i>Press</i> one night,
+after the first edition had gone to press, the conversation
+turned to the diving exploits of the shapely Australian, Annette
+Kellerman, who at the time was hitting the headlines
+with her wonderful performances.</p>
+
+<p>From diving we passed on to swimming, and then to distance
+swimming. We spoke of the great Capt. Matthew Webb,
+the Englishman who was the first to swim the Channel. Webb
+had tried to swim from the Battery in New York to Sandy
+Hook, a distance comparable to the Channel crossing, and
+had failed. I decided that night that I was going to find an
+American who could make that Sandy Hook swim.</p>
+
+<p>The first candidate for the job was Louis Durborrow, a
+Philadelphia bank clerk who had earned himself a formidable
+distance swimming reputation in the Delaware River. Louis
+quickly accepted the suggestion that he attempt the New York
+Harbor crossing.</p>
+
+<p>I organized the effort, and at dawn on a warm, sunny, Sunday
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">[38]</span>morning, Louis jumped off the dock at the Battery and
+headed for the Hook with Dan Daniel and myself following
+in a hired fishing boat.</p>
+
+<p>The treacherous currents proved to be too much for Durborrow,
+however, and he was forced to quit. Some weeks later,
+he failed again. Then he tried to swim from the Hook to the
+Battery, but this, too, ended in failure for the bank clerk.
+On each occasion, Daniel and I were the only reporters who
+accompanied the swimmer.</p>
+
+<p>After Durborrow, I shifted to other swimmers. In addition
+to promoting Sandy Hook attempts, I organized swims from
+East 23rd Street to Coney Island, as well as Hudson River
+marathon feats. It was fun to get up at dawn and go out in a
+small boat for the day. But it was no fun to return to the
+newspaper office after dark, with the desk heaving with the
+waves and the typewriter doing all sorts of tricks.</p>
+
+<p>Here’s the odd feature of the Hook effort. The New York
+<i>Tribune</i> picked up my idea and promoted an open swim. I
+believe twenty-six started and as many as three made the distance.
+Fighting against the tide, without any rivals, Durborrow
+and others had failed. But with many swimmers involved
+in a race against each other, the feat was accomplished.</p>
+
+<p>Many of my biggest assignments were covered with Dan
+Daniel, whose friendship I have always cherished. He was
+working for the <i>Herald</i> at that time, but in later years, when
+I was sports editor of the New York <i>Telegram</i>, I persuaded
+him to quit and join my staff. He is now baseball editor of
+that paper.</p>
+
+<p class="mt2">Late in September, 1913, I called him on the ’phone.</p>
+
+<p class="mt2">“Dan, Rose Pitinoff of Boston and a woman companion are
+going to make an attempt tomorrow morning to swim from
+the Bellevue Hospital pier at 26th Street and East River
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">[39]</span>through the Narrows to Coney Island. I’m going to accompany
+them in a motorboat. See if you can get the assignment from
+your paper and come along,” I said.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Pitinoff had already made two fruitless attempts to
+swim from the Battery to Coney Island, but now she hoped
+to make it over another route. Dan and I had accompanied
+her on her previous swims and I soon received a message from
+him that we would be together again on this one.</p>
+
+<p>The next morning at dawn all hands appeared, but to our
+surprise, there was no place where Rose and her friend could
+undress and prepare themselves for the trip. We tried to gain
+access to the Nurses Home of the hospital, but without success.
+Then we went to that section used as a morgue, and
+there, without asking permission, the girls quickly put on
+bathing suits. However, on all such long distance swims—this
+one was 26 miles—the body had to be well protected with a
+heavy coat of vaseline to keep out the cold.</p>
+
+<p>It was a cold night and Dan and I were none too comfortable
+as we stored hot coffee and sandwiches on the motorboat
+and waited for the girls to start on their journey. Soon word
+came to us that the swimmers required help. They had tried
+to enlist two nurses to rub the petroleum over their bodies
+but were turned down. Since we had to leave with the tide
+going out, I decided on the next step. I went into the building,
+removed my coat, rolled my shirt sleeves and began plastering
+Miss Pitinoff’s body with the jelly while Dan did the same for
+her friend.</p>
+
+<p>To this day I don’t know how the police got word of this,
+but before our job had been completed, two cops appeared
+out of nowhere and threatened to arrest all for “indecent
+exposure” and “unlawful trespassing.”</p>
+
+<p>We had a tough time explaining our mission and proving
+to the police that the girls were out to engage in an athletic
+feat, and that Dan and I were assigned to report the stunt.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">[40]</span>However, we finally managed to convince them, and a few
+minutes after five in the morning, the swim got underway.
+Although the attempt was unsuccessful, Miss Pitinoff came
+within a half mile of reaching her goal, a considerable improvement
+over her previous showings on the shorter Battery
+route.</p>
+
+<p class="mt2">In my young days as a reporter, I often walked home after
+hours from the New York <i>Press</i> building on Spruce and Nassau
+Streets to Harlem, a distance of five miles. My pal, Daniel,
+always accompanied me on these jaunts, weather permitting.
+We’d meet almost nightly after the first edition went to press
+and walk from the <i>Press</i> down to the Battery and then up
+Broadway to 110th Street.</p>
+
+<p>It was during these after-hours walks that we frequently
+encountered situations that made the front pages of our papers.
+Fires, burglaries, raids on gambling joints, and even
+murders, figured in our stories. I vividly recall several that
+almost cost my life.</p>
+
+<p>It was on one of those late evening excursions that we heard
+the shrill blasts of police whistles—not an unusual occurrence—as
+we reached Lenox Avenue and 114th Street. We had been
+walking for about two hours, and it was close to three of a
+warm August night in 1911.</p>
+
+<p>“Let’s go, Dan,” I shouted, scenting a good story, and down
+the street I ran towards the sound of action. A little more
+cautious than I, Dan hesitated while I entered a building
+into which the cops had raced. It was pitch dark except for
+a flashlight carried by Officer Jerry O’Connor, a friendly
+patrolman who covered the beat. He and Officer Egon Erickson,
+high jump champion of the Mott Haven Athletic Club,
+were chasing an armed hold-up thug. The police went after
+their man with drawn guns and with me at their heels.</p>
+
+<p>I ran up the stairs as fast as I could. As I reached the upper
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[41]</span>story of the building, I heard the door of the roof slam, indicating
+that the police were trying to locate their man there.
+I was about to follow when I was nearly hurled over the
+balustrade by the thief himself, who had avoided the cops by
+hiding behind the door.</p>
+
+<p>“There he is,” I yelled, grasping the rail to regain my
+equilibrium as the gunman started down the stairs. Seconds
+later, I found myself in the grasp of Officer O’Connor, who
+had his gun pointed toward me.</p>
+
+<p>“Not me, O’Connor,” I shouted. “I’m Nat, the reporter.
+He’s running to the street,” I added, pointing downward.</p>
+
+<p>The officer flashed his light on me and down we went with
+Erickson following.</p>
+
+<p>The culprit, accused of armed robbery, was caught and
+handcuffed. Then both cops admonished me in no uncertain
+terms for the chances I had taken in following them into the
+unlit building.</p>
+
+<p>“You could have been killed,” said Erickson. “Don’t ever
+do that again. Let us tackle these gangsters.”</p>
+
+<p>There was Dan, standing on the corner of Lenox Avenue
+and 114th Street, laughing and waiting for me to have some
+coffee with him.</p>
+
+<p>“One of these days, you’re going to get it,” he said. “When
+are you going to quit chasing burglars and following cops up
+dark alleys?”</p>
+
+<p class="mt2">About a fortnight later, we were on another of our long
+walks, but this time we changed our course and headed up
+Broadway into Sixth Avenue and Twenty-seventh Street,
+close by the Hotel Normandie. Many Greeks lived in that
+vicinity, and on the corner was a social club, more correctly
+referred to by the police as a gambling joint.</p>
+
+<p>A shrill cry from a woman put us on the alert. She ran
+from the building followed by a man brandishing a knife.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">[42]</span>He tripped as he ran across the street but quickly recovered
+and raced back into the saloon from which he had emerged.</p>
+
+<p>I followed him and saw a murder committed. Unable to
+catch the woman, he put the knife into the heart of the man
+with whom she had been drinking.</p>
+
+<p>I quickly stepped out of the confusion that followed, but
+was sufficiently close to hear him say, “She’ll never have him.
+He’s through.”</p>
+
+<p>The murderer was arrested almost immediately, and the
+police insisted on my accompanying them to the precinct
+house on Twenty-eighth Street as a witness. When the trial
+was held, I was subpoenaed by the District Attorney and for
+four days I reported. But the District Attorney decided not
+to call me to the stand.</p>
+
+<p>Things were going bad for Walter Zyhariat, the murderer,
+when I decided to talk up. I approached the District Attorney
+and demanded to be placed on the stand.</p>
+
+<p>“We don’t need your testimony,” he said. “It will hurt
+instead of help our case.”</p>
+
+<p>Someone reported that conversation to the lawyer for the
+defense, who, when the trial was resumed for his summation,
+requested that the court permit him to reopen the case on
+the grounds that he had some new evidence.</p>
+
+<p>“Permission granted,” said Judge Foster. “Swear in the
+witness.”</p>
+
+<p>I was called to the stand. I was first asked if I had been
+subpoenaed by the prosecution.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes,” I said.</p>
+
+<p>“Do you know of any reason why you were not called to
+the stand?” was the next question.</p>
+
+<p>I repeated what the District Attorney had said to me, and
+the lawyer for the defense then took up the questioning. I
+told what I had seen after which the lawyer asked:</p>
+
+<p>“When he ran out of the saloon and went after his wife,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[43]</span>was there anything you observed that would help the court
+determine his condition?”</p>
+
+<p>“He was dishevelled,” I replied. “His eyes were popping
+out of his head. To me he looked like one who had suddenly
+gone mad, and so I reported in my story.”</p>
+
+<p>“I object,” shouted the District Attorney. “He is unqualified
+to determine the condition of this person. I request that
+his remarks be stricken from the record.”</p>
+
+<p>I looked at Judge Foster. He seemed impressed with what
+I had said.</p>
+
+<p>“As a newspaper reporter, the witness is a man of keen
+observation. His testimony should be heard,” he said.</p>
+
+<p>When the case was given to the jury, Judge Foster harped
+for some length on my testimony and a verdict of manslaughter,
+carrying a twenty years’ sentence, instead of “murder
+in the first degree,” saved the defendant from the electric
+chair.</p>
+
+<p class="mt2">In those days I could both sprint and run distances without
+tiring too easily, and this athletic ability came in handy on
+nights when I had to report track meets and get my copy in
+early. In the days of which I write, telegraph service wasn’t
+used with any frequency. As I worked on a morning newspaper,
+my story had to be in the office before eleven o’clock.
+Press time was midnight.</p>
+
+<p>One night, both Dan and I were covering the Military
+Athletic League track and field championships at the Seventh
+Regiment Armory. After George Bonhag, of the New York
+A.C., had romped home a winner in the two-mile, Daniel
+and I decided it was time to head for our respective papers.</p>
+
+<p>The Third Avenue Elevated station was only two blocks
+to the east of the Armory and five to the south, and as there
+wasn’t a taxi in sight, we decided to run to the station in an
+effort to make our deadlines. I led the way, and undoubtedly
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[44]</span>must have been feeling fine for we ran and ran at a lively
+clip until Dan suddenly halted and breathlessly shouted
+after me:</p>
+
+<p>“What’s wrong, Nat? Where’s the durned El?”</p>
+
+<p>We got our bearings and discovered that instead of traveling
+east and then south, we were racing down Park Avenue
+and had reached Seventy-ninth Street, far off our course,
+and more than a mile from the armory. We set off again, this
+time in the right direction, and just made the second editions
+of the <i>Press</i> and <i>Herald</i>, respectively. But on our way
+to the newspaper offices, we wondered why we hadn’t competed
+in the two-mile run that evening. We might have
+beaten Bonhag.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[45]</span></p>
+
+<div class="figcontainer">
+<figure class="figright illowp30" id="chapter07" style="max-width: 6.25em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/chapter07.jpg" alt="7">
+</figure>
+</div>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_7"><span class="hide">7<br></span>
+THE UNDERWORLD IN BOXING</h3>
+
+</div>
+
+<p>Prohibition failed to keep the average citizen from
+having a drink when he wanted one, and no attempt by the
+authorities proved successful in keeping the average New
+York fan away from boxing entertainment. But the demise
+of the Horton Law in 1900 deprived the game of its legal
+standing so far as shows catering to the general public were
+concerned.</p>
+
+<p>Even as the speakeasy provided a welcome substitute for
+the vanished saloon through the hectic period that preceded
+Repeal, so a haven of refuge was furnished the patrons of
+padded fist slugfests by the adoption of what was known as
+the club membership plan.</p>
+
+<p>The fight game was a racket then and truly could be referred
+to as the sport of rogues. Although there were some
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[46]</span>honest promoters in New York when I covered the sports
+beat in those days, boxing as a whole was ruled by ruffians,
+gangsters, and politicians. The many fixed fights that soured
+the public on the sport were engineered by politicians with
+headquarters in Tammany Hall, which then, as in the days
+of John Morrissey and Bill Poole, had tremendous influence
+over the game. They told the police what to do and how to
+do it. They made the odds, brought about the fixes, and collected
+their bets.</p>
+
+<p>Hoodlums used to keep pugilists in line. We still have
+plenty of that today but the damage is done differently.
+Whereas in the “good old days” it was an up-and-above
+board game with the unsavory element, today it is all done
+through undercover agencies.</p>
+
+<p>Politicians and police turned their eyes to avoid “seeing”
+what was going on years ago, but in this era, city, state, and
+Federal investigations keep hounding the criminal element
+in an effort to keep boxing clean.</p>
+
+<p>When the Eighteenth Amendment was repealed, that
+didn’t end the tie between the mobsters and the fight racket.
+To this day racketeers continue to infest the sport. Frankie
+Carbo furnishes an example of the continuing influence of
+underworld figures in boxing.</p>
+
+<p>They not only muscled in on boxers in the old days, but
+on the prosperous clubs as well. It was a case of take it or
+leave it with them. There was no middle channel. They
+often stole fighters outright, and it was worth one’s life to
+defy them. Practically every big city’s fight clubs had bootlegger’s
+dough financing the operation. The Dutch Schultz
+and Owney Madden gangs held sway in New York, the Boo
+Boo Hoff mobsters in Pennsylvania and the Al Capone gunmen
+in Illinois.</p>
+
+<p>I knew them all. As a reporter it was my business to
+associate with all classes, and I often found myself in the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">[47]</span>company of these criminals. I dined and wined with them.
+I often traveled to fights with them.</p>
+
+<p>I recall the bout down in Miami between young Stribling
+and Jack Sharkey, following the death of Tex Rickard. The
+late Steve Hannigan, one of our nation’s leading purveyors
+of publicity, and I handled the fight for the Madison Square
+Garden Corporation.</p>
+
+<p>About a week before the affair, Damon Runyon told me
+that Al Capone, then living in a “palace” on Hibiscus Island,
+had extended an invitation through Runyon for the New
+York sports writers to visit his home and enjoy a buffet dinner.
+I was asked to furnish the names of all who would accept
+and to make arrangements with one of Capone’s henchmen.</p>
+
+<p>We had more than 450 newspapermen down for that fight
+and of the group, I selected 62 to join in what promised to
+be an adventurous evening. And so it turned out.</p>
+
+<p>When our cars reached the entrance to Capone’s gate, Al’s
+bodyguards directed us to drive to a designated field, where
+each car was searched. The occupants were given the once
+over, too. Some of us were even frisked. There was exceedingly
+careful screening of each guest; after all, Capone had
+a price on his head.</p>
+
+<p>Then we were all escorted by bodyguards to the main
+room of the spacious home and each was introduced to the
+famous gangster. Though these were prohibition times, bottles
+of champagne popped. The finest bottled beer was piled
+on the tables, all from Capone’s private stock, safely hidden
+on the premises and guarded by “specials.”</p>
+
+<p>Capone asked some of the writers, among them Sid Mercer,
+Murray Lewin, Westbrook Pegler, Paul Gallico, Francis Albertanti,
+Runyon and myself, to inspect his special cache of
+liquor in an underground room. We left the women in our
+party engaged in conversation in the living room, though
+some donned bathing suits for a swim in the outdoor pool,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">[48]</span>which, like other parts of the Capone estate, was closely
+guarded from behind the shrubbery. No one was permitted
+to go out of bounds—that is, near the shrubbery where
+guards, well armed, patrolled the area, so fearful was Capone
+of an attack by his enemies.</p>
+
+<p>When we returned to the dining room for refreshments,
+one of the women who had gulped down too much of Capone’s
+vintage champagne, collapsed, and in falling from the
+couch, dislodged one of the cushions. Immediately there was
+a dive for the couch by two of Capone’s henchmen, not to
+help the woman, whose name I won’t mention, but to cover
+two sawed-off shot guns and several loaded weapons which
+had been hidden under the huge cushion.</p>
+
+<p>We were seeing things! Capone’s brother, who found the
+situation embarrassing, explained that the weapons were
+there merely for safe keeping. They were souvenirs, he said.
+Of what? Probably the Moran massacre in Chicago.</p>
+
+<p>The unfortunate girl was carried to the upper floor powder
+room, where she was placed in the care of one of the
+maids.</p>
+
+<p>During the commotion, someone had stolen a diamond
+ring from Mrs. Capone’s boudoir and the story of that theft,
+through a slip of the tongue by Capone, became the newspapermen’s
+property shortly before we left.</p>
+
+<p>Westbrook Pegler, then writing for the Chicago <i>Tribune</i>
+syndicate, had gotten wind of the loss and rushed off to file
+a story. Joe Williams, of the Scripps Howard Syndicate, and
+Paul Gallico, writing for the New York <i>Daily News</i>, did the
+same.</p>
+
+<p>Capone was furious. He pointed the finger of guilt at us,
+intimating that someone in our party had entered his wife’s
+bedroom and stolen the ring. When he learned that several
+newspapermen had left to write the story about the theft,
+his tone grew threatening.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[49]</span></p>
+
+<p>In his story the next day, Pegler described the party and
+remarked, “While Capone was entertaining the scribes, one
+of his henchmen was busy robbing his master’s home.”</p>
+
+<p>Capone then came forth with an emphatic denial that a
+theft of any kind had taken place. He tried to cover it up
+with a statement that the ring had been found in the powder
+room where it had been all the time, but a day before the
+fight, he confided to Runyon and me that it had not been
+recovered. Al told us that he was certain one of the guests
+had taken it.</p>
+
+<p>It was a party I shall never forget. There were gunmen to
+the right and gunmen to the left, most of them veterans of
+the many Chicago massacres which Capone had engineered
+during prohibition days.</p>
+
+<p>It was during the Frawley Law period that I exposed
+gangsterism in boxing, and it almost cost me my job on the
+New York <i>Press</i>. The famous Rosenthal murder case had
+broken. Police Lieutenant Charles Becker and the four gunmen—Dago
+Frank, Whitey Lewis, Gyp the Blood, and Lefty
+Louis—were all awaiting trial for the crime.</p>
+
+<p>The murderers were East Side gangsters allied with the
+big gambling interests. They needed considerable money to
+obtain proper legal talent. They had to have ready cash, and
+the usual extortion methods practiced by criminals were put
+into use. East Side boxers and fight promoters were assigned
+to canvass the district for a collection. Small merchants within
+a designated area were each to be asked for a contribution of
+one hundred dollars and the more thrifty ones were to be
+taxed a flat one hundred and fifty. Secrecy was necessary.</p>
+
+<p>I was assigned to cover a fight at the Roman Athletic Club
+where Frankie Madden, a popular lightweight, was one of
+the principals in the main event. The house was packed.
+Many of New York’s most notorious gamblers and criminals
+were among those present, including Spanish John. As I
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">[50]</span>entered the club, I was accosted by Kid Twist, a well known
+East Side gangster, who asked me for a contribution. It was
+then that I got an inkling of what was going on.</p>
+
+<p>The story of the “hold-up” appealed to me far more than
+the fight that night, and I decided to dig in for material. I
+was fortunate in meeting Izzy Einstein, who, during the prohibition
+era, was the team mate of Moe Smith, Uncle Sam’s
+star snooper and raider of illicit liquor joints. From him I
+learned that at a special meeting attended by friends of the
+Rosenthal gunmen, it was decided to obtain a fund of fifty
+thousand dollars for legal fees through “donations,” voluntary
+or otherwise.</p>
+
+<p>Three days later I went to the Dry Dock Club where I
+gathered sufficient evidence to enable me to publish my story.
+It created a sensation. The headline read: “Gangsters In Extortion
+Plot. East Side Criminals Force Merchants to Contribute
+For Defense of Rosenthal Gunmen.”</p>
+
+<p>In the story I used the name of a prominent sports figure,
+and the day following its publication he brought suit for
+libel against the paper. I was called into the office of the
+managing editor, John Hennessey, who asked if I had sufficient
+facts to back up my story. He told me that unless I
+could stop the suit, I would lose my job.</p>
+
+<p>The person I named as the leader didn’t have too enviable
+a record and it was my job to get the goods on him. So I went
+out gunning. I had learned that a few of the merchants who
+already had paid into the fund had received a card to prevent
+them from being molested. If I could obtain such a card, that
+evidence would be all I needed, and that’s what I went after.</p>
+
+<p>I had been told of a hoodlum who had done the collecting,
+and who, upon reading the story, had left the city for a safer
+place. He’d selected Kingston, New York, as his hideaway.
+I went after him, and with the aid of a bribe, I got my
+evidence.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">[51]</span></p>
+
+<p>With that card in my possession, I returned to New York
+and handed the ticket over to Mr. Hennessey. Now well fortified,
+he called in our legal department, and within a few
+days, the suit was dropped, and my job was saved. The ticket
+bore the signature of the person who had filed the libel suit.</p>
+
+<p>Thus I exposed a link between crime and boxing. One of
+the clubs, used as headquarters for the collection of the fund,
+went out of business a few weeks after my story broke, and
+the high-powered legal talent that the gangsters had hoped
+to hire with the extortion fund, had to be dismissed. But
+there was enough money collected to enable the mob to hire
+Judge Otto Wahle to act as chief counsel for the quartet.
+Yet even with this excellent jurist in their corner, the murderers
+of Rosenthal were convicted and executed in Sing
+Sing.</p>
+
+<p>The case was by far the most prominent of that era in
+which gamblers and thugs were so deeply involved in New
+York’s boxing affairs; but in perspective, it was just another
+story in the long history of crime, politics, and the fight game.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[52]</span></p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter" id="BOOK_2">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">[53]</span></p>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak hide">BOOK<br>TWO</h2>
+
+<figure class="figcenter illowp25" id="book2" style="max-width: 12.5em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/book2.jpg" alt="BOOK TWO">
+</figure>
+
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">[54]</span></p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[55]</span></p>
+
+<div class="figcontainer">
+<figure class="figright illowp30" id="chapter08" style="max-width: 6.25em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/chapter08.jpg" alt="8">
+</figure>
+</div>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_8"><span class="hide">8<br></span>
+AN AMAZING AMATEUR</h3>
+
+</div>
+
+<p>When United States Senator W. Warren Barbour
+of New Jersey died at his Washington home a few years
+ago at the age of fifty-five, an outstanding figure in the Senate
+and the political life of his State passed away. He was a
+unique personality among Congressmen because here was a
+man who, had he belonged in a humble social station, might
+possibly have fought for, and won, the blue ribbon of the
+professional prize ring—the heavyweight crown.</p>
+
+<p>The Horatio Alger fiction tradition always had its hero
+starting from the ranks of the Submerged Tenth, overcoming
+all obstacles, winning golden spurs in commerce by dint of
+courage, pious living, and determination. Never, of course,
+by the boxing route.</p>
+
+<p>When Alger was writing his all-American-brave-youth-yarns,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">[56]</span>prize fighting was an illegal game, and its principals
+were entirely beyond the pale of politeness. Later we had the
+Frank Merriwell stories, also with an “up-from-the-depths”
+motif, but permitting heroes to win fame and dollars as stars
+of baseball, football, and other athletic pastimes. That meant
+that the literary bars were being let down a trifle; and in the
+due course of time, magazine editors began featuring the
+exploits of two-fisted lads successfully wooing Dame Fortune
+with the aid of padded gloves.</p>
+
+<p>Today it’s a far different sport atmosphere from the time
+when W. Warren Barbour, one of the cleverest, hardest-hitting
+amateurs that ever answered the sound of a gong,
+was being importuned by fight promoters to turn professional
+and meet the great Negro boxer, Jack Johnson, for
+the world heavyweight championship. Barbour might have
+done so had he not been born the son of Colonel William
+Barbour, wealthy New York thread merchant.</p>
+
+<p>In 1910 I saw Barbour win the amateur heavyweight
+crown in Boston. Boxing, while it had attained semi-legal
+status, was still not a career likely to be followed by the son
+of a multimillionaire of high social standing. Had Warren
+been poor in this world’s goods, he would have been a sure-fire
+pickup for some astute manager hoping to steer him to
+the professional championship goal. And that was exactly
+what the young athlete would have liked. It was also what
+several of America’s leading promoters were eager to see, because
+of Barbour’s popularity and knowledge of ring science.</p>
+
+<p>However, the Alger-Merriwell build-up didn’t apply in his
+case. There was no social climbing needed, no struggle necessary
+to score success in a quest for the almighty dollar; he
+was already sitting on top of the world.</p>
+
+<p>Yet he told me in an interview at a Princeton football
+game that, if he had been left to himself, nothing would have
+pleased him more than to have entered the professional ring.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[57]</span>I heard Warren Barbour repeat that during a fistic gabfest
+with Phocian Howard, publisher of racing sheets, while en
+route to the Dempsey-Willard battle at Toledo on July 4,
+1919. Tex Rickard had selected the ex-amateur heavyweight
+champ to act as official timekeeper for that historic event.</p>
+
+<p>That was the only time he associated himself with the professional
+game. Parental opposition was the real cause for his
+refusal to listen to the siren songs of the fight promoters who
+wanted to capitalize on his scientific skill and punching
+power. Perhaps it was just as well, for Jack Johnson was then
+in his prime, and no matter how good an amateur may be,
+it is always a considerable risk to pit him against an experienced
+pro, even one of second rate standing. And Johnson
+was not only a first-rater, but stood head-and-shoulders over
+all his pugilistic contemporaries.</p>
+
+<p>Only twice in boxing history was an amateur champ given
+a shot at a title in his first professional engagement. That was
+in 1892 when Jack Skelly, of Brooklyn, head of the amateur
+featherweight class, took on George Dixon, acknowledged
+the world’s king of professional feathers; and when Peter
+Rademacher, U.S. Olympic champion, in his first pro bout,
+tackled Floyd Patterson in a battle for the heavyweight
+crown. In each case the amateur was knocked out.</p>
+
+<p>The handicap was far too much for Skelly, good clever kid
+though he was, and Dixon kayoed him in the eighth round.
+Rademacher was stopped in the sixth.</p>
+
+<p>However, it will always remain a pleasing possibility that
+Warren Barbour might have fared better than Jack Skelly
+or Peter in an invasion of the pro ring, for he possessed every
+asset of an excellent professional. When he won the amateur
+heavyweight title in Boston on April 12, 1910, by a clean
+knockout, Barbour was a trim athlete, over six feet and one-half
+inches tall; he scaled 204 pounds in fighting togs and
+could jab, block, counter, and duck blows far better than
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[58]</span>most of our top professionals today. He was far superior to
+Rademacher as an all-round pugilist.</p>
+
+<p>Such men as referee Charley White and Jim Corbett, former
+world heavyweight champion, believed him good enough
+to fight Johnson, and were not alone among experts in thinking
+so. In my book, he was the greatest amateur boxer I had
+ever seen, even better than Floyd Patterson or Billy Rodenbach
+of New York, whose rating was extremely high in
+A.A.U. boxing circles.</p>
+
+<p>While Barbour was training in Jack Cooper’s New York
+gymnasium, he asked to have some big men about his own
+heft brought along to spar with him. Cooper complied by
+sending for his friend Jim Corbett. I was sitting with Cooper
+watching some workouts, when Barbour made the request.
+Corbett was admiring Warren’s style when our talk was interrupted
+by Cooper. Jim stripped for a turn with the gloves
+and was happy to get such a sparmate. But having heard that
+the aspiring youngster was somewhat of a walloper, Corbett
+was cautious at the start. Then he let himself out, and after
+a couple of rounds Corbett said frankly that Barbour was a
+wonderful heavyweight prospect both as a puncher and a
+scientist.</p>
+
+<p>“Your future as a professional is bright if you’ll go for it,”
+Corbett told Barbour. Then turning to me, Jim added, “I’d
+like to manage him.”</p>
+
+<p>Young Barbour’s reputation spread far beyond the walls
+of Cooper’s gym, where he continued to take daily workouts
+with pros and amateurs. A few weeks after the Corbett session,
+another former world’s heavyweight champion, Jim
+Jeffries, who was at the time training in the gym, tried him
+out there. Cooper, who often sparred with President Theodore
+Roosevelt in Washington, knew Barbour’s father well.
+He broached the subject of professionalism to him several
+times, but Warren’s dad wouldn’t think of such a move. He
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[59]</span>was purely an amateur at heart, a big financial supporter of
+amateur athletics.</p>
+
+<p>Jeffries, just back from a European trip, was soon to meet
+Johnson at Reno in the fateful battle which resulted so disastrously
+for the white man’s comeback stunt. Jeffries put in
+a week at Cooper’s place in New York City, loosening up a
+bit before starting a theatrical tour prior to going into regular
+training for Johnson.</p>
+
+<p>The Californian sparred several times with Barbour and
+was so impressed by the latter’s skill that Jeffries asked him
+to join his training camp on the Pacific Coast. The youth
+did not accept the invitation, but Jeff’s candid endorsement
+of Warren’s prowess naturally boomed his pugilistic stock
+higher than ever, and resulted in Charley White, “Old Eagle
+Eye,” dropping into the gym to look him over.</p>
+
+<p>Nationally famous as a referee and second, White was recognized
+universally as a keen, unerring judge of fistic material.
+When Charley first watched Barbour spar, he found it
+difficult to believe that the young fellow was not boxing for
+a living. His finished style, footwork, and ability to take a
+hard punch and deliver one, struck the veteran as being
+professional.</p>
+
+<p>It was on Cooper’s advice that Barbour decided to enter
+the amateur tournament in Boston. Jack got Charley White
+to handle the big chap as chief second. The newspapers there
+already had printed several stories about the New York lad.
+My friend “Doc” Almy of <i>The Boston Post</i> dubbed him the
+“Millionaire Kid” and the moniker stuck. I represented my
+newspaper and spent four days with Barbour in the Hub.</p>
+
+<p>Mechanics Building was packed to capacity on the opening
+night of the tournament, with some seven thousand ardent
+fans anxious to see the much publicized New Yorker in action.
+On that occasion Barbour and Emory Payne drew byes.
+Kendall Salisbury of Massachusetts whipped the Canadian
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[60]</span>champion, and Joe Burke, of the same state, stopped Mullins
+of New York.</p>
+
+<p>On the second night, Burke and Payne came together.
+This was a fast slugging match which terminated in the second
+frame, when Burke, a bull-rushing Celt, hung a terrific
+right on his opponent’s jaw. Then Barbour ducked under
+the ropes to face New England’s champ, Kendall Salisbury.</p>
+
+<p>Somehow a sobriquet such as “Millionaire Kid” doesn’t
+make for popularity with a fight mob. Barbour hadn’t desired
+any ring alias of the kind, and wasn’t feeling any too
+grateful to Almy, who had conferred it on him. The crowd
+expected Salisbury to score an easy victory, and indulged in
+many rough jests and catcalls touching on the Manhattan
+boy’s possible ancestry and financial status. However, Warren
+kept his temper and only grinned. He wasn’t the type that’s
+easily flustered, anyway.</p>
+
+<p>“Keep this chap at long range and box him, don’t slug,”
+White told him.</p>
+
+<p>Barbour did just what he was told. His long left was perpetually
+in Salisbury’s face, which was badly cut up before
+the second round was over. Barbour jabbed his opponent
+to a near-standstill without sustaining any damage himself
+and was awarded the decision.</p>
+
+<p>But the big test for Barbour was yet to come. After fifteen
+minutes rest, he stepped into the ring with Burke, the wild
+Irishman of established kayo fame in the A.A.U.</p>
+
+<p>“Box this bird just like you did Salisbury till I tell you to
+cut loose,” said White. “When he tears in, sidestep and make
+him miss.”</p>
+
+<p>Again Barbour followed instructions to the letter. He
+stepped nimbly to the left as Burke rushed, swinging a futile
+right. His left counters kept Burke’s head bobbing back incessantly,
+and try as he might, the Celt could not get to close
+quarters with his elusive antagonist.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[61]</span></p>
+
+<p>But in the second round, Barbour failed to evade a buzzing
+right that nailed him flush on the chin and dropped him.
+In falling he caught Burke around the waist and pulled him
+down with him. Burke was up first, and Warren’s father and
+brother, watching from front row seats, must have felt more
+than a trifle anxious.</p>
+
+<p>Their misgivings were short-lived. Barbour, in response to
+a signal from White, had merely rested on one knee for a
+few seconds until his head cleared. It is at a time like this
+that a boxer shows if he has the real fighting instinct—the
+ability to keep cool under fire. That is every bit as essential
+to ring success as the ability to give and take it. There was
+nothing lacking in Barbour’s fighting make-up.</p>
+
+<p>When he regained his feet, Burke tore in madly. He was
+met by a jab that set him back to the ropes. Then the bell
+rang, just as a stinging left hook to the jaw made the Irishman’s
+knees buckle. Back in the corner White gave Barbour
+this advice in exultant tones:</p>
+
+<p>“You’ve got him loaded on your little red wagon now,
+boy. Go in an’ take him with both mitts!”</p>
+
+<p>The gong sent Barbour leaping forward like a springing
+leopard. Burke, always game, met him half-way, and they
+went into a furious mixup. Right and left the gloves whizzed,
+but the Celt was continually being beaten to the punch.
+Barbour’s left crashed on his chin and down went Burke.</p>
+
+<p>Up he staggered and ran into a short right that dropped
+him again. He arose weak and groggy. Barbour stabbed him
+off with a straight left, measured his man, and tagged a terrific
+right uppercut flush on the chin. Burke keeled over and
+fell face downward on the canvas. He was through for the
+night, nor did he regain consciousness for nearly ten minutes.</p>
+
+<p>The “Millionaire Kid” made good. The jeers that marked
+his first entry into the ring had changed to a storm of frantic
+applause which shook the building.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[62]</span></p>
+
+<p>The echoes of those wild cheers had not died away before
+Colonel William Barbour leaped through the ropes to congratulate
+his son. Later that night the proud father threw a
+party for the visiting New Yorkers at the Hotel Touraine,
+where there was much feasting and merriment, with Charley
+White, sage old fox of the squared circle, as master of ceremonies.</p>
+
+<p>The “Old Fox” tried hard enough to get Pa Barbour to let
+his son turn pro, but no amount of persuasion could turn the
+trick.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">[63]</span></p>
+
+<div class="figcontainer">
+<figure class="figright illowp30" id="chapter09" style="max-width: 6.25em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/chapter09.jpg" alt="9">
+</figure>
+</div>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_9"><span class="hide">9<br></span>
+THE MICHIGAN ASSASSIN</h3>
+
+</div>
+
+<p>One of the greatest fighters of my time was the
+middleweight Stanley Ketchel.</p>
+
+<p>Talk to the veterans who followed the career of this fighting
+man during the height of his glory and they’ll tell you
+that Stanley Ketchel was the finest in his division. Unfortunately,
+I didn’t see him when he fought his memorable battles
+with Billy Papke and Joe Thomas, but I did cover most of his
+thrilling Eastern contests, and from what I saw in the two
+years in which he made the East his headquarters, I rate
+Ketchel the greatest middleweight of all time.</p>
+
+<p>Stanley was an unusual individual, wild and untamed one
+second, lovable the next; treacherous at times, and most amiable
+on other occasions. His frank, open eyes were soft, yet the
+moment he climbed through the ropes in pursuit of his prey,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[64]</span>those eyes became the eyes of a killer. He always breathed
+through his nostrils and fought with his mouth tightly shut,
+a slight grin of contempt on his lips.</p>
+
+<p>Ketchel scorned the word retreat. Yet once his mission was
+over, and he either flattened his opponent or won the verdict,
+he was just one of the mob—a man full of fun and mischief.
+The memory of this spectacular ring gladiator has never
+faded. Those who saw him flash across the pugilistic firmament
+spoke of him with unwavering loyalty and admiration.
+The greatest praise that can be lavished upon a promising
+middleweight contender today by a sports critic is to rate him
+as another Stanley Ketchel.</p>
+
+<p>Few among the thousands of fistic heroes I’ve seen were
+more colorful than Ketchel. A demon of the roped square, he
+made his opponents think that all the furies in Hades had
+been turned loose on them. He got his punches away from all
+angles. If he missed an opponent with one hand, he would
+nail him with the other. He was as game as a bulldog and as
+tough as a bronco.</p>
+
+<p>His most prominent traits, I would say, were his generosity
+outside the ring and his utter relentlessness inside of it, his
+egotism and eternal confidence and faith in himself, his fearlessness
+and superb courage. Outside the ring he was the soul
+of generosity. He was a mark for the panhandlers, much like
+Jack Dempsey in that respect. However, he was also a jokester
+whose greatest joy was playing pranks on unsuspecting camp
+visitors who came to idolize him.</p>
+
+<p>When he was in New York, he would do his training in
+Woodlawn, not far from the entrance to the Woodlawn Cemetery.
+The adjoining territory at that time was wild, with tall
+grass, huge trees, and few houses within a radius of several
+miles. It was one of the undeveloped portions of the city, an
+ideal location for training.</p>
+
+<p>It was there that Ketchel took delight in luring sparring
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">[65]</span>mates and other camp hangers-on for his well known snipe
+hunts. Usually, he would first make certain that he had the
+confidence of those he intended to lure into the woods by
+joking, story-telling, and card playing. Then, when he spotted
+his man, invariably the most talkative of the lot, he would
+nod and wink to the boys and politely ask them to accompany
+him to the training table where arrangements for the hunt
+were made.</p>
+
+<p>“How would you like to join me in a snipe hunt, tomorrow?”
+the champ would ask. “Snipe are game birds, exciting
+to catch.”</p>
+
+<p>What a silly query! The honor of supping with the great
+Michigan Assassin was glory in itself, but to stalk the woods in
+Ketchel’s company at night for the elusive snipe, that was an
+experience to be cherished.</p>
+
+<p>The next day, dinner over, the great hunt was on. We of
+the fourth estate would gather at the Inn to see the fun. A
+lone miner’s lantern was the only means of finding the trail
+through the woods. The victim was provided with a potato
+sack. Into this sack Ketchel and the scouts proposed to drive
+the wary snipes.</p>
+
+<p>A snipe potpie was to be the culmination of the hunt, and
+the victim was told that he must not permit the snipe to pass
+him on the trail once Ketchel and his aides started off for the
+birds. “A snipe,” said Stanley, “would never change his course
+after starting down the trail.”</p>
+
+<p>The snipe trail was found after a long skin-scratching jaunt
+through the briars, with a number of newspapermen trailing
+the leaders to add more realism to the affair.</p>
+
+<p>“Now you remain here and keep the mouth of the bag open
+right in the middle of the path,” said Ketchel to the poor victim.
+“The snipe will see the hole and run right into it. You
+just can’t miss them. From the chirping that is now going on in
+the brush, there should be several dozen of them on the loose
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">[66]</span>tonight. Mind you now, stay on guard, keep the bag wide open
+and keep your eyes open. Be on the alert!”</p>
+
+<p>Ketchel would then pick up the lantern and accompanied by
+the scribes, hit the trail back to camp, leaving the snipe-snarer
+holding the bag.</p>
+
+<p>We’d return to Woodlawn Inn by a roundabout way and
+there Ketchel would start a card game lasting until midnight.
+Then, in a sympathetic tone, he’d remark that it was about
+time that the poor dupe in the woods was relieved of his burden.
+But instead of going back to him, his training staff would
+laugh it off and retire for the night, letting the chap in the
+wilds find his own way out of his predicament.</p>
+
+<p>The sniper would come to the inn during the wee small
+hours of the morning and find it closed for the night. Those
+gloomy darkened windows seemed to laugh down at him to
+tell him that he had been kidded. Usually Ketchel and his
+companions would never hear from the hunter again; that
+was one sure way of eliminating the pest from the camp. Occasionally,
+however, there would be some persistent fellow
+who would come back the next day and seek out the great
+middleweight.</p>
+
+<p>In the latter case, the victim would lament his ill-fortune,
+only to get a bawling out from Stanley for apparently “disobeying”
+his orders; Ketchel would tell him that because of
+his negligence in not doing what he was told, the hunters lost
+all the snipe. And that evening, immediately following dinner,
+out on the trail again would go the fighter and his pals
+to give the pest another little “ride.”</p>
+
+<p class="mt2">I first came to know Ketchel when he was introduced to me
+by Hype Igoe, then his manager as well as a famed cartoonist
+and boxing scribe for the New York <i>World</i>. I cherished the
+friendship that developed from that introduction and requested
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">[67]</span>assignments to cover Ketchel’s fights in New York,
+Philadelphia, and Boston, including one of the most thrilling
+contests I’ve ever seen.</p>
+
+<p>In my years of covering the fight beat I’ve witnessed many
+exciting bouts, but not many offered such a variety of bitter,
+tornadic milling, rapid footwork and cleverness, as the fight
+between Ketchel and the celebrated light-heavyweight, Philadelphia
+Jack O’Brien.</p>
+
+<p>This classic battle was fought in an era when referees didn’t
+interfere as they do today, and when officials were more hard-hearted
+because they didn’t have to depend on boxing commissions
+for an assignment. It took place in the ring at Fiss,
+Doerr, and Carroll’s Horse Mart on East Twenty-fourth
+Street, near Lexington Avenue, in New York City. I went to
+report the fight, expecting O’Brien to be defeated rather
+easily, since he had fourteen years of ring activity behind him
+and had reached the age of thirty-one. Gloriously handsome
+and courageous, his opponent was a virile, young, bone-crushing
+puncher whose hitting power and relentlessly savage attack
+had earned him the <i>nom-de-guerre</i> of “Michigan Assassin.”
+Nevertheless, I came away singing the praises of O’Brien, for
+his display of bulldog courage, consummate ringcraft, iron
+nerve, and Arctic coolness in time of crisis made him the hero
+of the evening.</p>
+
+<p>The fight was so thrilling, it sputtered and sparked with
+moments so tense that I could feel my heart beating in my
+throat from start to finish. O’Brien, with his old fighting head
+and heart, withstood the wolflike rushes of a slashing, ripping,
+tearing young opponent. Cunningly hiding his hurts, he
+bluffed Ketchel time and again into doing things he should
+have avoided.</p>
+
+<p>During the first seven rounds, O’Brien stood off most of
+Ketchel’s machine gun volleys by clever boxing. Many of the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">[68]</span>blows landed, but most of the damage was done by O’Brien.
+Ketchel believed he could whip anybody, regardless of weight,
+but he had never faced such astounding adroitness as was displayed
+by O’Brien that night. Philadelphia Jack chopped his
+opponent’s face up with powerful jabs for seven rounds until
+it was a blanket of blood.</p>
+
+<p>In the middle of the seventh round, Ketchel slowly dropped
+his powerful arms at his sides and, to our astonishment, took
+a deep breath as if preparing for a new life. Then came the
+unexpected. He went after his man and drove him from corner
+to corner. O’Brien, who was obviously slowing down,
+called upon all his skill, and yet he could not prevent Ketchel
+from reaching his body with cruel drives to the chest and
+heart. Just before the bell sounded, a right opened a deep gash
+over O’Brien’s eye. He took his punishment like a stoic, but
+every time he struck home an effective blow, Stanley would
+snort and snarl like a wounded animal and redouble his
+efforts.</p>
+
+<p>Throughout the eighth round, Jack tried every strategy of
+the ring game to postpone what seemed the inevitable end. At
+times he clinched and stalled, only to pull himself together
+and fight back viciously. But nothing could stop Ketchel. He
+kept coming on, bloody as a slaughterhouse killer.</p>
+
+<p>As the ninth round opened up, he drove a terrific belt to
+the pit of O’Brien’s stomach. Gasping for breath, Jack collapsed
+against the ropes. Few expected him to get to his feet,
+but he did. He immediately went into a clinch to save himself
+from a knockout. We all expected the worst, and we were not
+disappointed.</p>
+
+<p>Like a shark on the blood scent, Ketchel went after his opponent
+as the final round started. O’Brien, spent, exhausted,
+his body wracked with the pain of the last two sessions, gamely
+tried to put his usual spring in his steps as he faced the final
+assault. But the Michigan Assassin would give him no rest.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">[69]</span>Swinging left and right to the jaw, he dropped Jack for a short
+count. It was obvious from the look of pain on his face that
+O’Brien was being hurt dreadfully every time Ketchel landed
+a punch. Each blow seemed to rattle every bone in his body.</p>
+
+<p>It was apparent that Ketchel had been told he would have
+to score a knockout to win and he went after it. Every time he
+lashed out, O’Brien’s blood was spattered around the ringside.
+Again he put Jack down with a powerful stomach punch, and
+again the aging battler struggled to his feet before the referee
+could count him out.</p>
+
+<p>There were only twelve seconds to go and unless Ketchel
+could score with a kayo wallop, he’d lose the newspaper decision
+so far as the majority of the writers were concerned.</p>
+
+<p>He leaped forward. The seconds were waning. We all
+figured it was too late now for Stanley to make it. The bell
+would surely save Philadelphia Jack, despite those knock-downs.</p>
+
+<p>Eight seconds were left and then—the roof was blown off the
+arena as Ketchel drove both hands to the body and quickly
+followed with a swing to the jaw. The blow was so powerful it
+lifted Jack off-balance and sent him toppling back and down.
+His head bumped into the resin box in his own corner, which
+his handlers had forgotten to remove during the excitement of
+the previous round. As Jack’s head went into the resin box,
+the impact was sufficient to send him into unconsciousness. He
+was as inert as a stone. The bell clanged when referee Tim
+Hurst had reached the count of four and a brave battler was
+dragged to his chair.</p>
+
+<p>Did he win? Did he lose by a knockout?</p>
+
+<p>Confusion? Loads of it. The clock showed that O’Brien had
+been saved, since only four seconds had been counted when
+the fight ended. But the writers and spectators didn’t depend
+on that timepiece to settle such an all-important matter when
+thousands of dollars had been wagered on a kayo. As decisions
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">[70]</span>were against the law in those days, additional interest was
+added to the arguments, pro and con, regarding the final status
+of the fight.</p>
+
+<p>The arguments continued well into the night and the sports
+desks of the various papers were flooded with calls. When the
+consensus in the morning and evening newspapers showed
+that the reporters present had declared O’Brien the winner by
+a shade, there was hell to pay from those who figured they had
+been unjustly deprived of their winnings. They simply
+couldn’t understand how the decision could be given to a man
+who had finished a fight stretched out on the canvas with his
+head resting in a pan.</p>
+
+<p>Never have I seen the duplicate of that classic ring battle—a
+no-decision affair in which it seemed that everybody wanted a
+verdict rendered.</p>
+
+<p class="mt2">A few months before Ketchel was shot to death, I journeyed
+to Boston with Tad Dorgan, Wilson Mizner, Hype Igoe, Judge
+Kelly and George B. Underwood to see him fight Porky
+Flynn. The bout took place on May 17, 1910. Flynn wasn’t
+much of an opponent, although he outweighed the champion,
+but Stanley was offered a sizeable purse and accepted the
+match.</p>
+
+<p>Flynn didn’t last any longer than expected, going down before
+Ketchel’s terrible fists in the third round. But before the
+men had entered the ring, Stanley had become involved in a
+discussion with a wealthy Boston sport who was backing
+Flynn. The Bostonian sneered at Ketchel’s ego after hearing
+the champion boast of what he intended to do to the local
+entry. Stanley got mad.</p>
+
+<p>“Now look here, you pretend to be a sport, don’t you?” he
+snapped. “Well, I’ll just bet you a thousand dollars, even
+money, or any odds you want, that I’ll knock Flynn out inside
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">[71]</span>of four rounds. There’s a chance for you to back your
+opinion.”</p>
+
+<p>It looked like easy money to the sport and he accepted the
+bet. After Ketchel had knocked Flynn out in the third round,
+he went over to the loser’s corner, grabbed up the bucket of
+water and dashed the entire contents over the prostrate
+fighter. Then, turning to Porky’s backer sitting at the ringside,
+Ketchel shouted derisively:</p>
+
+<p>“There’s your man! Fork over that thousand.”</p>
+
+<p class="mt2">Ten days later Ketchel defeated the Gas House pride, Willie
+Lewis, at the National Sporting Club in New York City.
+Both men conformed to championship weight requirements,
+Stanley tipping the beam at 156 and Lewis at 154. Despite his
+defeat at the hands of Papke, Lewis had an opinion—almost
+an obsession—that he could whip Ketchel. He freely predicted
+that one of his wallops to the jaw would transfer the middleweight
+title, though the bout was scheduled as a no-decision
+affair.</p>
+
+<p>The sporting public didn’t share Willie’s confidence in himself.
+The night of the fight there was a huge gathering in the
+Club, but the crowd came more to see Stanley in action than
+with the thought that they would see the championship
+change hands.</p>
+
+<p>Ketchel appeared drawn and tired as he entered the ring,
+while Lewis seemed to be in the pink of condition. The bout
+was scheduled for ten rounds and Tom O’Rourke was the
+referee.</p>
+
+<p>The first round was very tame, each man trying to feel the
+other out. Willie was plainly scared of Ketchel’s smashing
+right and the crowd yelled for action.</p>
+
+<p>In the second, after Lewis had put three punches to the
+head, the champion decided it was time to open up. The men
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">[72]</span>mixed it for a few seconds and then suddenly Stanley’s famous
+sleep prescription—that terrible right swing—was applied
+to Willie’s jaw at the point where it would do most
+good. Lewis went down as if he had been shot and was unable
+to move a muscle for more than two minutes. When he finally
+revived sufficiently to be helped from the ring, he cried like a
+baby.</p>
+
+<p>After the fight, Ketchel went to his dressing room and hurriedly
+slipped his trousers and sweater on over his fighting
+togs. Then, along with Toby, the hunchback who always accompanied
+him, “Pete the Goat,” his chief handler, and several
+newspapermen, he jumped into his big red auto and
+whirled down to Luchow’s Restaurant on East Fourteenth
+Street, a popular eating place of the period. There he bought
+a keg of imported beer and several cases of champagne, and
+then the whole party, including Igoe, Underwood and myself,
+started for the champion’s training quarters at Woodlawn.</p>
+
+<p>We drove up through Central Park and continued on up
+Seventh Avenue. There was a fire in the neighborhood that
+night and the fire lines were extended across the thoroughfare.
+That didn’t stop Ketchel. He slammed through the lines.
+A motorcycle policeman speedily went into action, but
+Ketchel’s car had covered seven blocks before the bluecoat
+caught up with us. A rough session followed.</p>
+
+<p>When Stanley tried to get the car in motion again, the cop
+threatened him. We were expecting a free-for-all when Underwood
+and I flashed our police cards and explained to the officer
+that Ketchel had just stopped Willie Lewis and was eager
+to get back to his training quarters at Woodlawn.</p>
+
+<p>“I know Ketchel,” the cop said rather gruffly. “What are
+you trying to put over on me?”</p>
+
+<p>It required considerable proof before the officer would be
+convinced, but when he was, instead of arresting us for violating
+the fire laws, he paved the way for Ketchel’s party for
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">[73]</span>about a mile, and then, with a hearty handshake, bid Stanley
+good night.</p>
+
+<p>Arriving at the Inn some time after midnight, the champion
+aroused the occupants and set up the drinks and a fine
+supper. He even sent “Pete the Goat” and Toby clear up to
+Yonkers to drag the bartender out of bed and down to the Inn
+to help the celebration by playing the violin. Unfortunately,
+the bartender could play only two tunes—“The Wearing O’
+The Green” and “Where The River Shannon Flows”—and
+these he repeated over and over again.</p>
+
+<p class="mt2">Ketchel was superstitious and believed in signs. If someone
+threw a hat on his bed or opened an umbrella in the camp
+quarters, he’d throw a fit. He invariably made it a point to
+shake hands with all his seconds before the bell sounded to
+start a fight, and “Pete the Goat” was always the last one
+whose hand he’d grasp. Old timers will remember little Toby.
+Stanley wouldn’t go into the ring unless Toby was in the
+building and somewhere near his corner.</p>
+
+<p>Although a man of whims, Ketchel made friends easily. He
+was bashful to an extraordinary degree—almost, at times, to
+the point of timidity. In conversation with newly arrived
+writers or visitors to his camp, he would speak in monosyllables,
+but once he became thoroughly acquainted, he was one
+of the gang. The transformation was almost electric.</p>
+
+<p>He never wasted time on press agents, nor did he make any
+reservations as to the color, weight or reputation of his opponents.
+He was ever ready to meet all comers, yet his lazy, easy-going
+way of pulling away from a punch, and the fact that his
+handsome features were unmarred to the end of his days, was
+proof that his opponents didn’t hit him as often as they appeared
+to.</p>
+
+<p>Stories have been written about Ketchel’s lack of nerve. I
+wish that the fellow who started that canard could have been
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">[74]</span>in his camp on the day or night before a fight, for this ordinarily
+good-natured and frolicsome man would become as
+sour and crabbed as a wounded grizzly bear. All of us took
+great pains to keep out of his way, for he would have a fit of
+temper at the least provocation.</p>
+
+<p>All stone and ice and concentration when he entered the
+ring, Ketchel was as cross as a sick old woman in the few hours
+leading up to fight time. Nevertheless, I always enjoyed his
+company. He was a great fighter—the greatest middleweight I
+have ever seen in ring action—and his untimely death by gunfire
+at the hands of Walter Dipley at the age of twenty-four
+was a heavy loss to boxing.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">[75]</span></p>
+
+<div class="figcontainer">
+<figure class="figright illowp30" id="chapter10" style="max-width: 6.25em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/chapter10.jpg" alt="10">
+</figure>
+</div>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_10"><span class="hide">10<br></span>
+JACK JOHNSON</h3>
+
+</div>
+
+<p>The year was 1910.</p>
+
+<p>Jack Johnson had defeated James J. Jeffries to retain the
+world heavyweight championship. The cry for a “white hope”
+to dethrone the Negro king was now greater than ever.</p>
+
+<p>Jack Johnson remained for a short time in Reno, where I
+saw him stop Jeffries, and then went on to Chicago, where he
+was the center of a wild reception. I was told to stay with
+Johnson until his arrival in New York, where the police
+feared a race riot would make things very uncomfortable for
+all concerned.</p>
+
+<p>I shall never forget the sight that greeted us in New York:
+Thousands of Negroes crowded the streets, parading, shouting,
+shooting off fireworks, and carrying on in hilarious fashion.
+They were celebrating a Roman holiday. It seemed to
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">[76]</span>the police that the Negroes were hell bent for trouble and
+they took every precaution to prevent it. There were some
+fist fights, but the anticipated disorder on a large scale was
+missing in contrast to the street riots which Johnson’s triumph
+over Jeffries caused in other cities.</p>
+
+<p>When I arrived in Buffalo on the Jack Johnson Special, a
+throng surrounded the car where Johnson was standing on
+the platform. A backfire from an automobile brought speedy
+action by the police who had mistaken the backfire for gunfire.
+We all made a dive into the club car, and when we
+learned what had actually taken place, Johnson, with his
+broad grin, returned to the platform to greet the cheering
+gathering. It was so unlike what we had expected!</p>
+
+<p>From Birmingham down to the Grand Central Station, it
+was one grand ovation after another at each station stop.
+When we reached New York, the crowd was so dense the
+police had difficulty clearing a path for the homecoming party
+to get to the cars.</p>
+
+<p>The reception that Johnson received at the station was
+nothing compared to the gigantic ovation that awaited him
+in Herald Square when he reached Baron Wilkes’ Hotel, a
+rendezvous for the colored sports folk of the big city. Thousands
+blocked the square. It was with the greatest effort that
+the conquering hero of the Negro race was finally able to
+make an entrance into his hotel headquarters where his wife,
+Ruth Cameron, was living.</p>
+
+<p>Many white folk crowded the banquet room and no one
+was molested. It was a good natured gathering for the most
+part.</p>
+
+<p>Johnson and I were good friends. He had promised me an
+exclusive interview, and he asked me to accompany him to
+his suite. There, when asked to comment on the stories that
+his victory had stimulated race riots throughout the country,
+he remarked:</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">[77]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Nat, why should they bring in the black race against the
+white race in athletics? I licked Tommy Burns fairly. I did the
+same in my fight with Jeffries. My battle with Jeffries was not
+a contest between a black man and a white man, but between
+two boxers who were out to establish their right to the heavyweight
+championship of the world, a right I claimed and Jeffries
+disputed. I beat him and now the matter is settled.”</p>
+
+<p>The interview was suddenly interrupted by Mrs. Johnson’s
+emergence from the bathroom. She had been preparing for
+the evening’s celebration and, having no idea that Jack was
+entertaining a guest in the living room, was completely nude.</p>
+
+<p>Thinking that her husband, who was rumored to be having
+difficulties with his white wife, had purposely brought a white
+man into the room to embarrass her, she let loose with a violent
+tirade. Jack tried to explain, but was cut short when his
+wife, her eyes blazing menacingly, raised a chair. Discretion
+being the better part of valor, this seemed to both of us the
+propitious moment to leave.</p>
+
+<p>The chair caught Jack in the center of the back as we raced
+down the stairs with her curses flooding after us. I never did
+finish that interview, though I was fortunate to have gathered
+sufficient data during our long trip home from Chicago to
+write the story.</p>
+
+<p class="mt2">Johnson was one of the brainiest fighters I have ever
+known. He knew boxing and was always able to give reasons
+for his opinions. I remember sitting with him in his Reno
+hotel after the Jeffries fight and asking him the reason for
+Jeff’s downfall.</p>
+
+<p>“Well, it’s like this, Nat,” he said, standing up and throwing
+himself into fighting pose to demonstrate. “I think it was
+the blow that closed Jeff’s left eye that started him on his
+downfall.</p>
+
+<p>“You see, I led and drew him out like this. He thought I
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">[78]</span>would come back with my right hand, but I crossed over and
+shot a strong uppercut to his chin with my left—like this. I
+think that’s good ring strategy, although I say it myself, and
+it certainly won the fight for me and lost it for Jeff.”</p>
+
+<p>When Jack was fighting his way to the top, he had to
+struggle against a field that contained some of the greatest
+names in the history of the heavyweight division. The period
+between 1905 and 1910 produced four great colored fighters:
+Jack Johnson, Sam Langford, Joe Jeannette and Sam McVey.
+There really wasn’t a white man who could be classed with
+this dusky quartet, and that was the real reason why Jim Jeffries
+retired.</p>
+
+<p>The toughest opponents Jack faced in his rise to the championship
+were men of his own color. Among those whom he
+had to conquer were Hank Griffin, Denver Ed Martin, McVey,
+Langford, and Jeannette—each as tough as ebony, clever,
+and crushing punchers.</p>
+
+<p>Some of the most thrilling contests I witnessed during the
+past half century were between Negroes. There was a lot of
+jealousy among the Negro heavyweights, for each believed
+himself to be the best in the world.</p>
+
+<p>Johnson defeated Sam McVey three times, each contest being
+over the twenty-round route. He clashed with Joe Jeannette
+six times, boxing four no-decision bouts, losing once on
+a foul, and beating Joe over fifteen rounds.</p>
+
+<p>Johnson and Sam Langford met but once in the ring, and
+that famous mill, like the Tunney-Dempsey fight in Chicago,
+and the Firpo-Dempsey clash, has come up for discussion time
+and again.</p>
+
+<p>They fought at Chelsea, Massachusetts, and Jack was declared
+the winner after fifteen rounds. Langford’s supporters
+claimed that Sam almost had Jack out, but Jack’s adherents
+said that Langford took the worst beating of his career.</p>
+
+<p>Joe Woodman, Sambo’s manager, stated after the fight that
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">[79]</span>Langford floored Johnson with a right uppercut, but if you
+wanted to get Jack’s goat, you had only to repeat that statement
+in his presence.</p>
+
+<p>Jack Johnson often came to see me, and I sometimes pulled
+his leg about the Langford fight until he was ready to tear
+the roof down. Once after I had kidded him, he turned on
+me almost in tears.</p>
+
+<p>“Listen, Nat, please don’t say that,” he pleaded. “Say anything
+you want about me. Call me a quitter. Call me the worst
+fighter you’ve ever seen, but please don’t say that Langford
+dropped me or even gave me a tough fight.”</p>
+
+<p>Dad Phillips, my father-in-law, an octogenarian whose
+knowledge of boxing I’d pit against that of any man, was in
+my office and he listened attentively to Johnson’s plea. When
+Jack had finished, Dad, who had seen the fight, agreed with
+Johnson. His version of the battle as he related it to me made
+Johnson quite happy. Here’s what Dad said:</p>
+
+<p>“Jack Johnson decisively defeated Sam Langford. He was
+complete master of the situation. Jack so far outclassed Langford
+that for a time, until he purposely eased up on his onslaughts,
+the fight was one-sided.</p>
+
+<p>“Langford was dropped twice for counts of nine, and he
+would have been out the first time if referee Martin Flaherty
+had not slowed up the count. At the end of the fight Sam had
+to be taken to a hospital.</p>
+
+<p>“As for Langford dropping Johnson, that’s absurd. Why, he
+couldn’t land on Jack.”</p>
+
+<p>A few days later I cornered Joe Woodman, who handled
+Sam in that fight.</p>
+
+<p>“Look here, Joe,” I said, “whatever you did years ago when
+Langford was in need of publicity is okay with me. But now
+that Sam is out of the picture, I’d appreciate the low-down on
+that knock-down which you said that Sam scored over Jack.”</p>
+
+<p>“It’s true, all right, Nat,” was all Joe would say.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">[80]</span></p>
+
+<p>Several weeks passed and Woodman again came into my
+office to introduce to me a new heavyweight, who shuffled uneasily
+as he listened to the following conversation.</p>
+
+<p>“Nat,” said Joe Woodman, “I’d very much appreciate it if
+you would run a story and picture of this lad. He’s a good boy,
+but needs some publicity.”</p>
+
+<p>“Gladly,” I replied, “but on one condition, Joe—that you
+tell me here and now the true story of that alleged knock-down
+in the Johnson-Langford fight. I’ve been flooded with
+letters about it, and Dad Phillips, who saw the fight, tells me
+you’re all wrong about it. Now you’ve got to tell me the truth
+if you want any help from me.”</p>
+
+<p>Joe chuckled.</p>
+
+<p>“You’ve got me, Nat,” he replied, “Langford never dropped
+Johnson. But I was anxious to fix up another fight between
+the two and knowing Jack’s pride, I invented the story of that
+knock-down to goad him into the ring against Sam again.”</p>
+
+<p>“Although it never happened, all the newspapermen believed
+it. They just never took the trouble to investigate.
+That knock-down was just a publicity gimmick.”</p>
+
+<p>So, here was the truth at last! Shrewd Joe Woodman not
+only disposed of Langford’s alleged knock-down, but ended
+the canard that had upset Jack Johnson whenever the topic
+was discussed.</p>
+
+<p class="mt2">Had I followed the advice of Johnson when I was making
+my choice in the first fight between Max Schmeling and Joe
+Louis, I would have picked the winner. Johnson, during the
+trips he made with me to Louis’s camp, repeatedly called my
+attention and that of other scribes to the fighting flaws that
+could easily cause the downfall of the rising young heavyweight
+sensation when he faced such a sharp, powerful hitter
+as Schmeling. On several occasions he stripped for action in
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">[81]</span>my office, and before friendly newspapermen, he went through
+maneuvers to prove his contention.</p>
+
+<p>Johnson pointed out that Joe had his body slightly twisted
+when he faced an opponent so that if he missed his left, he
+was wide open for a counter punch. “He’s always off balance,”
+said Jack. “I’ve seen him hit frequently this way by sucker
+blows. A clever boxer who hits like the German can knock
+Louis down and might even knock him out. To avoid this,
+Louis has got to change his stance.”</p>
+
+<p>I published a story in <i>The Ring</i> giving Johnson’s views,
+and so did Hype Igoe in the New York <i>Journal</i>. And to add
+spice to my daily radio program on boxing, I took Johnson to
+station WNEW the following evening and there he repeated
+his opinion about Louis’s faults and gave his opinion of the
+way a clever, hard-hitting right-hand sharpshooter could stop
+the Brown Bomber.</p>
+
+<p>What happened in the Louis-Schmeling first fight is ring
+history. Jack Johnson was vindicated. His preview of that
+contest was so accurate as to be almost uncanny, for every
+mistake Louis made was called in advance by Johnson on my
+sports program and in my office before newspapermen.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">[82]</span></p>
+
+<div class="figcontainer">
+<figure class="figright illowp30" id="chapter11" style="max-width: 6.25em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/chapter11.jpg" alt="11">
+</figure>
+</div>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_11"><span class="hide">11<br></span>
+A BLACK OMEN</h3>
+
+</div>
+
+<p>Jack Johnson was in trouble with the United States
+Government. He had been indicted for violation of the Mann
+Act and had fled to Europe to avoid incarceration.</p>
+
+<p>The search was on for a “white hope” to relieve Johnson of
+his heavyweight crown. From every part of the world big,
+husky, burly men were brought to America in the hope that
+they would meet the requirements and bring back the championship
+to the Caucasian race. Some of these had a knowledge
+of boxing, while others, drawn mostly from farms, lumber
+camps, and crowded cities, were at least willing to give it
+a try.</p>
+
+<p>The best of a select gathering was Luther McCarty, but he
+died tragically while boxing Arthur Pelkey in Calgary,
+Canada. The one outstanding remaining heavyweight was Big
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">[83]</span>Jess Willard, who was known as the Pottowatomie Giant.
+Brawny and powerful, this six-foot five-inch cowboy had defeated
+Gunboat Smith and Boer Rodel, had knocked out Bull
+Young, who had died shortly after from his punishment, and
+had fought no-decision bouts with Pelkey, Carl Morris and
+McCarty.</p>
+
+<p>Jack Curley, a famous promoter and manager, backed by
+Harry Frazee, a theatrical producer, conceived the idea to pit
+Willard against Johnson. He was confident that Big Jess could
+wrest the title from the Negro and after considerable difficulties
+with the laws of Mexico, our country and Cuba, he
+finally succeeded in overcoming all obstacles, and the contest
+was booked for the Marianao Race Track near Havana,
+Cuba.</p>
+
+<p>I was about to take my annual vacation. From 1909 through
+1914, I had visited the Pearl of the Antilles nine times. I
+loved to visit the Island, had many friends there, and invariably
+paid my expenses by writing baseball and boxing articles
+for <i>El Mundo</i>. Naturally, I was delighted to learn that the
+heavyweight championship would be decided there. I had no
+trouble convincing Jim Price, sports editor of my paper, that
+the assignment to cover the battle belonged to me.</p>
+
+<p>I left New York a fortnight before Willard and his trainer,
+Tex O’Rourke arrived, and set myself up at the Palace Hotel
+which Johnson made his Havana headquarters. Jack and I
+had been friends for many years. He was an arrogant man,
+but I liked him despite the many bad marks he had against
+him. However, I felt that the easy life he had led, his carousing
+in France and Argentina, had softened him and that Willard,
+if in condition, should emerge a winner.</p>
+
+<p>“You’ll have to work like a beaver to get into physical condition,
+Jack, Willard is no slouch,” I told him.</p>
+
+<p>He laughed this off. He hadn’t done any training for a long
+time, and he figured he didn’t have to do much for Willard.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">[84]</span></p>
+
+<p>What happened later proved the fallacy of his contention.
+He lost the title, but there is more to the story of that defeat
+than Johnson s overconfidence or lack of training. There was
+the Black Omen.</p>
+
+<p>They called Johnson the Black Colossus. He stood astride
+the boxing world and sliced the opposition to ribbons. With
+the exception of Jack Dempsey, he gave me more thrills than
+any fighter I saw in half a century at the ringside. In fact, I
+rank the burly Negro as the best heavyweight of all time. Just
+look at the procession of top heavyweights he whipped—Jack
+O’Brien, Tony Ross, Al Kaufman, Jim Flynn, Frank Moran,
+and James Jeffries, among others.</p>
+
+<p>But when the leading “white hope,” Willard, was booked
+as his opponent, I felt confident that here was the man who
+would upset the applecart. Not that he was a great fighter by
+any means; but because wine and women had taken their toll
+and had left the Galveston Giant at the mercy of the first Caucasian
+heavyweight who could condition himself to last more
+than fifteen rounds. No matter how poorly primed Jack was
+to face top opposition at the time, he still was good enough to
+make a “monkey” out of any of the “white hopes” for at least
+fifteen frames. His mastery of ring science, his ability to block,
+counter, and feint, are still unexcelled.</p>
+
+<p>The initial odds were four to one on Johnson. But when
+the Cubans watched him at his training camp, the odds took
+a tumble.</p>
+
+<p>So when Tex O’Rourke, Willard and his retinue reached
+Cuba, I decided to spend most of my time with Jess. He was
+the big story. The public in America was more interested in
+him. They wanted to know how he shaped up for the big
+test, what his mental attitude was, his general demeanor, and
+the progress he was making. It was my job to see that our
+readers received the information, and it was while out with
+Jess and O’Rourke that I got a scoop that hit the headlines.</p>
+
+<p>Willard was a mountain of a man, 6 feet 5 inches tall and
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">[85]</span>260 pounds in weight. Yet he had two failings—his right fist
+lacked snap, and his legs, though well proportioned for his
+massive body, tired too quickly.</p>
+
+<p>For weeks his trainer had made the challenger run miles
+every day over the roughest going he could find. By the time
+Willard reached Havana his legs had been greatly strengthened
+and his wind was perfect. He was bronzed as an Indian
+and supremely confident. In terms of endurance, he was a
+match for any man alive.</p>
+
+<p>Yet two days before the fight, I saw a dramatic, sickening
+change in him. He became morose and restless. O’Rourke put
+down Jess’s ugly mood to prefight nerves—a condition that
+frequently is found in pugilists when the time for their combat
+approaches.</p>
+
+<p>Then fate stepped in in the form of a black duck, and the
+brave, gale-tossed bird won the world title for Jess!</p>
+
+<p>On the morning of the fight, Willard, O’Rourke, and I
+were strolling along the Malecon, the Havana thoroughfare
+bordering on the ocean. We stopped by the sea wall and Jess
+looked gloomily across the waves.</p>
+
+<p>O’Rourke’s face was lined with despair. I knew what was
+bothering the trainer. Only a few hours to the battle for the
+world crown, and here was the challenger behaving like a
+sulky child!</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly a spot appeared in the distant sky. It proved to be
+a black duck, flying from the direction of the Florida coast,
+many miles away. It had lost its way and was seeking a place
+to rest.</p>
+
+<p>Bravely it flew against a half gale with huge seas pounding
+below. Twice, with wearily flapping wings, it sank to the
+waves. Each time it made a frantic effort to rise again.</p>
+
+<p>Spent and almost exhausted, the bird cleared the breakwater,
+grazed the huge sea wall, flew about 50 feet upward,
+then like a stone, fell almost at Jess’s feet.</p>
+
+<p>Gently the giant picked up the gallant, feathered fighter.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">[86]</span>Tenderly, like a mother nursing her ailing child, he held the
+duck to his breast. But in a few seconds the bird’s heart
+stopped beating. It had made its landfall, and had perished in
+the attempt.</p>
+
+<p>Jess stood there, silent and motionless, stroking the sea-drenched
+feathers, as though his caresses would restore the
+bird to life.</p>
+
+<p>He looked at O’Rourke and said softly, “See how black and
+glossy his feathers are, Tex? Too bad he had to hand in his
+check just as he reached the end of the trail. What a game
+bird!”</p>
+
+<p>Sunk in moody thought, Willard went on stroking the dead
+bird. As we watched in amazement, we saw him change. His
+eyes brightened, his broad back straightened. He turned to
+O’Rourke, slapped him on the back and grinned.</p>
+
+<p>And with the old brightness back, he cried, “I’ll knock
+Johnson cuckoo. Tonight I’ll be the world heavyweight champion.
+This bird has shown me something.”</p>
+
+<p>He wrapped up the duck in a newspaper to take it back to
+his hotel.</p>
+
+<p>“Sure you’re going to win, Jess,” agreed the trainer. “That’s
+what I’ve been telling you all along. What made you think
+otherwise?”</p>
+
+<p>“Sure I’m going to win,” Willard repeated.</p>
+
+<p>“Could there be a better omen for me than this poor bird?
+That duck flew a long way—right from Florida. He flopped at
+my feet. And this is how I now see it. The fight’s going to be a
+long one and a hard one for Johnson. But at the end the
+champion is going to drop at my feet just like this black duck
+did.”</p>
+
+<p>And so, with head held high, with springy confident steps,
+and carrying the bird under his arm, Jess walked back to the
+hotel, where he had the gallant battler buried in the garden.</p>
+
+<p class="mt2">The sun came down with blistering, blinding heat as Johnson
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">[87]</span>and Willard stepped into the Havana Racetrack Arena
+that day.</p>
+
+<p>Jess had his instructions. O’Rourke’s plan of campaign had
+been drawn up weeks before. He knew that Johnson was
+banking on an early knockout, so he told Willard to play safe
+for the first eight rounds and let the Negro carry the fight
+to him. After that it was up to Jess to try to wear Johnson
+down.</p>
+
+<p>Tex figured that by the fifteenth round Johnson would
+have shot his bolt. Then Jess could open up and carry the
+battle to the tiring champion.</p>
+
+<p>The gong went. Johnson slid lithely from his seat and attacked
+with the ferocity of a hungry tiger. Bobbing and weaving
+before the huge Willard, the whites of Jack’s eyes showed
+as he looked for an opening.</p>
+
+<p>Twice he threw shuddering left hooks, but Jess was fighting
+according to instructions and caught the blows on his
+arms, slowly backing away all the time.</p>
+
+<p>Jack feinted with a left and crossed with a right, and the
+punch smashed home on his rival’s jaw. Jess quivered for a
+moment, then backed up. He stabbed long lefts, but Johnson
+brushed these aside and continued his attack. The bell rang,
+and Jess had weathered the opening round.</p>
+
+<p>From the second round onward, Johnson cut loose with
+cold, savage fury that punished Jess despite his strategy. Willard’s
+defense was good, but he didn’t do too much on the
+attack until well past half the fight. He was following
+O’Rourke’s instructions to let Johnson wear himself out.</p>
+
+<p>Several times it appeared that Johnson would score a knockout
+as the giant Negro kept tossing his punches accurately and
+to vital points. Near the end of the seventh round, a shattering
+blow to the jaw sent Jess to his corner in a noticeably unsteady
+condition.</p>
+
+<p>He quickly recovered, but Johnson, still sensing an early
+kill, went after his man with added fury in the eighth round.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">[88]</span>Savagely mauled, Jess fought on, though his face was gory and
+his body red. Yet his heart, like that of the black duck that
+had flown from the Florida coast upheld him. Like that black
+duck, he aimed toward his goal.</p>
+
+<p>Johnson tried hard for the knockout through the next few
+rounds, but without success. After the sixteenth, the pattern
+of the fight began to change. Jack started to slow down, while
+Jess kept climbing—again, like the duck reaching for heights
+after striking the heavy sea waves.</p>
+
+<p>From the eighteenth round on, I felt certain that Johnson
+knew his title had gone. It was then that Willard went on the
+offensive.</p>
+
+<p>In the twentieth round, O’Rourke told Jess to go in for the
+kill.</p>
+
+<p>“You’ve got him licked,” the trainer urged. “He’s tiring.
+Keep at him. Don’t give him any rest.”</p>
+
+<p>The tables were now completely turned. Willard bore
+down on the champion, battering him with both hands. But
+Johnson’s defense was superb. Even when he was at the end
+of his tether, and Jess couldn’t miss, he continued to make a
+fight of it.</p>
+
+<p>In the twenty-sixth round, Johnson dropped his guard momentarily,
+and Jess shot a right-hander under the heart. Johnson
+winced. His mouth opened, his arms twitched upwards
+convulsively, and he started sinking to the canvas when a left
+to the jaw hurried him on his losing fall.</p>
+
+<p>There was no need for the second blow. The right-hander
+to the heart had done the job. Jess was the new heavyweight
+champion of the world—the first white man to hold the title
+for nearly seven years.</p>
+
+<p>And it was at that moment, as Johnson took the count,
+that one of the greatest controversies in the fight game began.</p>
+
+<p>Months afterwards, Johnson said that he had faked the
+fight because he had been promised that if he lost the title to
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">[89]</span>Willard the charge against him of transporting a woman
+across the state lines for immoral purposes would be dropped.
+The photo of him lying on the canvas with his arms over his
+face seemed to support this explanation, and many persons
+jumped to the conclusion that he was shielding his eyes from
+the sun! But the truth is that Johnson made the statement to
+alibi himself.</p>
+
+<p>I have six photographs of that knockout and in each Johnson’s
+eyes are exposed to the full glare of the sun.</p>
+
+<p>When a fight is “arranged,” the man who is taking the
+dive doesn’t fight for twenty-six rounds and break his rival’s
+ribs and jaw in the bargain, as Johnson had done to Willard!</p>
+
+<p>I saw O’Rourke back in the dressing room. The trainer was
+all smiles. “Nat,” he said, “that black duck turned the trick. It
+won the title for Jess.”</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">[90]</span></p>
+
+<div class="figcontainer">
+<figure class="figright illowp30" id="chapter12" style="max-width: 6.25em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/chapter12.jpg" alt="12">
+</figure>
+</div>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_12"><span class="hide">12<br></span>
+BOXING’S HARLEQUIN</h3>
+
+</div>
+
+<p>Before he paid us the doubtful compliment of becoming
+our guest in the middle 1920’s, Louis Phal—to give
+Battling Siki his real name—made France too hot to hold him.</p>
+
+<p>They put the singular Senegalese in a set-up against
+Georges Carpentier in a Paris ring, and he ruined all the
+schemes of the wise guys by knocking the Orchid Kid cold,
+after treating the horrified spectators to an exhibition of
+jungle frenzy.</p>
+
+<p>Then, with the light-heavyweight crown on his fuzzy head,
+he became the pugilistic King Kong of the Paris boulevards,
+fighting and brawling on the sidewalks of that city until the
+gendarmes warned him that if he didn’t mend his ways he’d
+be lynched.</p>
+
+<p>He had been brought from his native Senegal as a servant
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">[91]</span>by a Caucasian woman of high degree, who probably thought
+him amusing, for he was a quaint black fellow with an extreme
+sense of humor.</p>
+
+<p>The trouble was that neither the gendarmes nor the citizens
+of Paris, especially women, could appreciate his jokes.
+And there was a sigh of relief when Mike McTigue took the
+light-heavyweight title from him after a fight in Dublin on
+St. Patrick’s Day.</p>
+
+<p>The decision was a questionable one, but nobody bothered
+about that; Mike put up a marvellous defensive fight against
+the black barbarian, who, at one point in the proceedings,
+turned away from McTigue and threatened to jump out of
+the ring and murder Georges Carpentier, who was sitting at
+the ringside taunting the Senegalese.</p>
+
+<p>Siki entered the United States quietly. Most fight fans
+didn’t know much about him, except that he could hit hard
+and take a lot of punishment. He was a fighter of the dock
+variety, and when he rolled his eyes he looked terrifying.</p>
+
+<p>He was as black as coal and had a thick ruffle of kinky black
+hair on his head. The American “sports” forgot all about his
+European reputation and gave him a good hand. They enjoyed
+his style and his antics, and he in turn enjoyed the attention
+he received in the States.</p>
+
+<p>I had heard many strange stories about the Singular Senegalese,
+as he was nicknamed. I learned that he drank like a
+fish and was an ugly customer when in his cups. I was told,
+before he reached America, that he wore evening dress all
+through the day and paraded the streets with a monkey on his
+shoulder. When he arrived in New York, I decided to meet
+him personally and find out all I could for myself.</p>
+
+<p>All the rumors were confirmed to my satisfaction the afternoon
+I came upon this extraordinary man directing traffic
+with his cane in the middle of 42nd Street and Broadway.</p>
+
+<p>He was dressed in formal evening clothes, with a flowing
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">[92]</span>French cape lined with purple satin. He wore bright red
+gloves and gray suede shoes.</p>
+
+<p>A laughing crowd surrounded him. Soon the police officer,
+none other than big Pat McDonald, the Olympic hammer
+thrower, came along to inquire the cause of the traffic hold-up
+and the reason for the gathering. As he approached the fantastic
+Negro, Siki took off his high silk topper, bowed in ceremonial
+French style, and extended his big hand in greeting.</p>
+
+<p>Pat McDonald had a sense of humor. He lifted his cap,
+bowed in return, and took Siki’s outstretched hand. At that
+moment a monkey leaped from under the Senegalese’s cape to
+the head of the officer.</p>
+
+<p>There was a shriek from the crowd as McDonald almost
+collapsed. But he quickly recovered himself and caught Siki
+by the collar, bustling him away. After that, I no longer
+doubted the stories of his pranks.</p>
+
+<p class="mt2">Siki was matched to fight Paul Berlenbach. I went to the
+weigh-in and decided that Paul would win—if he could keep
+his nerve. Paul was a great fighter and was not likely to be
+intimidated by this imitation King Kong.</p>
+
+<p>Just after the weigh-in, I ran into Siki outside his apartment.
+He was giving the monkey an airing and was in a
+playful mood. He sauntered up and down the avenue, followed
+by a large crowd, strutting like a peacock.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly he turned and said something to the monkey in
+French. It leaped instantly on the back of a woman in the
+crowd. With a shriek, the woman fainted. Siki stood grinning
+like an ape, but the crowd began to murmur angrily. A man
+out of the gathering ran towards him. The Senegalese backed
+away, but just at that moment a policeman came along. When
+he saw the cause of the trouble he whipped out his blackjack.</p>
+
+<p>“What are you doing with that scarecrow around here?” he
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">[93]</span>demanded of Siki. “You come along with me. You’re taking
+too many liberties.”</p>
+
+<p>The officer asked the woman, who had now recovered, if
+she would press a charge of disorderly conduct against the
+Negro. Before she could decide, Siki shouted excitedly, “Eet
+is not my fault, gendarme, eef my monkee, he likes charming
+ladees!”</p>
+
+<p>Everybody laughed, including the policeman, and the incident
+was closed without further trouble.</p>
+
+<p>But that night I sat at the ringside and saw the primitive
+Siki take a terrible beating from Paul Berlenbach. For nine
+rounds he was a punching-bag for the skillful, hard-hitting
+German-American.</p>
+
+<p>Heavens, how Siki took it! From the first round he rolled
+his eyes and snorted as if trying to terrify “Punching Paul”;
+but before the seventh session the Senegalese had taken so
+much punishment that his eyes rolled in agony. It was really
+a horrible exhibition of boxing, for Siki had only the crudest
+idea of defense, and was helpless against the crushing avalanche
+of blows which Berlenbach rained upon him.</p>
+
+<p>In the eighth round Paul worked the Negro against the
+ropes just in front of me, and bombarded him with paralyzing
+rights and lefts to the head. As blow after blow smashed home,
+rocking Siki on his heels, I began to wonder what had happened
+to the human fury that had battered Carpentier into
+insensibility. Now the roles were reversed.</p>
+
+<p>I have seldom seen more tigerish energy than Paul packed
+into his work that night. Perhaps Siki was only half-human.
+At any rate, he took it until the middle of the tenth round,
+when Berlenbach, punching with lightning speed, shot home
+a bone-crushing right to the jaw.</p>
+
+<p>Siki fell forward on his face, as if a bullet had struck him,
+and was counted out. That was his last fight in the ring. Siki
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">[94]</span>nearly succeeded in driving his manager, the genial Papa
+Levy, insane, with his antics. There’s an extraordinary story
+connected with the Senegalese’s fight with Battling Norfolk,
+in Memphis, Tennessee, a bout which I witnessed.</p>
+
+<p>Siki and Levy arrived in the southern city four days before
+the contest. There was nobody to meet them at the station,
+and no announcement of their arrival was made in the newspapers.</p>
+
+<p>“Why my name no in zee papers?” asked Siki after scanning
+the local sheets.</p>
+
+<p>Levy explained that in Memphis there was no publicity for
+colored performers, owing to the Southern prejudice against
+Negroes.</p>
+
+<p>Siki became unruly. He was like a wild man. At that time,
+the song, “Yes, We Have No Bananas,” was all the rage, and it
+gave Siki an idea.</p>
+
+<p>He bought an enormous bunch of bananas, walked through
+the streets singing the song, and tossing the fruit to the passersby.
+He could sing quite well and attracted considerable attention.
+Within a few minutes a crowd was following him. Two
+mounted policemen approached him. One yanked Siki by the
+collar and hauled him to the police station. Siki made the
+front pages, which he apparently set out to do—and filled the
+fight arena the next day.</p>
+
+<p>Back in New York he was soon up to his old tricks, squirting
+water from a handgun at people on the streets, throwing
+handfuls of money to crowds, and scattering bags of peanuts
+among the masses on Broadway.</p>
+
+<p>The police warned him, but he answered, “Nobody hurt
+Siki. All lika Siki. Siki him have good heart. Siki help everybody.”</p>
+
+<p>One night he was picked up almost at the point of death in
+one of the toughest districts in New York. He had been
+stabbed. He was taken to the French Hospital, and a young
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">[95]</span>reporter called the next morning to get a story. Siki leaped out
+of bed and, clad only in his pajamas, slung the reporter over
+his shoulder and ran out into the street.</p>
+
+<p>Hailing a taxi, he dropped the reporter into the gutter and
+drove home.</p>
+
+<p>Soon he was up to his usual tricks again, but his enemies
+were closing in. One night he walked into a night club drunk,
+and began to smash it up. The next morning he was found in
+the street with an ice-pick driven into his chest. The police
+arrested his assailant, but Siki refused to press the charge.</p>
+
+<p>His time was short now; the curtain was about to ring
+down. On a winter’s night, when gales of icy wind whipped
+the narrow canyons of Hell’s Kitchen, two men lurked in the
+shadows. It was just past midnight, and the street was deserted
+by all who valued their lives.</p>
+
+<p>Siki entered the street muffled in a heavy overcoat. He was
+unsteady on his feet and sang snatches of songs. Suddenly two
+automatics barked, and the Senegalese pitched forward—dead.
+They found him the next morning where he had fallen, and
+within an hour he made the front pages of the newspapers for
+the last time.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">[96]</span></p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter" id="BOOK_3">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">[97]</span></p>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak hide">BOOK<br>THREE</h2>
+
+<figure class="figcenter illowp25" id="book3" style="max-width: 12.5em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/book3.jpg" alt="BOOK THREE">
+</figure>
+
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">[98]</span></p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">[99]</span></p>
+
+<div class="figcontainer">
+<figure class="figright illowp30" id="chapter13" style="max-width: 6.25em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/chapter13.jpg" alt="13">
+</figure>
+</div>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_13"><span class="hide">13<br></span>
+A STORY OF INTRIGUE</h3>
+
+</div>
+
+<p>Hundreds of thousands of persons annually visit
+Madison Square Garden, America’s famous sports center,
+without ever giving a thought to the story behind the building.
+It is a story of intrigue in which those who conceived the
+idea and started the negotiations for the gigantic structure
+were pushed into the background by the world’s greatest promoter,
+Tex Rickard.</p>
+
+<p>Once Rickard had all the necessary data placed in his lap,
+he maneuvered those whose brain child it was right out of the
+picture and proceeded on his own. Today the new Madison
+Square Garden is known in every nook and corner of the
+world where sports are followed as the “House that Tex
+Built,” but if proper credit were given to those who planned
+it and negotiated for its erection.... Well, here’s the story.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">[100]</span></p>
+
+<p>It was the year 1923. America had developed one of the
+great skaters in the history of the country. His name was
+Bobby McLean.</p>
+
+<p>Bobby had come from the Mid-West, where he had cleaned
+up in racing competition. At the invitation of the Swedish
+government, he went abroad to take part in international
+races at Stockholm, and later in other parts of Europe. He
+gained fame and fortune abroad. His name had headlined the
+sports pages both in Europe and America.</p>
+
+<p>I was in Stockholm at the time and became acquainted with
+his manager, Dinty Scanlon, an energetic promoter who, in
+later years, induced Sonja Henie to come to America, and who
+for several years was her manager. Scanlon saw the possibilities
+of exploiting ice skating in America and broached the
+subject to me. He was the pioneer of the ice skating revues in
+America and to him goes the credit for inaugurating the ice
+extravaganzas that have since become part of our country’s
+winter sports schedule.</p>
+
+<p>I was then sports editor of the New York <i>Telegram</i>, and
+Scanlon, knowing how close I was to Rickard, showed me
+plans for the building of a huge ice rink in New York and
+asked whether I thought he could obtain Rickard’s aid. I was
+for the project and thought Tex would be interested. There
+was only one ice rink in New York at the time, the St. Nicholas
+Rink, and that had outlived its usefulness.</p>
+
+<p>Scanlon, discussing his plans, declared that if funds were
+available to build the rink, we could make the arena the ice
+sports center of America by getting contracts from Eastern
+colleges to use it for their hockey matches, as well as importing
+the Scandinavian, Swiss, and other famous European ice revues.
+With that in mind, I decided to lay Scanlon’s plans before
+Rickard and look for a location.</p>
+
+<p>We were aware that Tex Rickard’s long lease on the old
+Garden would soon expire and that the New York Life Insurance
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">[101]</span>Company would not grant a further lease of more
+than one year. Stories had appeared in the <i>Wall Street Journal</i>
+to the effect that the insurance company was anxious to demolish
+the old structure and build a home to house its own
+people. Scanlon and I figured the time was ripe for quick
+action.</p>
+
+<p>The Manhattan Railway Company, operating the street
+cars of New York along the main highways, was in bankruptcy
+proceedings, with Judge Julius Mayer in charge. Through
+Judge Mayer, I learned that any of the car barns, situated at
+Thirty-third Street and Fourth Avenue, Eighty-sixth Street
+and Madison Avenue, and Fiftieth Street and Eighth Avenue,
+could be purchased, provided we could obtain the bondholders’
+consent.</p>
+
+<p>With that information, I proceeded. I requested Scanlon to
+obtain two extra blueprints for his proposed structure. A few
+days later, he came to my office with the plans and the architect’s
+picture of what the proposed sports arena would look
+like.</p>
+
+<p>The blueprint of the proposed structure was then published
+in the New York <i>Telegram</i> with a story on the front
+page written by me. I pointed out that Rickard’s lease on the
+old Garden would soon expire and the building would be
+torn down within a few years; and to make certain that a substitute
+building to house sports in New York would be given
+the people, several sportsmen proposed to build a gigantic
+structure conveniently located near the theatrical district, the
+feature of which would be a skating rink and motion picture
+theatre.</p>
+
+<p>The story created a bombshell in New York. Rickard was
+besieged for confirmation; but all he could confirm was that
+his lease would be renewed for only one year. He knew
+nothing about any sportsmen becoming interested in the erection
+of a structure to take the place of the famous old landmark.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">[102]</span>The story in the <i>Telegram</i>, he said, was news to him,
+but he was interested.</p>
+
+<p>That was my ace. I was not only eager to get public reaction
+but also Rickard’s. I did not have long to wait. Rickard sent
+for Scanlon and me. Before meeting him, however, we made
+certain that we could obtain other backing in case Tex should
+turn a deaf ear to us.</p>
+
+<p>New York City at the time had a man of wealth in the
+building business. His name was George Backer. He had just
+completed a large commercial building on Fifth Avenue near
+Thirtieth Street, then the largest in the city. Scanlon, McLean,
+and I got in touch with him.</p>
+
+<p>It didn’t take us long to convince Mr. Backer that we had
+something worth while. He was quick to see the possibilities
+and promised us that if we could get Tex Rickard to organize
+a company to put up $2,250,000, he would back the venture
+with an equal amount. He told us to tell Rickard of his interest
+in the matter.</p>
+
+<p>Before we left Backer, he told us to see Judge Mayer again
+and find out at what price the barn opposite the <i>Morning
+Telegraph</i> on Eighth Avenue, between Forty-ninth and Fiftieth
+Streets, could be purchased. He, like Scanlon and myself,
+favored that location because of its proximity to Broadway
+and the theatrical district, which, even then, was moving
+northward.</p>
+
+<p>Backer gave us permission to work with his architects on the
+preliminary plans. They estimated that it would require
+about $4,500,000 to erect the building and buy the land, and
+that was the amount we set out to get, half from Backer and
+the remainder from the Rickard syndicate.</p>
+
+<p>We were certain that with Mr. Backer behind it, the plan
+couldn’t fall through. With great faith in our eventual success,
+I arranged an appointment for Scanlon and myself to
+discuss the matter with Tex. The following day we went to his
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">[103]</span>office in the Madison Square Garden tower, where the three
+of us, with Frank Coultry, Tex’s treasurer and Ike Dorgan, his
+publicity ace, went into conference.</p>
+
+<p>We unloaded our plan to the group telling Tex that Backer
+would show good faith by putting up $500,000 to underwrite
+the undertaking and the remainder when Rickard’s share was
+posted. We also placed before Rickard the blue prints for the
+installation of an ice floor in the arena, the new invention of
+a Philadelphian who had already tried out such a plant successfully
+in the Philadelphia Arena. We convinced Rickard
+that with this new system, he could use the rink floor for ice
+hockey one night and within ten hours, have the floor ready
+for a fight, basketball, horse shows or for any other purpose.</p>
+
+<p>He was keenly interested. He asked us to leave our plans
+with him and return in three days, which we did. With Rickard
+at our next meeting was Colonel John Hammond, a West
+Pointer, who later became vice-president of the Garden in
+charge of hockey promotion. Col. Hammond was an ardent
+ice fan, having been captain of the Cadets’ hockey team and
+he seemed impressed with the idea. Rickard was even more
+interested. We had brought the Philadelphia inventor with us
+and our backer’s legal adviser to give further details.</p>
+
+<p>Going more deeply into the plans, we showed Rickard
+where he could use the new building for all kinds of sports
+events and exhibitions, in addition to having a meeting place,
+bigger and better than the old Garden. Our plans called for a
+motion picture theatre on the street level, with an arcade leading
+to the arena. We had a tentative agreement from the
+Keith’s Theatre to lease that portion if the building was
+erected. The present Garden has only a few changes from the
+plan Scanlon and I offered.</p>
+
+<p>Rickard asked where we contemplated building if he decided
+to go in with us. We told him of our conference with
+Judge Mayer and his suggestion to call a bondholders’ meeting
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">[104]</span>to get their consent. Judge Mayer also wanted us to show
+our good faith with a deposit of $25,000, and we had a certified
+check for that amount ready. We suggested that the best
+place would be the site of the car barns at Fiftieth Street and
+Eighth Avenue. Rickard assured us he would report to our
+syndicate in a few days, as he wanted more time to think it
+over and to discuss it with his financial backers. When we
+next met, however, we learned that he was not in favor of the
+project.</p>
+
+<p>“It’s too costly, Nat,” he said. “I spoke to John Ringling
+and others who might become interested, and they say it’s a
+foolish move. It would be a total loss. The location is no good,
+and the plan for an ice rink is out of the question. We
+couldn’t operate both fights and hockey; and, besides, we
+haven’t the teams here.”</p>
+
+<p>In an effort to induce Rickard to change his mind, Scanlon
+told Tex that Judge Mayer could probably get the barn site
+for $2,200,000, and I added that I was confident we could
+obtain it for less with cold cash.</p>
+
+<p>Rickard indicated it was too risky and Col. Hammond
+backed him on that. We couldn’t budge Tex, and thus our
+bubble burst. We thought he was the only sportsman to whom
+such a proposition could appeal, and when he refused to accept
+our offer, both on a percentage basis and on a stock
+partnership, Scanlon and I gave up.</p>
+
+<p>Behold our astonishment when three months later we
+learned through a news item delivered to the papers by Ike
+Dorgan, Rickard’s publicist, that Tex, with Colonel Hammond,
+had organized a Wall Street Company for the purchase
+of the Fiftieth Street car barns, and that a huge arena, a new
+Madison Square Garden, would be built there, featuring an
+ice plant for hockey and ice reviews! When I heard that Colonel
+Hammond was associated with Rickard and would be in
+charge of the hockey and ice department, in addition to being
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">[105]</span>the representative of the Wall Street group that would back
+the project, I was furious.</p>
+
+<p>Scanlon and I went to Rickard and accused him to his face
+of double-crossing us. Scanlon told Tex that we were the
+originators of the new Garden arena plans and that he had
+stolen our idea, based on the blue prints submitted to him.
+We demanded that we be taken into the project and threatened
+to bring suit if we were not, but Rickard laughed us off.</p>
+
+<p>Well, within a year, the new Garden was built. Mike Jacobs,
+who later succeeded Rickard as the country’s foremost promoter
+and to whom Dinty and I had also broached the subject,
+was thoroughly conversant with the details and asked us
+not to bring suit as we had contemplated. Mike had become
+one of Rickard’s financial advisers. He found that Tex required
+more money than his backers were willing to put up,
+and it was through his efforts that additional funds were obtained
+to assure the completion of the structure.</p>
+
+<p>Despite Mike’s pressures, Scanlon was still bitter about
+Rickard’s maneuver, and had not George Backer died shortly
+after Tex’s announcement, Tex would have had a half million
+dollar suit on his hands. The only change made in the plans
+Tex finally used was the elimination of the motion picture
+theatre and the erection of stores, instead.</p>
+
+<p>Thus the new Garden came into being through the foresight
+of a great lover of ice sports, Dinty Scanlon, whose eagerness
+to find a place in New York where his champion Bobby
+McLean could exhibit his skill, was responsible for the design
+as he and I worked it out.</p>
+
+<p>Although the idea and the original plans were ours, credit
+for the final erection of the Garden belongs to Mike Jacobs.
+It was he who persuaded Judge Mayer to get the bondholders
+to sell the car barns at Fiftieth Street for $2,500,000 and it was
+he who urged Rickard not to accept the Eighty-sixth Street or
+Thirty-fourth Street sites, which Judge Mayer was more anxious
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">[106]</span>to dispose of and which Tex was willing to take in order
+to avoid the Scanlon suit.</p>
+
+<p>I recall being present at a meeting when Rickard told Mike
+that the Wall Street combine to which he had appealed was
+favorably impressed with the Thirty-fourth Street and Madison
+Avenue site because of its nearness to the old Garden.</p>
+
+<p>“That’s where those fellers are wrong,” said Mike, “I agree
+with Nat and Scanlon that the Eighth Avenue car barns would
+be the best location. The trend for amusements is to the midtown
+section. It will soon be the heart of the theatrical district.
+Everything is moving up towards Fiftieth Street.”</p>
+
+<p>Thus did this man of foresight visualize New York’s future.
+The job of negotiating for the land was turned over to Jacobs.
+According to fable, the Garden was financed by a group of
+600 millionaires, each of whom contributed the sum of $1,000.
+The fact is that $5,600,000 was required for the building and
+the car barns, and Jacobs manipulated the deal whereby
+Rickard obtained the funds. After giving Rickard his first
+$25,000 to turn over to Judge Mayer to show good faith in the
+proposed purchase, Mike negotiated a bank loan for Tex for
+an additional $100,000 to start the ball rolling. It was not
+until then that a six-man syndicate headed by banker Richard
+F. Hoyt, came in, with the rest of the money.</p>
+
+<p>As for the 600 millionaires, they each put up $1,000 at a
+later date to become life members of the Garden Club. In return
+for their money, they also were given stock.</p>
+
+<p>Mike Jacobs, as Rickard’s agent, was handsomely rewarded
+for his loan and his very important part in the negotiations.
+He told me his prize totalled $117,000. It was only after the
+property had been bought that it became known that Rickard
+had been working on a “shoestring” and that had it not been
+for Jacobs, he would never have been able to put over the
+deal.</p>
+
+<p>As for Scanlon, the man who originated the idea and who
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">[107]</span>with me, had the first plans for the new Garden drawn up, I
+don’t know whether he ever got any money from Rickard, but
+I received from Tex the sum of $2,500 and some stock, in
+settlement for my claim against him—small amount, to be
+sure, but being friendly with Tex, I decided not to press the
+issue.</p>
+
+<p>That’s the story of how the present Garden came to be, a
+story of intrigue that made Tex Rickard and Mike Jacobs
+millionaires.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">[108]</span></p>
+
+<div class="figcontainer">
+<figure class="figright illowp30" id="chapter14" style="max-width: 6.25em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/chapter14.jpg" alt="14">
+</figure>
+</div>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_14"><span class="hide">14<br></span>
+DESTINY’S PARTNERSHIP</h3>
+
+</div>
+
+<p>As surely as there is a tide in the affairs of men,
+there are men marked out by fate to be carried by that tide to
+fame and fortune. All the forces of destiny seem to conspire to
+give them the breaks. Such a man was Tex Rickard.</p>
+
+<p>George L. “Tex” Rickard, boxing’s man of destiny, died on
+January 6, 1929, at the age of fifty-eight. I knew him intimately
+for a quarter of a century. I wrote the story of his life
+and acted in a confidential capacity for him on many occasions.
+I have no hesitation in saying that he was one man in a
+hundred million marked out by fate.</p>
+
+<p>President of Madison Square Garden, acknowledged king
+of the boxing world, Tex Rickard lived long enough to put
+the fight game on the big financial map and to make himself
+and many other people millionaires.</p>
+
+<p>The Grim Reaper claimed him just as he was about to retire
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">[109]</span>and, for the first time in his career, enjoy himself by taking
+things easy.</p>
+
+<p>I said good-by to him the day before he left New York for
+Miami, where he died following an operation for appendicitis.</p>
+
+<p>For a man of his years he looked youthful. The dark eyes
+were as keen as ever and the expressive lips just as ready to
+curl into a smile or to be compressed into a hard, fighting line.</p>
+
+<p>With his hat tilted on the back of his head, he looked at me
+and said in his usual quick manner and with his Texan cowboy
+drawl:</p>
+
+<p>“Nat, one big promotion, and I’m through.”</p>
+
+<p>I smiled. “I’ve heard all that before, Tex.”</p>
+
+<p>“This is straight. I’ve taken boxing from a thousand bucks
+to two million. One more big promotion, then I quit.”</p>
+
+<p>“You couldn’t quit if you tried, Tex,” I replied.</p>
+
+<p>To see Rickard towards the end of his life, king of the
+gilded age of boxing, one might have thought that he had
+been just lucky. Well, Tex had plenty of luck, and he needed
+it. But one must look into his personality and his career
+to understand the secret of his success.</p>
+
+<p>He was the last of the picturesque men of vision and daring:
+Western cowboy, gold-hunter, gambler, promoter: a
+man whose personality had as much color as a rainbow.</p>
+
+<p>“Nat, never lose your guts,” Tex once said to me after I
+had suffered a heavy financial loss. “If you do, you’re finished.
+Better shoot yourself and get out of it.”</p>
+
+<p>That stern creed was the rock on which Tex Rickard built
+his fame and fortune. But fate looked after him. For example,
+he left Goldfield, Nevada, in 1910 to sell copper
+properties to a big prospector.</p>
+
+<p>“I’m not interested in your copper,” the prospector said,
+according to Rickard, “but if you’ll promote a fight between
+Jack Johnson and Jim Jeffries out here at Reno, I’ll back
+you.”</p>
+
+<p>Every sports promoter in America was bidding for that
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">[110]</span>fight but nobody had enough faith in the match to offer
+Jeffries what he wanted to come out of retirement. Tex
+staggered the fight world by offering $101,000, and he got
+the fight.</p>
+
+<p>I recall a scene in Naegeli’s Hotel in Hoboken, New Jersey,
+when Rickard appeared with several of his backers to
+clinch the fight. Tex walked into the hotel, waited for all
+hands to be seated, then opened the eyes of both Johnson
+and Jeffries by placing $20,000 in gold on the table. That
+gold settled the argument and got him the fight, for while
+other bidders for the bout were talking big, Rickard showed
+his good faith with money.</p>
+
+<p>Previous to the meeting in Hoboken, all the bidders and
+the principals had congregated in the Albany Hotel in New
+York City to discuss plans for the match. Almost every sports
+writer in New York, and many from cities as far west as
+California, were among those present. When the principals
+arrived to talk business, Police Commissioner Baker announced
+that he would be forced to arrest everyone if a contract
+for the fight were signed on the premises, for such a
+procedure would be against the law. That’s why the scene
+was shifted to Naegeli’s Hotel in New Jersey.</p>
+
+<p>Rickard made ring history with the match, for not only
+did he referee, but he drew gate receipts amounting to $270,755,
+high figures for the period.</p>
+
+<p>The result of the Reno fight convinced Tex that there was
+more money in the fight game than in mining, and thereafter
+most of his time was devoted to pugilism. When he decided
+to devote all his time to boxing promotion, the gilded
+era got under way.</p>
+
+<p class="mt2">When Rickard came to New York, boxing was at a low ebb.
+He had successfully promoted shows in the West and when
+he took over the Garden, he saw no reason why his success
+should not continue.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">[111]</span></p>
+
+<p>I recall a dinner party he tossed for New York journalists
+at the Biltmore Hotel. Free loaders crashed the gate in large
+numbers, but that didn’t disturb Rickard. He sat back as the
+boys made speeches in which some questioned his ability to
+make money on weekly boxing shows at the Garden, while
+paying rent amounting to $52,000 a year. At that time, as
+I have mentioned previously, the Garden was only occasionally
+rented out for events other than boxing.</p>
+
+<p>Tex said nothing. He leaned back and smiled as he puffed
+his Perfecto. He saw things in the future that the scribes
+were blind to. At that time boxers were wearing bathhouse
+suits and ordinary street shoes in the ring. Barbers, ham
+actors, bum politicians and stick-up guys occupied front row
+seats that should have been used by the press. Holders of
+ringside seats were pushed about, laughed out of their rightful
+chairs by rowdies and gangsters. The aisles were filled with
+loafers and gate crashers, blocking the view of people who
+had paid good money to see the fights.</p>
+
+<p>That’s how boxing was run in New York before Tex took
+over—not only in the Garden, but in all the other clubs. But
+he had seen boxing staged on a different level by Jim Coffroth
+in California and he decided to do the same thing on the
+East coast. Law and order prevailed at Coffroth’s promotions
+and people were seated properly. Coffroth had a fine organization
+and he ran his affairs in a decent manner, without delays
+and without mob ruling.</p>
+
+<p>Rickard remembered all those things when he came to New
+York and he lived to see the Garden take over where Coffroth
+had left off. He lived to see ushers in bright uniforms
+give each patron the seat the check called for. He saw women
+by the thousands at his shows.</p>
+
+<p>At Reno, at the time of the Jeffries-Johnson fight, I recall
+how Tex fooled the scribes with his “telephone booths.” A
+few days before the fight, the newspapermen went out to
+look the grounds over at Tex’s invitation. Over the entrance
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">[112]</span>to the arena and right back of the last raised seat, about
+twenty-five feet from the ground, they noticed a row of
+covered boxes that looked like telephone booths. Tad Dorgan,
+grabbing Tex by the arm, pointed to the boxes and
+asked what they were for. Tex, a cigar in his mouth, and with
+his usual poker face, replied:</p>
+
+<p>“I put those in for the convenience of the newspapermen
+who want to phone after the fight.”</p>
+
+<p>No one thought of investigating. We accepted Tex’s explanation
+and the next day’s reports from the camp mentioned
+the item. But on the day of the fight we noticed that the
+booths were covered with curtains and upon checking further,
+found that Mrs. Rickard, Mrs. Jeffries, and other women, were
+seated in those “telephone booths,” all hidden from public
+view. That was the first effort Tex made to have women enjoy
+boxing without being molested.</p>
+
+<p class="mt2">Following the Reno battle, Rickard hit the trail southward.
+He went to Argentina, where he bought a ranch and raised
+cattle for export. Just about the time he decided to get back
+to the States, a young Colorado hobo-miner was making his
+way East after a few successful fights with unknowns like
+himself. His name was William Harrison Dempsey, and he
+was destined to become the perfect partner of the vast Rickard
+promotion enterprise.</p>
+
+<p>Hanging on the wall in my office today is a wrinkled right-hand
+boxing glove. On the back of it, stretching almost from
+the curled finger-tip to the wrist, is a dry, dark-brown stain.
+This glove is a souvenir of the three most furious rounds of
+fighting I have ever seen, and the stain was made by the blood
+of one of the bravest men who ever stepped into a roped
+square.</p>
+
+<p>Jack Dempsey wore those gloves to win the heavyweight
+championship of the world. He was, in my opinion, the most
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">[113]</span>colorful fighter of the twentieth century. The blood stains
+came from Jess Willard on that unforgettable afternoon at
+Toledo, Ohio, July 4, 1919, under a blazing sun that caused
+the thermometer to register 101 in the shade.</p>
+
+<p>Fate must have smiled when Tex first clapped eyes on this
+young genius of the ring, with his dark, indrawn brows and
+curly black hair, for it was Rickard’s opinion that the gigantic
+Willard couldn’t be licked.</p>
+
+<p>Even when Dempsey knocked out the huge Fred Fulton in
+eighteen seconds, Tex couldn’t see that destiny had presented
+him with a fighter who, perhaps alone of all pugilists, could
+carry his daring and ambitious schemes to success.</p>
+
+<p>The Dempsey-Willard bout decided matters, although it
+was not a startling affair financially. I was in Toledo some
+days before the fight sizing up the chances of the men. Willard
+I knew to be a good, though not a brilliant champion. He
+was so contemptuous of his smaller opponent that he hadn’t
+troubled to get himself into proper condition.</p>
+
+<p>I went around to see him one morning at ten o’clock and
+found that he was still in bed. I mentioned the matter to Tex.</p>
+
+<p>“I know, Nat,” he replied. “He’s taking Dempsey too
+lightly. Thinks he’s got a cinch. I wish someone could make
+him see this fight more seriously.”</p>
+
+<p>Dempsey, the product of barefisted brawls in mining camps
+and hobo jungles throughout the West, had a string of
+knockouts to his credit, but he had never stacked up against
+so huge an opponent as Big Jess. Still, Rickard’s opinion of
+Willard was shared by all in the challenger’s camp. Jack had
+worked hard to get himself into condition. I shall never
+forget the wonderful physical appearance he presented, with
+his flashing dark eyes and skin tanned to the color of a hazel
+nut. He looked fit to fight the world the day he entered the
+Toledo ring for that title bout.</p>
+
+<p>All signs pointed one way, and the black stars of defeat
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">[114]</span>began to cluster over the head of Willard, even before he
+climbed into the ring. But he didn’t seem to notice them.
+Ironically, his chief concern was that he might land himself
+in serious trouble by fatally injuring his youthful opponent.</p>
+
+<p>The night before the fight, I favored Dempsey, figuring that
+if the battle went any distance, condition must tell. And that
+is how it was with me when I took my seat by the ringside
+under a scorching sun which made me sick with heat.</p>
+
+<p>There were nearly twenty thousand people in the arena
+and the possibility of seeing the world heavyweight title
+change hands was too much for their nerves. They kept up a
+steady roar for an hour before the battle, and when the men
+entered the ring, a cyclone of shouts and yelling was unleashed.</p>
+
+<p>The first thing that struck me was Dempsey’s apparent
+nervousness. His perfectly trained body, I thought, was capable
+of standing the severest test, but what about his nerves?</p>
+
+<p>Here was an unknown factor.</p>
+
+<p>He sat in his corner, elbows on his knees and head down,
+scowling at the canvas. He was unshaven, and his growth of
+dark facial hair added to his tough appearance.</p>
+
+<p>Friends at the ringside shouted good luck to him, but he
+took no notice of them. He even seemed to resent the presence
+of his manager, Jack Kearns, who was talking to him
+earnestly.</p>
+
+<p>Contrasted with this dark, berry-brown man, Jess Willard
+looked like a high, blond animal. His face was tanned, but
+the skin of his body was as white as a woman’s. He looked
+arrogantly confident as he waved to friends, a superior smile
+on his lips.</p>
+
+<p>Ollie Pecord, the referee, called the men to the middle of
+the ring for instructions. Willard moved towards him with a
+long, sure stride. Dempsey, on the other hand, broke into a
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">[115]</span>nervous run. I watched the scowl on his face deepen as Pecord
+was talking. Jack’s eyes never left the ground.</p>
+
+<p>Willard stood easily, listening, and occasionally throwing a
+contemptuous glance towards his young challenger. He towered
+over Dempsey, yet I could see that he was soft in comparison
+with the muscular, steel-hard man from Manassa.</p>
+
+<p>Back in their corners, the men got ready for the bell.
+Dempsey’s nervousness seemed to increase with every passing
+second. He fidgeted and shuffled his feet, as if unable to restrain
+the movement of his limbs. Little did I dream that he
+was about to give the greatest exhibition of fighting fury ever
+seen in an American ring.</p>
+
+<p>The entire arena and ring were flooded with white-hot
+light. The heat was terrific and most of the spectators had
+stripped to their shirts. I was grumbling to the man next to
+me about the scorching I was getting, when the gong sounded
+for the opening round. I didn’t notice the heat after that.</p>
+
+<p>Dempsey leaped from his corner like a tiger, facing the
+champion almost in his own corner. He feinted with his right
+and shot a left to Willard’s ribs. It connected with the noise
+of a wooden hammer, bringing a roar from the crowd.</p>
+
+<p>“By heavens, he can hit!” roared Bill McGeehan, famous
+New York scribe sitting near me.</p>
+
+<p>Seven times in that first round Willard was dropped to the
+canvas by the smashing blows of his challenger. Dempsey
+presented a figure of murderous fighting energy as he stood
+over his fallen opponent after every knock-down. He was
+quivering and snorting like a wild animal and his scowl was
+terrifying. Never had I seen human nature stripped so bare
+of civilized pretense.</p>
+
+<p>When Jess went down for the seventh time, Ollie Pecord
+started counting. The gong sounded ending the round when
+he reached seven, but Pecord had not heard it through the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">[116]</span>din and he lifted the arm of Dempsey in token of victory
+by a knockout in the first session.</p>
+
+<p>Pandemonium reigned. Dempsey leaped from the ring
+and was on his way to the dressing room when the error was
+noted, and he was called back.</p>
+
+<p>Willard seemed unaware of what was going on. He had
+been dragged to his corner where he sat with broken jaw, his
+eyes glassy and bloodshot, and the claret flowing from nose
+and mouth. Yet, to the astonishment of all, the Kansas Giant
+got to his feet to face additional punishment in the second
+round.</p>
+
+<p>I have never seen a fighter so badly battered. There were
+groans from the gathering. This was not a boxing match, but
+a slaughter, and when the challenger began to pick out Willard’s
+terribly damaged eyes for further attack, boos greeted
+him. Once Willard fought back, but it was a futile attempt
+to stem the tide.</p>
+
+<p>The spectacle of Willard, his face battered beyond recognition,
+standing defenseless before this human tiger, didn’t
+accord with ideas of true sport. Yet the fight went on!</p>
+
+<p>The final act of this savage, brutal affair, was yet to be
+fought. I watched Willard stagger to his corner. He was all
+in. He lacked the strength to stand up and had to be assisted
+to the stool. The spectators pleaded for the closure but Ollie
+Pecord, a referee of the old school, would have none of that.
+He would not stop a fight so long as the champion was able
+to come to scratch.</p>
+
+<p>I despair to give an impression of Willard when he came up
+for the third round—his last. He was almost blind and despite
+the ministrations of his handlers, who worked furiously to aid
+him, his face was one mash from forehead to chin. He hadn’t
+a chance in the world and as I looked at him with a feeling
+of pity, I blamed his seconds for not tossing in the sponge.</p>
+
+<p>Blind fighting instinct alone dictated Willard’s move forward
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">[117]</span>as Dempsey leaped toward him when the third round
+got under way. This time Jess shot up his right to protect himself,
+and it caught Dempsey under the chin and jarred him.
+It sent his head back with a jerk—the only effective punch the
+champion had landed in the fight.</p>
+
+<p>There was a roar for the underdog. Everybody jumped up.
+The excitement made me catch my breath.</p>
+
+<p>But Dempsey recovered quickly, spurred to a fighting fury
+by the uppercut that almost downed him. The black scowl
+had been replaced by a terrible tigerish smile. He started
+pounding away at Jess’s body and jaw and when the round
+ended, both the challenger and the champion were exhausted.</p>
+
+<p>No words can depict Willard’s pitiful plight. He was half-dragged,
+half carried to his corner, where he was planted on
+his stool in a state of collapse. Ike O’Neil, his chief second,
+tried to revive him, but his beaten body could not respond.
+Realizing his condition, Jess told referee Pecord he could not
+continue.</p>
+
+<p>Thus one of the greatest heavyweight championship bouts
+I have ever seen came to an end, and the bloodstained right-hand
+glove that hangs on the wall of my office recalls every
+thrilling detail of it. This was Jack Dempsey’s high spot. I
+think it was also Jess Willard’s. To him goes an honor hardly
+less than that of his conqueror, despite the battering he took.</p>
+
+<p class="mt2">Were Dempsey’s gloves loaded?</p>
+
+<p>That question has been discussed time and again in magazine
+and newspaper articles by persons incapable of giving a
+proper answer except through hearsay or from comments
+made by persons supposedly “in the know.” I watched the
+crumbling of the Pottowatomie Giant and after the terrific
+shellacking that Willard took, I heard many remarks that no
+human could deal out so much punishment with padded mitts
+unless there was something hidden in his gloves. Even to this
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">[118]</span>day, one reads about “loaded gloves,” and how plaster of Paris
+on Dempsey’s bandages cut Jess’ face to ribbons.</p>
+
+<p>I was at the fight. I watched Dempsey in training. I saw
+Jimmy Deforest, his trainer, tape Jack’s hands. I watched
+every move of the men in Jack’s quarters. I think I can clear
+the atmosphere once and for all time with an accurate version
+of what happened.</p>
+
+<p>Jack Dempsey had no loaded gloves, nor did he use plaster
+of Paris over his bandages. I make this assertion despite the
+recent statement by Jack Kearns, Dempsey’s manager in that
+contest, that he had sprinkled plaster of Paris powder over
+the bandages on Jack’s hands and then poured on alcohol
+to form a plaster cast. I watched the proceedings and the
+only person who had anything to do with the taping job was
+Deforest, who, after he had taped the hands, poured some
+water over the bandages to keep Jack’s hands cool. Of course,
+any solution poured over bandages will harden them, but
+that’s all that took place.</p>
+
+<p>Deforest became riled when the loaded gloves stories began
+to appear. I recall a press conference he had with several
+reporters, including myself, at which he angrily remarked:</p>
+
+<p>“I regard the stories that I put plaster of Paris on Jack’s
+bandages as plain libel. I’m tired of hearing people talk about
+such nonsense. It’s pure trash. These rumors affect my reputation
+for honesty and fair dealing. I did apply some water over
+the bandages when Jack complained about the extreme heat,
+and that was all. I did not apply any foreign substance to
+them. I used a hard adhesive tape. This certainly was not
+irregular. It was not against the rules. It was the same kind of
+tape I always used when I bandaged Kid McCoy’s hands.”</p>
+
+<p>Deforest’s statement should settle all further arguments. It
+was not until the recent fall-out between Kearns and Dempsey
+over the proposed movie of Jack’s life (in which Kearns plays
+no part) that the latter gave this new version of the bandaging
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">[119]</span>of Dempsey’s hands. Kearns has always denied the plaster of
+Paris yarn over the years, only to change the story in the past
+few months.</p>
+
+<p class="mt2">It was during the training camp period for the Toledo fight
+that Rickard first expressed to me his thinking for bouts to
+come. He had invited the Connecticut sportsman, Joe Mulvihill,
+the Mad Hatter of Danbury, to accompany us on a visit
+to Dempsey’s camp, and on the way, Mulvihill had remarked,
+“One of these days, Tex, we’ll have a million dollar gate.”</p>
+
+<p>Tex laughed and kidded him, but after Mulvihill had gone
+back to the hotel with several newspapermen, Rickard turned
+to me and said, “That ain’t a dream, Nat.”</p>
+
+<p>I could see that he was visualizing things, though he didn’t
+do much talking. He was keeping his plans to himself, but
+he did say to me: “What we need is one big international
+heavyweight championship and you’ll see the biggest crowd
+that ever attended a boxing match in this country.”</p>
+
+<p>It wasn’t long after Dempsey won the title that I went overseas
+as Rickard’s agent to seek the man that Tex wanted so
+badly for that million dollar gate. He soon signed French war
+hero Georges Carpentier, for a fight with Dempsey, and from
+the moment that the contract was made it looked as if Rickard’s
+dream would come true.</p>
+
+<p>I was Tex’s confidant in several of his boxing deals and I
+spent many hours with him about this time. Shortly after the
+Carpentier-Dempsey bout was made, orders started to pour
+into Tex’s office. Mike Jacobs, later Rickard’s successor as
+monarch of the fight game, was in control of the ticket sales,
+and he turned most of the tickets over to the agencies.</p>
+
+<p>The demand for ducats was so big that Tex could take
+nothing but cash or certified checks. Without putting down a
+cent of his own money, he constructed the huge arena in Jersey
+City known as Boyle’s Thirty Acres and still had enough
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">[120]</span>to pay Dempsey and Carpentier their guarantees a week before
+they entered the ring.</p>
+
+<p>But it was a tremendous gamble, for if anything had happened
+to the fighters, Tex would have had to beat it out of
+the United States. He had little money of his own at the
+time and it would have been impossible for him to make a
+100 per cent refund if the fight had been called off.</p>
+
+<p>Tex worried over this huge outlay when he started the promotion
+and bemoaned the fact that he had planned the arena
+with 60,000 seats. However, once the money started coming
+in, he knew he was clear as long as nothing happened to the
+fighters. I recall meeting with him and Mike Jacobs on an
+interview for a Sunday yarn. Asked for a rundown on the seating
+arrangements and the ticket sale, Tex hesitated, then replied:</p>
+
+<p>“I have 60,000 seats. I was worrying how we could get that
+many folks to come to the show, but Mike and I are now trying
+to see how many more seats we can put into the arena.
+We’re being flooded with requests. But I don’t want to say
+nothin’ about that in the paper, Nat. I’ll give you a good
+story, but it’s for the speculators who are grabbin’ all the ringside
+seats.”</p>
+
+<p>With that he told me how he put one over on them. He
+released a story to the effect that because of the run on his
+ticket offices, he had received permission from the Jersey
+City authorities to extend the arena stands and to add 30,000
+seats to its capacity. The ringside seats, he informed the
+press, had been sold out during the first ten days, and to
+take care of the many requests that were piling up at his
+headquarters, other ringside sections were being built.</p>
+
+<p>The specs fell for that story and another wild rush was
+made for the ringside seats, the choicest of which Rickard had
+already allotted Uncle Mike because of the financial aid
+Jacobs had given to launch the promotion.</p>
+
+<p>When, at the last moment, the speculators found themselves
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">[121]</span>stuck with many unsold ducats, Tex and Mike laughed.</p>
+
+<p>“Let them worry, it’s their headache now,” was Rickard’s
+comment.</p>
+
+<p>Rickard’s good angel smiled again and the take amounted
+to $1,789,238, the first million dollar gate in the history of
+pugilism!</p>
+
+<p class="mt2">I met with Tex in his office after the Carpentier-Dempsey
+fight and got the story of his promotion plans for the future.
+He was dreaming of more big bouts and kept talking about
+another million dollar gate.</p>
+
+<p>“Colorful fighters are what I need,” he said. “There’s one
+coming up from Argentina and my people tell me he’s a big,
+husky fella from the Pampas who kin fight.”</p>
+
+<p>He was referring, of course, to Luis Angel Firpo. When
+he reached New York and was brought to the Madison Square
+Garden tower where Rickard had his quarters, I could see by
+the gleam in Tex’s eyes that he was exceedingly pleased with
+the appearance of this man who would come to be known
+as the Wild Bull of the Pampas and was planning another
+coup.</p>
+
+<p>During the years that Jack Dempsey laboriously climbed
+the pugilistic ladder, and even after his feet were firmly set
+on the top rung, many questioned his claim to greatness. It
+was generally conceded that he was a dynamic hitter, a fact
+that could not be disputed in view of his quick victories over
+so many opponents, but fistic critics doubted his ability to
+withstand punishment. It remained for Luis Angel Firpo
+to sweep away all such doubts.</p>
+
+<p>Firpo had only a vague idea of the finer points of pugilism,
+but because of his Herculean strength, iron nerves, and almost
+limitless courage, he was able to retire from the ring
+after three years with a million dollars to show for his effort.</p>
+
+<p>The Dempsey-Firpo fight was one of the biggest sensations
+of the modern ring. It was an unqualified success from every
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">[122]</span>point of view. Tex took over a million dollars from the public
+and finally established himself as the greatest promoter
+boxing had ever seen. It was never generally known, however,
+that this memorable bout was within an ace of being
+called off only hours before ring time. I am one of the few
+people who can tell the whole story of just how close Rickard
+came to financial ruin that September day in 1923.</p>
+
+<p>Dr. William A. Walker, chief of the medical staff of the
+New York Medical Commission, was at the weigh-in to examine
+the rivals. William Muldoon, Chairman of the Commission,
+objected to the presence of newspapermen in the
+room, but after considerable persuasion, he permitted Jimmy
+Dawson of the New York <i>Times</i>, Dan Lyons of the New York
+<i>Globe</i>, and myself to remain. Dr. Walker, while placing the
+stethoscope over Firpo’s chest, accidentally bumped into the
+challenger’s left arm. Instinctively, Luis threw the arm upwards.
+Not a sound came from his lips.</p>
+
+<p>Thinking this a queer reaction, the doctor ran his fingers
+over every part of the arm, squeezing it here and there as he
+tested for a fracture. Firpo was smiling as Doc Walker’s
+probing fingers reached his elbow, but under the smile there
+were lines of pain.</p>
+
+<p>Boxing Commissioner Muldoon, one of the greatest physical
+culture experts I have ever known, was watching the examination
+closely. “There’s something wrong with that arm,”
+he remarked. He called Rickard over.</p>
+
+<p>“What’s the trouble?” inquired Tex.</p>
+
+<p>Walker tapped Firpo’s elbow. “This.”</p>
+
+<p>Rickard turned pale. He had staked a fortune on the fight.
+He stood there, clenching his jaws so that the muscles stood
+out. Despair was in his eyes. His face grew even grimmer as
+he heard Doc Walker say to Muldoon: “Firpo seems to have
+a dislocated fracture of the left arm.”</p>
+
+<p>Firpo, who spoke no English, apparently grasped what was
+going on, for he burst into a torrent of Spanish. The interpreter
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">[123]</span>explained that the Wild Bull had kept his injury
+secret because he didn’t think it serious and didn’t want the
+fight called off. The doctor then asked the interpreter to explain
+to Luis that to fight in his condition was dangerous and
+against the law. The challenger laughed and said he was all
+right. Muldoon thought otherwise. He was seething with rage.</p>
+
+<p>“Why weren’t we told about this?” he demanded. “What
+the devil do you mean by keeping us in the dark about this?”</p>
+
+<p>Firpo waved his arms violently. He didn’t want to be called
+a quitter, he said. And then he screeched in Spanish, “I can
+beat Dempsey. It is nothing.”</p>
+
+<p>Then, as though to prove it, this man of iron courage raised
+his left arm and brought his fist down upon the table. The
+doctor was horrified, for he knew, more than the rest of us,
+how terrible the agony of that gesture must have been. But
+Firpo, with gritted teeth and a wild look in his eyes, smiled.</p>
+
+<p>Rickard and Muldoon looked on in amazement. Neither
+could understand the Wild Bull’s confidence in himself. Then
+Tex’s hard shell of calm left him. The poker face fell off like
+a mask, showing his features distorted with rage. Tapping his
+walking stick on the floor—always a sign that he had lost his
+temper—he swore at Firpo in Spanish, threatening him with
+God knows what.</p>
+
+<p>Muldoon, who had remained calm while sizing up the situation,
+laid a restraining hand on Rickard, saying “Tex, you’ve
+had a bad break, and I feel like taking the hide out of this
+fellow myself. We can’t get a substitute and if the fight isn’t
+staged, there’ll be a riot and you’ll lose a fortune. But I’ll see
+what we can do. From my examination, I think it’s a simple
+dislocation without a break. I’m sure I can handle it.”</p>
+
+<p>Walker had another probe at the left arm and agreed with
+the Commissioner. Muldoon asked Firpo to put out his left
+arm and when he did, suddenly jerked it forward, snapping
+the bone back into position.</p>
+
+<p>That, to me, was the moment when Luis proved his absolute
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">[124]</span>gameness. Despite the suffering, he didn’t utter a sound,
+but the beads of perspiration on his forehead showed the
+torture he was going through.</p>
+
+<p>Firpo, with the arm tightly bandaged, remained in the
+doctor’s care for the next three hours. The swelling was reduced,
+but when it came time for Luis to go into the ring,
+I knew that he was in agony with every movement of his
+arm. Only his fighting heart carried him through. Nine out
+of ten men would have quit, but Firpo hurled himself into
+battle against Dempsey, the most ferocious scrapper of the
+age.</p>
+
+<p>Dempsey floored this magnificent fighting man seven times
+in the first round and twice more in the second before he was
+declared the victor. But believe it or not, the fist of that dislocated
+arm landed the punch which sent Jack tumbling
+through the ropes on to the typewriters of the working press.</p>
+
+<p>Firpo’s gameness paid off. The gate was nearly $1,200,000,
+the fans were satisfied, and Tex Rickard had been saved from
+ruin. Dr. Walker told me after the bout that this was the
+greatest example of courage he had ever come across in all his
+many years of association with fighters.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">[125]</span></p>
+
+<div class="figcontainer">
+<figure class="figright illowp30" id="chapter15" style="max-width: 6.25em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/chapter15.jpg" alt="15">
+</figure>
+</div>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_15"><span class="hide">15<br></span>
+A SCOUT FOR TEX RICKARD</h3>
+
+</div>
+
+<p>After Dempsey had disposed of Firpo, Rickard
+suddenly woke up to the panicking fact that there wasn’t a
+colorful, international fighter anywhere who could be tossed
+in against Dempsey to keep the million dollar pot boiling. He
+had gotten accustomed to big crowds and big gates. Now that
+Dempsey had ploughed through Carpentier and Firpo, and
+these international bouts had drawn seven figure gates, Tex
+was through with small fry. With American soil unable to
+turn up big enough drawing cards, he decided to have Europe
+scouted.</p>
+
+<p>One day Rickard phoned to the New York <i>Telegram</i> and
+asked if I could meet him that afternoon in the Garden. I did.
+My diary shows that it was on October 14, 1923.</p>
+
+<p>“Goin’ to Europe this winter?” he asked.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">[126]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Yes,” I replied, “very soon in fact. I have my passage
+booked for next week. The paper wants me to do some articles
+on Germany. They’re making amazing strides in athletics,
+particularly in amateur boxing.”</p>
+
+<p>“How’d you like to scout for me?” Tex asked. “Look over
+the field, and if you see anyone you think I might be interested
+in, cable me.”</p>
+
+<p>I agreed. Scouting wouldn’t interfere with my newspaper
+assignment.</p>
+
+<p>My duties as outlined by Tex were to locate heavyweights
+of promise, particularly good European prospects who in due
+course could be pitted against our stars in top contests. He
+wanted men who could stand up in his million dollar program.
+Annually I spent from six to eight weeks abroad during
+my vacation and since only part of this period was paid for
+by the newspaper, I was on my own so far as the scouting was
+concerned. It didn’t interfere with my newspaper work.</p>
+
+<p>On October 22, our wedding anniversary, my wife Trudie
+and I sailed for Germany. I didn’t believe I could find any
+good boxing material on my first trip for Rickard, but I decided
+to study the field thoroughly and make contacts. I saw
+plenty of ring activity throughout Germany, but nothing that
+impressed me—not a professional worth discussing with
+Rickard.</p>
+
+<p>Fred Walker, Managing Editor of the New York <i>Telegram</i>
+asked me to write a series for our special Sunday Section on
+“Reconstruction in the Fatherland,” and in that series I wrote:</p>
+
+<p>“Of one thing I am convinced—Germany is rapidly developing
+a nation of athletes, with boxing holding the attention
+of youth more so than any other sport. Germany is a nation
+to watch. Boxing is gaining a firm hold in the Fatherland.”</p>
+
+<p>The following year, after I had returned from a two-week
+trip to Central America, wife and I again left for Central
+Europe for another series of articles. Our trip called for a
+tour of Germany, France and Italy. This time I was confident
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">[127]</span>I could locate at least one prospect and I promised Rickard I
+would have someone for him, but again I failed.</p>
+
+<p>I did, however, make the acquaintance of the best international
+referee in Europe, Arthur Buelow, and of Prof.
+Joseph Pilates, a physical culture instructor now the owner
+of a studio a stone’s throw away from Madison Square
+Garden. Both were behind the movement to develop boxing
+talent in Germany and were doing a fine job. Buelow, prior
+to the war, had taught the sport and had officiated in many
+international bouts as third man in the ring, and Pilates was
+an instructor of boxing and physical training in the Berlin
+Police Department and on the Isle of Wight where he had
+been a military prisoner during World War I. They steered
+me on the right path.</p>
+
+<p>Pugilism, they said, was sweeping the country like a jitterbug
+craze, and I found it to be so. Wherever I went, boys were
+engaged in club competition. Every village had an amateur
+club where boxing was on the daily program. From among
+the victors in the various district organizations, came the
+national champions, and with conditions as they were at the
+time, being a title holder meant a lot to the champion. Here
+boxing was being practiced on the largest scale I have ever
+seen.</p>
+
+<p>The leading promoter was Walter Rothenberg who operated
+in Berlin and in Hamburg. He staged the championship
+matches and occasionally, as an added attraction, had one or
+two professional bouts on the program in which several of the
+contestants were boxers who had been in America prior to
+the war, among them Jack Stanley, Jack Taylor and Paul
+Sampson, boxers I had seen in action in New York City and
+in Hoboken, New Jersey.</p>
+
+<p>The energy of the boys, their drive and enthusiasm, made
+a great impression on me. I was confident that out of this vast
+army of amateurs there would spring at least one heavyweight
+who would make ring history. Wherever the American flag
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">[128]</span>flies, there the seeds of our national pastimes—baseball and
+boxing—are sown and so I found it in Germany in the years
+following World War I.</p>
+
+<p>Buelow and Pilates had written to me about a young, handsome
+boy, a powerful hitter and scientific boxer, who, after
+cleaning up in the amateur field, had now reached top rating
+among the professionals. They suggested that it would be
+worth while on my next visit to Germany, to see this boy in
+action. His name was Max Schmeling. Now on my third
+journey to Germany, I had decided to make the acquaintance
+of Max.</p>
+
+<p class="mt2">One night in mid-August, 1926, accompanied by Buelow,
+Pilates and several newspapermen, I left Berlin for the town
+of Bernau, about thirty miles away, to see the finals of an
+amateur tournament and a couple of pro fights. Tracking over
+hills and a rocky valley, we reached a country roadhouse.
+There I was told we would soon see some good boxing matches.</p>
+
+<p>The place was jammed. To get to the meeting house we had
+to pass through subterranean passageways that had been in
+use during the war as shelters. Inside the building, situated
+in the far end of a spacious hall, was a ring about 10 feet long
+and 8 feet wide. It was set on a platform about 3 feet off the
+floor. It had no mat covering nor any ring posts. The ropes—three
+strands—were attached to pulleys fastened to the walls.</p>
+
+<p>The spectators, more than a thousand, kept themselves in
+good humor guzzling beer from German mugs and eating
+sausages and sauerkraut. Men, women and children crowded
+the place. Some women dandled nursing babies, others played
+with dachshunds. It was the strangest gathering I had ever
+seen at a fight.</p>
+
+<p>Shouts and applause greeted every knock-down of which
+there were many. The people had the kind of naive enthusiasm
+you see in the old engravings and paintings, such as
+Hogarth’s <i>Southwark Fair</i>. The huge hall where all this took
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">[129]</span>place was used both as a dining room and a meeting place for
+the townsfolk, but on this occasion it was turned into a boxing
+arena. My presence was expected due to advance announcements
+and after an introduction by the Mayor, and a few
+words of greeting by me, I was escorted to my seat.</p>
+
+<p>In the midst of the sprawling country scene, a voice bellowed
+in my ear: “Herr Nat. Herr Nat. There’s the boy you
+want to see. That’s Schmeling. If you haven’t heard about him
+yet, you will pretty soon.”</p>
+
+<p>The man who introduced us was Walter Rothenberg, the
+promoter.</p>
+
+<p>Schmeling was a smiling, handsome youngster, six feet of
+gangling brawn, a perfect specimen of physical fitness despite
+the poor living conditions in Germany at the time. He was
+not present to box that night. He had come to see his friend
+Otto Herse, later the champion’s sparmate and German lightweight
+champion, engage in a three round contest. All the
+amateurs received an equivalent in U.S. currency of two
+dollars for expenses with an additional two for each winner.
+This was given them in lieu of prizes since the lads were
+hungry; food was scarce and those in control informed me
+that the money was distributed to give the boys an opportunity
+to purchase food. That’s really what brought out so
+many competitors. It was like handing out a meal ticket to
+each.</p>
+
+<p>Buelow, standing at my side as I spoke to Schmeling, said
+that in the decade following the war, he had not come across
+a finer boxer nor harder hitter. He raved about Max’s boxing
+talent.</p>
+
+<p>“Schmeling,” he said, “has everything a boxer needs to
+reach the top.” He had taught Max the rudiments of boxing,
+watched him clean up the amateur field and had then taken
+over his management when he turned professional in 1924.</p>
+
+<p>I asked Buelow how long Max had been fighting.</p>
+
+<p>“Two years as an amateur and two as a professional,” he
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">[130]</span>replied. When Max became a pro, his advancement was rapid.
+In 1926 he fought two draws for the light heavyweight title
+with the champion, Max Diekmann, won it the following year
+and a few months later carried off the German heavyweight
+crown.</p>
+
+<p>“He’s growing fast, Nat,” said Buelow. “I think he will be
+a heavyweight in another year. If you can bring him to
+America, you will be delivering to Mr. Rickard the next
+world heavyweight champion, and I will let you share in his
+management.”</p>
+
+<p>At this stage, Schmeling scaled 171 pounds. I liked Buelow,
+who spoke English and I promised to do what I could, but
+informed him that I had never managed a boxer and had no
+intentions of accepting such a post now.</p>
+
+<p>I realized that Buelow was one of the best judges of boxers
+in Europe and my curiosity was aroused after he had spoken
+in such glowing terms of Max. I was eager to see Schmeling in
+action against a top pugilist before trying to sell him to
+Rickard.</p>
+
+<p>Eleven days after my arrival in Germany, August 24, I had
+my chance. It was the second drawn battle between Schmeling
+and Diekmann for the light heavyweight crown. I saw a powerful
+hitter and expert boxer perform. Though he failed to win
+the title, the evidence of his fine boxing assets were on view
+that night. I liked his general work.</p>
+
+<p>I sent a message to Rickard that I thought I had found the
+man for whom he was hunting. I realized as did Buelow that
+Schmeling would soon outgrow the light heavy ranks and be
+ready to tackle men in the higher division. I cabled Rickard:
+“Have discovered an excellent fighter. Suggest cable round
+trip tickets for him and manager. Willing to come to America
+if guaranteed three fights minimum purse $10,000.”</p>
+
+<p>Tex answered: “Can guarantee only one fight with option.
+Will pay full expenses. You advance trip tickets.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">[131]</span></p>
+
+<p>That didn’t appeal to me nor to Buelow. I wasn’t the promoter
+and didn’t cherish the idea of advancing fares. Rickard’s
+gambling spirit, I thought, apparently had deserted him. I
+cabled back: “You’re making mistake. Schmeling is the goods.
+Can’t miss. Looks like coming heavyweight champion.”</p>
+
+<p>But Rickard was adamant. He turned down the terms with
+this cable: “Too much involved financially for the risk. Have
+him pay own fare. I’ll refund after signing contract.”</p>
+
+<p>But Max and Buelow had no money. Both were keenly
+disappointed. I engaged passage for New York and asked the
+fighter and manager not to make any arrangements for a trip
+abroad until they again heard from me. They agreed. In the
+meantime, in order to keep Schmeling busy, Buelow pitted
+him against the top fighters of Germany and several from
+France. After winning the light heavyweight crown from
+Hein Domgoergen in Leipzig, he won a ten-rounder from
+Gypsy Daniels of England but met with a severe setback when
+he was knocked out by Daniels in the opening round of a
+return bout. Rickard seemed to have lost all interest in the
+German following that disastrous affair.</p>
+
+<p>But I did not. I still had faith in Schmeling and so told
+Tex. I pleaded Max’s cause but without success. In the meantime
+Ishmael Pace, successful Buenos Aires promoter, cabled
+Buelow to bring Max to South America. Buelow, true to his
+promise, held off pending final word from me regarding the
+negotiations with Rickard.</p>
+
+<p>A few weeks passed, when to my surprise, I received a message
+asking that I meet Max and Arthur at a Hoboken pier.
+They had scraped enough together to make the trip across the
+Atlantic without Rickard’s help, so confident were both that
+the fighter could make good.</p>
+
+<p>But there was still another hurdle to jump. In his fight
+with Diener, Max had hurt his hand. He was very much in
+need of financial aid and was undecided whether to endanger
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">[132]</span>his future by accepting one fight or to wait until the break
+had mended. I urged the latter course and sent him to Dr.
+Fralick, a bone specialist. Then I took him to the Garden to
+introduce him to Rickard and his matchmaker. Tex studied
+the handsome boy carefully. He took a liking to the German
+lad and agreed to sign him for a fight with Joe Monte, a ten
+round match.</p>
+
+<p>But now we faced more difficulties. Max had heard reports
+abroad of poor decisions in America and sought protection.
+He insisted that he would fight only if I agreed to become his
+co-manager with Buelow. Of course I refused. He and Buelow
+came to my office the following day and pleaded with me.</p>
+
+<p>“If you don’t accept,” said Buelow, “Max will go home.
+He doesn’t want to box here if you don’t help me handle his
+affairs. He is afraid that the breaks will be against him if he
+hasn’t an American to see that he is fairly treated.”</p>
+
+<p>I tried to convince Max and Arthur that decisions in
+America were as fair as anywhere in the world and that he
+needn’t fear a “raw deal,” but I couldn’t convince Schmeling.
+Then I hit upon a bright idea.</p>
+
+<p>I called in John (Ike) Dorgan, my partner in <i>The Ring</i>
+magazine which I started several years before.</p>
+
+<p>“Ike,” I said, “I want you to meet the next world heavyweight
+champion, Max Schmeling, and his manager, Arthur
+Buelow. They want me to take a managerial interest in Max,
+but you know I don’t go in for that. How about you taking
+over as his American representative. There’s 10 percent in it
+for you and no cost to yourself.”</p>
+
+<p>Dorgan was an excellent publicist. Previously I had turned
+over to him Charley White of Chicago when White was one
+of the nation’s leading lightweights. White had dropped his
+manager and had asked me to take over. Well, Dorgan had
+reaped a fortune with White and I figured he could make as
+much or more by representing Schmeling. But to my amazement,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">[133]</span>Ike laughed my suggestion off, turning away thousands
+of dollars as later developments proved.</p>
+
+<p>“Why don’t you go away, Nat,” he said. “Haven’t you given
+me enough headaches with one German?”</p>
+
+<p>He was referring to Ted Sandwina, son of the strongest
+woman on earth, who, with her husband, had come to
+America for a tour with the Barnum and Bailey circus.
+Sandwina was a pretty good heavyweight but because of several
+injuries, he flopped as an attraction in New York. I had
+met the family in Europe and had suggested that they bring
+Ted to America for a campaign and I had him sign with
+Dorgan.</p>
+
+<p>When Ike refused to take over, Schmeling was prepared to
+go back home. I tried once more. I approached Jess McMahon,
+matchmaker for Rickard, and asked Jess’ advice.</p>
+
+<p>“Turn him loose if he feels that way about our officials,”
+said McMahon.</p>
+
+<p>But I didn’t. For friendship’s sake, I decided on a ruse. I
+would agree to sign a contract but would not take a penny
+of Schmeling’s earnings nor share any of his manager’s portion
+of Max’s purses.</p>
+
+<p>The following day I called Buelow and Max to my office
+and there, with brother Harold acting as attorney, an agreement
+was signed giving me a ten percent interest in all of
+Schmeling’s earnings for a period of six years. Buelow and
+Schmeling were elated. I took them to Rickard where a contract
+for the Monte fight was signed. In that contest, Monte
+was knocked out in the fifth round and the press raved over
+the excellent performance of his conqueror. His climb to
+fame had gotten under way.</p>
+
+<p>Time passed and the wheel of circumstance spun around.
+Schmeling became a golden boy. He made good with a vengeance.
+He reaped a fortune.</p>
+
+<p>Then Joe Jacobs, aided by Pete Reilly and Billy McCarney,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">[134]</span>his partners, a trio of international boxing managers, weaned
+Max away from Buelow with fabulous tales of what they could
+do for him.</p>
+
+<p>Schmeling gave Jacobs a ten percent interest in him. But
+that was insufficient for what Jacobs was eager to get—a firm
+grip on Max’s future. He and his pals were seeking permanent
+property and so they approached me. Jacobs offered me $5000
+for my share of the contract I held. I refused to consider it.</p>
+
+<p>Jess McMahon came across with an offer of $10,000. Then
+Jimmy Johnston, who also was seeking to manage Schmeling,
+walked into my office one day and planted a certified check for
+$10,000 on my desk. “This is yours if you’ll give me the ten
+percent interest you have in Schmeling,” he said.</p>
+
+<p>Each realized the value of a contract with the man who was
+destined to win the world heavyweight championship. I
+turned all offers down. My sole interest was to protect my
+friends Buelow and Schmeling. On all sides there were intrigues.
+Buelow was the target. They wanted to freeze him
+out. He held 33⅓ percent. I told him not to yield. Legally he
+was fully protected with his contract on file with the Boxing
+Commission and no matter what Schmeling would now do to
+break away and go with Jacobs, I was confident Buelow could
+collect his share.</p>
+
+<p>The situation became tense. Threats were made against
+Buelow. But he had my whole-hearted support. Buelow now
+sued Max for breach of contract. I knew how hard he had
+worked to bring Max to the front and sympathized with him.
+After Schmeling defeated Paulino Uzcudun of Spain in fifteen
+rounds and gained a fortune for his fight with Jack Sharkey
+which he won on a foul in the Yankee Stadium, June 12,
+1930, Schmeling agreed to settle matters with Buelow out of
+court. The suit was dropped with Arthur receiving $39,000.</p>
+
+<p>In his American campaign Schmeling appeared in bouts
+with gross receipts amounting to almost four million dollars,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">[135]</span>yet Rickard saw him only once, in the bout with Monte on
+November 23, 1928. Two years later Tex died, and one of the
+greatest ring attractions was left for others to exploit.</p>
+
+<p>As for me, I had a contract I never made use of. Had I
+exercised my rights, I would have collected close to $220,000
+as my share of Max’s U.S. earnings. I never participated in
+the management of a fighter, though I did collect for services
+rendered at times as a scout for Rickard and his successor,
+Mike Jacobs, after I had left the New York <i>Telegram</i> in 1929.
+Schmeling’s contract rests in my Garden Museum.</p>
+
+<p class="mt2">It pleases me to realize what a part I played in the development
+of international boxing and good will in sports.</p>
+
+<p>Before lining up Schmeling for Rickard, I had been instrumental
+in bringing another foreigner to America who proved
+a tremendous attraction—Paulino Uzcudun. He had color,
+could sock, and was a fighter of tremendous strength. He was
+a man of considerable courage. Here is the story of Paulino—of
+how I discovered him in Europe and engineered the deal
+that brought him to America under Jack Curley’s guidance.</p>
+
+<p>It was on December 1, 1925, in Rothenberg’s Kaiserdam
+Autohallen in Berlin, that my wife and I watched Paulino,
+the husky Basque, knock out Hans Breitenstraetter of Germany,
+champion of his country. I cabled to Rickard:</p>
+
+<p>“Saw picturesque, hard-hitting Basque, Paulino, stop German
+champion. Looks fine prospect. Colorful. Managed by
+Descamps and Carpentier.”</p>
+
+<p>The next morning I received Tex’s answer by cable: “See
+Descamps. Offer two round trip tickets terms and fights to be
+agreed upon.”</p>
+
+<p>Then I witnessed one of the canniest pieces of press agentry
+in the business. Descamps was a manager of the old school.
+He knew Tex was on a spot. Descamps had a close friend in
+Jack Curley, American sports impresario who had promoted
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">[136]</span>many world events, including the Jack Johnson-Jess Willard
+fight at Havana; and Descamps cabled Curley for advice.
+They were aware that Rickard would stake everything for a
+good heavyweight at this time and decided to hold out in order
+to obtain the best terms possible. In short, they were going
+to play their hand to the limit.</p>
+
+<p>After receiving his reply from Curley, Descamps fixed his
+Latin eyes on me, and with the nonchalance of a Machiavelli
+he said:</p>
+
+<p>“Tell Monsieur Rickard zat Paulino, he ess not ready for
+America. In a year perhaps. Who knows?”</p>
+
+<p>Then Descamps turned on a publicity campaign that would
+have shocked old man Barnum. All over the big cities of
+Europe he plugged a mammoth build-up, telling of my offer
+on behalf of Rickard. However, in the case of Paulino this
+was not necessary since he was a colorful boxer with a huge
+box office appeal. Descamps advertised Paulino as a cross
+between a Roman gladiator and King Kong. In France, for
+example, he plastered the barns and billboards and men’s
+comfort stations with huge four-color posters showing the
+Basque, axe in hand, toppling over a tree. The legend read:</p>
+
+<p>“Paulino Uzcudun, The Basque Woodchopper, Europe’s
+Greatest Heavyweight.” Then followed the modest subscript:
+“He can fell an ox with one blow.”</p>
+
+<p>I have one of the posters in my Garden Museum collection.</p>
+
+<p>There was nothing for me to do but to keep cool and wait
+for the publicity marathon to run itself out. But all the time
+I was in close touch with Rickard, keeping him informed of
+the progress I was making and of the activity of the man
+whose services he was not so eager to obtain.</p>
+
+<p>I followed Paulino to Barcelona and watched him knock
+out Constant Barrick in six rounds. I went with Descamps and
+Carpentier to Paris, where Paulino dropped Horace Jones
+with three punches—then on to Germany, where he and Franz
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">[137]</span>Diener, the heavyweight champion of the Fatherland, fought
+a vicious draw.</p>
+
+<p>By now I was convinced that if Tex could get Descamps to
+change his mind, America would see a hard punching heavyweight
+who would fit in well with the plans of the Garden
+promoter. I kept after Descamps and, having received a cable
+from Rickard granting me permission to add to his previous
+offer, I felt confident I would land my catch.</p>
+
+<p>But before I could close the deal, Descamps received word
+from Curley to come to America by way of the Azores and
+Havana; he would book one or two easy opponents for him in
+Cuba to add to the publicity. Thus, I engineered a deal with
+Descamps who left Madrid with his party on December 15,
+1926. On New Year’s Day Paulino opened his campaign on
+the American side of the Big Pond with a knockout in one
+round of Martin O’Grady in Havana. Two weeks later he
+scored another one-round knockout, this time over Antonio
+Fiero.</p>
+
+<p>Then the party sailed for Tampa where I met them and
+there Homer Smith was disposed of in the seventh round.
+With these preliminaries over, Descamps, Jack Curley, Paulino,
+and I left for New York to confer with Tex Rickard.</p>
+
+<p>Paulino was the first of the stream of Europeans to bring
+new life to American pugilism; and I was responsible for
+starting the ball rolling. The arrival of Paulino and later
+others from Europe and Cuba enabled Rickard to reap a
+bumper crop in his Garden promotions.</p>
+
+<p>Paulino held the spotlight for ten years. He started off in
+the United States by defeating Knute Hanson of Denmark
+and Tom Heeney of New Zealand on points and stopping
+Harry Wills in four rounds. He ended his days in Valencia,
+Spain, where he had been appointed Chief of Police by
+Franco, for whom he had been a chauffeur during the Spanish
+Civil War.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">[138]</span></p>
+
+<div class="figcontainer">
+<figure class="figright illowp30" id="chapter16" style="max-width: 6.25em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/chapter16.jpg" alt="16">
+</figure>
+</div>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_16"><span class="hide">16<br></span>
+UNCLE MIKE JACOBS</h3>
+
+</div>
+
+<p>When Tex Rickard passed away, his chief aide,
+Mike Jacobs, took over the reins as top boxing promoter. I
+knew Uncle Mike as few of the sports writers did. I am familiar
+with the many facets of his personality and witnessed many
+of his joys, sorrows, defeats, and triumphs. His defeats were
+few and far between. His joys were many. His success was
+phenomenal. His victories were numerous and impressive; I
+played a big part in them, both before and after he took over
+the Madison Square Garden promotion.</p>
+
+<p>I saw him transform boxing into a gigantic industry, even
+greater than that which Rickard built in the Golden Era.
+During our thirty-five years of close association, I watched this
+product of the sidewalks of New York City become a captain
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">[139]</span>of sports promotion. His success story is Horatio Alger stuff.</p>
+
+<p>Those who deal with the legends of boxing promotion like
+to hark back to the days of Rickard. It invariably has been Tex
+of the Wild West, Tex of the Klondike and the Pampas. He
+built an empire, it’s true, but had it not been for the aid given
+him by Jacobs, I doubt that he would have gained the international
+prestige that made his name a byword in fistic circles.</p>
+
+<p>A hard-headed business man, a cool and calm calculator
+who always had a sound reason for every move, Jacobs improved
+on Tex’s methods, though with less flamboyance.
+However, like Rickard, Jacobs lived in an aura of fistic glamour
+and romance.</p>
+
+<p>I first met Mike when he had his little ticket office in the
+Hotel Normandie on Sixth Avenue and Twenty-eighth Street
+in New York City and I was a cub reporter covering the Red
+Light District for news and the Longacre A.C. fights. The
+latter, owned by colorful Billy Newman, was on Twenty-ninth
+Street and the corner of Sixth Avenue, the scene of
+many thrilling contests.</p>
+
+<p>Jacobs achieved domination of boxing, which was Rickard’s
+dream but beyond his mental capabilities. Both Tex and
+Mike on many occasions conferred with me concerning important
+matches, and I had a big hand in starting negotiations
+for both of them in international bouts or championship contests.
+Often, long before his staff would arrive in his Garden
+offices to begin the day’s work, Mike completed his plans for
+major matches in <i>The Ring</i> headquarters, where we met almost
+daily at seven-thirty in the morning.</p>
+
+<p>Pursuing the Rickard-Jacobs comparison, as I had an opportunity
+to study the pair at close range, I found that Uncle
+Mike never made the glaring mistakes which stand out in Tex’s
+biography. When Jacobs vacated his throne because of illness,
+boxing lost a master manipulator. A big figure in the boxing
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">[140]</span>game had passed out of the picture! Another big organization,
+such as Rickard had left behind, died. Another rich chapter
+in boxing history had been written.</p>
+
+<p>Rickard had his Jack Dempsey; Jacobs had his Joe Louis.
+When the Manassa Mauler knocked out Jess Willard in three
+rounds at Toledo, Tex had the champion whose crowd appeal
+created the first of the million dollar gates and made it possible
+for the promoter to finance and build Madison Square Garden.</p>
+
+<p>When Louis knocked out James J. Braddock in eight rounds
+at Chicago, Mike had the champion whose popularity brought
+back the million dollar gates, and made it possible for Jacobs
+to move into Madison Square Garden.</p>
+
+<p class="mt2">The similarity between Rickard’s relationship with Dempsey
+and Jacobs’ with Louis is striking. Jacobs was a successful
+promoter for the Hearst Milk Fund shows before he met Joe
+Louis. I had seen Louis in several of his amateur bouts in the
+West. I watched him in the National AAU championships in
+Boston and recognized a future world title holder. Then I
+saw him three times in professional fights in the Mid-West,
+and came back to New York raving about the young Negro
+whose clouting ability was a reminder of the early days of
+Dempsey. Several of my editorials about Louis attracted the
+attention of Damon Runyon.</p>
+
+<p>I was working for Jacobs on a radio program and, following
+a broadcast, Runyon, one of Mike’s partners in the New York
+Hippodrome, cornered me and asked: “Just how good a
+fighter is Louis?”</p>
+
+<p>Apparently my reply convinced him, because the following
+day he, Bill Farnsworth, and Ed Frayne—the Hearst stockholders
+in Mike’s Twentieth Century Sporting Club—got together
+with Jacobs and arranged a newspaper party for a trip
+to Detroit to see Louis in action against Natie Brown. But
+before embarking on the journey, Jacobs arranged a conference
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">[141]</span>with Louis’ handlers, John Roxborough and Julian
+Black, at which, as things turned out, Mike signed Louis to an
+exclusive contract to fight under his control.</p>
+
+<p>Louis was a budding heavyweight then. The night the
+deal was set, following his victory over Brown in ten rounds
+on March 28, 1935, a partnership was formed that was to endure
+to the mutual benefit of both, until Louis chose to dissolve
+it by announcing his retirement at Miami Beach on
+March 1, 1949.</p>
+
+<p>On that night in Detroit when he took over, Jacobs made
+Louis and his managers two promises: his fights would always
+be on the level and he would make him the world heavyweight
+champion.</p>
+
+<p>Mike kept both promises. He kept them although there was
+considerable prejudice rampant at the time, and despite the
+fact that Jack Johnson, the only other Negro to hold the world
+title, had been an unpopular champion. Jacobs never asked
+Louis to do anything other than get in the ring and fight his
+best. And as the world knows, that best was more than good
+enough.</p>
+
+<p class="mt2">Starting from his little ticket office, Jacobs later opened
+small quarters on West 49th Street in New York City opposite
+the Forrest Hotel, and eventually moved into spacious offices
+in Madison Square Garden after he became a millionaire.</p>
+
+<p>The Carnival of Champions, held on September 23, 1937,
+at the Yankee Stadium lost money but Jacobs demonstrated
+that he controlled the fistic market by turning out a galaxy of
+stars to perform for him that night. The Garden directors
+were convinced and on October 27th of that year Jacobs
+moved into Madison Square Garden with Henry Armstrong
+topping his initial card.</p>
+
+<p>Armstrong came out punching to knock out Petey Sarron
+in six rounds and win the featherweight crown, the first of his
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">[142]</span>three titles. Here’s the story of how Armstrong got his chance
+and the part I played in arranging the fight.</p>
+
+<p>Petey Sarron was in Johannesburg, South Africa, with
+Freddie Miller. On July 31, 1937, he had lost in ten rounds to
+Miller, from whom he previously had won the world championship.
+Then another bout was arranged for September 4
+of that year—this time a twelve-round title bout—and Sarron
+retained the crown.</p>
+
+<p>Petey and his manager, Jimmy Erwin of Texas, were anxious
+to get back to the States. They had been gone a long time
+and were homesick. Furthermore, they couldn’t get any lucrative
+bouts and cabled me asking if I could obtain a title contest
+with Armstrong, who at the time had become a national
+fistic hero because of his whirlwind style of fighting. After
+an exchange of cables, I was given the power of attorney to
+sign for Sarron, provided he could get a guarantee of $15,000
+for a title defense.</p>
+
+<p>I approached Mike and his Board of Directors. They were
+keenly interested and regarded this as an opportunity to start
+the ball rolling in the first Garden venture of the Twentieth
+Century Sporting Club with a championship mill. We arranged
+a conference the next day with Armstrong’s manager,
+Eddie Mead. Eddie and I were friends of long standing, and
+he was willing to have Armstrong fight for the crown, but he
+wanted more than the twelve-and-a-half per cent that Jacobs
+and his board of strategy (headed by his matchmaker, Al
+Weill) had offered.</p>
+
+<p>After almost a week of haggling, I finally induced Jacobs to
+raise the ante and Mead accepted a fourteen-and-a-half per
+cent guarantee, with the announcement:</p>
+
+<p>“I’m doing this only for Nat. He’s worked hard to put the
+match over and I’m convinced, as he is, that Sarron is ready
+to be taken. So I’ve accepted.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">[143]</span></p>
+
+<p>Sarron, informed of the arrangements, accepted the deal I
+put across and started back to the States to defend his title.</p>
+
+<p>Following the fight, Sarron and his manager visited my
+office and offered me ten per cent of Petey’s guarantee for having
+arranged the bout, but I turned it down. As on other
+occasions when I had an opportunity to cash in on deals I had
+engineered, I told them that I was not an agent in the true
+sense of the word. What I did for fighters was done in the interest
+of the sport.</p>
+
+<p>But Petey, like Henry Armstrong on another occasion,
+wouldn’t take no for an answer, and the next day he returned
+with a beautiful gold belt containing thirteen panels. It was
+given to him by the Johannesburg Express after he whipped
+Miller. He asked me to accept it. I took the trophy, and since
+then have placed in each panel the name of every featherweight
+king from Sarron to Saddler. The belt now rests in
+<i>The Ring</i> Museum.</p>
+
+<p>As for Armstrong, shortly after he stopped Sarron to win
+the featherweight crown, he beat Barney Ross for the welterweight
+championship and outscored Lou Ambers to acquire
+the lightweight title. Thus, I was able to figure importantly in
+presenting him with the opportunity to become a triple champion,
+the only man in the history of boxing to hold three
+world titles simultaneously.</p>
+
+<p class="mt2">Before moving into the Garden, Jacobs took over the New
+York Hippodrome for fights, and I joined his publicity staff.
+One day, Damon Runyon approached me and asked me to a
+special conference with Farnsworth and Uncle Mike. It was
+an executive directors’ meeting and Uncle Mike spoke up:</p>
+
+<p>“You know, Nat, we’ve been losing a lot of money in our
+boxing promotion here. We’ll have to let some of our help
+out.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">[144]</span></p>
+
+<p>Before he could say any more, I realized what was coming
+and told him that so far as I was concerned, he could forget
+the $75 per week I was getting to act as radio contact man. He
+and Runyon were very pleased and thanked me profusely.
+Then a thought came to me.</p>
+
+<p>“I’ve got a proposition, Mike,” I said. “How would you like
+to have a sponsor for your fights? I think I can arrange it.”</p>
+
+<p>Runyon and Mike didn’t believe it could be done.</p>
+
+<p>“Nobody will pay to have our fights put on the radio,” said
+Jacobs.</p>
+
+<p>“I disagree with you,” I replied. Whereupon Jacobs, after a
+short conference with his colleagues, made me a proposition.</p>
+
+<p>“We have arranged eighteen fights for the Hippodrome
+but might run twenty-six. If you can get a sponsor to buy the
+radio rights for $5,000 you can have ten per cent, and we’ll
+keep you on our staff and continue to pay your weekly salary
+of $75 so long as the broadcasts continue.”</p>
+
+<p>“That’s too cheap,” I replied. “I’m sure I can get you twice
+as much.”</p>
+
+<p>“If you can,” Jacobs quickly answered, “we’ll continue your
+salary and give you twelve-and-a-half per cent of the gross.”</p>
+
+<p>I accepted and we shook hands on the deal. I left the office,
+and the next morning returned with a report that I had sold
+the broadcast rights to Adam Hats at $1,200 per fight for the
+first eighteen shows, and at $750 for each fight over that number,
+with the stipulation that my buddy, Sam Taub, be assigned
+the broadcasting job. Thus I had arranged for the first
+paid sponsorship of boxing bouts in the world. My report was
+greeted enthusiastically by Jacobs and the press.</p>
+
+<p>Mike called in his partners and that afternoon Sol Strauss,
+his lawyer, drew up the contract which was brought to Elias
+Lustig of Adam Hats, and the deal was completed. Uncle
+Mike asked if I wanted a contract to bind his deal with me,
+but I told him I would take his word—no contract was required.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">[145]</span>However, as in other business deals between us, Mike
+reneged soon after the broadcasts got under way.</p>
+
+<p>He was that way. He never went back on his word when it
+came to transactions he had made with fighters and managers,
+but in private affairs I found that he was far from the honorable
+gentleman the press so often made him out to be. For
+several weeks he paid me my salary but not a penny of my
+commission on the radio deal. And when I pressed the issue,
+he let out a roar such as only he could make when angered.</p>
+
+<p>“You’re through,” he shouted. “The fights are drawing
+nothing here with radio. We don’t need you any more for
+publicity. We are scarcely pulling in enough to meet expenses.”</p>
+
+<p>“O.K., Mike,” I replied. “But what about my Adam Hats
+commissions? You can’t back away from that.”</p>
+
+<p>But he did. He had no scruples and was out to save what
+he owed me in an honorable business deal.</p>
+
+<p>“There’s nothing due you on the Adam Hats contract,” he
+snapped. “I could have gotten that without your help.”</p>
+
+<p>I was flabbergasted. Runyon was present and I asked him
+if he thought the deal I was getting was fair.</p>
+
+<p>“Certainly not,” he answered. “You are entitled to every
+penny due on that contract.”</p>
+
+<p>Damon fought my case but without success. So did the other
+two partners—Bill Farnsworth, sports editor of the New York
+<i>Journal</i>, and Ed Frayne, sports editor of the New York <i>American</i>—but
+Mike had his way and I left in a huff.</p>
+
+<p>Mike and I were not on speaking terms for many months,
+but I wouldn’t sue because I had been his friend for three
+decades. On one occasion he encountered me in Childs Restaurant
+near the Hippodrome and sat down at my table.</p>
+
+<p>“Nat, you and I have been friends for many years,” he said.
+“Why not continue?”</p>
+
+<p>He held out his hand to bind our reconciliation, then took
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">[146]</span>ten one hundred dollar bills and placed them before me on
+the table.</p>
+
+<p>“Take these and let’s call it quits. There’s no reason for us
+being enemies,” he remarked.</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t want your money, Mike. You went back on our
+agreement.” I shoved the bills toward him. “You probably
+need that money more than I do,” I said quietly as I left the
+table.</p>
+
+<p>I took our break as one of those things that happen now and
+then between friends and decided to forget it and start anew.
+Although there was plenty of good in the make-up of this
+world-famous promoter, there was much that could be held
+against him. He wasn’t what I would call a man of honor. On
+the other hand, in all my business dealings with Rickard, I
+never once knew him to renege on a promise, though he did
+cross me on the Garden building proposition.</p>
+
+<p>Despite his shortcomings, I liked Jacobs, I got a thrill out
+of his promotions and enjoyed his company on the many trips
+I took with him, strange as that may seem in light of our unhappy
+business relationship. Between what he owed me on the
+Adam Hats contract, and what was due me on the agreement
+we made on the Farr-Louis match, I figured Uncle Mike
+reneged on close to $30,000.</p>
+
+<p class="mt2">The story of how Tommy Farr got a chance at the heavyweight
+championship is the perfect example of the science of
+manipulation expertly applied. Mike’s shrewd chessboard
+play enabled him to outguess and outsmart his rivals by such
+a wide margin that, in the parlance of the sports world, it was
+“no contest.” What he did was well within the law, although
+his maneuvering did bring about court action. The results,
+however, were in Jacobs’ favor.</p>
+
+<p>Farr was sitting pretty. He was the undisputed heavyweight
+king of the British Empire with victories over Walter Neusel,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">[147]</span>Max Baer, Bob Olin and Tommy Loughran. He had gained
+an international reputation and had reached the stage where
+the big money ordinarily starts flowing in. But this was not
+the case.</p>
+
+<p>Tommy, a Welshman with a keen commercial sense, was
+becoming restless. He thought that his manager, Ted Broadribb,
+was not getting him his proper share of worldly goods
+and the British papers were harping on a possible break between
+the pair. Sports editorials commented on the fact that
+Broadribb was suing Tommy before the British Boxing Board
+of Control to compel him to live up to their agreement.</p>
+
+<p>Broadribb and I were on friendly terms. He wrote to me
+about his troubles, asking if there was something I could do.</p>
+
+<p>I wrote an editorial praising Farr as the best British heavyweight
+in a quarter of a century, and I told how Broadribb
+had brought him along in easy stages to the high position he
+now occupied in fistic circles.</p>
+
+<p>The article pleased Farr immensely and he wrote me that
+his differences with Broadribb were not too great to iron out.
+He also asked if I would use whatever influence I had to get
+him a title bout in America.</p>
+
+<p>His letter launched me on a plan that gave me great satisfaction
+after it had been consummated, for it developed into
+the greatest event in British pugilism since Charley Mitchell
+fought John L. Sullivan.</p>
+
+<p class="mt2">Let’s trace the episode from the start. Max Schmeling had
+been shunted to the sidelines to make room for Joe Louis to
+fight Jimmy Braddock for the world heavyweight title. Schmeling,
+realizing his position, decided not to remain in America
+for the outcome of the Chicago battle, but to return to Germany
+and seek the support of European countries in his claim
+for championship recognition.</p>
+
+<p>He decided to do a little manipulating himself, and I
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">[148]</span>couldn’t blame him. I supported his contention that he, not
+Louis, was entitled to get the first shot at Braddock’s crown,
+but Mike Jacobs was a great obstacle in his path. Mike had
+both Louis and Braddock under contract through a shady
+deal by which Braddock and his manager, Joe Gould, were to
+be handsomely rewarded for breaking their contract with
+Madison Square Garden to fight for Jacobs.</p>
+
+<p>Schmeling was informed through the press that Jacobs was
+dickering for a fight between Louis and Farr in the event that
+Louis gained the title, something Jacobs regarded as a foregone
+conclusion.</p>
+
+<p>Uncle Mike approached General Critchley and Syd Hulls,
+who were operating Wembley Stadium in London, and a deal
+was in the making whereby with Jacobs they would promote
+an international match for the world championship. Jacobs
+told me that he would take a party of seven New York reporters
+to cover the fight as his guests, and that I would be in charge.
+But he failed to consider the man whom he had thrust into
+the background when he arranged the Louis-Braddock fight.</p>
+
+<p>Schmeling, confident that he could whip both Louis and
+Farr, got the jump on Jacobs by making a tentative agreement
+with Broadribb for a Farr-Schmeling bout. Ted said he would
+give his consent provided the bout was staged in London, and
+when Max agreed, Broadribb got in touch with General
+Critchley and Hulls and offered them the contest. Since the
+British promoters could do nothing without Farr, they decided
+to ignore Jacobs and deal with Broadribb and Schmeling
+instead.</p>
+
+<p>I learned of the new deal and commented on it in my
+broadcast from Chicago over the NBC network, and the report
+caused considerable unrest in Jacobs’ camp. Mike found
+himself stymied. He tried to get Schmeling to return to
+America to fight Louis. He offered Max a title bout but
+Schmeling ignored the offer.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_149">[149]</span></p>
+
+<p>Max figured that with Farr on his side, he could dictate the
+terms to Jacobs for a fight with Louis. He regarded himself as
+the world’s outstanding heavyweight, since through the German
+government he had obtained the support of the British
+Board of Control and the French Boxing Federation.</p>
+
+<p>Jacobs was furious but not yet defeated. In desperation he
+called the New York Commission on the telephone and requested
+that a cable be sent to Schmeling asking if he was prepared
+to accept an offer from Mike to fight Joe Louis in New
+York for the world title. Schmeling ignored this cable as he
+had the one from Jacobs.</p>
+
+<p>His plans for a championship fight up in the air, Mike
+called upon me, knowing that I had made many trips to England
+and was well known there and on the continent.</p>
+
+<p>“How close are you to Tommy Farr and his manager?”
+Jacobs asked me the day after Louis beat Braddock.</p>
+
+<p>We were in the Morrison Hotel in Chicago, headquarters
+of the New York sport writers. It was eleven o’clock at night
+when Jacobs was informed of Schmeling’s deal with Critchley
+and Hulls, Jacobs’ supposed partners in the British venture,
+and he was naturally upset.</p>
+
+<p>“I’m very friendly with both,” I told Mike, “especially with
+Broadribb. What’s wrong?”</p>
+
+<p>“Schmeling hasn’t answered my cable, and I’ve got to act
+quickly. He’s trying to prevent the Louis-Farr fight which I
+have planned. Schmeling is determined to fight Farr and get
+European countries to recognize the bout as a world championship
+fight. See if you can reach Broadribb on the telephone
+and get a low-down on the situation. If you can get
+Farr to fight Louis for me, I’ll give you ten per cent of my
+profits,” Jacobs said.</p>
+
+<p>I had received such promises from him before, and they
+really meant little to me. I was willing to help in order to get
+the bout in America and not because of Mike’s business
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">[150]</span>proposition. I waited until one o’clock in the morning, and
+then put in a trans-Atlantic telephone call to Broadribb in
+London.</p>
+
+<p>At four in the morning, while Trevor Wignall, British
+writer, was sitting in my room with me awaiting the call, so
+that he could obtain a beat for his paper, the phone rang. It
+was Broadribb calling.</p>
+
+<p>“Hello, Ted,” I said. “Sorry to disturb you. I’m calling to
+get the low-down on the Farr-Schmeling fight. Have you
+signed? Mike Jacobs wants to give your man the chance that
+no British champion has had since Charley Mitchell’s days—an
+opportunity to fight here for the real world title. Will you
+accept?”</p>
+
+<p>“Sorry, old man, but I can’t do it. What would they think of
+me if I should suddenly say that I don’t want the Schmeling
+fight after I’ve told them to go ahead and get the German for
+Tommy?”</p>
+
+<p>“Ted,” I replied, “you knew right along that we were coming
+to London in a few weeks for a Farr-Louis match. Weren’t
+you told that?”</p>
+
+<p>“I read it here in Wignall’s column, but didn’t know definitely.
+Had I been sure, you know that nothing would have
+stood in the way. It would have been different. That’s the one
+fight we want and we would grab it.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, Ted,” I answered, “it isn’t too late. You haven’t
+signed, and Schmeling is simply doing this in order to bolster
+his stock overseas. If he licks Farr he figures he’ll strengthen
+his claim to the title he thinks is his. Can’t you see that?”</p>
+
+<p>“I can’t say any more,” concluded Broadribb. “Let the matter
+rest until tomorrow. Your proposition looks good to me
+but I must confer with Hulls and Tommy.”</p>
+
+<p>With that he rang off and the first step in the negotiations
+that made English boxing history had been completed. We
+had set the stage for a heavyweight championship bout in
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">[151]</span>which a British champion would come to American soil to
+fight for the title for the first time in thirty years.</p>
+
+<p>I told Jacobs of our conversation. He had been down in the
+dumps, but was somewhat cheered by the progress I had
+made.</p>
+
+<p>“I won’t let Schmeling cross me after what I was trying to
+arrange for him. He’ll either agree to fight Louis for the
+championship under my control in August or Farr will get
+the chance no matter what the cost. Call him again tomorrow.”</p>
+
+<p>I did, and at midnight the second day I again put in a call
+for Broadribb, this time with Jacobs sitting at my side. To
+what he had already told me, Broadribb now added:</p>
+
+<p>“I have been advised that the German Boxing Commission,
+the French Federation, and the British Boxing Board of Control
+have helped Schmeling by recognizing him, not Louis, as
+the champion, so that our fight will be for the title. How do I
+know that a Farr-Louis fight will be recognized as a world
+championship bout under such conditions?”</p>
+
+<p>“Ridiculous,” I answered. “Ted, you’re too smart to be
+fooled that way. Louis is the champion, and if you defeat
+Louis you’ll have realized your ambitions. If you have already
+signed, then I won’t dicker with you any longer. I don’t want
+to be a party to a broken agreement. Though my sympathy is
+with Schmeling, who got a raw deal, we can’t get away from
+facts—Louis is the world titleholder.”</p>
+
+<p>“I have no contract,” replied Broadribb. “Hull has an option
+on our services but unless he can get Schmeling and he
+meets the terms upon which the tentative arrangements have
+been made, there’ll be no fight with Schmeling.”</p>
+
+<p>“What are the terms?” I asked Ted.</p>
+
+<p>“He has offered Farr $30,000, and will advertise the bout
+for the championship and the fight must take place in London.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_152">[152]</span></p>
+
+<p>“How would you like to get double that sum, Ted?” I
+asked.</p>
+
+<p>“Do you mean that, Nat?” he inquired in surprise.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, Ted,” I said. “Mike Jacobs is sitting here with me,
+and Mike told me to offer you double any sum you’ve been
+offered, if you have not signed yet. If you have, he says to call
+everything off.”</p>
+
+<p>Broadribb could scarcely speak. His voice quivered as he
+asked me to let the matter ride for another day.</p>
+
+<p>“I’d like to say yes, Nat,” he told me, “but I’m honor-bound
+to protect Hulls and General Critchley, and unless they fail
+to do what they have promised, I’m afraid I’ll have to say no
+until after Farr beats Schmeling which I tell you he’ll surely
+do.”</p>
+
+<p>“That’ll be too late, Ted,” I answered.</p>
+
+<p>With that, we said good-night, and I waited for two more
+days before I again heard from Broadribb. This time he called
+me.</p>
+
+<p>“Nat,” he said, “Hulls has violated our agreement. He was
+sworn to secrecy on the amount he was to pay Farr for Schmeling,
+but instead he has given out the story telling what Farr
+is to get, and that has riled Tommy. I don’t blame him. He’s
+raising havoc here, saying he’s worth every penny as much as
+the German, and not, as Hulls announced, half as much. I’ve
+told Hulls it’s all off. I’m ready to take on Louis for Mike if
+you say I should.”</p>
+
+<p>Jacobs was again at my side, and I told him the news.</p>
+
+<p>“Clinch the match!” he said. “You’ll share in my promotion.”</p>
+
+<p>And I closed the fight for Mike. I informed Broadribb that
+we would give Farr $60,000 guarantee, four round trip
+tickets, and 25 per cent of the movie and radio rights. That
+news flabbergasted the British manager, who remarked:</p>
+
+<p>“You mean that, Nat? That’s wonderful. Regard it as a
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">[153]</span>deal. The bout is on. I’ll let you handle all matters for me.
+Tell Mr. Jacobs that he should cable the money for the tickets
+as soon as I notify him.”</p>
+
+<p>Thus the bout for Farr was arranged. After Broadribb had
+given his consent, Jacobs wanted me to go to London with Sol
+Strauss, his lawyer, to sign for the fight, and also to aid Ted
+and Farr in getting out of the country, as court action was
+threatened by Syd Hulls and General Critchley. I told Mike I
+couldn’t make it. Sol Strauss went alone and brought back
+Farr, and because of that he took all of the credit for making
+the match. Neither he nor Jacobs would have gotten to first
+base with Farr, had it not been for me. Farr and Broadribb
+confirmed that when they arrived for the bout.</p>
+
+<p>Farr, the day after Broadribb had agreed to accept on
+Tommy’s behalf, called me on the telephone and thanked me.
+He was overjoyed at the prospect of coming to America, and
+before we rang off, he said:</p>
+
+<p>“Nat, I’ll lick Louis. I’ll be the next champion. You did
+me a good turn and I shall not forget it. I’m eagerly awaiting
+your coming with Mr. Strauss to sign the contract. There’s no
+chance of a slip-up, is there, Nat?”</p>
+
+<p>I told him that I was not going to England and assured him
+there wasn’t a chance of a slip-up. Tommy added:</p>
+
+<p>“The opposition here has a story from Germany which is
+plastered all over the papers, saying that I’m a fool for agreeing
+to go to America to fight Louis, because only New York,
+of all the States, has recognized the Negro as champion. The
+story says that all the commissions except New York have decided
+that Schmeling is the real titleholder because he had
+complied with his terms of the agreement for the Braddock
+fight and Braddock had run out on him.</p>
+
+<p>“If that’s the case,” continued Tommy, “then I don’t want
+to fight Joe. It’s the champion that I want and whoever he is,
+Louis or Schmeling, he’s the chap I’m going to fight. Make
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">[154]</span>certain that Louis holds the title before you have Strauss come
+over to sign me for the fight.”</p>
+
+<p>“Rest easy, Tommy,” I replied. “That story is a phoney. I
+give you my assurance that every State in the country, New
+York included, accepts Louis and not Schmeling as the champion.
+They have placed Max as the leading contender but give
+the title to Joe. If you think I’m spoofing you, I’ll have a story
+cabled over by the National Boxing Association within two
+hours. Cable me when you see it in the papers. If it doesn’t
+come, then we’ll forget the fight here and you can close the
+Schmeling deal.”</p>
+
+<p>I immediately called up the Rhode Island headquarters of
+Ed Foster, executive secretary of the National Boxing Association,
+and asked him to contact, at my expense, the various
+executive heads in each state in the N.B.A. as to whom they
+considered champion. Foster notified the Associated Press,
+United Press, and all of the other news services within an
+hour and a half that an executive telegram vote showed that
+every one of the thirty-one states in the N.B.A. supported
+Louis. This was cabled to Europe, by the various news agencies,
+and in about three hours from the time I had talked to
+Farr, I was on the telephone again, this time with Broadribb,
+who informed me that all the papers were carrying the correction.</p>
+
+<p>That’s how the Farr-Louis match was clinched. Can you
+blame me for feeling proud of the fact that it was through my
+efforts that a British fighter had an opportunity that no Englishman
+had had since the Corbett-Mitchell fight in 1894?</p>
+
+<p class="mt2">The Schmeling forces accused me after that of having
+double-crossed Herr Max, with whom I was “supposedly” very
+friendly. That was not true. I had always been friendly toward
+Schmeling and still am, as a matter of fact, having recently
+visited him in Hamburg. No American writer had done as
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">[155]</span>much as I had editorially to bolster his case before the public
+and to get him the chance at the title I believed he had
+earned. When I upset his plans by inducing Farr to come to
+America, I did so because Max had received ample opportunity
+to accept a fight with Louis for the championship, but
+had made no effort to accept. He apparently wanted to get
+universal recognition without fighting the man who had won
+the crown by stopping Braddock. He out-smarted himself by
+ignoring the cables offering him the match, and when he did
+decide to accept, it was too late, and only if he could receive
+the champion’s end of the purse, which he knew full well
+would be unacceptable to Louis and Jacobs.</p>
+
+<p>I know that at one time Jacobs offered Schmeling thirty per
+cent of the gate, Louis to get the other thirty, but Max scoffed
+at the terms. Therefore, I can safely say that in this transaction
+there was nothing that violated the spirit of fair play,
+no conniving or underhanded dealing. Farr got the match
+only because Schmeling wouldn’t take it.</p>
+
+<p class="mt2">Conceded by only a handful of followers to have the semblance
+of a chance against the Brown Bomber, Farr on August
+30, 1937 in the Yankee Stadium surprised all by harassing
+the champion with a continuous bombardment, something no
+one other than Schmeling had been able to do throughout
+Louis’ professional career.</p>
+
+<p>Tommy fought the battle of all true-hearted, courageous
+Welshmen, but lost the verdict because of Louis’ superior
+boxing ability. It was the kind of fight that American sportsmen
+had been accustomed to see when such stalwarts as Jem
+Driscoll, Freddy Welsh, Jimmy Wilde, and Owen Moran appeared
+in this country.</p>
+
+<p>As for Jacobs’ agreement with me, he forgot all about his
+promise after he had Farr signed. Not only did I not share in
+the profits, but I didn’t even collect what I had spent on trans-Atlantic
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_156">[156]</span>telephone calls and cables, and on wires to and from
+the N.B.A. executives.</p>
+
+<p class="mt2">In many respects Mike Jacobs had a Jekyl and Hyde personality.
+He was cruel, inhuman at times to his help, particularly
+when things didn’t turn out the way he had hoped and
+planned; yet on other occasions, especially when he entertained
+at home, he couldn’t do enough to make his guests comfortable.
+I found him a complex character, to say the least.
+Though he lacked a formal education, he would come up
+with a knowledge of affairs that many a college professor
+might envy. A man of ideas, he knew publicity, fights, the
+stage, and people.</p>
+
+<p>If you decided Mike was too ardent in his pursuit of money,
+you learned of his many contributions to charity. If you made
+up your mind that he was just a tough Broadwayite, a graduate
+of the streets of New York, you discovered after a short
+stay at his magnificent Rumson Estate—one of the show places
+of New Jersey—that he loved the country, was proud of his
+farming, was wild about flowers, and had furnished his home
+with the very best that money could buy.</p>
+
+<p>Jacobs’ delight in horticultural pursuits and the furnishing
+of his home provided a striking index to his character. His
+sumptuous estate was located at Fair Haven, in the exclusive
+section of the Rumson colony of New Jersey. My brother Jack,
+who at the time was president of the National Auctioneers
+Association, had purchased the Shadow Lawn estate of Mr.
+Parsons, vice-president of the Woolworth Company.</p>
+
+<p>The contents of this luxurious home were put on public
+auction, and Mike and I visited the estate to make some purchases.
+To my surprise, he outbid the professionals in buying
+the cream of its contents, including a forty-foot-long Persian
+rug worth $30,000, some huge Grecian statues, and several oil
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">[157]</span>paintings. Mike asked me to bid with him against the professionals,
+and when the bidding was concluded, he had obtained
+the beautiful rug for $7,800.</p>
+
+<p>“Know what I’m going to do with this?” he asked me. “I’m
+going to have enough cut off this rug to fit my living room,
+then I’m going to sell the rest. I’ll get back all I spent here.”</p>
+
+<p>This he did, to the horror of the aesthetes. And when the
+new deal was completed, Mike had all he needed of the rug
+in his living room cost-free, while selling the remainder of it
+for $12,500.</p>
+
+<p>The bathrooms of the Shadow Lawn estate had gold fixtures.
+Mike bought those to place in his home.</p>
+
+<p>“What was good enough for that house is worth putting in
+mine,” he told me. “Nobody in Rumson will have anything
+on Uncle Mike.”</p>
+
+<p>But he never made use of the fixtures. He disposed of them
+also at a huge profit without moving them. As a result of his
+shrewd bargaining, Jacobs fitted his home with the best that
+was in the Parson’s mansion without any cost to himself.</p>
+
+<p>Almost everything Uncle Mike put his hands to seemed to
+turn to gold. Only a few of the ventures into which he entered
+failed to return a handsome profit.</p>
+
+<p>When Farr came to America, Mike asked Tommy, Ted
+Broadribb, several British writers and myself to visit him at
+Fair Haven. Proudly he took us on a tour, showing us the rare
+gladioli with which he had won top prizes at the State Fair;
+beautiful peonies and thousands of the rarest type of American
+Beauty roses. Just as Mike began to explain how he grew
+these flowers and why he was so fond of farming, a bulldog
+belonging to a neighbor, to whom he rented a house, tore out
+across the garden of roses in pursuit of a cat.</p>
+
+<p>The owner stopped to apologize to Mike.</p>
+
+<p>“You keep that hound leashed or find yourself a new place
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">[158]</span>to live. Those roses are far more important to me than your
+rent,” Jacobs shouted.</p>
+
+<p class="mt2">We were on our way to Chicago—Jacobs, Hype Igoe, Murray
+Lewin, Jimmy Dawson, Jack Miley and myself. Mike held
+court in his pullman drawing room. There were midnight
+sandwiches, drinks, card playing, and general conversation
+until about three o’clock in the morning, when the party
+broke up and we went to our separate compartments.</p>
+
+<p>At six, there was a knock at my door. It was Mike.</p>
+
+<p>“I’m surprised you’re sleeping so late,” he said. “We’ll pull
+into Chicago in about three hours. Come on, let’s have some
+coffee.”</p>
+
+<p>I protested that I had only just gotten to bed.</p>
+
+<p>“You left my room at three didn’t you? Well, it’s six now,”
+he roared.</p>
+
+<p>I dressed and went to the diner with Mike. The chef was
+not ready for us, but Jacobs had no difficulty convincing him
+that it was in his interests to get that coffee up in a hurry, and
+he did.</p>
+
+<p>Getting up early and going after his coffee was a regular
+habit with Jacobs. Two nights before the Louis-Braddock
+fight in Chicago he was jittery and couldn’t sleep. I remained
+with him until about four in the morning, when I finally
+broke away and got to my room. Scarcely had I undressed
+when the telephone rang.</p>
+
+<p>“You’re not in bed yet, are you, Nat?” asked Mike. “Come
+down and we’ll have some breakfast.” I protested that I was
+sleepy and had three broadcasts that day and needed some
+rest.</p>
+
+<p>“What’s the matter with you guys?” he shouted. “You sleep
+your years away.”</p>
+
+<p>I yawned my way down into the coffee shop where Mike
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">[159]</span>was sitting waiting for me, and we had our breakfast but no
+sleep.</p>
+
+<p class="mt2">Yes, a complex character was this many-sided guy off the
+Coney Island beats. And no matter what my grievances were
+against him, I always had a fond spot in my heart for him. It’s
+not likely that we’ll have his like again in the promotion field
+for many years.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">[160]</span></p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter" id="BOOK_4">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">[161]</span></p>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak hide">BOOK<br>FOUR</h2>
+
+<figure class="figcenter illowp25" id="book4" style="max-width: 12.5em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/book4.jpg" alt="BOOK FOUR">
+</figure>
+
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">[162]</span></p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">[163]</span></p>
+
+<div class="figcontainer">
+<figure class="figright illowp30" id="chapter17" style="max-width: 6.25em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/chapter17.jpg" alt="17">
+</figure>
+</div>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_17"><span class="hide">17<br></span>
+DONNYBROOKS</h3>
+
+</div>
+
+<p>The drama of American sport is superlative. Each
+branch has a thrilling story of its own, but for pulse-stirring
+interest, boxing is matchless. It is a game of contest and contact,
+of skill and stamina, of perseverance and grit—a battle
+between men. It has its romance, glamour, spectacular endings,
+and feats of unusual courage that make it an ever brilliant
+picture. They can all be listed under one title, “Fights
+I Cannot Forget,” and of these I shall select a few.</p>
+
+<p>One of my favorite fighters, most of whose bouts I reported,
+was Leach Cross. Few fighters in my experience have had a
+more brilliant career or fought as many tough battles. He was
+one of the standard bearers of boxing in New York in both
+the club membership and Frawley Law days. Leach, more
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_164">[164]</span>than any other exponent of fisticuffs, popularized the sport
+among the Jews in his city and created sectional rivalry that
+often resulted in neighborhood fights. Through Leachie,
+thousands of New Yorkers who might never have followed
+boxing, became ardent fans who were largely responsible for
+the success of club membership shows before the sport was
+legalized in New York. His success blazed the trail for Benny
+Leonard, Ruby Goldstein and Sid Terris, among others. Cross
+and I were neighborhood buddies. I admired him for his
+fighting qualities.</p>
+
+<p>Of all of Leach’s fights, I pick that with Joe Bedell on
+March 16, 1911 at the old Clermont Avenue Rink in Brooklyn,
+as his best. I saw Cross in most of his fights, but never in
+one so fast and furious as the Bedell affair. Leach had Bedell
+down twice, but after the second knock-down he pulled a
+boner. Thinking he had his opponent ready for the kill, he
+tore in wide open and Bedell met his rush with a blow that
+came up from the floor and landed Cross on the canvas with a
+thud. The bell saved him.</p>
+
+<p>After being carried to his corner, restoratives put Leach in
+condition to resume when the next round got under way. His
+fighting instinct alone enabled him to carry on through the
+eighth round, but in the ninth he went down again.</p>
+
+<p>Hopelessly beaten as he came out for the final session, Cross
+feigned grogginess—his favorite stunt—and, though weak, he
+maneuvered his tormentor into position for the shot that
+brought victory. It was a powerful smash to the jaw. Bedell
+went down, face forward, and was counted out.</p>
+
+<p>Another contest in which Cross participated thrilled me. It
+was St. Patrick’s Day, 1908, when Leach was scheduled to meet
+Frankie Madden at the Old Dry Dock Athletic Club at Tenth
+Street and Avenue D, one of the toughest sectors on the lower
+East Side of New York City. A huge stable and a very large
+lumber yard were located across the street.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">[165]</span></p>
+
+<p>Madden was a product of the same district as his manager,
+Bowery gangster Jack Sirocco.</p>
+
+<p>That night, the house was packed with Irish and Italians,
+who overflowed into the aisles and jammed the exits. Hundreds
+were turned away—most of them Jewish supporters of
+Leach, who couldn’t buy an admission ticket that night or if
+they had one, couldn’t get into the club. Madden’s friends
+saw to that. I pushed my way into the club with the aid of
+Detective Martin Sheridan and my Police Reporter’s card.</p>
+
+<p>Madden came into the ring with a huge shamrock sewed on
+his tights. The crowd went wild with cheers for their favorite
+son. Cross was booed heartily when he was introduced by
+Charley Harvey. It was obvious that—except for his seconds
+and a few of us who had arrived early—Leach had no friends
+present that night.</p>
+
+<p>The fight got under way and for five rounds it was one of
+the most vicious, brutal battles I’d ever seen. In the fifth,
+Leach, coming out of a clinch, pressed the issue. He forced
+Madden towards the ropes and suddenly let go a right that
+came up almost from the floor. It struck Madden on the jaw
+and hurled him on top of the upper rope, where he was
+counted out.</p>
+
+<p>Now here’s the climax. Someone had telephoned the police
+that there was a riot at the club between the Jews and the
+Irish. Three patrol wagons loaded with bluecoats drew up to
+the club. But instead of finding a riot, Inspector Russell arrived
+to see Leach raised on the shoulders of two husky Sons
+of Erin. They were surrounded by a wild shouting group of
+Irish and Italian fans paying their respects to Cross for the
+manner in which he had gained his victory.</p>
+
+<p>It was a scene I’ll never forget! There was nothing for the
+cops to do except to order the club cleared.</p>
+
+<p>Incidentally, it was the first time that any Jewish newspaper
+had published the fight results. The morning after the fight,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">[166]</span>the <i>Jewish Forward</i> carried Leach Cross’s picture on the front
+page.</p>
+
+<p class="mt2">Another fight I vividly recall was that between Cross and
+Young Sammy Smith of Philadelphia, whose true name was
+Isaac Rozetsky. It took place on February 3, 1911, at the Manhattan
+Casino. This was a low, rambling dance hall a stone’s
+throw from the Polo Grounds in New York—the same dusty
+arena where Benny Leonard later won the world lightweight
+title from Freddy Welsh. Young Sammy was a brother of the
+Sammy who had fought such top men as Terry McGovern,
+Young Corbett, and Joe Gans and had campaigned mostly in
+the Quaker City.</p>
+
+<p>Cross had never seen Young Sammy in action until they had
+climbed into the ring, and you can imagine Leach’s surprise
+when he noticed that his opponent wore glasses. I never knew
+another boxer to appear in the ring with such heavy lenses.
+They were a quarter of an inch thick. Smith had a habit of
+placing his head close to that of his opponent when he was
+called to the center for instructions, squinting through his
+glasses as though trying to study his man. He did this to Cross
+as Referee Dan Tone reviewed the rules. Leach laughed out
+loud as he pointed to Sammy and his cheaters, and, turning to
+brother Sam, his manager, he remarked as he went back to his
+corner:</p>
+
+<p>“Can you imagine giving me a blind opponent! If he can’t
+see me with those headlights on, how does he hope to see me
+when he takes ’em off?”</p>
+
+<p>The gong sounded. Off came Sammy’s glasses and a rushing
+tearing-in, two-fisted fighter tossed punches from all sides
+effectively. Cross in later years met better men than Smith,
+but I doubt that he took more punishment than Young
+Sammy meted out that night. When the final gong ended the
+fray, Leach told brother Sam:</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">[167]</span></p>
+
+<p>“I hate to think what he might have done if he had perfect
+eyesight!”</p>
+
+<p class="mt2">The reason for Cross’s popularity was that he always gave
+the fans a run for their money. Though he never won a title,
+he was of championship caliber throughout his career. Most
+people flocked to the New York clubs hoping to see him
+knocked out, but they would invariably go home disappointed.
+Until Benny Leonard came along, Cross was New
+York’s most sensational battler. He was the cause of many
+Donnybrooks in New York clubs.</p>
+
+<p>It was something of a coincidence that Leach Cross began
+to slip the very night that Benny Leonard started his climb to
+fistic fame. That was on December 17, 1915, when Leach and
+Benny fought on the same card—Leonard against Joe Mandot
+and Cross against Ad Wolgast. Because of a law stipulating
+that the windup fight had to start no later than ten o’clock,
+Leach’s fight with Wolgast went on first. Wolgast was pretty
+well shot at the time and Cross stopped him in the second
+round. Ad’s legs were leaden, and it was obvious that he had
+passed his peak.</p>
+
+<p>Immediately after the fight Leach raced to his dressing
+room, and within ten minutes he came to the press box and
+sat with me to watch the Leonard-Mandot bout. Benny
+stopped Mandot that night in the seventh round and Leach
+raved about the boxing and hitting qualities of his successor.
+He watched him with more admiration than envy, but I
+could read his feelings in his expression, knowing as he did
+then that a young East Sider had come along to crowd him out
+of the picture.</p>
+
+<p>Cross was a great club fighter, and in his heyday that meant
+a lot. One who could sell tickets to his friends could be sure of
+considerable work, and there wasn’t a better salesman than
+Leach himself. He was the forerunner of a wave of Ghetto
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">[168]</span>gladiators whose followers were legion, and who packed the
+Sharkey Club, Brown’s Gymnasium, the Fairmont A.C., the
+Manhattan Casino, Empire A.C., the Dry Dock and Roman
+Athletic Clubs, Atlantic Gardens, and the Longacre Club.
+Each fighter had a distinct local following, and often the
+rivalry between East Siders and West Siders gave the minions
+of the law severe headaches. The fans often engaged in fist
+fights after the club battle.</p>
+
+<p>Many of the bouts I reported in New York had such endings.
+Another that I cannot forget, was that between Benny
+Leonard and Frankie Conifrey, who were billed for a ten-rounder
+at the Star A.C. in Harlem in 1916. At the time,
+Benny had not yet won the title, but he was a promising boy
+who had gained considerable publicity. He was the pride of
+the Ghetto and Conifrey was the pride of the Harlem Irish.
+The rivalry between the Jews and Irish was terrific in New
+York fight circles, and there was no let-up in neighborhood
+brawls. Frankie was a hard hitter and a clever boxer, but he
+met his master in Leonard.</p>
+
+<p>In the sixth round, Benny had Conifrey reeling, and
+Frankie’s brother leaped into the ring to halt the fight. Then
+the fun began. Conifrey’s enraged followers, who had big bets
+on the outcome, tossed chairs, bottles, and newspapers over
+the rail towards the ring. Some of these papers, in which beer
+bottles were wrapped, came hurtling towards the press box,
+and we newspapermen ducked for safety wherever we could
+find protection.</p>
+
+<p>The Conifrey mob then surged down to the ringside looking
+for Leonard rooters, and the riot was on in full force.
+Spectators scrambled for safety, but no matter which way they
+turned, there were Conifrey’s followers holding the fort.</p>
+
+<p>It wasn’t until the cops came racing into the arena that the
+fighting ceased. Bloody noses and split lips were the fashion of
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">[169]</span>the evening, and many a broken head had to be stitched at the
+Harlem Hospital following that melee.</p>
+
+<p>Johnny Kewpie Ertle of St. Paul, claimant of the world
+bantam crown, and Mike Gibbons were spectators, and as they
+ducked out of the arena, I heard Ertle remark:</p>
+
+<p>“Hell, Mike, if this is the way things are done in New York,
+let’s get back to St. Paul. I don’t want to fight here.”</p>
+
+<p class="mt2">It was at the Howard Athletic Club in New York City in
+1912 that I saw a reminder of the old bare-knuckle days. It
+was the greatest all-out Donnybrook ever staged outside Ireland.
+The three McGoverns—the famous Terry, and his
+brothers Hughie and Phil—engaged the three Leons—Casper,
+Jack, and Benny—in a family affair.</p>
+
+<p>In this sensational bout, Phil McGovern was fighting Benny
+Leon. Terry and Hugh McGovern were handling Phil in his
+corner, while Casper and Jack were looking after Benny.</p>
+
+<p>It was a marvelous scrap, and eventually Benny knocked
+Phil flat with a right cross. Terry McGovern, tricky as ever,
+reached for the arm of the timekeeper to prevent him from
+counting Phil out. Casper Leon took in the situation in a flash
+and rushed toward Terry.</p>
+
+<p>The audience stood on its feet yelling as these two ex-monarchs
+of the ring tore into each other. Before anybody
+knew what was happening, Hughie McGovern had dashed
+over to Terry’s aid and encountered Jack Leon en route.</p>
+
+<p>In an instant the crowd forgot all about the fight between
+Phil and Benny. The timekeeper made no attempt to count;
+it was hopeless. The spectators were in for an unexpected
+scrap of a kind that hadn’t been seen for years.</p>
+
+<p>To deafening cheers, the battling brothers went at it like
+infuriated terriers. The fighting blood of the Jews and the
+Irish was at the boiling point—and it was streaming down the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_170">[170]</span>faces of the contestants. Some of the spectators, unable to contain
+themselves, dashed into the fray, and then a full-dress riot
+began.</p>
+
+<p>It raged for the best part of half an hour and was quelled
+when Captain Reynolds and his police reserves rushed to the
+scene. These reserves knew their job. They were accustomed
+to being called out to subdue the riotous McGoverns, who
+spent the greater part of their time beating up the New York
+bluecoats!</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">[171]</span></p>
+
+<div class="figcontainer">
+<figure class="figright illowp30" id="chapter18" style="max-width: 6.25em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/chapter18.jpg" alt="18">
+</figure>
+</div>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_18"><span class="hide">18<br></span>
+FIGHTING COURAGE</h3>
+
+</div>
+
+<p>I’ve traveled the world—by road, rail, sea, and air—in
+pursuit of stories of boxers and boxing. The five continents
+have been my hunting ground. I don’t know how many
+thousands of miles I have traveled nor how many thousands of
+fights I have seen, but I do know that I wouldn’t exchange the
+memories of that wonderful half-century in the fight game for
+all the gold and diamonds in the world.</p>
+
+<p>The great names flash through my mind like a dazzling
+star-studded parade: Jack Johnson, Tunney, Dempsey, Corbett,
+Willard, Attell, Driscoll, Leonard, Langford—down
+through the years to Louis, Marciano, and Floyd Patterson.</p>
+
+<p>I’ve known them all—in triumph and adversity, in poverty
+and luxury, in victory and defeat. Champions have wept on
+my shoulder and confessed their troubles to me. World-famous
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_172">[172]</span>promoters have sought my advice. Managers of great,
+and not so great, fighters have burdened me with their worries.
+That’s all been in the game, the greatest game in the
+world—the fight game.</p>
+
+<p>For fifty years it has been the love of my life. I have criticized
+it, praised it, and lashed out at its shortcomings, but I
+have always been faithful to it. It is humanity personified, for
+it brings out all the qualities and failings which are in the
+make-up of man. The greatest of these qualities is courage.</p>
+
+<p>I have seen and wondered at all sorts of courage: raw and
+refined, blind and calculating, true and false. When I think of
+it, my mind is filled with the memories of great fights, with the
+full-throated roars of vast crowds. The incredible case of Luis
+Firpo, mentioned in an earlier chapter, is the best example of
+my belief that a fighter can lack almost everything and yet get
+somewhere in the boxing game if he isn’t a coward.</p>
+
+<p>But there are different kinds of courage. My mind goes
+back to my early days as a sports reporter, to the amazing Joe
+Grim. He had neither boxing skill nor punching power, yet
+he set himself up as a target for the most terrific heavyweight
+hitters of his time. And he was never knocked out.</p>
+
+<p>I remember when he was pitted against the mighty Bob
+Fitzsimmons, one of the most murderous punchers of all time.
+Before the gong sounded for the fight to start, Grim walked to
+the ropes and shouted to the crowd in a loud voice, “I’m Joe
+Grim. I fear no man on earth.”</p>
+
+<p>And he proved it. Throughout the six-round bout, Grim
+stood his ground in the middle of the ring, taking all the punishment
+Fitz could give him.</p>
+
+<p>Seldom in my ringside career have I seen a man take such a
+battering and stay on his feet. Fitz unleashed every punch he
+knew. He grew tired of using Grim as a punching bag; of
+seeing that swaying figure still standing up under the hurricane
+of blows.</p>
+
+<p>At the end of the fight—the referee gave “No Decision”—Grim
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">[173]</span>was still defiant. He staggered to the ropes and mumbled,
+“I’m Joe Grim. I fear no man on earth!”</p>
+
+<p>And the crowd rose to its feet and roared its approval of the
+man who refused to bend the knee to the mighty Fitzsimmons.</p>
+
+<p>But was it real courage that enabled Grim to take such
+punishment? Sometimes I think not. I think perhaps madness
+or conceit might better describe the driving force behind such
+a display.</p>
+
+<p>Of similar stuff was the courage of world middleweight
+champion Mickey Walker, the Toy Bulldog. The memory of
+the way he stood up to heavyweight Max Schmeling will stay
+with me as long as I live.</p>
+
+<p>They met in the Long Island Bowl, September 26, 1932.
+Mickey, six inches shorter than the German, was giving away
+nearly twenty-five pounds in weight. He boasted that he
+would take on any fighter at any weight, and he faced up
+bravely but in vain to the giant Max, then one of the hardest
+hitters in the world.</p>
+
+<p>The Schmeling onslaught began with the first round. Punch
+after punch connected with Walker’s face and body until he
+was almost battered to a pulp. Yet he stood up gamely enough,
+taking terrible punishment and risking permanent injury.</p>
+
+<p>The sight of that reeling Mickey being smashed to senselessness
+was too much for his manager, Jack Kearns. The towel
+was thrown into the ring in the eighth round and Mickey was
+almost carried to his dressing room.</p>
+
+<p>Here again was a case of unreasoning courage, of gameness
+carried to the point of stupidity.</p>
+
+<p class="mt2">There’s the other side of the picture. Some of the cleverest
+fighters of the last half-century confessed to me that rather
+than take further punishment in a losing battle, they preferred
+taking the count. And who shall blame them when they
+have seen the products of this misplaced courage—the punch-drunk
+derelicts who hang around the gymnasiums, their eyes
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_174">[174]</span>as vacant as their minds? But the fact remains that courage,
+whether blind or logical, is a must in the make-up of the successful
+boxer. Sometimes courage ebbs and has to be revived.</p>
+
+<p>I can never forget the raw courage of Babe Risko in his fight
+with Jock McAvoy, December 20, 1935, in Madison Square
+Garden. This courage forced him to take terrible punishment,
+although he knew he hadn’t a chance to turn the tide.
+Six times the American had gone down from the trip-hammer
+blows of the British middleweight before Babe was counted
+out with still half a minute to go of the opening round. All I
+can say is that the boxer with a fighting heart can never be
+persuaded that he has had enough.</p>
+
+<p>But let’s take an example of refined courage—the kind displayed
+by Gene Tunney when he met Jack Dempsey in their
+first bout in the Sesquicentennial Stadium of Philadelphia.
+The pale-faced ex-marine showed remarkable coolness as he
+walked into the lair of the tiger-man to face blows that had
+battered the strongest into insensibility.</p>
+
+<p>Blind courage would have induced him to swap blows with
+the enraged, scowling Dempsey after the famous “fourteen”
+count in their second contest in Chicago, but he chose the way
+of refined courage, which changes blind instinct to thought
+and calculation—and so he saved the day.</p>
+
+<p>In Max Schmeling’s fight with Young Stribling, July 3,
+1931, in Cleveland, and his first with Joe Louis, June 19,
+1936, I saw examples of the calculating courage of a great
+fighter. In both, as indeed in all of Schmeling’s important
+battles, he plodded along until the opportune moment arrived.
+Then calculating courage transformed him into a fighting
+fury, when he had to take as well as give punishment.</p>
+
+<p>Packey McFarland, a boxer of consummate skill, was hurt on
+several occasions but never to the extent that he was forced to
+display courage to stick it out. He would never let anyone
+beat him up.</p>
+
+<p>On the day after his fight with Matt Wells on April 26,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_175">[175]</span>1912, in New York City, I went to his dressing room. Both
+men had put up a wonderful show, but Packey had received far
+more punishment than he normally took, and I was surprised.
+I asked McFarland how he felt.</p>
+
+<p>“Nat,” he said, “I’m a clever boxer. I feel I can hold my own
+against anybody my weight, or ten pounds above my weight,
+but when the day comes that my cleverness will no longer protect
+me, I’ll quit. I don’t believe in what you writers term
+courage.”</p>
+
+<p>“But Packey,” I countered, “you mean to tell me that if you
+were badly hurt you’d toss in the sponge?”</p>
+
+<p>“That’s exactly what I would do.”</p>
+
+<p>“They would call you a coward,” I retorted. “If you showed
+a yellow streak, you’d be through.”</p>
+
+<p>Anger blazed in Packey’s eyes, but he controlled himself and
+spoke in his ordinary quiet and cultivated tones.</p>
+
+<p>“Yellow, eh?” he replied. “I know as well as you that no
+man in the boxing game has a right to be there if he has a
+faint heart. It takes a fellow with a lot of nerve to stand up
+and absorb punishment, but it requires even more courage for
+a man to know when he has had enough and to call a halt.</p>
+
+<p>“That’s not a yellow streak in a fighter. I say that’s ordinary
+common sense. When the going is good, keep firing. That’s my
+motto. But when you find the odds are against you, then
+quit.”</p>
+
+<p>This was the philosophy of one of America’s greatest boxers
+in a period which surpassed all other eras in lightweights and
+welterweights. Nobody ever doubted Packey’s courage, but
+that is how he had worked things out for himself.</p>
+
+<p>It was the logic of brain against the unreasoning instincts of
+brawn. I admired Packey for the stand he took, and in later
+years, when he became sponsor of the Catholic Youth Movement
+in the United States, he carried the same philosophy
+into his classes.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_176">[176]</span></p>
+
+<div class="figcontainer">
+<figure class="figright illowp30" id="chapter19" style="max-width: 6.25em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/chapter19.jpg" alt="19">
+</figure>
+</div>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_19"><span class="hide">19<br></span>
+RINGSIDE THRILLS</h3>
+
+</div>
+
+<p>The walls of my office are covered with photographs
+of my heroes—sturdy Jim Jeffries, lanky Bob Fitzsimmons,
+debonair Jim Corbett, happy-go-lucky Jack Johnson,
+ponderous Jess Willard, the tiger of the roped square, Jack
+Dempsey, cultured Gene Tunney, fiery Jack Sharkey, smiling
+Max Schmeling, poker-faced Joe Louis and hard-hitting
+Rocky Marciano—a great array of heavyweight champions. I
+find pleasure in discussing their careers. The thrills I got
+watching these ringmen perform, come back to me as I sit at
+my desk and study the faces on my walls. I have seen seconds
+lead men into the morning glory of fame and fortune, and
+plunge others into the midnight of a defeat from which they
+never came back. Those pictures tell a story.</p>
+
+<p>Among the thrilling contests listed in my diary, three in
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">[177]</span>which the great Benny Leonard was a contestant, stand out.
+Out of Chicago came a left-hook artist, Charley White, whose
+high, intellectual brow hid a slow-thinking brain. He was
+within four seconds of winning the lightweight championship
+from Leonard on a hot afternoon, July 5, 1920, at Benton
+Harbor, Michigan, but couldn’t make it. For four rounds
+Leonard had out-punched and out-generalled Charley, the
+Chicago left-hook phenom, skillfully posing him for the
+knockout. Then Benny got careless.</p>
+
+<p>In the fifth, the left hook landed on Benny’s jaw with lightning
+rapidity and the champion went flying through the
+ropes. The spectators howled like Indians. White had shaken
+off the fog that usually enveloped his brain, and from all appearances
+the title was within his grasp. But Leonard got back
+into the ring at the count of six, and so flabbergasted was his
+opponent that his brain seemed to go numb. It ceased to function
+and Charley became just another fighter.</p>
+
+<p>Leonard was quick to sense the situation and through the
+eighth round, he jabbed, hooked and uppercut White at will.
+In the ninth, Charley was downed on hands and knees but
+took only a short count. Once more he went down and then
+Benny knocked him over the ropes. Back into the ring he
+found Leonard waiting, poised for the “kill.” Though he
+again put Charley down, it took a fifth knock-down to end the
+thriller.</p>
+
+<p>Split seconds stood between the hard-hitting Chicago challenger
+and the crown, but as in the case of Leonard when he
+fought Tendler, brains triumphed over brawn. Had not Charley
+White “frozen” in that fifth round, he would have been
+returned the champion. At least that was the consensus among
+the newspapermen who watched Leonard pull through the
+round.</p>
+
+<p>Leonard was an extraordinary fighter—an artist when it
+came to providing thrills. Let’s take a look at his fight with
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_178">[178]</span>Richie Mitchell, the Milwaukee lightweight on January 14,
+1921, in Madison Square Garden for the benefit of Ann
+Morgan’s Devastated France Fund. Richie already had been
+stopped by Leonard in seven rounds, but he was a good pugilist
+and the return bout brought out a vast throng of society
+fans, among them Governor Al Smith who was viewing his
+first ring battle. There must have been a lot of ruined dresses
+that night, for before the proceedings were over, frenzy broke
+out.</p>
+
+<p>When the bell rang to start the fight, Benny, very cool and
+rather contemptuous of Mitchell, walked straight out to meet
+him with a left to the face and followed with a right aimed at
+the jaw. It missed the button and struck the Milwaukee boy
+on the cheekbone, but it dropped him flat.</p>
+
+<p>The referee started the count to a scene of excitement
+seldom surpassed in my experience. The society fans went
+wild. Mitchell’s seconds bawled at him to remain down and
+take his time.</p>
+
+<p>Richie may have heard them, for he didn’t get up until
+“nine.” He was groggy. His legs wobbled. He sought to embrace
+Leonard, but a short left-hook to the chin, sent Richie
+down again.</p>
+
+<p>And down he stayed until “nine.” When he got up, he
+reeled about in front of me. I saw that he had a nasty cut
+under his left eye.</p>
+
+<p>I saw Leonard leap forward again, bent on making a quick
+finish. He shot a left to the jaw, followed by a right. The Milwaukee
+boy rocked like a tree in a storm, then went down for
+the third time to a volley of rights and lefts.</p>
+
+<p>I got one of those reactions I often had when I saw a brave
+man taking too much punishment. The big thrill suddenly
+faded into revulsion. For with me there is no thrill without
+sport, and there can be no sport when one man is hopelessly
+beaten.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_179">[179]</span></p>
+
+<p>Did I say beaten? The revulsion came too quickly. Richie
+Mitchell got up again at “eight” and ran into another terrific
+bombardment of solid smashes, hooks, and jabs; but still he
+wouldn’t go out. He actually fought back, getting home a few
+lefts to Benny’s face. He showed heroic courage, and courage
+will work miracles in the ring.</p>
+
+<p>Leonard, brushing aside the lefts, waded in. Then suddenly
+he stood still. I saw his whole body stiffen and sprang to my
+feet. Something was happening—had happened!</p>
+
+<p>Richie, almost out, had put all his strength into a left to
+Benny’s stomach. The glove buried itself, forcing the champion’s
+head forward.</p>
+
+<p>Like an arrow came Richie’s right, flush on Leonard’s jaw.</p>
+
+<p>There was a sudden hush. The atmosphere was tense with
+utter astonishment. Benny Leonard, the idol of New York,
+out on the canvas! It was unbelievable! Then pandemonium
+broke out.</p>
+
+<p>The count piled up as Benny struggled to get to his feet.
+I heard his handlers yelling:</p>
+
+<p>“Get up, Benny, get up!”</p>
+
+<p>I heard Billy Gibson, Leonard’s manager, shout:</p>
+
+<p>“Shake your head, Benny! Shake your head, Benny!”</p>
+
+<p>I saw Leonard get up and nod to Gibson, as if to say he was
+all right. And then we saw a superb exhibition of ringcraft.
+Benny feigned an attack, and as he closed towards Mitchell, he
+grabbed his opponent instead of striking and held on.</p>
+
+<p>Richie got in a light left, for he, too, was in bad shape.
+Benny fiddled about and kidded Richie into doing nothing
+until the bell rang. He had out-smarted his opponent at the
+critical time and robbed him of a title victory when it was
+there for the taking.</p>
+
+<p>This was one of the greatest rounds that I had ever seen in
+the ring, but it was only the beginning. The next session was
+a mill royal. Benny soon got up to his tricks again but Richie
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_180">[180]</span>had him groggy with a terrific right to the jaw, and immediately
+afterwards Mitchell was almost out from a bombardment
+to the head.</p>
+
+<p>This sort of fighting went on for three more rounds.</p>
+
+<p>In the sixth, Benny put over a right with such force that
+Mitchell fell on his back. He was on his feet at “nine,” and
+went on the defensive, with chin tucked into his shoulder and
+taking most of Leonard’s blows on his arms. But he was a pitiful
+figure to behold. His lips were smashed and bleeding and
+his eyes almost closed. Yet they fought on.</p>
+
+<p>Richie went down again for “six” from body blows and
+with inhuman courage, he again got up only to be floored for
+another long count. There was Mitchell staggering about in a
+neutral corner, and there was Leonard firing away in an effort
+to stretch his rival flat. He finally succeeded. After another
+down Referee Haucap pushed Benny aside as the eight count
+was completed, and called a halt to one of the greatest ring
+battles seen in the old Garden under the regime of Tex
+Rickard.</p>
+
+<p class="mt2">I had the good fortune to see many such hair-raising contests.
+Let’s take that between Ad Wolgast, lightweight king,
+and K. O. Brown, on February 8, 1911. After that scintillating
+bout, the Michigan Wildcat was sitting in his dressing room
+when I entered, after having fought my way from the ringside
+in the Philadelphia arena where they fought a sensational ten-rounder.
+Had a decision been permitted—this was a no decision
+contest—by my scoring Brown would have won the
+crown, for the sturdy little New York Dutchman had given
+Wolgast a fine shellacking. For six rounds he had Ad at his
+mercy while the throng cheered. He had Wolgast on the brink
+of a knockout, but failed to take advantage of the situation
+and lost his golden opportunity.</p>
+
+<p>I was eager to learn why Wolgast, who had fought great
+battles with Battling Nelson and was one of the toughest of
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_181">[181]</span>all lightweights, had permitted Brown to gain such a big advantage
+over him.</p>
+
+<p>Ad sat in a chair as I entered, his head in his hands. His
+manager was staring gloomily at the floor, his hands in his
+pockets and a cigar in his mouth. Mingled with the smell of
+the cigar was the odor of liniment.</p>
+
+<p>“Hello, Ad!” I said.</p>
+
+<p>Wolgast looked up. He was a short, square fellow, under
+five feet four in height, but with the shoulders of a middleweight.
+His fair hair, now lank and dark with water from the
+spongings, indicated his German ancestry.</p>
+
+<p>“Hello, Nat!” he responded mechanically.</p>
+
+<p>“What was wrong with you, Ad?” I asked.</p>
+
+<p>The manager looked at him as if he, too, would like an
+answer.</p>
+
+<p>“That fellow Brown,” replied Wolgast, “he’s a southpaw.
+I can’t do anything against them.”</p>
+
+<p>“You’re not telling me that, Ad,” I said. “I figured that
+being a southpaw, Brown would be easy going for you.”</p>
+
+<p>Ad looked up. “Well, he wasn’t easy. You saw how it was.
+I tell you that southpaw stance is a puzzler. I thought it would
+be easy, and I did do some of my training with a southpaw
+sparring partner to make sure. But he got me puzzled all
+right. I couldn’t get going, Nat.”</p>
+
+<p>“How do you figure it out, Ad?” I asked.</p>
+
+<p>“You never know from what angle those southpaws are
+going to hit. That got me all tangled up. Then this Dutchman
+can punch so that he leaves a dent wherever he lands. I’d
+rather fight two left-stance men in one ring than one southpaw,
+and I’m well out of this mess. You can figure the rest out
+for yourself, Nat.”</p>
+
+<p>Ad was piqued. He had taken a bad lacing. One of his eyes
+was nearly closed, and his lips looked as if they had been having
+an argument with a mincing machine. Judging from the
+manager’s sober expression, it wasn’t going to be a happy
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">[182]</span>evening, so I wished Ad good luck and left Philadelphia for
+home.</p>
+
+<p>On my way back to New York, I got into an argument with
+some of the boys about southpaws. Most of them said the obvious
+thing—the southpaws should be easy meat for men who
+fought with the left arm and foot extended. But Ad Wolgast’s
+experience made that opinion extremely doubtful.</p>
+
+<p>“There has never been a southpaw champion yet,” said one
+of the boys.</p>
+
+<p>“You’re wrong there, pal,” I interposed. “Bendigo was a
+southpaw. He won the heavyweight championship of England
+by whipping Jem Burke just over a hundred years ago.”</p>
+
+<p>“Orthodox fighters have learned a bit since then, Nat.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, all I can say is that Ad Wolgast isn’t one of them,” I
+replied. “And I’d like to see some of the other champs up
+against southpaws before I make up my mind.”</p>
+
+<p>Dissatisfied with his showing against Brown, Wolgast arranged
+another engagement with the blond, hard-hitting
+Dutchman within a month, March 3.</p>
+
+<p>“Dumb” Dan Morgan, K. O. Brown’s manager, had pressed
+for this second contest after his man’s impressive exhibition in
+Philadelphia. Wolgast had demanded a guarantee of ten thousand
+dollars—an enormous sum in those days, and certainly
+enough to put an end to negotiations. But “Dumb” Dan was
+so certain that K. O. Brown could put Wolgast to sleep within
+ten rounds that he went into the match on a very short purse
+which enabled Tom O’Rourke to meet Ad’s demands for the
+big guarantee.</p>
+
+<p>The seating capacity of O’Rourke’s New York club was
+only twelve hundred, but as soon as the match was signed,
+there was an enormous demand for tickets. Tom put up his
+prices and charged five, ten, and fifteen dollars for the seats,
+but even then there was a riot, and police reserves had to be
+called out to deal with fans who fought to get in. The jam was
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">[183]</span>so great that the police had to rope off the entire block, clear
+it, and then control the stream of fans right into the hall.</p>
+
+<p>I have seen many wild gatherings at the scene of a big fight,
+but few to surpass this one. Although we knew we were in for
+a thrill, we didn’t quite figure on the sort of thrill we got. It
+was a savage bout from start to finish. Both men absorbed
+tremendous punishment.</p>
+
+<p>I had seldom seen such punching from lightweights. The
+two men fought toe-to-toe and wouldn’t concede a foot. On
+several occasions the lightweight crown tottered on Ad Wolgast’s
+head, as the ferocious Dutchman, with his baffling southpaw
+stance, crashed home his dynamic right on the champion’s
+cheeks, just missing the button.</p>
+
+<p>Then apparently it began to dawn on K. O. Brown that the
+championship was in his grasp, and that he would have to pay
+proper respect to Ad’s swings if he was to get away with it.
+Here the Dutchman made a mistake—and it cost him the
+world title.</p>
+
+<p>In the eighth round, Brown landed a punch on Wolgast’s
+chin that had the champion groggy. Ad went back on his
+heels, his eyes rolling. For a moment he staggered forward
+with open mouth, and the Dutchman just missed connecting
+with his deadly right. I saw him about to leap in, and then
+check himself.</p>
+
+<p>The crowd was yelling for him to finish Wolgast, but he
+stood fiddling about, feinting. Meanwhile, the groggy champion
+was slowly recovering his senses. What could have happened
+to Brown?</p>
+
+<p>He told me afterwards that at that instant he suddenly remembered
+how Cross shammed grogginess and then whipped
+over his terrific right and that memory decided K. O. Brown
+to take no chances.</p>
+
+<p>“Go in and finish him!” yelled “Dumb” Dan Morgan to
+Brown. “Finish him now!”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">[184]</span></p>
+
+<p>I saw the Dutchman turn and shake his head to his manager.</p>
+
+<p>“Just one more, K. O.” pleaded Dan.</p>
+
+<p>Wolgast was helpless. He was reeling about the ring like a
+drunken man, out on his feet. But Brown refused to believe
+it. And there was a world championship at stake! My heart
+was in my mouth. But what of poor “Dumb” Dan, who had
+steered the Dutchman to this supreme moment, and now, in
+the very harbor of victory, Brown wouldn’t anchor!</p>
+
+<p>Only one punch was needed to settle it, but the Dutchman
+continued to fiddle his chances away. His southpaw stance had
+presented him with the great opportunity, but he couldn’t
+take it.</p>
+
+<p>For the next two rounds, Ad Wolgast, still groggy, managed
+to keep Brown out by a strictly defensive fight. Even when he
+had partially recovered his senses, he had no effective answer
+to his opponent’s style, and finished the fight—a no-decision
+affair—a loser on points, in my opinion. However, under the
+rules that governed boxing at that time, only a knockout
+could rob him of his world title, and the Dutchman had failed
+to deliver it.</p>
+
+<p>There was an extraordinary scene in Brown’s corner after
+the fight.</p>
+
+<p>Dan Morgan was frantic.</p>
+
+<p>“Just one blow,” he howled. “Any kind of a punch and you
+would have become the lightweight champion of the world!”</p>
+
+<p>The Dutchman looked sheepish.</p>
+
+<p>“Say something, you sap,” bawled Morgan. “You had the
+title in your hands and you let it slip away. Why didn’t you go
+after him?”</p>
+
+<p>“Aw, Mister Morgan, I didn’t know it,” said Brown. “I taut
+he vos kiddin’ me.”</p>
+
+<p>K. O. Brown’s failure deferred the winning of a world title
+by a southpaw for three years when I saw George Chip, middleweight
+champion of the world knocked out in a huge fistic
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_185">[185]</span>upset by Al McCoy in the Broadway Club of Brooklyn, April
+6, 1914. Three years later, November 14, 1917, I saw McCoy
+dethroned in Brooklyn in another thriller by a tough Irish
+middleweight, Mike O’Dowd. That bout went into the sixth
+round when a terrific left split McCoy’s lips and a right to the
+jaw put Al away. McCoy was an ordinary fighter, but he takes
+his place in the Hall of Fame as the first southpaw to win a
+world crown in a gloves contest.</p>
+
+<p class="mt2">Every nation has had its quota of thrill providers in boxing—with
+the Irish and the Jews, in my opinion, leading the field
+during the years covered in my reminiscences.</p>
+
+<p>Sitting in my offices was Jack McAuliffe, the first recognized
+American lightweight champion who retired undefeated. He
+had paid me a visit about three months prior to his death and
+asked for help on an article he was writing on Irish fighters.</p>
+
+<p>“Tell me, Jack, what is it the Irish have that carries such
+appeal for the boxing enthusiasts?” I asked.</p>
+
+<p>Jack wrinkled his brow and with one word gave me the
+answer: “Gameness.”</p>
+
+<p>I thought he hit it on the head. One can’t discuss thrilling
+fights of the past half-century without bringing in the names
+of dozens of famous Irish battlers who fought to packed
+houses in New York in the club membership days and later
+under the Walker Law. Who can forget the performances of
+Harlem Tommy Murphy, Willie Lewis, Jack Britton, Mike
+McTigue, Mickey Walker, Mike O’Dowd, Jimmy McLarnin,
+Tommy Loughran, Philadelphia Jack O’Brien, Dave Shade
+and Jimmy Slattery? Some were powerful hitters, others scientific
+boxers, and many combined both hitting power and
+science to give us masterful exhibitions.</p>
+
+<p>The many contests between Britton and Ted Kid Lewis,
+the bouts between McLarnin and Barney Ross, the hair-raising
+bout between Billy Petrolle and McLarnin, November
+21, 1930, in Madison Square Garden, the battle with Stanley
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_186">[186]</span>Ketchel in which Philadelphia Jack O’Brien’s head rested in
+the rosin pan as the final gong sounded on March 26, 1909, in
+the Fiss, Doerr and Carroll Horse Mart ring—they were bouts
+one cannot forget. And then there were the great battles in
+which Mickey Walker was a contestant. His draw bout with
+Jack Sharkey, July 22, 1931, his knockout at the hands of Max
+Schmeling in the Long Island Bowl, September 26, 1932, and
+his battles with Shade, McTigue and Harry Greb, all in 1925,
+were performances that brought out the fighting spirit of the
+Irish to its fullest extent.</p>
+
+<p>McLarnin’s three contests with Barney Ross, May 28 and
+September 17, 1934, and May 28, 1935, the second of which
+was the only one the Irish lad won, are unforgettable affairs.
+When Jimmy fought Petrolle, November 21, 1930, he displayed
+fighting courage that many thought was beyond reason.
+I recall the smashed, bloody figure of Jimmy, reeling under
+the terrific impact of Petrolle’s merciless wallops; yet as he
+stood in the ring, bathed in his own gore, hardly strong
+enough to keep his hands up in defense, he wouldn’t give in.
+Referee Haley, one of the best bantams in the pre-commission
+days, moved over to Jimmy and begged him to quit.</p>
+
+<p>“No, no, please don’t stop it. Don’t ask me to quit,” he
+pleaded. Weak, but still defiant, he staggered through to the
+finish of the tenth round. In their two subsequent contests,
+May 27 and August 30, 1931, McLarnin avenged the defeat,
+winning both.</p>
+
+<p>In the same ring in Madison Square Garden, January 6,
+1928, I saw another splendid Irish pugilist, Tommy Loughran
+of Philadelphia, go down in the opening round from a bone-crushing
+right on the jaw delivered by Leo Lomski of Oklahoma.
+Nobody expected Tommy to get to his feet before the
+count could be completed. Yet he did! As the referee reached
+“nine,” Loughran arose, reeled, and was all but out on his
+feet. One of Lomski’s seconds yelled, “He’s out, Leo! Go get
+him! Get him now!”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_187">[187]</span></p>
+
+<p>Lomski rushed forth, and there followed two minutes of the
+rawest melodrama. Tommy took a terrible shellacking but remained
+upright. He not only finished the fight, but won on
+points. It was a memorable battle. A salute to these great Irishmen
+for enriching the story of the ring!</p>
+
+<p>Not all the thrills I received as a reporter came from boxing.
+Wrestling had its share. It was truly a sport then, not the
+burlesque which it has become in recent years. Those were
+the days of George Hackenschmidt, Frank Gotch, the Zbyszko
+brothers, Stanislaus and Wladek, Ernest Roeber, Gus Schoenlein,
+Ed Strangler Lewis, Jim Londos, Jim Browning, Joe
+Rogers, Dr. Roller, and many others. I knew them all and
+covered the career of each in my book <i>From Milo To Londos</i>.
+My association with Jack Curley, the Tex Rickard of the mat
+sport under whose guidance the masters performed around
+the country, brought me into close contact with these world
+leaders.</p>
+
+<p>I often dined with Curley, George Bothner, and William
+Muldoon, a champion of the old school, and it was through
+my meetings with them that I gained my knowledge of wrestling.
+Frequently I would sit at the ringside of the old Madison
+Square Garden for two or more hours watching the skillful
+maneuvering of the contestants. I recall vividly the longest
+match I ever witnessed—that between Strangler Lewis and
+Stanislaus, the elder Zbyszko. It got under way at ten o’clock
+and it was well past one the following morning when we left
+the arena.</p>
+
+<p>Unlike the burlesque of current matches, their technique
+was masterly. I reported those wrestling affairs as I handled
+boxing—in detail—for the public was fascinated at the
+time. Watching Fred Beall apply his double-nelson; Jenkins
+his crotch and half-nelson; Lewis his famous headlock;
+Zbyszko his lightning rushes; and Joe Stecher his scissors hold,
+gave me as much of a thrill as I got out of viewing an exciting
+bout between top pugilists.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_188">[188]</span></p>
+
+<div class="figcontainer">
+<figure class="figright illowp30" id="chapter20" style="max-width: 6.25em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/chapter20.jpg" alt="20">
+</figure>
+</div>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_20"><span class="hide">20<br></span>
+LAUGHS AND ODDITIES</h3>
+
+</div>
+
+<p>Often, though the contestants in a bout were of
+mediocre caliber or the fight lacked thrills, some amusing incident
+developed that enlivened the affair. There were many
+such over the years that I jotted down in my diary.</p>
+
+<p>It was in the spring of 1916. Billy Gibson, who managed
+three world champions, was operating at the old Manhattan
+Opera House in New York City, on West 34th Street. He
+matched Charley Weinert, Newark heavyweight, not yet nineteen,
+with rugged veteran Andre Anderson in a ten round
+bout. Despite his youth, Weinert already had established himself
+with the nation’s front-line heavyweights. The Jersey
+youngster’s speed and flashy boxing had carried him to victories
+over the likes of Battling Levinsky, Jim Coffey, Tom
+McCarty, Porky Flynn, George (Boer) Rodel, Gunboat Smith,
+and Jim Savage—all top men.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_189">[189]</span></p>
+
+<p>Anderson was a holdover from the turbulent “White Hope
+Era” and was a tough campaigner who had faced the best of
+the heavies. The ring was pitched on the stage of the opera
+house. In the second round, Weinert jolted Anderson with a
+left hook and followed through with a vicious blow to the jaw.
+Andre reeled, tumbled backward through the ropes, rolled off
+the stage, and fell into the orchestra pit where an assortment
+of musical instruments had been stacked. He landed seat first
+in the wide, inviting mouth of the big bass horn, to the keen
+delight of the spectators. That incident saved the show.</p>
+
+<p>Tightly wedged into the horn, Andre strove in vain to extricate
+himself while Billy Joh reached across the ropes and
+tolled off the fatal ten.</p>
+
+<p class="mt2">It was some twenty-five years ago that Hollywood’s Victor
+McLaglen arrived in New York to make a personal appearance
+at the premiere of one of his movies. That same day, February
+3, 1933, Boston heavyweight Ernie Schaaf was billed to box
+Primo Carnera, the Italian Behemoth, at Madison Square
+Garden. Vic, who had been a boxer and wrestler himself prior
+to gaining fame in the movies, was an ardent fight fan. As soon
+as his personal appearance was concluded, he rushed over to
+the Garden to watch the main event.</p>
+
+<p>I was sitting directly in front of him at ringside when McLaglen
+suddenly rushed from his seat upon seeing Phil
+Schlossberg, one of Schaaf’s seconds, accompanying his fighter
+down the aisle to the ring. Vic greeted Phil with a mighty slap
+on the back and broadly grinned as both recalled their six-round
+match at Vancouver in 1908.</p>
+
+<p>Curious as to the details of their bout, I questioned him
+after he had returned to his seat.</p>
+
+<p>“I’ll always remember that fight with Phil,” he replied, “because
+it almost resulted in my death. For two rounds we were
+fighting on even terms. In the third, Phil split my lip with a
+punch and the blood began to flow freely down my throat.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_190">[190]</span>When I returned to my corner, my second, a nervous fellow,
+asked me to toss my head back, and as I did, he poured a
+‘healing lotion’ down my throat. I collapsed immediately,
+and as I was unable to catch my breath, I had to be carried to
+my dressing room. What I’d had was ammonia—a good dose
+of it.</p>
+
+<p>“You can take it from me, Nat,” concluded Victor, “I never
+again took a mouthwash without smelling it to make sure it
+wasn’t ammonia!”</p>
+
+<p class="mt2">On December 15, 1947, I saw a comical performance by
+Mexican welterweight Nava Esparza, in a bout with Brooklyn’s
+Rocco Rossano at the St. Nicholas Arena in New York
+City.</p>
+
+<p>Twenty-six seconds after the fight began, Esparza was
+counted out in the quickest knockout in the history of the St.
+Nick Club. After the ten count had been tolled, Nava was
+helped out of the ring. He climbed down clear-eyed, apparently
+in complete control of himself. As he got to the bottom
+step he reached down and picked up his own water bucket.</p>
+
+<p>Quickly reversing his movements, he climbed back into the
+ring with the bucket. What for? To await the next fighter.
+Later in the dressing room he snapped back into focus, and
+was surprised to find out that while dazed, he had attempted
+to become a second.</p>
+
+<p class="mt2">A yarn that got a big laugh from servicemen to whom I told
+these stories during my visits to training camps and hospitals
+during the last war, concerned Sam Langford’s fight with Jim
+Smith, an inexperienced but towering 6′ 2″ Negro.</p>
+
+<p>It was in the Autumn of 1911, and I was assigned to cover
+the fight at the Atlantic Gardens on the Bowery in New York
+City, a famous old club that operated during the Frawley Law
+club membership days. Lew Raymond, a colorful figure, was
+matchmaker and promoter. Langford, a frequent performer at
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_191">[191]</span>the club, was popular with the patrons who packed the arena
+every time he fought. Smith came into the ring physically
+unfit, and Sam decided he would end the affair in a hurry.</p>
+
+<p>I was in the dressing room with Sam and his manager, Joe
+Woodman, when Smith and his handlers passed Langford’s
+dressing room on the way to the ring.</p>
+
+<p>“Yuh gonna let me off easy, Sam, ain’t yuh?” Smith asked.</p>
+
+<p>“Yuh gonna stay so long as ah think it’s good fer yuh,” replied
+Sambo.</p>
+
+<p>The bout got under way. Smith started dancing around the
+ring to avoid Sam’s hits. Now and then Sam did contact his
+opponent’s body, but he couldn’t get over a clean shot.</p>
+
+<p>Came the fifth round.</p>
+
+<p>“Fer why yuh keeps running like dat?” inquired the angry
+Langford, as he stopped in mid-ring and looked at his opponent
+with disgust. “Is yuh so frightened you’se afraid to fight?
+Come on in an’ do some fightin’!”</p>
+
+<p>But all he got was a laugh from Smith.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly, as Smith wheeled about to get out of the corner,
+Sambo leaped forward, let go one that came up from the floor
+and struck Smith with such force on that part of his anatomy
+where the monkey has his tail, that Big Jim was raised off the
+floor and landed with a thud on the canvas. He lay flat as
+Referee Billy Joh counted him out.</p>
+
+<p>When Smith finally got to his feet, he looked angrily at Sam
+and said:</p>
+
+<p>“Why yuh ’it me dere?”</p>
+
+<p>“Cause yuh got eyes in yoh head but dere’s none you got
+behind yuh.”</p>
+
+<p class="mt2">Here’s another on Sambo that took well with servicemen.</p>
+
+<p>In 1913, Sam was booked to fight John Lester Johnson, a
+burly Negro who could hit and who had fought a ten round
+no-decision bout with Jack Dempsey when the Manassa
+Mauler made his début in New York. Raymond had booked
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_192">[192]</span>the pair for the Atlantic Gardens, and the place was jammed
+on the evening of the affair. Johnson was a “new one” on
+Sam’s list, but he knew enough about Sambo not to gamble
+on his punch. So when the bout began, like many other Langford
+opponents, he started to race around the ring.</p>
+
+<p>Several circuits had been made when Sam suddenly halted,
+stood a foot or so away from the ropes, and watched his man
+scamper about like a scared jack-rabbit. He was convinced
+that his opponent wouldn’t remain long enough in one place
+to make a fight of it, so he did some quick thinking. He estimated
+the speed at which Johnson was moving, then let a
+winding right go at his fleeing rival. The punch caught John
+Lester “on the fly” and halted his flight with dramatic suddenness.
+The fist landed on the base of the spine, and Johnson
+went crashing to the floor. His head was clear, but the clout
+had paralyzed his legs, and he was counted out and had to be
+carried to his dressing room.</p>
+
+<p class="mt2">It was at the Howard Athletic Club in 1908, that I first met
+Stonewall Allen, the Negro “Fighting Parson.” He was one of
+the strangest characters in the New York sporting world. A
+good boxer, he always prayed publicly before he left his
+corner for the first round. On this particular night he met a
+tough sailor boy, Mike McGarry, the “Fighting Tar.”</p>
+
+<p>Half-way through the first round the sailor caught Stonewall
+with a smash on the mouth and knocked out three of his
+teeth. As the “Parson” stopped to pick them up, a wild swing
+caught him on the jaw and flattened him out for the full
+count.</p>
+
+<p>When he recovered his senses, Allen, as was his custom,
+knelt and prayed. The boys in the gallery began to razz him.
+One of the sports writers at the ringside asked him in a loud
+voice what he was praying for after being knocked out.</p>
+
+<p>He rose to his feet and, rolling his eyes heavenward, answered:</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_193">[193]</span></p>
+
+<p>“I’se thanking de Lawd for gibing me a soft spot to land
+on.”</p>
+
+<p class="mt2">Al Singer was a terrific puncher. He was so confident of his
+ability to punch holes in anything on two legs that he entered
+into a match with Jimmy McLarnin, September 11, 1930,
+then the hardest hitter, pound for pound, of any boxer in the
+game. It was an overweight affair, and Al ought to have
+known better.</p>
+
+<p>For two rounds he outboxed McLarnin. In the third session,
+Jimmy induced Al to swap punches. It was a terrific
+spectacle to see these two human battering rams going at it
+without any attempt at defense. The crowd was whipped to
+fury as the bone-crushing smashes struck home. But it was too
+good to last. McLarnin unleashed a straight right to the point
+of Singer’s jaw, and down he went.</p>
+
+<p>Jimmy was so certain that Al was out for keeps that he did
+a few handsprings, his usual procedure after a victory. But
+Singer began to rise at “nine,” and as Referee Johnny McAvoy
+was bringing down his arm for the “ten,” Al leaped to
+his feet.</p>
+
+<p>McLarnin was just finishing a handspring at the time, and
+Singer, seeing his chance, rushed in. He missed a crashing
+punch by the fraction of an inch, and McLarnin replied with
+a smashing left hook to the jaw which finished Singer’s interest
+for the evening.</p>
+
+<p class="mt2">A few months later, Al Singer fought Tony Canzoneri in
+Madison Square Garden, November 13, 1930. Tony nearly set
+up a record by battering Al into submission in one minute
+and six seconds. The knockout came with dynamic suddenness
+and swept the fans off their feet. A left hook caught Al off
+his balance and drove him back on his heels. Another punch
+of the same sort finished him.</p>
+
+<p>I was staring fascinated at the drama when Ed Hughes, a
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_194">[194]</span>sportswriter and cartoonist, sitting next to me said, “What the
+hell happened? I was writing that the boys had come into the
+ring!”</p>
+
+<p class="mt2">I also recall the strange ending to the New York début of
+Babe Herman, flashy young Californian, whom Jack Kearns
+managed during the early 1920’s.</p>
+
+<p>Herman’s opponent was Irish Johnny Curtin, colorful
+Jersey City slugger, and the scrap was held at Charley Doesserick’s
+Pioneer Club.</p>
+
+<p>For five rounds it was Herman’s brilliant boxing and sharp-shooting
+against Curtin’s rugged two-handed aggressiveness.</p>
+
+<p>The Babe nailed Irish Johnny on the chin with a vicious
+right just as the bell clanged the end of the fifth. Beyond jolting
+him as it landed, the punch seemed to have no serious
+effect on Curtin. Gingerly, Irish Johnny turned to walk to his
+corner. He had taken about two steps when, suddenly, the full
+force of that wallop caught up with him, and he pitched forward
+on his face.</p>
+
+<p>Despite the frenzied manipulations of his handlers during
+the minute’s rest, Irish Johnny was still out and unable to
+answer the gong for the sixth.</p>
+
+<p class="mt2">The bizarre results of “delayed-action” punches also gave a
+strange twist to the ending of a battle I saw in New Orleans in
+1921 between Happy Littleton, hard-hitting local middleweight,
+and Jack Bloomfield, clever Englishman.</p>
+
+<p>Littleton clipped Bloomfield on the chin in the ninth. Jack
+staggered for a moment, then turned away from Littleton,
+groped his way to a corner, and started to stumble along the
+ropes.</p>
+
+<p>While the bewildered Littleton looked on, Bloomfield, in
+the manner of a Leon Errol or Jimmy Barton, reeled around
+three sides of the ring and was headed for a complete lap
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_195">[195]</span>when his legs finally caved in, and he collapsed to the canvas
+to be counted out.</p>
+
+<p class="mt2">Can a man, standing on his feet, be unconscious and be
+counted out by the referee? It has been done, and I’ve seen it.
+I saw a lightweight championship change hands, May 28, 1917,
+in such a bout. Benny Leonard had cornered champion
+Freddy Welsh. Welsh was unsteady on his feet and desperately
+trying to hold himself up. He slipped one arm over the highest
+rope, and braced himself just as Leonard landed a hard
+punch to the jaw. Welsh started to fall toward the floor to get
+a moment’s rest. Benny, always a very shrewd fighter, started
+a quick flurry of punches which knocked Welsh across the top
+rope.</p>
+
+<p>Kid McPartland, a very good referee, made Leonard step
+back. The champion was out, hanging on the ropes, his feet
+on the canvas. McPartland counted the final ten over him, and
+as convincing proof that poor Welsh was absolutely unconscious,
+he slid off the ropes at the end of the count and fell in
+a limp heap on the canvas.</p>
+
+<p>Not long after his victory over Welsh, Leonard beat Phil
+Bloom in a fight that had a peculiar ending. Benny hit Phil on
+the chin, and Phil retired from the fight with a broken ankle.
+He had sat on it when he went down.</p>
+
+<p class="mt2">I recall a discussion which once arose between a group of
+sports writers and experts concerning queer happenings in the
+ring.</p>
+
+<p>One mentioned the case of Willie Lewis and Sailor Burke.
+I saw that fight at the Fairmont Club, on August 13, 1909. It
+was a ten-rounder, and both men were tough and clever.</p>
+
+<p>Willie Lewis was a really great welterweight. He met and
+beat the top-liners of a period which included such battlers as
+Billy Papke, Harry Lewis, Dixie Kid, Mike Gibbons, and
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_196">[196]</span>Curley Watson. But Sailor Burke had a big punch and was as
+hard as granite. In the first round he dropped Willie with a
+hard right to the chin for a count of six.</p>
+
+<p>Willie returned the compliment in the second session by
+putting the Sailor down for nine. It was a peach of a blow—a
+left hook that lifted Burke clean off his feet.</p>
+
+<p>Then came the fantastic third round. Both men were mixing
+in the middle of the ring, with Lewis having a shade the
+better of the milling. They stood toe-to-toe, hammering away
+at each other with lefts and rights to the body and jaw, when
+suddenly Burke started a right hook.</p>
+
+<p>Willie tried to beat him to the punch with a similar blow.
+Both wallops landed good and true—both men staggered—and
+then, to the roar of the crowd, both slumped to the canvas.</p>
+
+<p>Referee Billy Joh was amazed. For a moment he didn’t
+know what to do. Shouts came from all over the house. In
+both corners the handlers were wild with excitement, yelling
+their heads off. Then Billy jumped between the fighters, and
+with head down, started to count.</p>
+
+<p>It was an extraordinary situation. Burke, who had landed
+on his face, was trying to turn on his side, but Lewis, in falling,
+had toppled in such a position that part of his body was
+resting on the Sailor’s knees, and this prevented him from
+getting to his feet.</p>
+
+<p>The count went on; “three ... four ...” Then Lewis
+started to wriggle, partly releasing Burke “... five ...”
+Willie was scrambling to his feet. “... six ...”</p>
+
+<p>The gong went for the end of the round and saved the situation.
+Eventually Lewis put Burke out for keeps in the sixth
+round, but the thrill of that third session had drained the
+spectators of interest.</p>
+
+<p>As soon as the fight was over, I went to the dressing room
+and had a talk with Billy Joh. I was anxious to know what
+would have happened, if neither man had been able to get up
+and the gong had not sounded.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_197">[197]</span></p>
+
+<p>“I was puzzled for a moment, Nat,” said Billy, “but I soon
+remembered we are fighting no-decision bouts. For the sake of
+records, I should have continued the count and the man who
+got to his feet first would have been the winner.”</p>
+
+<p class="mt2">Two of the strangest knock-downs I have ever seen took
+place at the same Fairmont Club, one between Boyo Driscoll
+and Biz Mackey and the other between Soldier Kearns and
+“One Round” Davis, both in 1911.</p>
+
+<p>In the fight between Kearns and Davis, the latter was handing
+a whale of a beating to Kearns and apparently had victory
+well in hand. But Kearns stepped in and like lightning
+shot up a magnificent uppercut which turned Davis over in a
+back somersault.</p>
+
+<p>A cry rose from the crowd as Davis finished the somersault
+on the back of his neck, his head bent under him and his toes
+resting on the floor.</p>
+
+<p>“Good heavens!” said a voice near me. “That must have
+broken his neck!”</p>
+
+<p>The referee began to count, and Davis still maintained his
+dangerous and grotesque position.</p>
+
+<p>“Pick him up!” the crowd roared. “His neck’s broken!”</p>
+
+<p>And it looked as if a tragedy had happened. I saw Kearns
+step forward to help his fallen opponent, but his handlers
+shouted for him to keep still. Davis didn’t move, and the
+count went pitilessly on.</p>
+
+<p>As soon as he had ticked off “ten,” the referee rushed in and
+raised Davis from the canvas. He was still out and his head
+swung helplessly on his shoulders. His handlers ran into the
+ring to cries of “Get a doctor!” They carried him to his
+corner, where a few minutes later he was revived.</p>
+
+<p>Half-an-hour later, I was talking to him. He was still
+slightly dazed, but so far as I could see, really none the worse
+for his experience. How he escaped severe injury to his neck
+was a mystery to me.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_198">[198]</span></p>
+
+<p>Billy Joh refereed the Boyo Driscoll-Biz Mackey fight and
+was forced to count over both men at the same time. This
+extraordinary affair began when the boys were close to the
+ropes, hammering away at each other’s body.</p>
+
+<p>Billy Joh stepped in and separated them. As he did so, the
+fighters went for each other with everything they had. Both
+landed with a right to the jaw simultaneously. Driscoll went
+spinning toward one side of the ring and Mackey toward the
+other. They were stretched out flat while spectators howled
+with delight. Mackey was up at “Seven,” swaying like a
+drunken man. At “nine” Driscoll stumbled to his feet. Each
+staggered about the ring unable to do any fighting. It was
+extraordinarily comic. Laughter rocked the house as the men
+groped blindly to find each other. When eventually their
+gloves met, they fell into a clinch and remained that way without
+doing anything to each other until the gong sounded.</p>
+
+<p class="mt2">Many things that look queer to spectators are no joke to the
+fighters, but I must confess that I have often sat at ringside
+and enjoyed some of the antics. Some years ago two husky
+lightweights, Hugh Ross of Kentucky and Tom Kelly of New
+York were pitted against each other in a ten-round bout.
+When the final gong sounded, Ross was all in, on the verge of
+collapsing. As he fell into his chair, grasping the ropes, he
+turned to his second:</p>
+
+<p>“What round was I knocked out in?” he inquired.</p>
+
+<p>Seconds later the announcer was hailing Ross the winner,
+but the groggy fighter didn’t realize it. In the dressing room
+he couldn’t be convinced that he hadn’t been kayoed. He
+thought his handlers were spoofing.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_199">[199]</span></p>
+
+<div class="figcontainer">
+<figure class="figright illowp30" id="chapter21" style="max-width: 6.25em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/chapter21.jpg" alt="21">
+</figure>
+</div>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_21"><span class="hide">21<br></span>
+CHAMPS AND CHUMPS</h3>
+
+</div>
+
+<p>Every profession has its quotas of goofs and bulge-heads.
+Boxing leads them all in quality and quantity of
+whims, fancies, peculiarities, and idiosyncrasies. The history
+of the champs and chumps of fistiana is a saga of trickery,
+superstition, and practical jokes that would fill a good-sized
+public library.</p>
+
+<p>Since the gaslight days when fighters wore skin tights and
+fought bare-knuckled for a hundred rounds, performers of the
+roped square—an amazing collection of grotesque personalities—have
+used tricks that would confound a Hindu fakir,
+and followed fetishes that would stymie a practitioner of
+Voodoo.</p>
+
+<p>Of the fighters I have known intimately, Leonard, Johnson,
+and Young Corbett ruled the roost when it came to making
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_200">[200]</span>disconcerting remarks that enabled them to regain their equilibrium
+while they were palming off the hot stuff on their
+opponent. Philadelphia’s Lew Tendler wasn’t quite certain
+that he had knocked champion Benny Leonard bow-legged in
+the eighth round of their fight at Boyle’s Thirty Acres in
+Jersey City, July 27, 1922, and forgot to put across the finishing
+touches when Benny, smiling, said to him:</p>
+
+<p>“You hit pretty hard, Lew. Why don’t you hurt me?”</p>
+
+<p>Tendler, uncertain how to take the remark, permitted
+Leonard to hold on and to talk until it was too late to put
+over a haymaker. Leonard was as happy as a lark when he
+pranced to his corner with the knowledge that he had hoodwinked
+Tendler into missing an opportunity for a knockout.</p>
+
+<p>Leonard had another favorite ruse that he’d use whenever
+he faced a tough opponent, as in the meeting with Richie
+Mitchell in the old Garden. Benny, while taking the referee’s
+instructions, turned to his rival and remarked:</p>
+
+<p>“Now, boy, let’s make it a real fight. Those fans want to see
+action. But if I knock you down, don’t get up too soon. Take
+nine, you may need it.”</p>
+
+<p>Of course, he usually spoke so that the ringside scribes
+could hear what he had said, and that added to the discomfiture
+of his opponent. Benny’s remarks paid good dividends.</p>
+
+<p class="mt2">Harlem Tommy Murphy would cut loose with a line of gab
+every time he dropped an opponent. A talkative fellow, Harlem
+Tommy would upbraid his man for not doing well, and
+then, after he had dropped him for the count, he would remark:</p>
+
+<p>“Sorry, old top. Give my regards to the folks when you get
+home.”</p>
+
+<p>Former world bantamweight champion Johnny Coulon,
+came to pay me a visit when I was in Chicago recently. We
+discussed some of his fights, especially the one in which he
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_201">[201]</span>beat Frankie Burns in New Orleans in a twenty-round bout,
+February 28, 1912. Coulon asked me if I recalled how he
+kidded Burns out of a possible knockout in the fourteenth
+round, when Frankie had caught the champion with a corking
+right to the chin.</p>
+
+<p>Coulon was tossed back on his heels. It looked as if he
+would tumble to the canvas, but he caught himself in time,
+grasped the left arm of his opponent, backed Burns against
+the ropes and then, while trying to clear his head, said:</p>
+
+<p>“Why, Frankie, you’re a sap. You have a good punch but
+you don’t know how to toss it. Watch me!” Instead of taking
+advantage of the position he held by virtue of that stunning
+wallop, Burns tore himself away from Johnny’s grip and
+covered up while maneuvering himself out of range of
+Coulon’s right. While he retreated, the champion fully regained
+his faculties and, following Burns, actually caught him
+with a powerful right to the chin that almost dropped the challenger.</p>
+
+<p>Burns never knew that he had been duped. But it wasn’t the
+first time Coulon had come up with this stunt when stunned.</p>
+
+<p class="mt2">Fighters are probably the most superstitious of all athletes.
+In many years of experience with their ways, I have come across
+some extraordinary cases of ring superstition. Few boxers I
+have met are free from it.</p>
+
+<p>One of them was Gene Tunney. He dismissed luck as a factor
+in the fight game, although he had plenty of it—for example the
+“long count” he was given in his contest with Jack Dempsey at
+Chicago. But Gene affected to despise everything that savored
+of superstition.</p>
+
+<p>“It’s up to me,” he would say coolly.</p>
+
+<p>Incidents that would have driven most fighters into a state
+of superstitious fear had no effect on Gene, and his almost inhuman
+calm sometimes had a bad influence on his opponents.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_202">[202]</span>He never batted an eyelash. He was cool, collected, a study in
+perfect composure. No fighter in recent years, with the exception
+of Loughran, approached Tunney’s ring demeanor.</p>
+
+<p>Dempsey, on the other hand, was like Jeffries in that he was
+so nervous that he twitched and tossed, moved his feet to and
+fro in the resin, worked his hands over the upper strand of the
+ring, and could scarcely await the call to battle. He was pulling
+at the leash every moment he waited for the bell.</p>
+
+<p>Dempsey had his full share of superstition. He always went
+into the ring with a dirty old maroon sweater thrown across
+his shoulders. Once I asked him about it.</p>
+
+<p>“That sweater, Nat,” he said, “has been with me ever since
+I began fighting. I bought it in St. Louis out of my first ring
+earnings, and I have never been beaten while wearing it.
+Once I left it off and lost the decision.”</p>
+
+<p>Jack handed the tattered garment to me for inspection. It
+was certainly an odd fetish for one of the best-dressed boxers
+of modern times.</p>
+
+<p>“You may laugh at me, Nat,” he went on, “but that old
+sweater brought me luck against Fred Fulton, Carl Morris,
+Bill Brennan, and Georges Carpentier, and I’m sticking to it—to
+the last thread.”</p>
+
+<p>I didn’t laugh, because I have often thought that fighters in
+the heat of battle get a clearer insight into the nature of
+things than most of us.</p>
+
+<p>Just before Dempsey left his dressing room for his memorable
+fight with Luis Firpo, “Doc” Kearns decided that
+Dempsey was so invincible that he no longer needed his lucky
+garment.</p>
+
+<p>I was at the ringside and saw Jack climb into his corner.
+He was wearing a brand-new white sweater with which he’d
+entered the ring.</p>
+
+<p>“Here, Doc, take this,” he said. “I don’t want to see it again.
+For my next bout give me that old sweater you wouldn’t let
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_203">[203]</span>me wear tonight. That Firpo fellow nearly put me out because
+I didn’t wear that sweater.”</p>
+
+<p class="mt2">Many Catholic fighters cross themselves before the first
+gong. Johnny Summers, star British boxer, among others, always
+took a rosary into the ring.</p>
+
+<p>When Harry Wills, the ebony-skinned New York heavyweight,
+fought Jack Sharkey, both fighters were asked to say
+a few words to the radio audience before the bout started.
+Sharkey obliged by shouting into the microphone:</p>
+
+<p>“I’ll whip Wills tonight. I’ll knock the bozo out!”</p>
+
+<p>“Harry, will you say something?” asked the announcer.</p>
+
+<p>“Sorry,” replied Wills, “I’m superstitious. I never say anything
+before a fight. It brings me bad luck.”</p>
+
+<p>But when the fight was over and Wills had been declared
+the loser on a foul, he rushed to the mike and cut loose with a
+barrage against referee Patsy Haley, who had disqualified him.</p>
+
+<p class="mt2">Bob Fitzsimmons was very superstitious.</p>
+
+<p>“Nat,” he said, “I’ve often heard people ridicule others who
+told them of a dream that affected their careers. I believe in
+dreams as I do in the Gospel, and my reason for this strong
+feeling is that almost every dream I have had has come true.</p>
+
+<p>“More than ten years ago, the night before my fight with
+Jim Jeffries on Coney Island, I dreamed I was fighting a tough
+battle, and that I was knocked out. When I got up in the
+morning I told my wife about the dream.</p>
+
+<p>“‘Rose,’ I said, ‘I’m afraid it’s all over. I’m going to lose my
+championship.’</p>
+
+<p>“‘Don’t be silly, Bob,’ she said. ‘What makes you say such
+things?’</p>
+
+<p>“I told her of the dream I had had the previous night.</p>
+
+<p>“‘I shall lose all right, Rose. I’ve never known a dream of
+mine not to come true.’</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_204">[204]</span></p>
+
+<p>“You know what happened, Nat. I lost the championship to
+Big Jeff in the eleventh round.”</p>
+
+<p>And then Fitz went on to tell of several other dreams that
+had come true.</p>
+
+<p>Like his old opponent, Jim Corbett, he also believed that
+horseshoes brought good luck, and he told me that when he
+began his training for the fight with Corbett at Carson City,
+he himself—for he was a blacksmith—made a large horseshoe
+and placed it on the floor of his dressing room.</p>
+
+<p>“I made two horseshoes every week I was in training, Nat,”
+he said, “and gave them away to newspapermen and my handlers.
+When I had made the thirteenth horseshoe I decided to
+keep that for myself. One morning I was out on the road. My
+wife was following me on horseback. Suddenly I got a hunch.
+I stopped running and said to her:</p>
+
+<p>“Rose, I’m going to stop Corbett in the thirteenth round.
+The horseshoe has told me so.”</p>
+
+<p>As a matter of historical record, Fitzsimmons knocked out
+Jim Corbett with his famous solar plexus punch in the fourteenth
+round—only one round beyond that which he had predicted.</p>
+
+<p class="mt2">A few years ago, I flew to San Francisco to attend the Ezzard
+Charles-Joey Maxim fight. I met Tom Sharkey, and together
+with Rocky Marciano and some sports writers, we went to
+San Quentin Prison to entertain the inmates. Old Tom was in
+a reminiscent mood. He told us that while he was preparing
+for his fight with Gus Ruhlin, Bob Fitzsimmons had sent him
+two peacocks.</p>
+
+<p>“When those birds arrived I nearly passed out, for I remember
+an old woman once telling me in Ireland that the
+owner of a peacock never had any good luck,” said the fighter
+who gave Jim Jeffries his toughest battles. “I wanted to send
+those birds back to Fitz, but I loved him like a brother and
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_205">[205]</span>didn’t want to offend him. All through my training, I wept
+thinking of the unlucky peacocks, and when I lost to Gus in
+the eleventh round, I blamed it on those Jonah birds.”</p>
+
+<p class="mt2">Negro fighters are usually very superstitious. Tom
+O’Rourke, manager of the original Joe Walcott, once told me
+that Joe refused to train unless Tom presented him with a
+rabbit’s foot.</p>
+
+<p>“No rabbit’s foot, no luck,” Joe would say.</p>
+
+<p>I once asked Sam Langford if he believed in the jinx.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, sah,” replied Sambo, “my jinx is colored fighters,
+sure.”</p>
+
+<p>The goal of his ambition was to annex the world title, but
+Jack Johnson stood in his way, and Langford blamed his failure
+to become the champion on members of his own race.</p>
+
+<p>The Boston Tar Baby preferred to fight white men once a
+week to Negroes once a month. His record shows that he was
+whipped by Dave Holly, Young Peter Jackson, Joe Jeannette,
+Harry Wills, and Jack Johnson—all colored boxers.</p>
+
+<p>“White men are my meat,” he told me, “colored men are
+my hoodoo!”</p>
+
+<p class="mt2">Joe Humphreys, who at one time helped me to collect data
+for a life story of Terry McGovern, in one of our many conversations
+told me, “Nat, there was probably never a fighter
+who believed more in lucky omens than Terry. I’ll never forget
+the day he fought Aurelia Herrera in San Francisco. He
+climbed into the ring all smiles, greeted his friends at ringside
+and then sat down to await the instructions of the referee.</p>
+
+<p>“Suddenly, one of the spectators signalled to Sam Harris,
+Terry’s manager, and pointed to McGovern’s left shoe. It was
+unlaced.</p>
+
+<p>“This was one of Terry’s deepest superstitions. During the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_206">[206]</span>preliminary work, between the time that McGovern entered
+the ring and went to the middle for instructions, the trainers
+had purposely neglected to tie the lace.</p>
+
+<p>“When the referee motioned the fighters to the middle of
+the ring, Terry took off the unlaced shoe, spat in it for good
+luck, put it on again, and told one of his handlers to lace it.”</p>
+
+<p>A mass of superstitious fears, the Brooklyn Terror also believed
+in the “lucky kiss.” He was convinced that unless he
+received a good luck kiss from his wife before a fight, he would
+be sure to lose.</p>
+
+<p class="mt2">Tiger Flowers, the Georgia Deacon, boxed in New York
+City quite frequently during 1925 and 1926. The Deacon,
+who won the world middleweight championship from Harry
+Greb, not only would kneel and pray, but would carry a Bible
+into the ring and offer to the Almighty a few words from this
+precious book. Unfortunately, an eye infection resulted in
+gangrene, and Flowers died soon after becoming champion.</p>
+
+<p class="mt2">During the vaudeville tour of Jim Jeffries and Tom
+Sharkey, I listened to Jeffries tell his audience that he regarded
+a twisted lace as a sign of ill-fortune. Whenever he
+noticed that a lace was twisted, he made his handlers remove
+the glove and relace it. He also said that he insisted on having
+a certain seat at the training table in camp, and would never
+permit a change to be made after the arrangements had been
+completed. A change, he said, meant bad luck.</p>
+
+<p>On my visit to Burbank to attend Jeffries’ seventy-fifth
+birthday, he told me a story about a dirty penny which he
+found on the road in Asbury Park while training for his fight
+with Fitzsimmons. Jeff and Tommy Ryan were taking a run,
+and when they halted Jeff kicked aside a penny that was in his
+path. The coin was covered with mud, and Jeff was loath to
+touch it, fearing bad luck.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_207">[207]</span></p>
+
+<p>He asked Tommy to pick it up. But Ryan was also superstitious
+and refused. Jeff then remarked:</p>
+
+<p>“Tommy, I’ll pick it up. If it’s heads up, I’ll surely beat
+Fitz. If it’s tails, I’m a sure goner.”</p>
+
+<p>Heads it was, and Jeff told me that he was as happy as a
+lark that day.</p>
+
+<p>And he, of course, won the battle.</p>
+
+<p class="mt2">And so it goes. Superstition is part of human nature. The
+world’s most famous fighters have used rabbits’ feet, praying
+beads, lucky charms, the lucky handshake, the wife’s or sweetheart’s
+handkerchief, and many other talismans to bring them
+luck in the ring.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_208">[208]</span></p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter" id="BOOK_5">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_209">[209]</span></p>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak hide">BOOK<br>FIVE</h2>
+
+<figure class="figcenter illowp25" id="book5" style="max-width: 12.5em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/book5.jpg" alt="BOOK FIVE">
+</figure>
+
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_210">[210]</span></p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_211">[211]</span></p>
+
+<div class="figcontainer">
+<figure class="figright illowp30" id="chapter22" style="max-width: 6.25em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/chapter22.jpg" alt="22">
+</figure>
+</div>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_22"><span class="hide">22<br></span>
+ADVENTURES ABROAD</h3>
+
+</div>
+
+<p>I was struck with the wanderlust at an early age. I
+liked traveling and made up my mind in my youth that I
+would see the world, and I carried out my plan successfully as
+I grew older. From the time I was fourteen to the present day,
+the aggregate mileage I’ve covered would go many times
+around the globe. Collecting material for sports stories, visiting
+places of interest to better acquaint myself with world
+boxing conditions, hunting for world boxing talent, and on
+occasions officiating as referee in international bouts, both
+amateur and professional, enabled me to meet the leading
+sportsmen and sports writers of our country, Canada, South
+America, Europe, Asia, Australia, and New Zealand.</p>
+
+<p>Prior to World War Two, I frequently acted as third man
+in the ring in contests in Spain, Germany, Venezuela, Panama,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_212">[212]</span>Cuba, Canada, and Puerto Rico. Including matches in the
+United States, I officiated in more than 1,000 boxing bouts,
+and probably refereed in more foreign countries than any
+other American.</p>
+
+<p>Most of my trips were taken by air, though in the days when
+I was Sports Editor of New York dailies, I made many sea
+voyages, particularly to Central and South America. In 1948 I
+flew close to 60,000 miles to attend world boxing conferences,
+to see international contests and to study boxing conditions.
+That year I made three flights to Europe, four to various parts
+of Canada, three to Central America and one to South
+America, in addition to many in our own country.</p>
+
+<p>On one of the European trips I flew to London, Dublin,
+Glasgow, Paris, Rome, Barcelona, Madrid, Brussels, Copenhagen,
+Stockholm, and Lisbon to look over youthful boxing
+talent. Such long journeys were the rule rather than the exception.
+Twice in 1951 and again during April, May, and part
+of June of 1952, I journeyed almost as far on behalf of boxing.
+In 1954 I flew around the world twice.</p>
+
+<p>I was in Panama the year that the Canal was finished and
+opened for navigation and the following year, 1912, I made
+another trip to spend a vacation with the Duke family, owners
+of the Panama Railroad, the bank, and practically every other
+worthwhile financial enterprise in that old Spanish city, including
+the lottery. Two of the Duke boys were football players
+at Fordham University, and that’s how I became acquainted
+with them. I was still with the <i>Press</i> at that time,
+and had taken a three months’ leave of absence in order to
+gather material for special series which I had decided to write
+on “Sports in the Caribbean.”</p>
+
+<p>I received a letter of introduction to Major General Goethals,
+builder of the Canal, from his West Point classmate,
+Irvin Wardman, Editor-in-Chief and part owner of our paper.
+Upon my arrival in Panama, I stopped at the Washington
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_213">[213]</span>Hotel, where General Goethals was quartered. Presenting my
+letter, I was ushered into the presence of an elderly and stately
+looking Army man, kind but firm in tone. We spoke of Mr.
+Wardman and of New York, and then he asked me if I would
+care to go on a tour of inspection of the Gatun Lock and up
+the Chagres River.</p>
+
+<p>I was delighted. The next morning we boarded a government
+motorboat, the <i>General Christie</i>. In addition to General
+Goethals, our party consisted of his Superintendent of Construction,
+several Army engineers and myself. It wasn’t long
+after we started that we heard a thunderous roar. To our right
+we saw a mountain of dirt drop into the Culebra Cut. A Japanese
+ship, the <i>Maru Tamuiri</i>, was caught in the rush and became
+wedged in between tons of earth and rocks.</p>
+
+<p>I had my camera with me and with a newspaperman’s instinct,
+I clicked and clicked and got a splendid set of photos
+of the great slide. It was a break that comes once in a lifetime
+for a newspaperman.</p>
+
+<p>There was no trip on the Chagres River that day. We returned
+to headquarters from where General Goethals sent his
+report to Washington, and I mailed a story to my Sunday
+magazine section and with it went the plates with the pictures
+of the slide.</p>
+
+<p>My photos and story reached the office of the New York
+<i>Press</i> too late and to hold off another week wouldn’t do. John
+Hennessey, our Managing Editor, chanced to meet Carl Van
+Anda, the Editor of The New York <i>Times</i>, at the Press Club
+and offered the material to him. He was elated at the opportunity
+to obtain a first hand photo illustrated story from an
+eyewitness and two months later, when I returned from
+Panama to resume my work in New York, Mr. Hennessey explained
+why he had let the <i>Times</i> use the photos. After congratulating
+me, he told me that Mr. Van Anda wanted to see
+me.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_214">[214]</span></p>
+
+<p>I got in touch with him immediately and received a warm
+greeting. He thanked me, and as I was about to leave, he remarked:</p>
+
+<p>“By the way, that must have been an expensive trip. What
+did it cost you?”</p>
+
+<p>Imagine my surprise a few days later when I found a letter
+from him on my desk containing a check with this message:
+“This is in payment for the splendid pictures you sent from
+Panama.” That check paid for a good portion of my long trip.</p>
+
+<p>I’ve often told that story in discussing newspaper work with
+young boys whom I broke into the sports writing field. I
+should like to add that every office boy who worked for me is
+now an executive, or was one, on a New York newspaper.</p>
+
+<p>There was Robert Maher, one of my first copy boys, who
+became night sports editor of the <i>Evening Sun</i>; Eddie Galiani,
+my New York <i>Telegram</i> office and copy boy, who later became
+assistant racing editor of that paper; Donald Pratt, another
+from the <i>Morning Sun</i>, whom I took under my wing as a sports
+writer, is the Editor-in-Chief of the Fairchild Newspapers, the
+largest chain of commercial journals in the country. There
+were many others of whom I am proud to say got their start
+and guidance in sports writing from me.</p>
+
+<p class="mt2">In 1911, the year previous to the Culebra Cut Slide, I spent
+two months in Panama City and on one occasion, with one
+of the wealthy Duke boys to guide the party, we went many
+miles up the Chagres River which enters into the Canal.
+There on the banks of a settlement, I photographed Indians
+standing on the beach and others in shell-like canoes. I was
+amazed by their physical appearance! They had light hair,
+pinkish eyes and white-spotted bodies.</p>
+
+<p>About fifteen years later, New York newspapers carried big
+headlines of a tribe of Albinos discovered along the Chagres
+River in Panama and several were brought to New York to be
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_215">[215]</span>exhibited at the Grand Central Palace. I was confident that I
+had seen such creatures many years before in my travels, but
+was joshed considerably until I decided to hunt through some
+of my old pictures and located a photograph of three such
+Indians posing for me. Perhaps those I had snapped were not
+from the same tribe as those discovered by the New York Historical
+Society’s representatives, but their features were identical.
+They were Albinos who lived about 50 miles up the
+Chagres River. Thus I lay claim to a “discovery,” though I
+wasn’t aware of it until I read the story of the “find” by the
+Historical Society.</p>
+
+<p class="mt2">It was in 1911 that I put on the first professional fight ever
+held in Panama. I also staged one for a benefit conducted by
+the Panama <i>Herald</i> in which I was the referee, and the boxers,
+with the exception of one giant Negro, were all from American
+Army camps.</p>
+
+<p>I saw my first cock-fight in Panama that year, and enjoyed
+the sport very much—primarily because I had a good run of
+beginner’s luck and cleaned up on the fights. I left the arena,
+a dilapidated shack, more than $200 the richer and carried
+away with me a set of old time Spanish spurs which I bought
+as a souvenir and still have on exhibition in my <i>Ring</i> office.</p>
+
+<p>I also had the chance there to spin the wheel for the first
+Panama lottery, the winner of which was an undernourished,
+little old woman upon whom Dame Fortune smiled that day
+to the extent of $20,000. A part ticket I held, won third prize,
+and I collected $60.</p>
+
+<p class="mt2">Among the many exciting experiences I had during my
+tours in various parts of the world as a referee or judge of
+important international boxing matches, two stand out—my
+encounter with gunmen in Caracas, Venezuela, and in San
+Juan, Puerto Rico. In April, 1939, I was on a Central American
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_216">[216]</span>tour and while in Puerto Rico, I was asked to officiate in
+the world bantamweight championship match between Sixto
+Escobar and Kayo Morgan. The bout was staged under conditions
+such as I never again encountered.</p>
+
+<p>At the time there was considerable dissension among the
+natives regarding American rule. The Nationalist Party on
+several occasions tried to assassinate the leading legislators and
+had gone so far as to incite insurrections in Ponce where a
+number of persons, including the chief of police, were killed.
+Four of the leaders were sentenced to the Atlanta Penitentiary
+for long terms by the U.S. Government. Governor Winship,
+an ardent boxing fan, had returned on the day of the fight
+from Washington, where he held a conference with President
+Roosevelt on the Island’s unrest.</p>
+
+<p>Four boxes were reserved for him and his party at the Stadium
+and unusual protection was arranged by Police Chief
+Orbeta because of reports that an attempt would be made on
+the Governor’s life. The bout was delayed for almost an hour
+due to the late arrival of the guests of honor, and then, amid
+wild cheers from an overflow gathering, the contest got under
+way.</p>
+
+<p>Seven rounds had been completed when a terrific downpour
+drenched us. The tropical storm caused a stampede
+among the thousands of spectators who sought shelter. Like all
+such torrential rains, the storm lasted only a short time but
+was sufficient to give those seeking the lives of the Governor
+and members of his cabinet a chance to carry out their work.</p>
+
+<p>Within minutes after the cloudburst, the arena and an area
+within a mile or more surrounding the stadium, were in total
+darkness. The electric wires had been cut and during the
+blackout, while spectators were being drenched, shots were
+fired. There was a flash from the top of one of the walls surrounding
+the arena. The Secret Service guards immediately
+crowded around Governor Winship and his party and a
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_217">[217]</span>speedy exit was made under heavy guard with torchlights
+guiding the way. Many persons took refuge under the ring
+and hundreds crowded around it. The fighters, managers
+Harry Baxter and Lou Brix, and I, couldn’t get out of the
+ring.</p>
+
+<p>For almost three quarters of an hour we remained in total
+darkness wondering what was in store for us. While the commotion
+continued, mobsters broke down the gates of the
+stadium, and a mad rush was made towards the ring. The
+bleachers were bulging from the sides, and the grandstand
+and ringside seats were full to the limit when the fight had
+started. When the rain stopped and the bout was resumed, fist
+fights added to the confusion, as those who had paid ten
+dollars for their seats battled with the hoodlums who had
+rushed the gates.</p>
+
+<p>But the fight went on, and after eight more rounds, Escobar
+was awarded the decision, thus holding on to his crown. Fortunately,
+Governor Winship was unharmed. Those who tried
+to assassinate him had been keenly disappointed, for if ever a
+stage was perfectly set for such an attempt on the life of a
+notable, this was it.</p>
+
+<p>In their escape, the guerillas left many blood stained handkerchiefs
+on top of the wall enclosing the arena. On the inside
+of the stone wall, blood indicated that more than one person
+had been on the job. The cuts were sustained from jagged
+glass that had been fitted into the cement on top of the fence
+by city officials as a protection against gate crashers. It was
+indeed fortunate that no one was killed.</p>
+
+<p>The day after the fight I wrote a story for <i>El Mundo</i>, the
+leading paper in Puerto Rico, in which I covered the attempted
+assassination thoroughly, including the findings of
+Harry Baxter, manager of Kayo Morgan, and myself. The
+story created a sensation. The government denied that any
+attempt had been made on the life of Governor Winship, and
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_218">[218]</span>a rival paper, which was supporting the rebels against the
+United States, battered my brains out editorially. However,
+Chief of Police Orbeta acknowledged the facts with a declaration
+to the press:</p>
+
+<p>“The culprits who cut the electric wires in an attempt to
+kill our Governor, will be caught and punished!”</p>
+
+<p class="mt2">Puerto Rico, like Cuba, was a second home for me for many
+years. Scarcely a winter passed that I didn’t spend a month or
+more in those Islands where I am as well known as in my
+native city. I refereed fights in Havana and San Juan and
+often wrote boxing yarns for papers in those cities.</p>
+
+<p>In July, 1939, I was asked by the Venezuelan Commission
+to arrange the fight between world featherweight champion,
+Joey Archibald, and Simon Chavez, the Central American
+titleholder. The bout was to be held in the bull ring at Caracas
+and I was to referee.</p>
+
+<p>Jess Losada, one of Cuba’s leading radio commentators on
+sports and a sports columnist, managed Chavez; and Al Weill,
+who in later years was the matchmaker for the Twentieth
+Century Sporting Club and the International Boxing Club,
+and handled several champions, including Rocky Marciano,
+managed the featherweight king. Losada and Weill couldn’t
+get together on terms for the Venezuelan fight, hence my aid
+was sought. I was told to offer Weill $10,000 and two round
+trip tickets, plus the privilege of 40 per cent of the gate. I was
+also to inform him that the Boxing Commission would request
+me to act as guest referee. On those terms Weill accepted.</p>
+
+<p>I flew to Caracas a week before the fight. I stopped at the
+Hotel Majestic, where Archibald and Weill’s representative,
+Sammy Richman, were also staying.</p>
+
+<p>The publicity was excellent and interest in the fight was
+keen. The day before the bout, which took place on a Sunday
+afternoon, the bull ring was sold out. The stage was set for
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_219">[219]</span>the biggest gathering that had ever seen a glove fight in Caracas
+and a record gate was assured.</p>
+
+<p>That night, I was sitting in my room listening to a Spanish
+music program on the radio. I had donned my pajamas because
+of the extreme heat. A call came in from the desk clerk
+informing me that two men were eager to see me. Although it
+was late, I told him to send them up to my room.</p>
+
+<p>They introduced themselves as Miguel and Arturo Mendez,
+brothers who had lived in Brooklyn prior to making Venezuela
+their home. They told me they were bookmakers. The
+Spanish are heavy bettors on sports events and thousands of
+<i>bolivas</i>, they said, had been wagered with them on the fight.
+They themselves were betting heavily on Chavez to win.</p>
+
+<p>“We know you well, Nat,” said Miguel, the taller and
+huskier of the pair, “and we come to see if everything is all
+right.”</p>
+
+<p>“In what respect?” I inquired.</p>
+
+<p>“Simply that we don’t want to lose our money. Archibald is
+a big favorite and we want to see that our man doesn’t lose.
+The Americans here have bet a lot on him.”</p>
+
+<p>“You want me to protect your money by giving the decision
+to Chavez? Is that it?” I angrily asked.</p>
+
+<p>“You guessed it right,” replied Miguel. “Are you with us?
+It will be well worth your gamble.”</p>
+
+<p>With that Miguel nodded to his brother, who took out a
+wad of bills from his coat pocket and placed it on my bed.</p>
+
+<p>I brushed the money to the floor and ordered the men out
+of the room.</p>
+
+<p>“Not so quick,” snapped Arturo. “You’re making a big mistake.
+Think it over,” he said, as he gathered up the money,
+and then taking a gun from his pocket, twirled it close to me
+as a sign of what might happen if I didn’t cooperate.</p>
+
+<p>“We’ll go now but we’ll call you at ten tomorrow. We want
+our answer then,” Miguel said as they left.</p>
+
+<p>I reached for the telephone, got the chairman of the boxing
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_220">[220]</span>commission at the Caracas Country Club, and told him what
+had happened.</p>
+
+<p>“I’m not going to referee,” I informed him. “I’m coming
+up to see you, and I’ll return the $600 that was advanced to
+me for my flying fare.”</p>
+
+<p>There were two other members of the boxing board with
+him when I arrived.</p>
+
+<p>“You are the drawing card as much as your champion,” he
+said after hearing my story. “You cannot turn us down. I will
+see that you have full protection. A policeman will be with
+you all day tomorrow and you’ll have plenty of protection at
+the arena.”</p>
+
+<p>We then drove up to the promoter’s house and from there
+back to the Hotel Majestic, where I repeated my story to
+Sammy Richman and Losada. I was finally persuaded to
+change my mind and accept the assignment.</p>
+
+<p>The next day at the arena, I was placed in a small room
+during the preliminaries and was closely guarded by two
+armed soldiers. At a given signal, I was ushered to the ringside
+and entered the ring as Chavez and Archibald came down the
+aisles.</p>
+
+<p>Gendarmes and soldiers encircled the ring at four-foot intervals
+throughout the fight for my protection should the decision
+go contrary to the wishes of the two former Brooklyn
+thugs, who had apparently learned about sure-thing gambling
+during their stay in New York.</p>
+
+<p>For four rounds Archibald battered Chavez all over the
+ring. I had visions of what would happen after the fight and
+sweated it out, but there was nothing I could do about it,
+since I was determined to give an honest decision, come what
+might.</p>
+
+<p>Early in the fifth round, Chavez caught Archibald with a
+right to the jaw that staggered the American. He gave Archibald
+a sound beating throughout the round and that was the
+turning point of the fight.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_221">[221]</span></p>
+
+<p>The high altitude had affected Joey to such an extent that
+he had shot his bolt in those first four sessions, and thereafter
+he was at the mercy of his opponent In the last two rounds,
+Archibald could scarcely raise his arms and when the final
+gong sounded, I quickly lifted the hand of Simon Chavez, the
+winner.</p>
+
+<p>The scene that followed was something to remember.
+Chairs were broken by partisan enthusiasts in the wild rush
+for the ringside. Hats were tossed into the air. Wild shouts, as
+only the Spanish can screech and shout, rent the air.</p>
+
+<p>And there I was, resting against the ring post, my uniform
+wet from perspiration, but happy in the knowledge that I had
+defied the gangsters who tried to have me fix that fight and that
+my presence had helped bring in a gate of $36,700, a record.</p>
+
+<p>Nine months later, the same promoter paid Jack Dempsey
+$5,000 and two round trip tickets for himself and Ned Brown,
+his publicity man, to come to Caracas to referee the fight between
+Chavez and Sixto Escobar, of Puerto Rico. It was expected
+that the presence of the great Manassa Mauler would
+add greatly to the figures grossed by Archibald and Chavez,
+with me as referee, but the fight was a complete flop. The gate
+reached only $18,432, and the promoter went in hock for
+plenty.</p>
+
+<p>They couldn’t understand what had happened, but the answer
+was simple. Dempsey reached Caracas a day before the
+fight, thus preventing the promoter from publicizing his presence,
+whereas I was on the job a week in advance, went on the
+air to help the show, appeared daily at the training camps, and
+even wrote stories which were translated into Spanish.</p>
+
+<p class="mt2">The incident that caused me the most personal embarrassment
+occurred during my visit to Havana during the winter
+of 1958. I had received an invitation from the Cuban government
+through General Fernandez y Miranda, head of the
+Cuban Sports Commission, to attend the dedication of the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_222">[222]</span>new Havana stadium, the most beautiful and completely
+equipped arena I have ever seen. I had visited General
+Miranda, President Batista and Ernesto Azua, chairman of
+the Cuban Boxing Commission, a few weeks before to arrange
+the program for the sports carnival scheduled for that week.</p>
+
+<p>Unfortunately, my presence was commented upon in a six-page
+article entitled “Unhappy Cuba’s Cockeyed Week” in
+the March 6 issue of <i>LIFE</i> magazine. Among the many photos
+was one of General Miranda and me which bore the caption
+“Slot king is Batista relative, Fernandez y Miranda, here talking
+with boxing historian Nat Fleischer.” Needless to say,
+this caused me considerable embarrassment as the article was
+an <i>exposé</i> of mobster activities in the Cuban capital. There
+was nothing in the story to indicate that I had any connection
+with gambling in Havana, but the intimation was there.</p>
+
+<p>I was besieged by calls for days following the article’s appearance.
+Friends and acquaintances joshed me continually
+about my association with racketeers, and to each I had to explain
+that my appearance in Havana was on behalf of sports
+and in no way connected with gambling. Through my work
+as a journalist I have met many of the mobsters mentioned in
+the <i>Life</i> story, as most of them were New York’s top shots of
+the Prohibition era. They are now firmly entrenched in the
+Nacional, Riviera and Capri hotels running their investments
+into gigantic fortunes.</p>
+
+<p>As for General Miranda, I know him only as a member of
+President Batista’s cabinet in charge of physical education
+and sports. He has frequently visited Madison Square Garden
+and <i>The Ring</i> office and is a most charming man. I wasn’t
+aware that he was “king of the slot machines,” in Havana, but
+I do know that he is one of the six finest shots in Central
+America, where he holds many records, not only for shooting
+but for track and field and amateur boxing and wrestling.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_223">[223]</span></p>
+
+<p>It should be noted that through General Miranda’s efforts
+there is far less juvenile delinquency in Havana than there is
+in New York. A little more of the Cuban athletic spirit and enthusiasm
+for boxing, baseball, basketball and swimming
+would undoubtedly be welcome in America’s largest city.</p>
+
+<p>The sports carnival itself was marred by a tragic opening
+day accident in the Gran Premio, a 315 mile automobile race.
+Fidel Castro’s rebels had kidnaped Fangio, Argentina’s great
+road champion, in the hopes that his absence would prevent
+this major event from taking place, but the race got underway
+after an hour-and-a-half postponement.</p>
+
+<p>The objective of the rebels seemed to be attained a few
+minutes later, however, when the car of Armando Garcia
+Cifuentas skidded on an oily stretch and crashed into the
+crowd, leaving a toll of seven persons dead and thirty-seven
+injured. The race ended in confusion.</p>
+
+<p>That morning I was in the Nacional Hotel with Truman
+Gibson, Secretary of the International Boxing Club, which
+sponsored the boxing show held two days later, when the telephone
+rang and a voice asked:</p>
+
+<p>“Is that Nat Fleischer, <i>The Ring</i> editor?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes. Who is this please?”</p>
+
+<p>Instead of answering the voice continued:</p>
+
+<p>“You know what happened to Fangio?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes,” I replied. “What about it?”</p>
+
+<p>“Well you also a big shot—you in boxing. You are helping
+Batista. Look out.”</p>
+
+<p>And with that statement, down went the receiver with a
+bang.</p>
+
+<p>I laughed and Truman asked me what was so funny. I repeated
+the conversation and added that someone is playing a
+prank.</p>
+
+<p>“Prank, hell,” he quickly answered. “Watch your step. That
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_224">[224]</span>guy means business. You’ve had a big part in arranging the
+details for the show here. I think you’ll find it safer in the
+Casino than in this lobby.”</p>
+
+<p>I paid little attention to the threat, assuming, then, that it
+all was a joke. Now I’m not so sure.</p>
+
+<p>Nothing did happen. I attended the opening of the sports
+arena, where, instead of the full house expected, less than
+10,000 were present. Many were secret service men, police
+from the security bureau, and men of the armed forces, since
+the government, like the folks who might have attended had
+the rebel scare not kept them away, had been warned that the
+building would be bombed. As each spectator entered the
+arena, he was searched for arms—not a very pleasant way to
+start an evening’s outing!</p>
+
+<p>As for the main event, which had World Champion Joey
+Brown pitted against Orlando Echevarria, champion of Cuba
+and Central America, it lasted less than a round. The Cuban
+was counted out in two minutes and five seconds. The rest of
+the program, which featured two Latin-American championships,
+was exceptionally fine and thrilling.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_225">[225]</span></p>
+
+<div class="figcontainer">
+<figure class="figright illowp30" id="chapter23" style="max-width: 6.25em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/chapter23.jpg" alt="23">
+</figure>
+</div>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_23"><span class="hide">23<br></span>
+A DREAM COME TRUE</h3>
+
+</div>
+
+<p>As a youngster, I thought that traveling in the
+Orient was reserved for books and dreams—or Marco Polo.
+Yet as a grown man I found myself in the land of my dreams.
+I may say now that my childhood fancies did not measure up
+to the dazzling reality: the violent contrasts of fabulous wealth
+and unbelievable squalor; the customs so strange to me; the
+glorious color of temples and palaces; the beautifully exotic
+land itself.</p>
+
+<p class="mt2">Early in 1954, I received a cable from Brigadier General
+Pichai Kullavanijya inviting me to visit Bangkok as the guest
+of the Thailand government for a world bantamweight championship
+fight that had been arranged for May 2 between
+Jimmy Carruthers of Australia, the titleholder, and Chamrern
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_226">[226]</span>Songkitrat, Orient champion, a young Thai sublieutenant of
+police. I accepted, and when I left for the scene of action, it
+was my first flying trip around the world. I have since taken
+several.</p>
+
+<p>The trip was an eventful one but it was Thailand, more
+than any other country I visited, that impressed me. Its beautiful
+temples; its barefooted priests with their yellow loose
+robes, an umbrella in one hand and a bag of food in the
+other; naked children roaming the roads; people of many
+races crowding the colorful market places; three-wheeled
+vehicles jamming the streets with their fares—they left an impression
+I shall never forget. Hong Kong with its mixed races,
+its crowded thoroughfares, its beautiful fragrant flower market,
+and its poverty; Tokyo with its pretty kimono-dressed
+women; Manila with its reminder of the atrocities that befell
+its inhabitants during the Japanese invasion; ancient Asia
+Minor cities with their historic biblical shrines; the ruins of
+Athens; Istanbul with its Byzantine architecture; beautiful
+Rome and Paris; busy London, colorful Stockholm, Copenhagen,
+Antwerp, and Amsterdam—they all hold the tourists’
+interest, but not like Siam. I enjoyed my visit to each, but
+Bangkok left the greatest impression.</p>
+
+<p>Let me tell you about the stage setting for the two championship
+bouts I saw there. In a scene unparalleled in ring
+history, a scene that was reminiscent of the historic Dempsey-Tunney
+world heavyweight championship bout in Philadelphia,
+a gathering of 59,760 persons paid 5,000,700 ticals,
+$227,304.90 in American money, to see Carruthers retain his
+throne by a hairline margin and, following his victory, announce
+his retirement. Unlike championship bouts in other
+countries, this one was limited to twelve rounds. I arranged
+it so.</p>
+
+<p>Those who witnessed the Dempsey-Tunney contest in Philadelphia
+can imagine what we encountered in Bangkok by
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_227">[227]</span>picturing a tropical storm that started three days before the
+fight, drenched the spectators who braved it, made a lake out
+of the ring, and flooded the muddy streets over which thousands
+trekked to the National Stadium.</p>
+
+<p>Bulbs from the overhead lighting system crashed to the canvas
+from time to time, forcing temporary halts to the fight
+while a broom brigade I had organized swept the glass and
+water from the ring. It was the first championship fight staged
+in that country, and the sports-loving folk of that little kingdom
+went all out to see it. As the guest of the Thailand government
+I was appointed overseer of the affair, and in view of
+the unbelievable conditions under which the contest was
+staged, I granted permission for the boxers to enter the ring
+in their bare feet to lessen the danger by making the footing
+more firm.</p>
+
+<p>I had never seen anything like it before. Dignitaries from
+Thailand and other nations, most of them dressed in their
+native garb; nobility from many lands; fight fans who came to
+the scene by foot, bicycle, tricycle, horse back, auto, train, and
+wagon—a reminder of the picturesque scenes portrayed in
+stories of bare-knuckle fights in England—all headed for the
+Stadium, the national sports arena. Traffic was so congested
+that it took me more than an hour to cover less than a mile
+from the Government Resident Palace, where I lived for a
+month, to the arena.</p>
+
+<p>The mass of humanity, trudging through the streets unmindful
+of the adverse conditions or the ruin of their colorful
+garments, was a picture to behold: the varicolored holiday
+dress of the Siamese, Hindus, Japanese, Chinese, and other
+Asiatics in contrast to the conventional Western dress of the
+Australians and Americans, many of whom were from our
+government agencies.</p>
+
+<p>Between weighing-in time and the fight, thousands visited
+the Emerald Buddha Temple where the scene was most impressive.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_228">[228]</span>Hundreds gathered within its walls. We knelt in
+prayer with shoes parked outside—the native custom. When
+I emerged, the rain was coming down so heavily that I pleaded
+with Carruthers to have the fight postponed, but he wouldn’t
+think of it.</p>
+
+<p>“Let’s get it over with,” he said. “I’ll take my chances.”</p>
+
+<p>Since I had the final decision, I held a confab with the principals
+and the government officials, and it was decided that a
+postponement would be dangerous: because of the housing
+shortage it would be impossible to care for the many visitors.
+The bout went on. We called it “the Battle of the Typhoon.”</p>
+
+<p>I sat through the fight with my clothes soaked. In spite of an
+army raincoat I had borrowed, the water flowed down my
+body, yet I enjoyed the affair more than any I had ever witnessed.
+When the fight was over, before we were able to get to
+the military car that had been assigned to me, we walked almost
+knee-deep through a sea of mud for half a mile, and
+when we got to the Resident Palace, my suit had shrunk to
+such an extent that my valet found it necessary to slit the
+trousers to remove them. I couldn’t use my shoes and coat
+again.</p>
+
+<p>When the contest was over, Referee Bill Henneberry of
+Australia, the only official, quietly raised the hand of Carruthers,
+“the winner and still champion.”</p>
+
+<p>It was a very close affair, and many in the vast arena booed
+the verdict. Never having attended a fight in the Orient before,
+I was expecting a riot momentarily. But fast thinking on the
+part of the defeated young boxer turned what might have
+been a disaster into a wild ovation.</p>
+
+<p>Chamrern quickly took the microphone from the announcer,
+held up his hand for silence, and standing in mid-ring
+he said in his native tongue:</p>
+
+<p>“My dear friends, I am proud to have been able to bring
+fame to my country by being the first Thai boxer to contend
+for the world bantamweight championship, and I am personally
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_229">[229]</span>satisfied that the decision was fair and beyond doubt.
+If I am not sorry, my friends and countrymen, why are you?”</p>
+
+<p>The sportsmanlike remark was greeted with thunderous applause,
+and eventually restored decorum. At a banquet the
+following day, tendered in honor of High Police Commissioner
+Delaney of New South Wales and myself, General Phao
+Sriyanonda, Director General of the National Police and later
+Thailand’s Prime Minister, presented Songkitrat with an advanced
+rank in the Police Department, and to me he gave a
+handsome silver cocktail set with other gifts of silver for my
+daughter.</p>
+
+<p class="mt2">A few months after Carruthers had announced his retirement,
+the Thailand government again requested that I act on
+its behalf in arranging a bout to obtain Carruthers’ successor.
+Since Songkitrat had already gone twelve rounds with Carruthers,
+and Robert Cohen of France was recognized throughout
+the world as the leading challenger, I brought the pair
+together with the consent of the European Boxing Federation,
+the New York Commission, and the National Boxing Association.
+The story of how that bout was arranged is well worth
+telling.</p>
+
+<p>With the crown vacant, the Thailand government contacted
+me while I was in London and requested that I offer
+Cohen 10,000 pounds sterling ($28,000), tax free, with all expenses
+for himself and his managers, if he would agree to meet
+Songkitrat for the title. Before starting negotiations, as a member
+of the Advisory Board of the World Boxing Championship
+Committee, I contacted its members and obtained their
+consent. Then I did the same with the European Boxing
+Federation, the New York Commission, and the National
+Boxing Association, and when I got the green light from all, I
+flew to Paris to see Cohen’s manager. He asked me to discuss
+the matter with his partner, Robert Diamond, in London.</p>
+
+<p>With the guarantee agreement set, I drew up a contract
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_230">[230]</span>which called for the contest to be staged on September 19,
+1954, in Bangkok, with Teddy Waltham, secretary of the British
+Boxing Board of Control, as neutral referee at a fee of one
+thousand dollars. A Thai official and myself were to act as
+judges. With this set, and accompanied by Diamond, I went
+to the Thailand Embassy in London, and there the Ambassador
+affixed his signature on behalf of his government, Diamond
+signed for Cohen, and I signed for the World Boxing
+Championship Committee, of which I am an honorary member.</p>
+
+<p>Thus for the first time in the history of boxing, an Ambassador
+signed a contract for a boxing match. I was proud of my
+achievement and prouder still of the manner in which the
+affair was handled.</p>
+
+<p>Boxing received its greatest recognition in recent years
+when Their Majesties King Bhumibol Adulyadej and Queen
+Sirkt, the Thai cabinet, ambassadors and ministers from foreign
+countries, with high-ranking officers from the Allied
+Forces stationed in the Far East, all sat in a specially constructed
+grandstand to watch the fight—despite another torrential
+rain that kept up until about half an hour before the
+bout went on.</p>
+
+<p>A gathering of 69,819 that paid $200,952.24 saw the Thai
+champion go down to defeat.</p>
+
+<p>As on my first visit, I was quartered in the spacious Resident
+Palace, a lone occupant except for a valet, two maids, and
+a cook to look after my comfort. I was given a military car and
+chauffeur and an English-speaking Police Lieutenant aide,
+throughout my stay. Outside my residence, two sentries were
+on duty day and night.</p>
+
+<p>On the day of the fight, despite another heavy tropical rain
+storm, as before, all roads leading to the battleground were
+jammed throughout the day. People headed for the stadium
+on foot and in vehicles of various sorts, and to take care of the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_231">[231]</span>heavy traffic, two thousand police and members of the armed
+forces were brought in from the provinces to help the Bangkok
+force. People from the bordering countries of Cambodia
+and Laos crowded streets already full of Chinese, Hindus, Filipinos,
+and Siamese.</p>
+
+<p>Outside the stadium, hawkers were carrying huge rolls of
+cellophane and plastic sheets, which they cut and sold in large
+strips to take the place of rain coats. These street merchants
+reaped a harvest. Their merchandise went like hot cakes at 15
+bahts (50 cents) a strip. With these over their heads and
+shoulders, the fans entered the arena and sat in varicolored
+chairs—blue, white, brown, red, orange, and yellow—arranged
+in rows.</p>
+
+<p>The day following the bout, General Phao gave a dinner in
+my honor at which the French Ambassador and many government
+notables were present. At this affair His Majesty
+awarded me the Fourth Class of the Most Exalted Order of
+the White Elephant, the highest honor that may be conferred
+on a foreigner. The white elephant is a sacred animal in the
+land of Buddha, and Buddhism is Thailand’s national religion.
+It is sacrilegious to kill a white elephant—the symbol of
+purity.</p>
+
+<p>In addition, I received a silver and gold combination humidor
+and pipe rack, built around the head of a tiger that had
+been shot by General Phao, and a stuffed tropical bird whose
+gay plumage and song I had admired in the palace garden the
+previous day. He also presented me with a necklace and bracelets
+of beautiful Siamese silver for my daughter, Joan.</p>
+
+<p class="mt2">I shall always recall the wonderful greeting I received on
+this second visit to Bangkok. As our Pan-American plane approached
+the field, we could see hundreds of children waving
+American and Thai banners, and as the plane landed, a roar
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_232">[232]</span>went up. It was as much a surprise to me as it was to the others
+to hear Captain Max Webber announce:</p>
+
+<p>“Will all passengers kindly remain seated while a guest of
+the Thai government gets off the plane first.”</p>
+
+<p>That guest, I soon learned, was me. As I stepped out of the
+plane, General Pichai and General Mora, headed a large delegation
+of government officials who had come to escort me. Applause
+and shouts of “Our Uncle Nat is here,” made me feel
+very much at home.</p>
+
+<p>I was swamped with garlands, each made up of fragrant
+flowers with red, white, and blue ribbon holding them together.
+So heavy was the load across my neck that I requested
+to be permitted to hold some. There was a military escort of
+motorcycles and jeeps, followed by fifty cars and buses, each
+flying the American and Thailand flags, and banners blazing
+the words “Welcome Our Uncle Nat Back to Thailand.”</p>
+
+<p>It was an amazing tribute to boxing since I was representing
+the sport.</p>
+
+<p>At dinner that evening General Pichai asked if I would like
+to see Siamese boxing. What a question! What baseball is to
+the Americans, cricket and soccer to the British, and Sumo to
+the Japanese, hand-and-feet fighting is to the Thai folk. It
+brings out the throngs and has its idols of whom Songkitrat is
+one. Whether they win, lose, or draw, these heroes are decorated
+with wreaths, receive beautiful gifts of silver, and are
+showered with attention wherever they go.</p>
+
+<p>It’s a sport in which the rules and regulations that govern
+international boxing are tossed aside. The code which governs
+it prohibits gouging, hair-pulling, and striking an opponent
+when he is down—otherwise everything goes. The contestants
+use their feet, knees, and elbows as offensive and defensive
+weapons, and once the action gets under way, fur flies. The
+bouts are usually thrillers, with not a moment of inactivity.</p>
+
+<p>The foreign visitor watching a Siamese boxing match is not
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_233">[233]</span>so much attracted by the hand-and-feet fighting as the opening
+ceremony that often lasts from five to ten minutes. It is called
+“Ram.”</p>
+
+<p>It is a peculiar combination of praying, limbering-up exercises,
+an acknowledgement to the fans for their presence, and
+a salute to the opponent, instead of the usual handshake to
+which we are accustomed. The fighters first bow until their
+heads touch the ground. This is when the prayer to Buddha is
+made. Then each fighter twists his head toward his manager’s
+corner with another prayer, this time for the man who has
+trained the fighter. Next comes a salaam to the crowd. Then
+with head still bowed in reverence and with hand upraised
+towards heaven, the fighters recite a prayer for victory. The
+final stage of the ceremony is that in which the fighters prance
+around the ring like toe dancers and shadowbox as they have
+been taught by their masters. They move their hands in
+mystic waves, kicking their legs high, then each goes to the
+other’s corner and bows to his opponent.</p>
+
+<p>A band of six musicians plays during this ceremonial prelude,
+and continues to play throughout the fight. The weird
+music is reminiscent of medieval days; and the entire “Ram”
+rites, I was informed, may be compared to the ceremonies attending
+the opening of athletic tournaments in the fifteenth
+and sixteenth centuries.</p>
+
+<p>With the conclusion of the ceremonies, the fighters are
+called to the ring center where the action gets under way.
+Each has a white band on his arm. It is known as the Holy
+Band or <i>mongkol</i> in Thai language, and is supposed to give
+strength and courage to the contestants. Beneath this band is
+a small charm, a tiny Buddha statue, or a pebble from the holy
+soil of a Buddha Temple.</p>
+
+<p>The referee calls for time, and as soon as the fight gets
+under way, six musicians begin their quaint music with two
+high-pitched guitars, two oriental drums, and two flutes. This
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_234">[234]</span>accompaniment is nerve-wracking to an American. Those
+accustomed to it would regard a match dull without it. The
+tempo speeds up as the bout progresses and the action in the
+ring remains rhythmic as the boxers keep pace with the musicians.</p>
+
+<p>The Siamese boys make our boxers look like novices as far
+as their courage and ability to take punishment are concerned.
+They take a shellacking, giving and receiving blows, and
+European rules would call for quick disqualification.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_235">[235]</span></p>
+
+<div class="figcontainer">
+<figure class="figright illowp30" id="chapter24" style="max-width: 6.25em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/chapter24.jpg" alt="24">
+</figure>
+</div>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_24"><span class="hide">24<br></span>
+THE FITZSIMMONS CLAN</h3>
+
+</div>
+
+<p>The 1956 Olympic Games were over. My long stay
+in Melbourne, where I had gone to report the international
+boxing competition, was completed. Should I journey back to
+the States by way of the Far East, stopping off in cities familiar
+to me through previous visits?</p>
+
+<p>That was a decision I had to make quickly because of the
+heavy transportation problem, and it didn’t take me long to
+do so.</p>
+
+<p>I remembered a letter I had received from Timaru, New
+Zealand, from Betsy McKenna of the Club Hotel, whose
+mother was the patroness of the New Zealand Sports Association
+and whose father for many years was a prominent sportsman
+in the South Island. Shortly before his death, his daughter
+had invited me to visit Timaru if I went to the Olympic
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_236">[236]</span>Games. This decided me: I would take a trip to New Zealand
+where famous American boxers had performed in the days of
+Eddie McGoorty, Jimmy Clabby, George Chip, Jeff Smith,
+and Billy Papke. I would visit Auckland, Wellington, Christchurch,
+and Timaru.</p>
+
+<p>So on to Auckland I flew, a six-hour flight from Sydney; and
+from that point in the North Island as my headquarters, I
+headed down south, my final destination being Timaru, the
+home of many of the Fitzsimmons family.</p>
+
+<p>Everywhere I went, friendly hands greeted me. Radio recording
+was a must in each of the cities where I stopped. I was
+on the air, on radio and television, a total of twenty-nine
+times, including six special recordings for the Government-controlled
+national radio—so great was the interest there in
+international boxing.</p>
+
+<p>Timaru was my objective because of the many entertaining
+hours I had spent with Bob Fitzsimmons during his stage
+career. I was out to gather material about the Fitzsimmons
+family, and I obtained what I was after.</p>
+
+<p>Two of the greatest boxing figures made their start in the
+Southern Hemisphere. Fitzsimmons in Timaru and Les Darcy
+in Maitland, New South Wales. These fistic stars were idolized
+in their homelands. Mention the name of Darcy or Freckled
+Bob in any pub, and you’ve started a discussion that may last
+for hours.</p>
+
+<p>In my journeys through Australia and New Zealand, I met
+many sports enthusiasts who knew Les and Bob. Some at three
+score and ten have vivid recollections of the early days of these
+men whose names occupy a niche in the Fistic Hall of Fame.</p>
+
+<p>When I visited Maitland to unveil the Darcy Memorial and
+spoke to a gathering of about 5,000 who had come from all
+parts of the Commonwealth to honor the memory of their
+idol, I thought I had met all of the pugilistic celebrities of the
+past and present who had any part in keeping boxing alive in
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_237">[237]</span>that part of the world. But my subsequent trip to Timaru uncovered
+still more.</p>
+
+<p>Timaru is a small dot on the southwestern coast of the
+mainland in the South Island of New Zealand. It is seldom in
+the itinerary of the tourists, and receives little attention even
+from New Zealanders.</p>
+
+<p>Yet this little city of only 23,000 inhabitants, in the sheep
+farm district 100 miles from Christchurch and about 200
+miles from Auckland, can stand on its own as an historic
+athletic center. It has a unique claim to fame in the sports
+field, having produced five of the world’s greatest athletic performers.</p>
+
+<p>Remember Jack Lovelock, the famous 1500-meter king to
+whom Hitler presented an oak tree—part of the Olympic ceremonies
+at that time? Jack brought it home to Timaru, presented
+it to the high school, and today it stands 75 feet high in
+the school yard, as a memorial to this famed middle distance
+runner who died in America.</p>
+
+<p>Then there was the race horse, Phar Lap, known as the
+“Red Terror”; it thrilled the turf world with its great performances
+before dying soon after being shipped to America.</p>
+
+<p>And Dick Arnst, the world-renowned sculler, had few
+equals. He was born in Timaru and lived there all his life.</p>
+
+<p>The little city that had less than 3,000 inhabitants when the
+Fitzsimmons clan first settled there, also boasted of a great
+billiard player, Clark McConachy. A master of the cue, he was
+one of the greatest in the game.</p>
+
+<p>But Timaru bases its greatest claim to athletic fame on the
+first man to win three world championships—Bob Fitzsimmons,
+holder of the middleweight, heavyweight, and light
+heavyweight crowns. The city claims Bob as its very own, although
+the British have always been free to take credit for his
+accomplishments on the grounds that he was born in England.</p>
+
+<p>The Timaru folk keep Ruby Robert’s name alive with
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_238">[238]</span>stories about his escapades and thrilling anecdotes about the
+strength of his dad, the ability of his brother Jarrett as a
+mighty smithy, and the fighting spirit of the entire family.
+The citizens—average country people such as one meets in any
+farm land—are proud of the part their city has played in international
+sports.</p>
+
+<p>They take you to the street where Bob first learned the
+blacksmith trade, point to a little camera shop now occupying
+what once was Fitzsimmons’ place of business; the alley adjoining
+where the horses were kept until ready to be shod; the
+little passageway, a short street now occupied by stores, where
+Bob made his start at fist tossing; the anvil on which he
+worked, now owned by Joe Stewart, blacksmith to the Timaru
+Harbor Board, and an old building where the sign that was
+displayed outside the original Fitzsimmons’ horse shoeing establishment
+hangs with the legend, “J. Fitzsimmons, Veterinary
+Shoeing Forge.”</p>
+
+<p>Visiting the Fitzsimmons’ clan was a delight. So much has
+been written about Bob and his birthplace—Elston, Cornwall,
+England—and so little about his adopted city, where he
+worked as a blacksmith during his boyhood years, and learned
+the rudiments of the trade in which his fists were to gain for
+him an international reputation, that if my visit to Timaru
+did nothing more than to put it back on the fistic map, I will
+be delighted.</p>
+
+<p>Bob’s picture hangs in almost every hotel lounge in Timaru.
+And you can’t get to first base if you try to convince them
+that Ruby Robert was a Cornishman and not a New Zealander.
+Mention of my itinerary to Kiwis invariably brought
+forth the statement: “That’s where Fitzsimmons lived. We’re
+proud of him.”</p>
+
+<p class="mt2">Ruby Robert’s first job, his relatives recalled, was in Reid’s
+and Grey’s Foundry in Stafford Street North, a short distance
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_239">[239]</span>from where the Dominion Hotel now stands. Boxing had far
+greater appeal for him than any other sport, and he took to it
+like a duck to water. One of the old settlers I interviewed remarked:</p>
+
+<p>“There’s many a time when Bob, left alone in the shop,
+would go down the alley to have a little go with the gloves. He
+didn’t have much difficulty getting some one to spar with him
+while another kept a lookout at the blacksmith shop.”</p>
+
+<p>“Did the family ever speak of Jem Mace who is credited
+with having taught Bob the finer points of boxing?” I inquired
+of blind Jack Fitzsimmons. (A steel splinter had penetrated
+his right eye while he was working as a smithy.) He’d
+talk for hours about boxing and the prowess of his uncle if he
+could get a listener.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes,” he replied. “His sister Catherine had a vivid recollection
+of Bob’s early days and often told us of the celebrities
+with whom Bob associated. Mace, she told us, was Bob’s
+teacher and a mighty good one. He had a night school where
+he taught boxing and Bob attended it after working hours.”</p>
+
+<p>Continuing after a short pause, Jack said, “She told us that
+Uncle Bob began boxing at the age of fifteen, and our father
+said that Bob had engaged in three bare-knuckle bouts with
+heavyweights when he scaled only 142 pounds. Father, you
+know, was Bob’s brother and he, like Bob, was strong and
+vigorous. He had thin legs—a family trait, I believe; from the
+waist down, they were similarly built.</p>
+
+<p>“I recall Dad saying that it wasn’t long after Mace took
+charge of Uncle Bob’s training that he was fighting all comers
+of any weight class in South Canterbury. Bob’s fame spread,
+and stories of his prowess drifted to Australia; at the age of
+twenty, he left Timaru for Sydney, where he fought in
+matches arranged by the great Larry Foley.”</p>
+
+<p>I was amazed at the boxing knowledge of Jack Fitzsimmons.
+Blindness hadn’t affected his memory. He recalled dates and
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_240">[240]</span>places which normally require research in <i>The Ring Record
+Book</i> for accuracy. I was shocked upon my return to America
+to learn that Jack died shortly after I had left for home.</p>
+
+<p>Discussing Ruby Robert’s sense of humor, Jack Fitzsimmons
+remarked:</p>
+
+<p>“Aunt Catherine told us that he grew up with plenty of it
+in his make-up. And from what we learned from our father
+and read in <i>The Ring</i> and elsewhere, his antics in his training
+camps and in his social gatherings portrayed the picture well.
+He was full of pranks and never was disturbed when they were
+played on him, Dad said. It was his easy-going temperament
+that enabled him to make friends wherever he went.”</p>
+
+<p>Jack added, “You know when Uncle Bob was fighting in
+Australia there was little difference between amateurism and
+professionalism. When Mace arranged the affair in which
+Uncle Bob gained his first prestige as a boxer, ten other boxers
+competed in the tournament and the rounds weren’t limited
+as they are today when amateurs compete. A bout finished
+only when one was knocked out, yet the Mace tournament was
+advertised as an affair for amateurs.”</p>
+
+<p>Wes Jack took out some mellowed newspaper clippings telling
+of Ruby Robert’s visit to Timaru, following his retirement
+from boxing. In one, Fitzsimmons tells of the time he
+won the New Zealand title.</p>
+
+<p>“I didn’t have things easy,” he told his interviewer. “As a
+young man who weighed at the time less than 125 pounds, I
+had to face tough opposition with opponents far heavier. But
+I reached the top, although in so doing I had to fight men of
+all sizes and weights.”</p>
+
+<p>Discussing the blacksmith shop, a story related by Bob’s
+brother, Jarrett, two of whose sons became heavyweight champions
+of New Zealand, held my attention. Jarrett, who died
+in Timaru at an old age, telling his sons about the power in
+the arms and shoulders of his brother, said:</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_241">[241]</span></p>
+
+<p>“I’ve often been asked how brother attained his strength. I
+think it came from fighting and subduing crazy horses
+brought into our blacksmith shop. If there was anything Bob
+liked, it was to be assigned to shoeing a brute. He would remark:</p>
+
+<p>“‘It strengthens my arms and legs when I’m kicked across
+the shop and it helps develop the sand in a man.’”</p>
+
+<p>In <i>The Ring</i> museum in Madison Square Garden there is
+a letter from Fitzsimmons addressed to me. I had seen him in
+Chicago in 1914, at which time I interviewed him, and when
+I mailed the article to him, he added to his statement:</p>
+
+<p>“The cave-men of the ring are extinct. Champions such as
+we had when I was in my prime are gone, never again to return.
+The champions of the future will be as children compared
+to the rough and ready battlers of twenty or more years
+ago. Fighting, like all other sports, is reaching out along lines
+of improvement. The men of today realize that boxing is more
+important than is slugging.</p>
+
+<p>“They are beginning to see the advantages of knowing how
+to block and feint and those who still can retain their punch
+are the ones who will reach the top. You’ll find as the years
+pass that fighting will become more and more scientific and
+championships will change hands on points and not on knockouts.”</p>
+
+<p>Those were the words of one of the greatest champions of
+all time. He foresaw many years ago the change that already
+has taken place.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_242">[242]</span></p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter" id="BOOK_6">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_243">[243]</span></p>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak hide">BOOK<br>SIX</h2>
+
+<figure class="figcenter illowp25" id="book6" style="max-width: 12.5em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/book6.jpg" alt="BOOK SIX">
+</figure>
+
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_244">[244]</span></p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_245">[245]</span></p>
+
+<div class="figcontainer">
+<figure class="figright illowp30" id="chapter25" style="max-width: 6.25em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/chapter25.jpg" alt="25">
+</figure>
+</div>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_25"><span class="hide">25<br></span>
+BIRTH OF <i>THE RING</i></h3>
+
+</div>
+
+<p>With the February issue of 1957, <i>The Ring</i>, my
+boxing publication, completed thirty-five years of service in
+the interest of the sport; years of war, prosperity, gloom, and
+world turmoil. They were years that included “The Golden
+Era” of boxing and a paralyzing depression; and throughout
+the three decades, <i>The Ring</i>, which started with a circulation
+of 2,500, carried on without interruption. From a small magazine
+confined to the environs of New York it grew into a
+world publication, published in America and in England with
+a total circulation of over 200,000.</p>
+
+<p><i>The Ring</i> made its wavering début on February 10, 1922, to
+combat attacks against boxing. I operated out of a cubbyhole
+in the old Madison Square Garden, in a little room donated
+by Tex Rickard. It was a one-man job. I was editor, business
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_246">[246]</span>manager, circulation manager, and general handy man,
+though the stock was owned by four of us. About half a year
+after the first issue was published, Eddie Borden, well known
+in boxing circles, joined me as an assistant.</p>
+
+<p>Between 1917 and 1920, when the Walker Law went into
+effect following the demise of the Frawley Law, boxing in
+America was in a sad state. But the Walker Law brought
+about a change, a promise of order in what had become a corrupt
+racket.</p>
+
+<p>Rickard had come East soon after the Walker Law was
+passed, and decided to promote fights and other sports events
+in the old Garden and at the Polo Grounds. He was so successful
+that he aroused the envy of crooked politicians who found
+it more profitable to operate without state supervision. They
+tried to put him out of business and to kill legalized boxing.
+Those politicians formed an unholy alliance with reformers
+against the new boxing bill. With the help of Rickard, I enlisted
+the services of friends, most of them nationally known
+newspapermen, to fight for the life of legalized boxing.</p>
+
+<p>Rickard asked me what could be done to halt Governor
+Smith from killing the sport. I suggested that we flood the
+Albany Senate and Assembly with pamphlets outlining our
+reasons for opposing the bill which would have halted boxing.
+He agreed. I received the support of every sports writer in
+New York to help the cause.</p>
+
+<p>Articles were written for the pamphlet by New York’s leading
+sports editors and columnists: Bill McGeehan, Damon
+Runyon, Walter Trumbull, George Daley, Wurra Wurra
+McLaughlin, Ned Brown, George Sands, Bat Masterson, Bill
+McBeth, Harry Cross, Charles F. Mathison, Francis Albertanti,
+Grantland Rice, George B. Underwood and myself.
+Copies were sent to every member of the New York State
+Legislature.</p>
+
+<p>With Senators Frawley and Walker fighting our battle in
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_247">[247]</span>the Senate, and Assemblyman Marty McCue, a former pugilist,
+doing the chores for us in the Assembly, we fought a winning
+campaign. Governor Smith listened to the plea and then made
+his historic decision, saving boxing for New York State. He
+said that though he didn’t like boxing and had never attended
+a show, he was highly impressed by the editorial comment of
+the sports writers and those who had gone to Albany to attend
+the hearing. He vetoed the measure of the reformers and boxing
+was saved.</p>
+
+<p>Following that narrow escape, I decided that a publication
+devoted wholly to the sport would be worth starting. I asked
+for Rickard’s help, but he balked at spending any more
+money. I argued that if a pamphlet such as we presented to
+the State Legislature and the Governor of New York could do
+so much good for boxing, a magazine devoted to the sport, an
+organ to give boxing an articulate mouthpiece, would be a
+venture worth tackling. Rickard was not impressed. I was to
+be only too grateful for this later on.</p>
+
+<p>But I wasn’t licked. I. C. Brenner, of <i>Golfers’ Magazine</i>,
+had heard of my plans, and he came to my rescue. He knew
+the magazine field and offered to help launch a publication if
+someone would back it financially. I became the backer.</p>
+
+<p>I went to Frank A. Munsey, my employer, who had ditched
+the New York <i>Press</i> and had purchased the New York <i>Telegram</i>
+to which I was shifted, and I asked permission to bring
+out the publication. He gave me the green light after I promised
+that the work would not interfere with my duties as sports
+editor, and that I would keep the contents clean and do
+nothing to hurt <i>The Telegram</i>.</p>
+
+<p>With Brenner, I took as partners (without any financial aid
+from them) Frank Coultry, treasurer of Madison Square
+Garden, and Ike Dorgan, brother of the famous cartoonist,
+Tad. Ike was Rickard’s publicity chief. I gave each of them
+equal shares at 25 per cent.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_248">[248]</span></p>
+
+<p>Three months later, Coultry and Brenner retired from the
+enterprise. They didn’t think the magazine would be a success
+and sold their stock to Ike Dorgan and me. But within a year,
+the magazine had jumped from 2,700 to 13,000 and from 24
+pages to 38.</p>
+
+<p>Thereafter there was a steady rise. From America’s leading
+newspapers and magazines foremost writers were added to the
+staff. The appearance of the book was improved.</p>
+
+<p>In 1929, I bought out Dorgan’s stock and became the sole
+owner. I had constant faith in the magazine and despite the
+depression, I decided to take over the ownership and put
+everything I had into it. However, trouble came when I lost
+my bankroll in the financial crash, and for two years I accepted
+Bernarr MacFadden as my partner. In 1931 that arrangement
+was abandoned, and since then I have carried on as
+publisher and editor. With the help of an excellent staff, I
+have built the publication to its present circulation of over
+200,000 in the U.S. and in England and aided by the good
+management of Nathaniel R. Loubet, my son-in-law, we have
+modernized the format to meet current needs.</p>
+
+<p>Rivals have come and rivals have gone, but <i>The Ring</i> continues,
+steadily improving, with a record of never having
+missed an issue since its inception. We suffered losses during
+the war years, but never faltered. The friends we made by
+shipping <i>The Ring</i> gratis to all areas where our men were
+fighting, more than offset those losses, for we gained good will
+we couldn’t have purchased with money.</p>
+
+<p>While many magazines were forced to discontinue during
+World War II, <i>The Ring</i> continued to serve its readers, those
+in hospitals and in training camps, a service unequalled in the
+history of American publications. Lectures with motion pictures
+of famous fights were given through <i>The Ring</i> in camps
+and hospitals, and no expense was spared to see that the men
+received what they cherished most in reading matter—boxing
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_249">[249]</span>news. In addition, we organized <i>The Ring’s</i> Servicemen’s
+Athletic Fund, which purchased athletic paraphernalia for
+camps in all parts of the world.</p>
+
+<p>One of the greatest achievements of <i>The Ring</i> is the publication
+of its annual record book (an international guide to
+boxing), and its annual rating of boxers, a listing that is used
+by promoters and commissions in pairing fighters.</p>
+
+<p>Many years ago the late Walter Camp initiated the custom
+of designating the outstanding football players of the year as
+the All-American or best-players of the season. A flood of
+imitators adopted this idea and today All-American football
+team selections are almost as numerous as the players.</p>
+
+<p>When Camp died, I thought of having some sort of honor
+roll of boxing similar to his gridiron ratings. Looking around
+for a boxing figure of equal prominence to make the selections,
+I chose Tex Rickard.</p>
+
+<p>The fabulous Tex was in his heyday then, and following
+the announcement that he was to make a selection of the
+world’s ranking boxers, his ratings were awaited with tremendous
+interest.</p>
+
+<p>The forerunner of the detailed and highly classified <i>Ring</i>
+rankings of today appeared in the February 1925 issue for the
+first time and caused world-wide comment. Such ring immortals
+as Jack Dempsey, Benny Leonard, Mickey Walker,
+Harry Greb, Gene Tunney and Pancho Villa were in action
+at the time, and, of course, their names led all the rest in their
+respective divisions.</p>
+
+<p>Dempsey was naturally rated top heavyweight, with his
+perennial shadow, Harry Wills, in the number two spot. Tunney
+was a light heavyweight in those days and was ranked first
+in the 175-pound division. Young Willie Stribling and Kid
+Norfolk were second and third, respectively.</p>
+
+<p>The great Harry Greb headed the middleweights, and the
+man who was to succeed him, Tiger Flowers, was in the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_250">[250]</span>runner-up spot. Mighty Mickey Walker was welterweight
+kingpin, followed by Dave Shade, who was to trail the Toy
+Bulldog throughout his career. The peerless Benny Leonard
+was still showing his heels to a new generation of lightweights,
+his old rivals having fallen by the wayside. Sid Terris and
+Sammy Mandell, a couple of up-and-coming youngsters, had
+edged the oldsters out of the second and third positions.</p>
+
+<p>Kid Sullivan topped the junior lightweight division, a
+favorite of the time, and Louis Kid Kaplan led the feathers.
+Cannonball Eddie Martin was ranked best of the bantams,
+and Pancho Villa headed the popular flyweight division as
+world champion.</p>
+
+<p>Rickard continued to make his choices in the pages of <i>The
+Ring</i> for some years, but Tex, while a genuine connoisseur of
+heavyweight material, was not always as painstaking in his
+examinations of the smaller fellows. It was difficult to convince
+him that the selections in the lighter divisions were just
+as important. The big lads were always closest to Tex’s heart.
+That was where the money was. They were the raw material
+for the promotional extravaganzas that had placed Rickard at
+the top of the heap in his field.</p>
+
+<p>After Rickard’s death in 1929, I had Jack Dempsey make
+the selections. However, Jack suffered from the same shortcomings
+as his predecessor. He knew all the answers so far as
+heavies were concerned, but was inclined to overlook the
+lighter classes. He lasted only one year.</p>
+
+<p>By this time <i>The Ring</i> rankings had attained such a position
+that I realized that their compilation required the knowledge
+of one whose boxing interest and knowledge included all
+the divisions. The Matchmaker of Madison Square Garden
+seemed an obvious choice because he had to be fully informed
+concerning boxers in all classes all over the world. Tom McArdle,
+then occupying that position in the Garden, fell heir to
+the job, which he capably performed for the next few years.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_251">[251]</span></p>
+
+<p>As the interest in ratings grew, however, I decided on a staff
+compilation, and in 1933 I inaugurated the present system of
+rating boxers on the basis of a census of <i>Ring</i> correspondents
+throughout the world. Their decisions are looked upon as the
+official ranking in every division by the European Boxing
+Union and the various boxing commissions.</p>
+
+<p>The wide range of opinion to which the ratings are exposed
+has put the name of many an obscure but talented lad before
+the public. A typical example of this was Billy Conn, whose
+first real recognition by Mike Jacobs came as a result of the
+high ranking he received in <i>The Ring</i>. Conn’s was just one of
+many similar cases.</p>
+
+<p>The year-end rankings also serve the important function of
+starting off the new year in a flurry of comment and enthusiasm.
+Boxing has thus received a much-needed stimulus
+and I’m proud to think that I inaugurated the system.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_252">[252]</span></p>
+
+<div class="figcontainer">
+<figure class="figright illowp30" id="chapter26" style="max-width: 6.25em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/chapter26.jpg" alt="26">
+</figure>
+</div>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_26"><span class="hide">26<br></span>
+MEET THE PRESS</h3>
+
+</div>
+
+<p>Let me tell you about some of the outstanding
+sports writers in American journalism. I am not going to
+attempt to list all the great reporters, past and present, who
+have kept the achievements of our athletic heroes in the headlines,
+because it would take far more space than can be devoted
+to it here.</p>
+
+<p>Of all the colorful writers from all parts of the world with
+whom I worked, my first choice is Tad Dorgan, whose boxing
+cartoons were unexcelled and whose coinage of words formed
+the pattern for later-day sports writers. Tad held an amazing
+place in American journalism. He was not only a great writer
+about fighters and an expert in the game, but he was one of
+the most graphic cartoonists we have had on the west side of
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_253">[253]</span>the Atlantic. He was the John Leech of the modern school—now,
+alas, modern no longer. In England the closest to him is
+Tom Webster, whom I also esteem among my friends.</p>
+
+<p>When Tad Dorgan died, a stout heart ceased to beat; he
+was a man who had given pleasure and a laugh daily to hundreds
+of thousands of people throughout the world. In the
+quarter of a century that I knew Tad, I can recall at least fifty
+“nicknames” that he had originated to describe fighters with
+certain peculiarities; and the names by which he called them
+are to this day their identification in the fistic world. He was
+the most accomplished coiner of the sports page phrase. He
+and Damon Runyon and Bill McGeehan contributed more to
+the slang expressions that swept the country from time to time
+than any other writers.</p>
+
+<p>Battling Nelson, Tad dubbed “The Bat” and the “Durable
+Dane.” Billy Petrolle in later years he called the “Fargo Express”
+because of his speed, and the “Fargo Express” he remained
+throughout his fighting days. Jem Driscoll, to Tad,
+was the “Will O’ The Wisp.” ...</p>
+
+<p>Tad’s comic strips, his humorous, human interest cartoons
+and wisecracks continue to retain the appeal they had years
+ago. Tad had a flavor and the tang that no man in the boxing
+game has ever been able to duplicate.</p>
+
+<p>As a boxing commentator Tad rated with the best: Bill
+Naughton, Bill McGeehan, Ed Smith, Charley Van Loan,
+Hugh Fullerton, George Siler, Macon McCormack, Bat
+Masterson, Charley Mathison, Sam Austin, George Touhey,
+and others whose articles made them famous authorities on
+boxing in America.</p>
+
+<p>Tad was an intimate of every sportsman of note from the
+early nineties to the day of his death. He was a good friend of
+James J. Corbett, John L. Sullivan, Jim Jeffries, and Jack
+Johnson—the four aces in his list of fistic celebrities. Jim
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_254">[254]</span>Corbett once said that Tad, who was born in the same district
+as Gentleman Jim, when only a lad showed all the symptoms
+of becoming “the funniest man in the world.”</p>
+
+<p>When Tad became famous as a cartoonist and a writer, he
+often referred to Jim’s remark. Among Tad’s favorite sports
+writers were Hype Igoe, Bill McGeehan, and Rube Goldberg,
+each a noted man in his profession.</p>
+
+<p>“The gamest man I ever knew,” is what Gene Tunney
+called Tad, and Tunney knew something of many kinds of
+courage. Tad was responsible for the discovery of many young
+writers who later became stars in the sports world. It was he
+who encouraged the famous Charles E. Van Loan, whose
+books on sports are well known in England and in the United
+States. Van Loan became one of the greatest baseball writers
+in America while working on the San Francisco <i>Bulletin</i> and
+later, when Van Loan accepted a post in Denver, he discovered
+another youth—now known to the sports and movie
+world as Damon Runyon.</p>
+
+<p>Though Tad did not originate all the famous slang expressions
+credited to him, he at least was responsible for
+popularizing them. Remember when “23 skidoo” was the
+rage? That was one of Tad’s expressions.</p>
+
+<p>It was he who named Jack Johnson “Lil Arthur” at the
+time that the giant Negro was in training for his fight with
+Jim Jeffries at Reno. Tad was the only fistic expert in Reno
+who picked Johnson to win by a knockout.</p>
+
+<p>Joe Gans was dubbed “The Old Master” and Harry Wills,
+he called “Ol Har.” Pete Stone, one of the favorites in Stanley
+Ketchel’s camp when Hype Igoe was Ketchel’s manager, Tad
+nicknamed “Pete the Goat.” He called Jack Dempsey, “The
+Manassa Mauler” and “The Killer” and these “titles” have
+been identified with Dempsey ever since.</p>
+
+<p>The stories about Tad are so numerous that it would take
+a volume to tell them. His escapades in “Jack’s,” a famous
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_255">[255]</span>New York restaurant of pre-prohibition days, are frequently
+told in sports circles. The story of how two song writers picked
+up his expression, “Yes, we have no bananas” and made a
+million out of it, is an old one.</p>
+
+<p>If making millions laugh every day qualifies a man to call
+himself an artist—and I know of no higher art—then Tad was
+an artist. I enjoyed his company and was proud to have been
+numbered among his friends. Not only did he bring laughter
+into the world with his “Silk Hat Harry,” “Judge Rummy,”
+“Indoor Sports” and other famous drawings, but created
+words that Webster never dreamed of.</p>
+
+<p>Tad was the “Emperor of Prince Regent,” and “High Commissioner”
+of the sports gatherings in New York. He loved
+that bawdy life and he understood it as few others did. His
+greatness lay in his understanding of humanity. Shams never
+fooled him. He looked behind them, and saw human emotions—petty,
+silly, or noble. He loved Broadway and the sports
+world with a passionate intensity which he transmitted to
+others in the journalistic profession.</p>
+
+<p>Several years before heart trouble made it impossible for
+him to attend fights, I saw him in Tex Rickard’s office and we
+discussed old times.</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t go to as many fights as I used to,” he said. “It’s the
+same old thing—fight after fight; fouls, holding, referees interfering
+with the boys and poor decisions. I’m fed up on it, Nat.
+The boys rush in headlong and then slap their way through
+the bouts, round after round. They either have their eyes shut
+or their hands open.</p>
+
+<p>“Remember the old Barnum saying, ‘There’s a sucker born
+every minute?’ The population is bigger now so that the
+sucker crop is much greater than in his day, but they’re still
+falling.”</p>
+
+<p>We discussed Johnson, Jeffries, Tom Sharkey, Ketchel and
+a few others among the old time greats and compared them
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_256">[256]</span>with the fighters of this era. Tad challenged me to name eight
+topnotchers who came to the front since 1916. I started but he
+cut me short.</p>
+
+<p>“What’s the use?” he asked. “Even if you name fifteen, you
+won’t find four equal to those I’ve named. I like to talk about
+the stars of other days because they were the real masters.
+Their names will go on forever, just as those of the great
+actors, musicians, painters and writers—Dickens, Cruikshank,
+Leech, Shakespeare, Balzac, Dore, Kipling, O. Henry and Jack
+London. Birds like that will continue to be chatted about.
+They were the cream in their specialty as were Corbett, John
+L., Jeffries, Fitz, Ryan, Sharkey, Johnson, Choynski, Walcott,
+Gans, Dixon and Attell in theirs.”</p>
+
+<p>We had attended a show a few nights before in the Garden
+at which about 16,000 persons had crowded the arena, but the
+main event was marred by repeated holding and waltzing and
+Tad, turning to me, remarked:</p>
+
+<p>“Just because 16,000 fight fans saw that bout and only
+about 800 saw some of the ring classics of the past, some of the
+stirring contests we used to attend, doesn’t prove that the
+boxer of today is better than the fellows of twenty years ago.
+Where do they get off to compare these birds to men like
+George Kid Lavigne, Bat Nelson, Gans, Jack McAuliffe,
+Frank Erne, and many others of their brand I can name? A
+magazine writer today gets ten times what Dickens got fifty
+years ago, but that doesn’t mean anything so far as comparative
+ability goes. Half of the fans of today think that they’re
+seeing great fights, when as a matter of fact, they’re just being
+entertained by dubs.”</p>
+
+<p>Tad knew his fights and fighters. He had the facts. The day
+before the Berlenbach-Delaney fight, I sat with Tad and we
+discussed the coming battle.</p>
+
+<p>“Is a great left better than a great right hand?” he asked.</p>
+
+<p>I thought for a moment and then replied that I thought the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_257">[257]</span>best fighters in recent years were those who possessed good,
+powerful lefts.</p>
+
+<p>“Let’s see,” Tad answered. “Take a pencil and jot down
+these names.”</p>
+
+<p>Both Tad and I got our pencils out and we started to name
+good fighters who could hit hard, and we found that the man
+with powerful lefts rated higher than those who had a good
+right. Tad remarked that Billy Delaney, the old-time trainer
+who handled three champions—Corbett, Jeffries, and Johnson—said
+that he wouldn’t handle a man who didn’t possess a
+good left. “The left,” according to Delaney, “is the best fighting
+hand because it is the natural hand for hitting purposes.”</p>
+
+<p>Tad recalled Jack Johnson’s telling him that a fighter is
+never off balance or out of position after leading with the left,
+whereas he is all wet after the right is shot.</p>
+
+<p>Among the fighters with great rights whom Tad named
+were John L. Sullivan, Peter Maher, Bert Keyes, Gunboat
+Smith, Joe Choynski, Aurelia Herrera, Georges Carpentier,
+Australian Billy Murphy, Willie Fitzgerald, Young Corbett,
+and Jack Delaney. Those with powerful hitting lefts were
+Stanley Ketchel, Bob Fitzsimmons, George Dixon, Dal Hawkins,
+Frankie Neil, Fred Fulton, Jim Corbett, Nonpareil Jack
+Dempsey, Paul Berlenbach, and Kid McCoy.</p>
+
+<p>Tad’s favorite fighter was Gans, with Jack Johnson rating a
+close second. He thought that Dempsey was a great scrapper,
+but he told me on several occasions that Dempsey never saw
+the day when he could whip “Lil’ Artha.” He saw Dempsey at
+Toledo and watched Jack beat Billy Miske in Benton Harbor.
+That was the last fight he viewed from ringside. Thereafter,
+he listened to them on the radio.</p>
+
+<p>He often remarked that the radio was a God-sent gift to
+him, and it undoubtedly prolonged his life. Always a great
+hand for forming likes and dislikes for figures in the sports
+world, he got to taking impressions from the radio and on
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_258">[258]</span>many occasions his follow-up story and drawings on a great
+fight event which he didn’t see but to which he listened were
+amazingly accurate.</p>
+
+<p>In covering a fight or other important sports event, Tad’s
+ability to cut loose with a flow of descriptive writing that
+spread the picture before the eye and the mind of the reader
+surpassed that of any other writer of his time. He was uncanny
+in the accuracy of his description.</p>
+
+<p>I recall the first time the word “hard boiled egg,” was used
+in a sports story. The expression was coined by Tad following
+a heated discussion over the division of a fight purse, in which
+Harry Pollock and Dan McKettrick played leading parts.
+When an agreement could not be reached, Tad came forth
+with a cartoon depicting the wrangling and a caption beneath
+the cartoon of Pollock read:</p>
+
+<p>“How a hard boiled egg looks when fighting for the
+dough.”</p>
+
+<p>That expression became extremely popular in a short time
+and soon was used as a gag on the stage and in stories of crime
+to indicate a tough character. Still later he dropped part of the
+expression and simplified it to just plain “egg,” and thereafter
+that word took its place in English slang, meaning ordinary,
+useless, unfit.</p>
+
+<p>There never lived a more ardent fight-fan than Jack London;
+as a matter of fact, Jack, though he never boxed in public,
+was a nifty hand with the gloves. The first time I met him
+was in Jack Cooper’s New York Gymnasium, the place where
+Mike Donovan, Theodore Roosevelt, and many other noted
+New Yorkers gathered. London was exercising with the mitts,
+and he surprised me with his skill. I asked him where he
+learned to spar.</p>
+
+<p>“I was a pupil of the greatest teacher in the world,” he responded.
+“Old Professor Hard Experience drilled me. When
+I was a kid I traveled with a tough gang, and had to learn how
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_259">[259]</span>to scrap, or get my block knocked off every day,” he said.
+“Then in my hobo days, riding on freights in box car pullmans,
+I was up against a still tougher game. A young fellow
+needs to know how to handle himself if he elects to carry on
+in the tramp life.</p>
+
+<p>“But I picked up a lot of glove knowledge sparring with
+Battling Nelson when Bat was lightweight champion, with
+Jimmy Britt, Young Corbett, and other cracks. I always liked
+the game.”</p>
+
+<p>London wrote some of the finest fight fiction ever published.
+He had the gift of making a reader actually see and feel
+what he described within the ring. Jack had some newspaper
+experience on San Francisco papers, but the reporter phase
+didn’t last long, as his talent for fiction soon transferred him
+to a more lucrative field.</p>
+
+<p>Even after he became famous as a novelist, the newspapers
+and syndicates often paid him big money to act as ring correspondent
+for championship matches. It was while covering
+the Battling Nelson-Jimmy Britt match for the world’s lightweight
+championship in 1905 that London coined the phrase
+“abysmal brute,” applying it to Nelson’s seeming insensibility
+to punishment. The iron-jawed Dane took everything Britt
+could give him in the punching line, until he wore Jimmy
+down and kayoed him in the eighteenth round.</p>
+
+<p>London greatly admired the clever Britt and wanted him to
+win, but it wasn’t in the cards for Jimmy to come out top-dog.
+Jack also was anxious to see Jeffries whip Johnson. He
+was engaged by a newspaper syndicate to cover the Jeffries-Johnson
+battle at Reno, Nevada, in 1910, and he was hurt as
+much as Jeffries when Johnson knocked the big Californian
+out. London was Jeff’s most ardent rooter.</p>
+
+<p class="mt2">Like Tad, Bill McGeehan, famous Sports Editor of the New
+York <i>Herald Tribune</i>, was a coiner of phrases. While Tad
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_260">[260]</span>made friends through his cartoons, McGeehan gained an army
+of readers through his unique style of sports journalism. His
+sarcasm, often biting to the marrow, held the attention of his
+readers to the very end. He was a master of satire, and founded
+a school of sports writers in this vein which now numbers
+among its clan some of the best scribes in America—men like
+Westbrook Pegler of the <i>Chicago Tribune</i> Service and Joe
+Williams of <i>The World-Telegram</i>. They, like McGeehan,
+are members of the school of sports debunking.</p>
+
+<p>However, McGeehan’s coinage of sports epithets led the
+field, his phrases far outnumbering those of Tad. The fight
+game was McGeehan’s richest source, although his dubbing
+of Notre Dame football players as the “Fighting Irish” is
+probably the most memorable nickname he ever created.
+Among his most popular descriptions of boxing were “The
+Manly Art Of Modified Murder,” and “The Cauliflower Industry.”
+The “Scrambled Egg Brigade” he applied to fighters
+in general. In the area of particularization, one of his best-remembered
+tags is the one he hung on Primo Carnera: “The
+Tall Tower Of Gorgonzola.” “The Battle Of What Of It” he
+applied to any fight that he judged to be worthless.</p>
+
+<p>“The Ex-Millionaires Hole,” was the name he gave to the
+Madison Square Garden Bowl, after the Depression depleted
+the fortunes of many of the directors of the Garden. “The
+Boy Bandit,” was his epithet for Jimmy Johnston, while “The
+Exploiter of Pachyderm,” was Jack Curley’s designation.</p>
+
+<p class="mt2">When boxing was attacked in the New York State Legislature
+in 1921, and it looked like the sport would receive its
+death blow from the Governor, McGeehan, Damon Runyon,
+Bill McBeth, George B. Underwood, Charles F. Mathison and
+I, went up to Albany to plead for the continuation of boxing.
+We were fortified with facts to prove the sport was conducted
+on as high a plane as any other.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_261">[261]</span></p>
+
+<p>McGeehan, known in our circle as “the Sheriff,” made the
+hit of the meeting when he spoke up:</p>
+
+<p>“Prize fighting, Governor, is not a sport. It is a gigantic
+business. As a business, I dare say it is conducted as honestly
+as American politics or the average business, and I venture to
+say, a little more honestly than the stockmarket. Every profession
+has its crooks, its gamblers, its undesirables, even the profession
+of politics. Then why condemn boxing and whitewash
+all other business?</p>
+
+<p>“Prize fights today are merely entertainments staged for the
+box office. The sporting element went out when the business
+became legal and respectable. If this legislature should kill
+boxing, it would do a gross injustice to hundreds of boys who
+are engaged in it as a profession; to managers who handle
+them; and to the promoters who hire them for the public’s
+entertainment. Such action will result in only one thing—boxing
+will go back to the bootlegging days.”</p>
+
+<p>So impressed was the Governor with that statement that you
+could read his thoughts as he absorbed every word McGeehan
+uttered.</p>
+
+<p>McGeehan was dubbed by his fellow writers as “the man
+with the fighting pen.” He waged war on crookedness in every
+branch of athletics, as do my good friends Dan Parker and
+Jimmy Cannon today.</p>
+
+<p>Probably the best informed sports writers of my time,
+among those with whom I was well acquainted and with
+whom I worked, were Charles F. Mathison, my boxing critic
+on the <i>Press</i>, <i>Sun</i>, and <i>Telegram</i>, and the man who formulated
+the rules of boxing which became known as the Walker Law;
+Ed Smith of Chicago, and Arthur Lumley, who handled the
+<i>Illustrated News</i> and was several times manager of John L.
+Sullivan. He also wrote for my <i>Ring</i> magazine.</p>
+
+<p>Mathison, who at one time was the editor of the Detroit
+<i>Free Press</i> and also of the New York <i>Globe</i> and the <i>Morning
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_262">[262]</span>Telegraph</i>, had a vast acquaintance in the boxing world. He,
+like McGeehan, was a tough man for the crooked element in
+boxing. Neither showed any mercy. It was their vitriolic writings
+that did much to save the sport at a time when it was in
+danger of annihilation.</p>
+
+<p>McGeehan was a very heavy drinker, and he frequently ran
+into trouble when he was assigned to cover a fight story of national
+importance. I recall his arrival the day before the
+Sharkey-Stribling fight in Miami Beach.</p>
+
+<p>As I remarked in a previous chapter, Steve Hannigan, Sid
+Mercer, and I handled the publicity and hotel accommodations.
+I reserved rooms for the most prominent reporters from
+New York and other big cities, including the British visitors,
+in the George Washington Hotel, where my wife and I occupied
+a suite.</p>
+
+<p>McGeehan reached Miami Beach with Don Skene, his protégé,
+and Graham McNamee, then America’s outstanding
+sports announcer, working for the National Broadcasting
+Company. Graham was to do the broadcasting. All three had
+imbibed too much, and I quickly realized that I had a job on
+my hands. McGeehan walked into press headquarters supported
+by Skene and Graham, and in a gruff, commanding
+tone he demanded to know where his room was. When I told
+him that he had a reservation in the Fisher Estate where Bill
+Carey was living, he shoved me aside and walked down the
+corridor. My wife Trudie had emerged from her room and as
+the door was open, Bill stopped in front of the room, walked
+in, opened the window and started to toss out our trunk and
+handbags. I rushed in as he was about to throw out my suit
+and remonstrated with him. But it did no good. He dispossessed
+us and took over. Within a short time, he and Don
+Skene were fast asleep, and my wife and I had to find new
+quarters.</p>
+
+<p>On the day of the fight, McGeehan was nowhere to be
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_263">[263]</span>found and Skene was so far gone that he couldn’t see the typewriter
+keys. After the contest, messages kept pouring into our
+headquarters asking for the New York <i>Tribune</i> stories. To
+cover the absence of the reporters, Sid Mercer tackled McGeehan’s
+yarn, while I wrote one for Skene. We tried as
+closely as we could to imitate their style, a mighty tough task.
+After Mercer had filed McGeehan’s story, the editor sent the
+following message:</p>
+
+<p>“What happened to McGeehan’s report? What we received
+was not written by him.”</p>
+
+<p class="mt2">Batting for a fellow writer was nothing new in the sports
+field in those days. My friend Warren Brown, in his excellent
+book, <i>Win, Lose or Draw</i>, confirmed that. He has a good yarn
+in that book on McGeehan.</p>
+
+<p>“At Benton Harbor, Bill had particularly rough going the
+night before the Dempsey-Miske fight and on the day of the
+contest, he was almost as bad. He made his way by forced
+march to the press headquarters to finish his story. When he
+got there, the only typewriter available was one of those old-fashioned
+Olivers on which the type faces rose from left to
+right on slender ovals.</p>
+
+<p>“As McGeehan thrust his fingers on the keyboard, coils of
+these type faces rose from both sides and met in the center in
+an appalling knot. Bill shuddered as he surveyed the scene,
+rose unsteadily, and made his way out of the place. He was
+next heard from when he arrived in the press box in the
+Cleveland Baseball Park two days later. His clothes and personal
+belongings were forwarded to him. His story on the
+fight reached his paper on time. It wasn’t pure McGeehan,
+but it got by!”</p>
+
+<p>In Miami, where we had more than 450 newspapermen
+from all parts of the world on hand for the first fight promoted
+by the Garden without Tex Rickard’s help, many such yarns
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_264">[264]</span>were telegraphed without aid from the reporter whose name
+was signed without ever seeing the copy. Sid Mercer and I often
+worked fourteen or more hours daily to write specials for visiting
+writers who for six weeks were having the time of their
+lives while we two were slaving to meet their deadlines. Even
+some of the British newspapermen soon caught on to the
+American style of covering a fight camp, and I had to send
+special cables out for them as well.</p>
+
+<p>In most cases newspapermen assigned to camps in the years
+preceding the Jim Norris regime, were from an entirely different
+school than the present day boxing writers. The majority
+were more thorough in their work and possessed a
+keener knowledge of boxing than the writers of this era. They
+knew the game from A to Z, were more familiar with the
+techniques, knew the background of the characters who were
+the hangers-on in the camps and didn’t depend on the stereotyped
+reports of the publicity bureau for an angle.</p>
+
+<p>Today most of the boxing reporters are copyists who take
+what is handed out to them on a silver platter and merely
+elaborate. Few investigate. The majority take for granted
+what is given to them by the press bureau. Few go in for digging
+feature material as we did daily.</p>
+
+<p>How different the old school was! The most prolific of all
+fight publicists was the late Francis Albertanti, who for many
+years was my star boxing reporter on the <i>Telegram</i>. He prepared
+more fighters for the opening bell than any one I knew,
+and his camp reports, when he was in charge of the ballyhoo,
+were tops. I know of no writer who could beat him in obtaining
+human interest material. He often had the other reporters
+tearing their hair because of the number of “scoops” he scored
+for our paper. Many a bonus Francis received from our Managing
+Editor, Fred Walker.</p>
+
+<p>On one occasion when Francis was out of work, Mike Jacobs
+asked him to take charge of Billy Conn’s camp when Billy was
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_265">[265]</span>preparing for his second fight with Joe Louis. Mike offered
+him $1,200 for three weeks work plus all expenses. Francis
+turned it down. “You need the money more than I do,” he
+replied in a huff. “I’ll take the job for $5,000—nothing less.”</p>
+
+<p>Then he added: “You’re a millionaire; I’m an ordinary
+working man. I can get along on ham and beans. You need
+steaks daily.”</p>
+
+<p>So Mike and Francis parted, and for the first time in years,
+they were not on talking terms. But Francis was a frequent
+visitor in Conn’s camp, and one day after Billy’s workout, a
+mediocre one, Joe Williams, who took my place as Sports Editor
+of the <i>Telegram</i> asked Francis for his opinion.</p>
+
+<p>“Billy looks great,” said Francis with a straight face. “He’s
+full of energy. He is fast, sharp, hits well, punches with accuracy.
+He’s clever and game. He’s determined to win.”</p>
+
+<p>Then after a short pause, Albertanti wound up his commentary
+with a knockout punch at Uncle Mike’s ballyhoo:
+“But I pick Louis to take the kid out any time Joe wants to.
+He’s a cinch in my book to keep the title.”</p>
+
+<p class="mt2">Ed Smith was another scribe who played a dominant part in
+American sports for half a century. The by-line of Ed Smith,
+so well known to readers of <i>The Ring</i> for which he wrote for
+many years, was known throughout the world of sports. For
+twenty-six years he wrote for the Chicago <i>Chronicle</i>, the Chicago
+<i>American</i> and the Los Angeles <i>Examiner</i>. Back in the
+“good old days” it was sacrilegious to stage a fight or a wrestling
+match of national importance without Smith acting as
+referee.</p>
+
+<p>Recognized as one of the best referees, there was never a
+complaint about his honesty or his ability. He was third man
+in the ring when Luther McCarty fell dead in his bout with
+Arthur Pelkey in Calgary. He also officiated at the memorable
+international wrestling championship match between Hackenschmidt
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_266">[266]</span>and Gotch at Dexter Pavilion in Chicago in 1911.
+He took part in thousands of other famous contests, a complete
+list of which would fill a record book.</p>
+
+<p>Lumley, Mathison, Bat Masterson, and Smith were among
+the last of the old school of sports writers, which also included
+Joe Vila of <i>The Evening Sun</i> of New York, one of the most
+fearless boxing writers in America. Like Lumley, Smith and
+Mathison revelled in the past. They saw the romance that
+ended with the commercialization of boxing, and they kept
+the old days alive with thrilling and absorbingly interesting
+tales.</p>
+
+<p>Arthur Lumley was editor of the <i>Police Gazette</i> fifty years
+ago. He came into the spotlight at a time when the writers
+wore long beards, curling moustaches, high boots, and other
+disguises when they went to cover a fight. I visited Lumley
+just before his death a few years ago. He had broken his leg in
+a fall, and this injury, combined with another ailment, had
+left him an invalid. His failing sight could hardly discern my
+presence.</p>
+
+<p>“Come closer, Nat,” he said to me. “I won’t treat you like
+they used to treat reporters fifty years ago, when I went the
+rounds to do my work. You know, prize fight promoters and
+fighters didn’t want newspapermen about, then. It was too
+dangerous. Everything had to be kept quiet so that there
+couldn’t be a give-away to the cops.”</p>
+
+<p>He then told me the story of his attempt to cover the fight
+between Paddy Ryan and Joe Goss in 1880, at Collier’s Station,
+West Virginia.</p>
+
+<p>“I decided that I would report that fight and I went along
+with the few who knew where it would be staged. When I got
+to the scene, those in charge drove away every member of the
+press except me. I seemed to be a privileged character.</p>
+
+<p>“They let me stay because I stood in well with several bank
+robbers who were associated with the promotion. We had an
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_267">[267]</span>awful time getting to the scene of action and still worse a time
+convincing the principals that it was all right for me to remain
+and report the fight for my paper. We took a boat and started
+across Lake Michigan for Canada, but when we got to the
+Canadian shore we found a company of British soldiers and
+six cannon facing us, so we decided it was best not to attempt
+to land.</p>
+
+<p>“We turned back, but before we reached the Michigan
+shore, the Governor had been tipped off that we were on our
+way and he had a posse after us, so we couldn’t land there,
+either. We ran into the same trouble in Indiana and later in
+Ohio, but we finally made it into West Virginia.</p>
+
+<p>“It was a tough fight to stage and tougher to handle because
+of constant danger of being discovered by the law. The fight
+lasted eighty-seven rounds, with Ryan the winner. It was the
+first big event I covered after becoming sports editor of the
+<i>Police Gazette</i> in 1879.”</p>
+
+<p>Speaking of the old <i>Police Gazette</i>, which the author of this
+book bought in 1932 when the Fox family, because of heavy
+losses, decided to give it up after controlling it for half a century,
+Lumley remarked:</p>
+
+<p>“We covered all the prize fights in <i>The Gazette</i>, and we also
+went in for sensations. We gave the readers all sorts of dots
+and dashes—little spicy items of divorces, separations, escapades,
+and crime. You know, the kind of personal bits they
+couldn’t get elsewhere. That made an instantaneous hit and
+our circulation doubled. Then we decided to give them any
+news that wouldn’t be printed in the daily papers and featured
+stories of hold-ups, stabbings, murders, debauchery, wild west
+fights, Indian uprisings, floods, and the like, and what a hit
+we made!</p>
+
+<p>“<i>The Gazette</i>, under my management with Richard K. Fox,
+the owner, became internationally known and the craze for
+the sheet in England was as great as it was in America. We
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_268">[268]</span>decided to go after more circulation and at my suggestion, we
+opened a page for the barbers and the bartenders, and by running
+the pictures of favorites, the paper sold like hot cakes.
+Everybody wanted a copy. We were the oldest illustrated paper
+in America and <i>The Gazette</i>, as we ran it, was the forerunner
+of our modern tabloids.”</p>
+
+<p>A splendid reporter and editor, Lumley was also a manager.
+In addition to Sullivan, he handled Nonpareil Jack Dempsey
+and Jack McAuliffe. Unlike the manager of today, he never
+got a cent out of such management. It was the honor the managers
+went after in those days, and, as Lumley said to me:</p>
+
+<p>“I didn’t make a sou out of them. It wasn’t the custom in
+those days to take money from a fighter. However, I made up
+a medallion of the three Jacks—McAuliffe, Sullivan, and
+Dempsey—and I sold these all over the country and made
+plenty. In my opinion, they were three of the greatest fighters,
+barring no one, America has ever seen.”</p>
+
+<p class="mt2">England, like America, had many excellent boxing writers
+of the old school, the most prominent being Hugh Bradley,
+Harry Cleveland, Trevor Wignall, Ben Bennison, Fred Dartnell,
+James Butler, Norman Hurst, and a wonderful sports
+cartoonist, Tom Webster.</p>
+
+<p>They represent the gallant old guard who wrote many
+thrilling and interesting tales. Their stories, many of which
+are in my possession, I can read over and over again and never
+tire. We covered many international affairs together.</p>
+
+<p class="mt2">No sporting writer in his day was more popular in the
+Middle West than Harry Weldon, who for many years was the
+active and genial Sports Editor of the Cincinnati <i>Enquirer</i>.
+He was an all-round sporting man whose forte was boxing and
+baseball. He had a wide reputation for honesty, and his opinion
+settled bets throughout the nation.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_269">[269]</span></p>
+
+<p>George Touhey of Boston was another writer of note, and
+one who contributed a mass of data on the history of American
+boxing, in addition to being a prominent promoter and
+manager. Then there was Joe McGinn, grand old man of the
+Associated Press and first president of the Old Sports Writers
+Association of New York.</p>
+
+<p>I recall going to a private fight with McGinn and Jim Bagley,
+who was a master of slang before George Ade ever was
+heard of. In the latter years of his life, Joe was a teetotaler, but
+at the time I speak of, he would, upon occasion, indulge in the
+cup that cheers.</p>
+
+<p>It was a cold, wet, rainy night. We had to walk more than
+a mile through mud and wet fields before we found the roadhouse
+where the bouts were held. The cold rain and the mud
+offered a fitting excuse for a nip or two along the way—an
+excuse for several, in fact—and Joe became more than a little
+drunk. He knew it and feared the reception he would get from
+the boss.</p>
+
+<p>“Never mind, Joe,” hiccoughed Jim, “I’ll square you with
+the boss. I’ll write a heartbreaking story about this trip
+through the rain and mud and how all of us braved pneumonia
+and had to liquor up to save our lives.”</p>
+
+<p>Bagley wrote the story, giving a moving account of the privations
+endured by the correspondents. He told, as only Bagley
+could tell, of the march through the mud and rain and
+how the writers wandered for miles in the darkness in a vain
+search for the roadhouse where the fight took place.</p>
+
+<p>“All of a sudden,” wrote Bagley, “out of the rain and the wet
+and the mud and the stark, black darkness of the night,
+loomed a building. It was all lit up like Joe McGinn.”</p>
+
+<p>That is the way Jim Bagley squared Joe McGinn, if squaring
+with reverse English can be considered help.</p>
+
+<p class="mt2">The great boxing matches in the huge stadiums of the present
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_270">[270]</span>day are marked by perfect order and decorum. They are
+wonderful things, but once in a while some of us can’t help
+longing for the days when the boxing game was sowing its wild
+oats. We sigh for the lost romance and adventure. Say what
+you want, you fellows, those were the days! Those were the
+good old days!</p>
+
+<p>A new school of boxing writer has developed in recent
+years, one that mixed the new with the old and thus continued
+to give some sense of the romance of the old prize ring days.
+There were writers who, like myself, had passed through the
+transition period and could appreciate the glamor and the
+thrills of those old times.</p>
+
+<p>Leaders of this school were Damon Runyon, Hype Igoe,
+“Doc” Almy, veteran of the Boston <i>Post</i>, Westbrook Pegler of
+the Chicago <i>Tribune</i> Syndicate; Paul Gallico of the <i>Daily
+News</i>, Sid Mercer of the New York <i>Journal</i>, and Harry Smith,
+the dean of the California critics, who died the day of the
+Ezzard Charles-Joey Maxim fight in San Francisco in January
+1952, at the age of seventy-six. He had been at every big fight
+since 1890, and was one of my dearest friends.</p>
+
+<p>These men stood out not merely as sports specialists but as
+all-round reporters. In many cases, outstanding sports writers
+during my early years as a journalist were recruited to cover
+major news events on the “outside,” such as lurid murder
+trials, kidnapings, Presidential campaigns, and the like.</p>
+
+<p>Other notable journalists with whom I frequently worked
+on assignments include Jersey Jones, now of <i>The Ring</i> staff,
+who covered boxing for the New York <i>Globe</i>; Dan Parker,
+Sports Editor of the New York <i>Daily Mirror</i>; James P. Dawson
+of <i>The Times</i>; Frank Graham and Bill Corum of the
+New York <i>Journal American</i>; Red Smith and Jesse Abramson
+of the New York <i>Herald Tribune</i>; Daniel M. Daniel, Joe
+Williams, and Lester Bromberg of the New York <i>World-Telegram</i>;
+Barney Nagler of the <i>Morning Telegraph</i>; Jim Jennings
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_271">[271]</span>of the New York <i>Daily Mirror</i>; Arthur Daley and Joe
+Nichols of the New York <i>Times</i>; Bob Considine, star columnist
+of the Hearst organizations; Ted Smits, Jack Hand, and
+Murray Rose of the Associated Press; Jack Cuddy and Oscar
+Fraley of the <i>United Press</i>; Harry Grayson of the NEA service,
+and Al Buck and Jimmy Cannon of the New York <i>Post</i>.
+Also Harry Markson of the <i>Bronx Home News</i> and Murray
+Goodman of the New York <i>American</i>, both now members of
+the International Boxing Club staff; Hugh Bradley and Murray
+Robinson of the <i>Journal-American</i>, Murray Lewin of the
+<i>Daily Mirror</i> and Gene Ward and Jimmy Powers of the New
+York <i>Daily News</i>. They all contributed to journalistic history
+as sports writers.</p>
+
+<p>Others were Warren Brown, Johnny Carmichael, Gene
+Kessler, Charley Dunkley, and Arch Ward in Chicago; Ed
+Wray, Bill McGoogan, Roy Stockton, and Sid Keener in St.
+Louis; Harry Salsinger, Bob Murphy, Lyall Smith, and Leo
+McDonell in Detroit; and Bill Cunningham, Dave Egan, and
+Harry Hirschfield in Boston.</p>
+
+<p>Friendly hands stretched across the continent through the
+years: Jack Laing of Buffalo; Bill Lee of the Hartford <i>Courant</i>;
+Whitey Lewis of the Cleveland <i>Press</i>; Ed Bang of the
+Cleveland <i>News</i>; Max Kase of the New York <i>Journal-American</i>;
+George Barton, veteran writer of the Minneapolis <i>Tribune</i>;
+Elmer Ferguson of the Montreal <i>Herald</i>; Harry Keck
+of the Pittsburgh <i>Sun-Telegraph</i>; Bill Keefe of the New Orleans
+<i>Item</i>; and Roger Pippin of the Baltimore <i>Sun</i>.</p>
+
+<p>Also, Al Abrams of the Pittsburgh <i>Post-Gazette</i>; Royal
+Brougham of the Seattle <i>Post-Intelligencer</i>; Jack Kofoed of
+the Miami <i>Herald</i>, whom I started on the big-time circuit in
+New York; Dink Carroll of the Montreal <i>Gazette</i>; George
+Davis of the San Francisco <i>Express</i>; Jack Fried of the Philadelphia
+<i>Bulletin</i>; and Sec Taylor of the Des Moines <i>Register</i>.</p>
+
+<p>Others who shared countless ringside thrills with me were
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_272">[272]</span>Hy Goldberg and Ed Friel of the Newark <i>News</i>; Tony Merenghi
+of the Newark <i>Star Ledger</i>; L. H. Gregory of the
+Portland <i>Oregonian</i>; Curley Grieve of the San Francisco <i>Examiner</i>;
+Ray Grody of the Milwaukee <i>Sentinel</i>; Eddie Muller
+of the San Francisco <i>Examiner</i>; Shirley Povich of the Washington
+<i>Post</i>; Willie Ratner of the Newark <i>Evening News</i>;
+Wilfred Smith of the Chicago <i>Tribune</i>; Frank Mastro of the
+Chicago <i>Tribune</i>; and Pat Robinson of the <i>International
+News Service</i>.</p>
+
+<p>There are many, many others. In England, where I am as
+much at home as in my own country, I frequently reported
+international boxing matches and other events with Frank
+Butler, Tom Phillips, George Whiting, Peter Wilson, Maurice
+Smith, Harold Mayes, Lanson Wood, John Macadam,
+Ralph Hadley, Desmond Hackett, Reg Gutteridge, Joe
+Bromely, L. N. Bailey, Gerald Walter and Bill Mann.</p>
+
+<p>The Fourth Estate’s sports writers constitute a grand crew,
+doing a tremendous job in a vital department of American
+and British journalism. They are the men whose dynamic
+prose has brought pleasure to sports fans the world over.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_273">[273]</span></p>
+
+<div class="figcontainer">
+<figure class="figright illowp30" id="chapter27" style="max-width: 6.25em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/chapter27.jpg" alt="27">
+</figure>
+</div>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_27"><span class="hide">27<br></span>
+A SUMMING UP</h3>
+
+</div>
+
+<p>On June 6, 1958, I completed my thirtieth round
+trip to Europe. During my five-weeks’ tour of the continent I
+appeared on a number of radio and television programs, and,
+as has been the case on other such occasions, I was asked to
+compare ranked fighters of this era with the stars of the past.
+Queries pertaining to the respective punching powers of Jack
+Dempsey, Joe Louis and Rocky Marciano; the cleverness of
+Ray Robinson; the cause of boxing’s decline; television’s effect
+on pugilism; the International Boxing Club’s difficulties
+with the government, and the investigations into boxing in
+various parts of the United States, seemed to be of particular
+interest to my interviewers.</p>
+
+<p>Watching the passing sports parade during my many years
+as a journalist, I have been most impressed by the changes
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_274">[274]</span>that have taken place in boxing, changes which I enumerated
+in my overseas talks. There have been changes in style, and
+the brutality that predominated in pre-commission days has
+been eliminated. Boxing has spread throughout the world and
+there is no doubt that it enjoys a greater following today than
+ever before in its history.</p>
+
+<p>However, in most major sports the champions of today are
+as good, and in sports such as track and field, far superior, to
+those who ruled the roost when I covered sports as a cub reporter.
+This is definitely not so in boxing. All one need do is
+to watch some of the televised bouts that are dished out as
+main events to realize that fighting talent has gone into an
+amazing decline. It is difficult to grow ecstatic over what one
+observes nowadays as compared with the really first class
+matches of the past.</p>
+
+<p>There is at present a general lack of knowledge of the finer
+points of the game which can be attributed to the training and
+management of young fighters by incompetents. Prior to
+World War II the difficulty in ranking fighters lay in selecting
+ten from an outstanding field of possibly fifteen or more
+prominent performers. Today’s headache comes from trying to
+find a sufficient number of worthies in any division after the
+first three or four have been listed.</p>
+
+<p>The factors that make a great fighter, or even a good one,
+are the ability to deliver a crushing blow, the ability to stand
+up against punishment, and the ability to avoid punishment
+through ring cleverness. Cleverness can be developed through
+gymnasium workouts, but it requires far more than that to
+acquire the toughness and fighting spirit of the old timers,
+who, in most cases, were men who had followed a difficult
+manual trade before taking up pugilism as a livelihood.</p>
+
+<p>The trades that developed our greatest fighters were those
+which had to do with swinging a hammer, mining, or hauling
+heavy loads. Take a glance over the list of all-time greats in
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_275">[275]</span><i>The Ring Record Book</i>. There’s Bob Fitzsimmons, one of the
+few men who could bring down an opponent with a single
+shot. He developed his tremendous power and stamina by
+pounding out horse shoes on an anvil.</p>
+
+<p>Jack Dempsey, the Nonpareil, a top middleweight, was a
+cooper by trade, as was the famed Jack McAuliffe, who retired
+as undefeated lightweight king. Both developed their punching
+muscles by pounding the hoops on barrels, which in their
+day were made by hand.</p>
+
+<p>Jim Jeffries, the man whom Tex Rickard called the toughest
+of all the heavyweights, was a boilermaker by trade. The
+electric hammer had not been invented when he started working
+and the rivets were driven in by hand.</p>
+
+<p>Jack Johnson, whom I consider the best all-around man
+among the heavyweights, past and present, gained his strength
+and endurance as a stevedore lifting heavy bales of cotton on
+a Galveston wharf. Harry Wills, almost as sound physically
+today as he was in his prime, is another who developed on the
+docks of the South.</p>
+
+<p>Jack Dempsey, the Manassa Mauler, whose powerfully built
+shoulders and iron fists brought him into the million-dollar
+class of fighting men, started out in the Colorado mines. Even
+the great John L. Sullivan, a heavy drinker and a tough one
+to handle in training, did a lot of laborious work before he
+became a professional prize fighter. And though Jim Corbett
+never wielded a hammer, he spent hour upon hour, even as a
+bank clerk, in outdoor exercise.</p>
+
+<p>One cannot gain ring fame by the easy pink tea route or the
+playboy road. Many fighters learn this lesson at the price of a
+heavy shellacking, which more than likely kills their ambition
+altogether. But the fact that so many of the fine performers of
+yesterday were blacksmiths, lumbermen, stevedores, teamsters
+and piano movers is testimony to the fact that it’s the boys who
+have to battle their way to the top who make the grade.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_276">[276]</span></p>
+
+<p>The fighters themselves can’t be blamed for everything.
+Much of the responsibility for present day mediocrity lies in
+poor coaching. Men like Billy Delaney, Parson Davies, Doc
+Robb, Tom O’Rourke and Young Otto, among dozens of
+others of the old school, knew the game thoroughly. Many of
+today’s trainers know less about boxing than the lads they are
+trying to instruct. Doc Robb taught Benny Leonard to box
+when Benny was a kid, and even when Leonard was champion
+he looked to Robb to advise him on the finer points.</p>
+
+<p>Years ago, pugilism was an art and good instructors were in
+abundance. They were the “professors” who taught their
+charges proper stance before any other aspect of boxing was
+discussed. Watching today’s lads in gymnasiums both here and
+abroad, or in ring battles, one can see how little most present
+day boxers have been taught. For every top coach or trainer
+today there are a dozen or more poor ones who have no business
+in the ring looking after a fighter. Among the few who
+rate high in my book as teachers today are Whitey Bimstein,
+Jimmy August, Angelo Dundee, Bill Gore, Freddie Brown,
+Dan and Nick Florio, Izzy Kline, George Chemaris, Johnny
+Sullo, Chickie Ferrera, Charley Goldman and Doc Moore.</p>
+
+<p class="mt2">The art of boxing was at its height long before padded
+gloves took the place of bare fists. The oldest of sports, it began
+before the Christian era dawned. Boxing matches were
+fought with the cruel metal-studded cestus, one of which, discovered
+in the old ruins of Pompeii by me in 1922, now rests
+in <i>The Ring</i> Museum in Madison Square Garden.</p>
+
+<p>The cestus was abandoned as civilization advanced. Bare
+fist fighting became a leading sport in Great Britain during
+the eighteenth century, and from there it spread to America.
+It was only slightly less dangerous than the old Roman way of
+boxing and those who practiced it just had to learn how to
+protect themselves. Since necessity is the mother of invention,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_277">[277]</span>the bare knuckle warriors discovered much that continued to
+be useful after gloves were introduced. Unfortunately, much
+of this has been forgotten with the passage of years as fighters
+became less cautious of their weapons and correct hitting began
+to give way to wild swinging.</p>
+
+<p>In the bare knuckle days, a straight left was the foundation
+of ring strategy. It was not a tap to be ignored, such as one
+frequently sees today, but a punishing blow that often produced
+a knock-down. Feinting, which was best exemplified
+among gloved fighters by Jack Johnson, is for the most part a
+lost art today, as is punching with the full weight of the body
+behind the blow.</p>
+
+<p>This is not to say that all the really good fighters were of
+prehistoric vintage, for there have been some notable examples
+of distinction in recent times. There is no doubt that
+Joe Louis and Ray Robinson would have stood out in any era,
+and Rocky Marciano was as strong and courageous as any man
+who ever stepped into the roped square. But the deterioration
+of fighters in general is strikingly obvious when I consider the
+overwhelming preponderance of old-timers in my ranking of
+top ringmen from the first Marquis of Queensberry heavyweight
+championship bout between Sullivan and Corbett in
+1892 to the present.</p>
+
+<p>Leading my list of fighters whose best performances were
+given in the last sixty-six years is my favorite heavyweight,
+Jack Johnson. I rate James J. Jeffries second, and close on his
+heels are Bob Fitzsimmons, Jack Dempsey, James J. Corbett,
+Joe Louis, Sam Langford and Gene Tunney, in that order.</p>
+
+<p>Tunney was not a colorful battler, but he was a cool, mechanical
+operator who mastered the technical ends of the
+game and definitely has been a much underrated fighter. He
+proved in his two bouts with Dempsey that he was far superior
+to the rest of the heavyweight fighters during the years
+that Jack held sway.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_278">[278]</span></p>
+
+<p>Dempsey came at a time when boxing was badly in need of
+a man of his stamp. Jess Willard had lifted the crown from
+Johnson, thus ending the era of the “white hopes,” but somehow
+boxing fans could not get it into their heads that Willard
+had won the world’s title squarely. His was an empty triumph
+that thrilled nobody.</p>
+
+<p>Along came the Mauler from Manassa. Along came Tex
+Rickard. This wonderful combination of fighter and promoter
+revived the sport and resuscitated its finances, and the
+old guard suddenly discovered that the “good old days” had
+come again. Boxing was lifted into the million-dollar class.
+And Dempsey did it. He did it with his dynamic right, his
+bobbing and weaving style, his popularity with the public,
+and his ability to produce electric shocks. Those qualities
+make him the fourth greatest fighter of the modern era in my
+book.</p>
+
+<p>As for the recently retired, undefeated heavyweight champion,
+Rocky Marciano, he was a great hitter, but I’d rate Max
+Schmeling, of Germany, above him in the number nine spot.</p>
+
+<p>In the light-heavyweight class, I give the wily Kid McCoy,
+the corkscrew artist, top rating, with clever Philadelphia Jack
+O’Brien next in line, and Jack Dillon, the “Hoosier Bearcat,”
+in third place.</p>
+
+<p>Stanley Ketchel, the “Michigan Assassin,” Tommy Ryan,
+and Harry Greb, “The Pittsburgh Whirlwind,” occupy the
+top positions, respectively, among the middleweights, with
+Mickey Walker, the “Toy Bulldog,” and “Sugar” Ray Robinson
+following in that order.</p>
+
+<p>The great Joe Walcott, the “Barbados Demon,” who fought
+in four classes with considerable success, is my choice as the
+leading welterweight, while the mighty Joe Gans and Benny
+Leonard lead the lightweights. Each was a ring marvel. There
+was very little difference between the pair in cleverness and
+general ability.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_279">[279]</span></p>
+
+<p>Terry McGovern, clever Jem Driscoll, and Abe Attell, are
+the leading figures in the featherweight class, which includes
+such wonderful boxers who made ring history in this division
+as Johnny Dundee, Johnny Kilbane, Kid Chocolate, Willie
+Pep, and Young Griffo.</p>
+
+<p>The bantam division produced such memorable names as
+George Dixon (“Little Chocolate”) Pete Herman, and Kid
+Williams.</p>
+
+<p>Looking over the list of heavyweight champions from Sullivan
+to Patterson, we find that the majority of the leaders were
+fighting men who could hit. Who hit the hardest? That’s a
+matter of opinion.</p>
+
+<p>Tommy Burns, Jack Johnson, and Jess Willard were harder
+hitters than Corbett or Tunney, but of the trio, only Johnson
+possessed the cleverness and speed that distinguished these two
+master boxers.</p>
+
+<p>Johnson was a marvelous boxer with all-around ability, and
+I am not the only boxing writer to rate him as the kingpin of
+the heavyweights. However, as a powerful hitter he lacked the
+punishing effectiveness of Jeffries, Fitzsimmons, Tom Sharkey,
+Dempsey, Louis, and Marciano.</p>
+
+<p>Willard had a heavy wallop, as his fight with Bull Young,
+whom he killed in the ring at Vernon, California, in 1915, certainly
+proved. But that tragic misfortune made Big Jess extremely
+cautious in all of his subsequent battles. In his fight
+with Dempsey, after being floored seven times in the opening
+round, and battered about the ring until he was virtually helpless,
+he jarred Jack with a right to the jaw in the third round
+that almost floored him.</p>
+
+<p>Coming down to Tunney, we find in him the cleverest of all
+heavyweights from the time of Corbett. He was a master
+boxer, an excellent jabber, and extremely fast. In him, Dempsey
+faced his cleverest opponent, a boxer who, despite the
+much-discussed “long count,” whipped him decisively both in
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_280">[280]</span>Philadelphia and in Chicago. But Tunney’s inability to stop
+Dempsey when he had him at his mercy in Philadelphia was
+fair proof of his deficiencies as a puncher. He crashed his fists
+so frequently against Jack’s face that one of Dempsey’s eyes
+was partially closed in each contest, but Gene couldn’t finish
+his man. The big wallop which men like Sullivan, Jeff, Fitz
+and Dempsey were able to deliver in their heyday, was the
+missing ingredient in Tunney’s make-up.</p>
+
+<p>As for Joe Louis, there is no need to go into details about
+his hitting. He was on a par with Dempsey in that respect, but
+wasn’t as fast and couldn’t take it on the chin as could Jack.
+Joe was an exceedingly slow starter, yet one of the greatest in
+the division for setting up an opponent for the “kill.” His
+record as a heavyweight is one of the best.</p>
+
+<p>His successor as a hitter was Rocky Marciano. We cannot
+compare Rocky with Louis or Dempsey, except as a puncher.
+One thing we do know—the public loves a hard hitter, and in
+Rocky, the “Brockton Blockbuster,” it had such a champion.</p>
+
+<p>One fighter who should have become an all-time great but
+didn’t, was Max Baer. The Californian had the size, the
+strength, the ruggedness, the stamina, and as deadly a punch
+as the heavyweight class has known, but Max was too much of
+a psychological problem. His clout did carry him to the top
+of the heavyweight heap, but he didn’t remain there long. He
+was too irresponsible and undependable.</p>
+
+<p>Here is a detailed breakdown of my evaluation of the fighting
+abilities of the heavyweights under discussion here:</p>
+
+<table>
+  <tr>
+    <td>Best Boxer</td>
+    <td class="tdr">James J. Corbett</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td>Fastest</td>
+    <td class="tdr">James J. Corbett</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td>Best All-Around</td>
+    <td class="tdr">Jack Johnson</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td>Best Uppercut</td>
+    <td class="tdr">Jack Johnson</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td>Best Defensive</td>
+    <td class="tdr">Jack Johnson</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td>Best Counter Puncher</td>
+    <td class="tdr">Jack Johnson</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td>Most Crafty</td>
+    <td class="tdr">Jack Johnson<span class="pagenum" id="Page_281">[281]</span></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td>Best at Feinting</td>
+    <td class="tdr">Jack Johnson</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td>Best Left Hand Hitter</td>
+    <td class="tdr nw">James J. Jeffries</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td>Best Knockout Puncher</td>
+    <td class="tdr">Bob Fitzsimmons</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td>Best Hooker</td>
+    <td class="tdr">Bob Fitzsimmons</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td>Most Damaging Body Puncher</td>
+    <td class="tdr">Bob Fitzsimmons</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td>Best Heart Puncher</td>
+    <td class="tdr">Jack Dempsey</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td>Best at Infighting</td>
+    <td class="tdr">Jack Dempsey</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td>The Roughest</td>
+    <td class="tdr">Jack Dempsey</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td>Best combination, right to heart and left to chin</td>
+    <td class="tdr">Jack Dempsey</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td>Best Two-Hand Hitter</td>
+    <td class="tdr">Jack Dempsey</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td>Smartest Boxer</td>
+    <td class="tdr">Gene Tunney</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td>Best Jabber</td>
+    <td class="tdr">Gene Tunney</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td>Best Conditioned</td>
+    <td class="tdr">Gene Tunney</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td>Best Straight Right</td>
+    <td class="tdr">Joe Louis</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td>Best Finisher</td>
+    <td class="tdr">Joe Louis</td>
+  </tr>
+</table>
+
+<p>As for my all-time rankings in each division, they are as
+follows:</p>
+
+<p><i>Heavyweights</i></p>
+
+<ul>
+  <li>1—Jack Johnson</li>
+  <li>2—James J. Jeffries</li>
+  <li>3—Bob Fitzsimmons</li>
+  <li>4—Jack Dempsey</li>
+  <li>5—James J. Corbett</li>
+  <li>6—Joe Louis</li>
+  <li>7—Sam Langford</li>
+  <li>8—Gene Tunney</li>
+  <li>9—Max Schmeling</li>
+  <li>10—Rocky Marciano</li>
+</ul>
+
+<p><i>Middleweights</i></p>
+
+<ul>
+  <li>1—Stanley Ketchel</li>
+  <li>2—Tommy Ryan</li>
+  <li>3—Harry Greb</li>
+  <li>4—Mickey Walker</li>
+  <li>5—Ray Robinson</li>
+  <li>6—Frank Klaus</li>
+  <li>7—Billy Papke</li>
+  <li>8—Les Darcy</li>
+  <li>9—Mike Gibbons</li>
+  <li>10—Jeff Smith</li>
+</ul>
+
+<p><i>Light Heavyweights</i></p>
+
+<ul>
+  <li>1—Kid McCoy</li>
+  <li>2—Philadelphia Jack O’Brien</li>
+  <li>3—Jack Dillon</li>
+  <li>4—Tommy Loughran</li>
+  <li>5—Jack Root</li>
+  <li>6—Battling Levinsky</li>
+  <li>7—Georges Carpentier</li>
+  <li>8—Tom Gibbons</li>
+  <li>9—Jack Delaney</li>
+  <li>10—Paul Berlenbach</li>
+</ul>
+
+<p><i>Welterweights</i></p>
+
+<ul>
+  <li>1—Joe Walcott</li>
+  <li>2—Mysterious Billy Smith</li>
+  <li>3—Jack Britton</li>
+  <li>4—Ted Kid Lewis</li>
+  <li>5—Dixie Kid</li>
+  <li>6—Harry Lewis</li>
+  <li>7—Willie Lewis</li>
+  <li>8—Henry Armstrong</li>
+  <li>9—Barney Ross</li>
+  <li>10—Jimmy McLarnin</li>
+</ul>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_282">[282]</span></p>
+
+<p><i>Lightweights</i></p>
+
+<ul>
+  <li>1—Joe Gans</li>
+  <li>2—Benny Leonard</li>
+  <li>3—Owen Moran</li>
+  <li>4—Freddy Welsh</li>
+  <li>5—Battling Nelson</li>
+  <li>6—George Kid Lavigne</li>
+  <li>7—Tony Canzoneri</li>
+  <li>8—Willie Ritchie</li>
+  <li>9—Lew Tendler</li>
+  <li>10—Charley White</li>
+</ul>
+
+<p><i>Bantamweights</i></p>
+
+<ul>
+  <li>1—George Dixon</li>
+  <li>2—Pete Herman</li>
+  <li>3—Kid Williams</li>
+  <li>4—Joe Lynch</li>
+  <li>5—Bud Taylor</li>
+  <li>6—Johnny Coulon</li>
+  <li>7—Pal Moore</li>
+  <li>8—Frankie Burns</li>
+  <li>9—Eddie Campi</li>
+  <li>10—Panama Al Brown</li>
+</ul>
+
+<p><i>Featherweights</i></p>
+
+<ul>
+  <li>1—Terry McGovern</li>
+  <li>2—Jem Driscoll</li>
+  <li>3—Abe Attell</li>
+  <li>4—Johnny Dundee</li>
+  <li>5—Johnny Kilbane</li>
+  <li>6—Kid Chocolate</li>
+  <li>7—Willie Pep</li>
+  <li>8—Young Griffo</li>
+  <li>9—George K. O. Chaney</li>
+  <li>10—Louis Kid Kaplan</li>
+</ul>
+
+<p><i>Flyweights</i></p>
+
+<ul>
+  <li>1—Jimmy Wilde</li>
+  <li>2—Pancho Villa</li>
+  <li>3—Frankie Genaro</li>
+  <li>4—Fidel La Barba</li>
+  <li>5—Benny Lynch</li>
+  <li>6—Elky Clark</li>
+  <li>7—Johnny Buff</li>
+  <li>8—Midget Wolgast</li>
+  <li>9—Peter Kane</li>
+  <li>10—Pascual Perez</li>
+</ul>
+
+<p>It will take a long time, probably years after I’m gone, before
+we will thrill again to the likes of these men. I do not live
+in the past, but I do believe that the romance of the prize ring
+rests almost entirely in the years gone by.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_283">[283]</span></p>
+
+<p>There is no end to what one can recall when one attempts,
+as I have, to jot down the names of fistic heroes whose acquaintances
+I have made and whose friendships I cherished.
+The vivid anecdotes associated with their names, and the
+names of others close to boxing in my lifetime, the thrilling
+contests I’ve seen, the people I’ve met in my world travels,
+my experiences in far-off countries, have all left their special
+impression on me which I have tried to pass on to you.</p>
+
+<p>Down the years I have meandered, telling a bit about this
+and a bit about that, and with all, having as fine a time as I
+hope you have had in following my journalistic career.</p>
+
+<p>As for the future, I don’t agree with those who predict nothing
+but gloom for boxing while they lament the lost glories of
+Rickard and Dempsey, Jacobs and Louis. Studio television
+will dominate promotional efforts during the coming years
+and eliminate the fear of financial failure. There is no end to
+the fabulous returns the future holds for world championship
+matches with television wired for theater and home pay viewing
+exclusively. The receipts of the golden era of boxing will
+seem insignificant measured against what can be grossed with
+this new medium.</p>
+
+<p>I see America’s boxing monopoly broken now that the sport
+has taken a firm hold in far-off countries hitherto unseen on
+the fistic map. South America, Central America, Europe and
+Asia will crown world champions.</p>
+
+<p>Whatever the caliber of present and future talent as compared
+with olden times, the pulse-stirring excitement will still
+be there. The humor, pathos and glamour of the ring will
+never cease.</p>
+
+<p>Were I to live my life over again, there is nothing I would
+cherish more than to be a part of the boxing scene and play
+the role that has been mine during the past half century.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<figure class="figcenter illowp64" id="illus01" style="max-width: 18.75em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/illus01.jpg" alt="">
+  <figcaption>
+    <p>Stanley Ketchel, the famed “Michigan Assassin,” was
+    the most exciting fighter I have ever seen. I rate him the greatest
+    middleweight of all time and often wonder what other ring glories might
+    have been his, had he not been shot and killed by Walter Dipley at the
+    age of 24.</p>
+  </figcaption>
+</figure>
+
+<figure class="figcenter illowp100" id="illus02" style="max-width: 31.25em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/illus02.jpg" alt="">
+  <figcaption>
+    <p>Here Ketchel (left) poses with Billy Papke prior to
+    their second 1908 title fight in San Francisco. Stanley regained the
+    championship with an eleventh round knockout.</p>
+  </figcaption>
+</figure>
+
+<figure class="figcenter illowp100" id="illus03" style="max-width: 31.25em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/illus03.jpg" alt="">
+  <figcaption>
+    <p>Though not a popular champion, Jack Johnson ranks
+    as the best all-around fighter of modern times in my book. The demand
+    for his dethronement brought aging Jim Jeffries out of retirement.
+    Tex Rickard promoted the bout in Reno, July 4, 1910 and refereed it.
+    Sentiment rode with the balding Jeffries (shown above sparring for an
+    opening in an early round), but age soon told as the cat-like Johnson
+    battered him into submission. The end came in the fifteenth round (below)
+    as Sam Berger threw in the sponge and referee Rickard pushed Jack off the
+    fallen ex-champ.</p>
+  </figcaption>
+</figure>
+
+<figure class="figcenter illowp100" id="illus04" style="max-width: 31.25em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/illus04.jpg" alt="">
+</figure>
+
+<figure class="figcenter illowp100" id="illus05" style="max-width: 31.25em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/illus05.jpg" alt="">
+  <figcaption>
+    <p>Johnson’s unpopular reign as champion continued until
+    high living and Jess Willard caught up with him in Havana, June 10, 1914
+    (above). Willard’s great size and strength proved decisive as the bout
+    wore on and Jack was finally counted out in the twenty-sixth round. He
+    claimed afterwards to have taken a dive. In the picture below it appears
+    that Johnson is shading his eyes from the sun. However, such a gesture
+    is not uncommon for a beaten fighter (see photo of Billy Conn on another
+    page), and since I was present at the Havana fight, I cannot agree with
+    Johnson’s version.</p>
+  </figcaption>
+</figure>
+
+<figure class="figcenter illowp100" id="illus06" style="max-width: 31.25em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/illus06.jpg" alt="">
+</figure>
+
+<figure class="figcenter illowp57" id="illus07" style="max-width: 31.25em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/illus07.jpg" alt="">
+  <figcaption>
+    <p>Tex Rickard’s rise to greatness coincided with the
+    appearance of hobo camp brawler Jack Dempsey on the heavyweight scene.
+    Paired together by destiny, the rough, pug-nosed battler from Manassa,
+    Colorado, and the imaginative promoter personified Boxing’s Golden
+    Age.</p>
+  </figcaption>
+</figure>
+
+<figure class="figcenter illowp100" id="illus08" style="max-width: 31.25em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/illus08.jpg" alt="">
+  <figcaption>
+    <p>Dempsey had been nothing more than a rugged in-and-out
+    slugger until he fell into the hands of Jack Kearns (white cap, above),
+    who groomed him for the title meeting with Willard at Toledo, July 4,
+    1919. Jack gained fistic immortality with an explosive three-round
+    knockout victory. The beating that Jess suffered was so severe as to seem
+    impossible to administer with only padded gloves. The false rumors that
+    Jack’s gloves were “loaded” with plaster of Paris persist until this day.
+    Jimmy Deforest (standing next to Dempsey), who bandaged Jack’s hands,
+    denied the story. Below we see Willard down for the seventh time in the
+    opening round.</p>
+  </figcaption>
+</figure>
+
+<figure class="figcenter illowp100" id="illus09" style="max-width: 31.25em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/illus09.jpg" alt="">
+</figure>
+
+<figure class="figcenter illowp100" id="illus10" style="max-width: 31.25em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/illus10.jpg" alt="">
+  <figcaption>
+    <p>Above is the architect’s sketch for a new Madison
+    Square Garden which Dinty Scanlon had drawn up and which appeared with
+    my exclusive story in the <i>New York Telegram</i>, May 22, 1923. We
+    submitted it to Tex Rickard the following day. Tex feigned disinterest,
+    calling our proposal impractical. However, he used our idea to get
+    financial backing for the building of his own Garden, as is indicated
+    by his architect’s drawing (below) which was not submitted to the press
+    until more than a year later.</p>
+  </figcaption>
+</figure>
+
+<figure class="figcenter illowp100" id="illus11" style="max-width: 31.25em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/illus11.jpg" alt="">
+</figure>
+
+<figure class="figcenter illowp100" id="illus12" style="max-width: 31.25em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/illus12.jpg" alt="">
+  <figcaption>
+    <p>For breath-taking excitement, the Dempsey-Luis Firpo
+    title fight at the Polo Grounds, September 14, 1923, was the wildest
+    I have ever witnessed. In the picture above, Jack, who was down
+    twice himself—once completely out of the ring—stands over the fallen
+    challenger. Though as courageous as any man I’ve ever seen, the mammoth
+    Firpo was finally knocked senseless and the fight ended with his tenth
+    knock-down at 1:12 of the second round. Luis was floored seven times in
+    the first round and twice in the second before the knockout punch was
+    delivered.</p>
+  </figcaption>
+</figure>
+
+<figure class="figcenter illowp100" id="illus13" style="max-width: 31.25em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/illus13.jpg" alt="">
+</figure>
+
+<figure class="figcenter illowp100" id="illus14" style="max-width: 31.25em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/illus14.jpg" alt="">
+  <figcaption>
+    <p>Dempsey’s dominance of the heavyweight division was
+    brought to an end by handsome ex-Marine Gene Tunney, who took the title
+    with a ten round decision in Philadelphia, September 23, 1926. Jack’s
+    defeat stunned the entire sporting world. Rematched before 104,000 in
+    Chicago’s Soldier’s Field, September 22, 1927, Dempsey flashed his old
+    time fury in flooring Gene in the seventh round (above). The long count
+    resulting from his delay in going to a neutral corner (below) remains a
+    subject for debate until this day, for Gene regained his feet, and his
+    senses, and went on to victory.</p>
+  </figcaption>
+</figure>
+
+<figure class="figcenter illowp92" id="illus15" style="max-width: 25.0em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/illus15.jpg" alt="">
+</figure>
+
+<figure class="figcenter illowp100" id="illus16" style="max-width: 31.25em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/illus16.jpg" alt="">
+  <figcaption>
+    <p>One of the more colorful fighters of the 1920s was
+    the unschooled primitive, Battling Siki, who somehow managed to swarm
+    over Georges Carpentier to win the light heavyweight championship of the
+    world, September 24, 1922.</p>
+  </figcaption>
+</figure>
+
+<figure class="figcenter illowp100" id="illus17" style="max-width: 31.25em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/illus17.jpg" alt="">
+  <figcaption>
+    <p>Here is one of the greatest arrays of fistic talent
+    ever assembled for an evening of boxing. Shown at the weigh-in for the
+    Milk Fund Show at Yankee Stadium, June 26, 1924, are (l. to r.) Harry
+    Greb, Tommy Loughran, Young Stribling, Sandy Seifer, Ted Moore, Gene
+    Tunney, Ermino Spalla, Dan Lieber and Panama Joe Gans.</p>
+  </figcaption>
+</figure>
+
+<figure class="figcenter illowp100" id="illus18" style="max-width: 31.25em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/illus18.jpg" alt="">
+  <figcaption>
+    <p>Rickard’s death in 1929 closed as exciting an era as
+    the fight game has ever known. Though marred by depression, the decade
+    that followed was almost as eventful, with shrewd Mike Jacobs the heir to
+    Tex’s promotional mantle. I negotiated Mike’s first title fight between
+    Henry Armstrong and Petey Sarron (above) at Madison Square Garden,
+    October 29, 1937. Jacobs’ meal ticket was Detroit “Brown Bomber” Joe
+    Louis (below), who ruled the heavyweights from 1937 to his retirement in
+    1949.</p>
+  </figcaption>
+</figure>
+
+<figure class="figcenter illowp100" id="illus19" style="max-width: 31.25em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/illus19.jpg" alt="">
+</figure>
+
+<figure class="figcenter illowp100" id="illus20" style="max-width: 31.25em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/illus20.jpg" alt="">
+  <figcaption>
+    <p>Joe’s first title defense saw him gain a fifteen-round
+    decision over the Welshman Tommy Farr in the Yankee Stadium in New York
+    City, August 30, 1937. Farr earned the respect of the American sporting
+    crowd, but he never would have gotten the match had it not been for my
+    trans-Atlantic telephone negotiations in Jacobs’ behalf.</p>
+  </figcaption>
+</figure>
+
+<figure class="figcenter illowp100" id="illus21" style="max-width: 31.25em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/illus21.jpg" alt="">
+  <figcaption>
+    <p>A devastating puncher with either hand, Louis was one
+    of the greatest finishers the ring has ever seen. His destruction of Max
+    Schmeling in 2:04 of the first round of their meeting, June 22, 1938, at
+    Yankee Stadium is often compared with the carnage wrought by Dempsey at
+    Toledo.</p>
+  </figcaption>
+</figure>
+
+<figure class="figcenter illowp62" id="illus22" style="max-width: 31.25em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/illus22.jpg" alt="">
+  <figcaption>
+    <p>Jacobs had to wait five years to rematch Louis with
+    Irish Billy Conn after their sensational 1941 meeting. This $100 a
+    ringside seat offering saw a heavier and not so daring Conn fall beneath
+    Louis’ fists in the eighth round at Yankee Stadium, June 19, 1946. Conn
+    is shading his eyes as did Jack Johnson in his bout with Willard.</p>
+  </figcaption>
+</figure>
+
+<figure class="figcenter illowp100" id="illus23" style="max-width: 31.25em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/illus23.jpg" alt="">
+  <figcaption>
+    <p>Joe retired in 1949, but financial difficulties forced
+    him to return to the ring wars in 1950. He lost a fifteen round decision
+    to then champion Ezzard Charles, but managed to campaign successfully
+    among the other challengers until hard punching Rocky Marciano belted him
+    into permanent retirement with an eighth round kayo at Madison Square
+    Garden, October 26, 1951.</p>
+  </figcaption>
+</figure>
+
+<figure class="figcenter illowp100" id="illus24" style="max-width: 31.25em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/illus24.jpg" alt="">
+  <figcaption>
+    <p>This shot of me in a familiar ringside setting was made
+    for a fight sequence in Rocky Graziano’s 1957 film biography, “Somebody
+    Up There Likes Me.” Also shown with me are some of my longstanding
+    pals among the fight scribes: (l. to r.) the late Jim Jennings of the
+    <i>Mirror</i>, the late Caswell Adams of the <i>Journal-American</i> and
+    Joe Nichols of the <i>Times</i>.</p>
+  </figcaption>
+</figure>
+
+<figure class="figcenter illowp92" id="illus25" style="max-width: 25.0em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/illus25.jpg" alt="">
+  <figcaption>
+    <p>My work has taken me around the world several
+    times through the years. The picture above shows part of the crowd
+    of 69,962 that sat in the huge Bangkok stadium to watch the Chamrern
+    Songkitrat-Robert Cohen bantamweight championship match on September 19,
+    1954, despite a terrific downpour that lasted until the main event was
+    about to get under way. Cohen, shown (left) in an early exchange below,
+    won the title by decision. I am proud to have been associated in the
+    negotiations for the battle and to have acted as judge.</p>
+  </figcaption>
+</figure>
+
+<figure class="figcenter illowp100" id="illus26" style="max-width: 31.25em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/illus26.jpg" alt="">
+</figure>
+
+<figure class="figcenter illowp100" id="illus27" style="max-width: 31.25em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/illus27.jpg" alt="">
+  <figcaption>
+    <p>Here bantam king Cohen and myself greet New York State
+    Athletic Commissioner Julius Helfand upon his arrival in Paris for a
+    meeting of the World Boxing Championship Committee in 1955.</p>
+  </figcaption>
+</figure>
+
+<figure class="figcenter illowp100" id="illus28" style="max-width: 31.25em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/illus28.jpg" alt="">
+  <figcaption>
+    <p>This picture of my 1958 visit with Cuban Sports
+    Commissioner, General Fernandez y Miranda, caused me considerable
+    embarrassment when it appeared as part of a <i>Life</i> Magazine feature
+    article on gambling and gangsterism in Cuba. A long time sports friend,
+    Miranda is also a Batista relative and in <i>Life</i> was alleged to have
+    interests in slot machines.</p>
+  </figcaption>
+</figure>
+
+<figure class="figcenter illowp100" id="illus29" style="max-width: 31.25em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/illus29.jpg" alt="">
+  <figcaption>
+    <p>Here I am chatting with my life-long friend, Dan
+    Daniel, at <i>The Ring</i> offices. Dan and I have shared many an
+    exciting moment through my more than fifty years of sports writing.</p>
+  </figcaption>
+</figure>
+
+<figure class="figcenter illowp100" id="illus30" style="max-width: 31.25em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/illus30.jpg" alt="">
+  <figcaption>
+    <p>This is part of the Boxing Hall of Fame, which I
+    organized in 1954 to commemorate the many truly great fighters of days
+    gone by. Those of modern times are selected by the votes of a panel of
+    more than 100 of the leading sports writers of the world. To be elected,
+    a fighter must receive at least 75 percent of the total votes cast. The
+    old timers are chosen by a panel of twenty veterans who have covered the
+    sports field for forty or more years.</p>
+  </figcaption>
+</figure>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_284">[284]</span></p>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="Books_by_Nat_Fleischer">Books by Nat Fleischer</h2>
+
+</div>
+
+<p class="noindent"><i>History</i></p>
+
+<ul>
+  <li><span class="smcap">The Heavyweight Champions</span></li>
+  <li><span class="smcap">From Milo to Londos</span>—<i>The History of Wrestling from 2000 B.C.</i></li>
+  <li><span class="smcap">Black Dynamite</span>—<i>A Five-Volume History of the Negro Race in Boxing</i></li>
+  <li><span class="smcap">The Ring Record Book and Encyclopedia</span>—<i>14 Volumes</i></li>
+</ul>
+
+<p class="noindent"><i>Biography</i></p>
+
+<ul>
+  <li><span class="smcap">Reckless Lady</span>—<i>The Life Story of Adah Isaacs Menken and her Husband, John C. Heenan</i></li>
+  <li><span class="smcap">John L. Sullivan</span>—<i>The Champion of Champions</i></li>
+  <li><span class="smcap">Gentleman Jim</span>—<i>The Life Story of James J. Corbett</i></li>
+  <li><span class="smcap">Terrible Terry</span>—<i>The Brooklyn Terror</i></li>
+  <li><span class="smcap">Young Griffo</span>—<i>Will O’ the Wisp of the Ring</i></li>
+  <li><span class="smcap">Stanley Ketchel</span>—<i>The Michigan Assassin</i></li>
+  <li><span class="smcap">Jack McAuliffe</span>—<i>The Napoleon of the Prize Ring</i></li>
+  <li><span class="smcap">Leonard the Magnificent</span></li>
+  <li><span class="smcap">Jack Dempsey</span>—<i>The Idol of Fistiana</i></li>
+  <li><span class="smcap">Gene Tunney</span>—<i>The Enigma of the Prize Ring</i></li>
+  <li><span class="smcap">Max Baer</span>—<i>The Glamour Boy</i></li>
+  <li><span class="smcap">The Joe Louis Legend</span></li>
+</ul>
+
+<p class="noindent"><i>Instruction</i></p>
+
+<ul>
+  <li><span class="smcap">Commando Stuff</span></li>
+  <li><span class="smcap">Modern Wrestling</span></li>
+  <li><span class="smcap">Training for Boxers</span></li>
+  <li><span class="smcap">How to Box</span></li>
+  <li><span class="smcap">How to Judge and Referee a Fight</span></li>
+  <li><span class="smcap">Blocking, Hitting and Other Methods of Self-defense</span></li>
+</ul>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_285">[285]</span></p>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="INDEX">INDEX</h2>
+
+</div>
+
+<ul>
+
+<li class="ifrst">Abrams, Al, <a href="#Page_271">271</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Abramson, Jesse, <a href="#Page_270">270</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Adam Hats, <a href="#Page_144">144-146</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Ade, George, <a href="#Page_269">269</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Adulyadej, King Bhumibol, <a href="#Page_5">5-6</a>, <a href="#Page_230">230</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Akoose, Paul, <a href="#Page_33">33</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Albany Hotel (New York City), <a href="#Page_110">110</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Albertanti, Francis, <a href="#Page_17">17</a>, <a href="#Page_47">47</a>, <a href="#Page_246">246</a>, <a href="#Page_264">264-265</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Alberts, Jim, <a href="#Page_33">33</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Alger, Horatio, <a href="#Page_55">55-56</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Allen, Stonewall, <a href="#Page_192">192-193</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Almy, “Doc,” <a href="#Page_59">59</a>, <a href="#Page_60">60</a>, <a href="#Page_270">270</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Ambers, Lou, <a href="#Page_143">143</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Anderson, Andre, <a href="#Page_188">188-189</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Archibald, Joey, <a href="#Page_218">218-221</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Armstrong, Henry, <a href="#Page_141">141-143</a>, <a href="#Page_282">282</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Arnst, Dick, <a href="#Page_237">237</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Associated Press, <a href="#Page_14">14</a>, <a href="#Page_15">15</a>, <a href="#Page_154">154</a>, <a href="#Page_269">269</a>, <a href="#Page_271">271</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Astor, John Jacob, <a href="#Page_16">16</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Atlantic Gardens, <a href="#Page_168">168</a>, <a href="#Page_190">190</a>, <a href="#Page_192">192</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Attell, Abe, <a href="#Page_171">171</a>, <a href="#Page_256">256</a>, <a href="#Page_279">279</a>, <a href="#Page_282">282</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">August, Jimmy, <a href="#Page_276">276</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Austin, Sam, <a href="#Page_253">253</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Azua, Ernesto, <a href="#Page_222">222</a></li>
+
+<li class="ifrst">Backer, George, <a href="#Page_102">102-103</a>, <a href="#Page_105">105</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Baer, Max, <a href="#Page_147">147</a>, <a href="#Page_280">280</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Bagley, Jim, <a href="#Page_269">269</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Bailey, L. N., <a href="#Page_272">272</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Baker, Police Commissioner, <a href="#Page_110">110</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Bald, Cannonball Eddie, <a href="#Page_32">32</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Baltimore <i>Sun</i>, <a href="#Page_271">271</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Bang, Ed, <a href="#Page_271">271</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx" id="Barbour">Barbour, W. Warren, <a href="#Page_55">55-62</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Barbour, Colonel William, <a href="#Page_56">56</a>, <a href="#Page_58">58</a>, <a href="#Page_61">61</a>, <a href="#Page_62">62</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Baron Wilkes’ Hotel (New York City), <a href="#Page_76">76</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Barrick, Constant, <a href="#Page_136">136</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Barton, George, <a href="#Page_271">271</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Batista, Gen. Fulgencio, <a href="#Page_222">222</a>, <a href="#Page_223">223</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Battling Norfolk, <a href="#Page_94">94</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Battling Siki, <i>see</i> <a href="#Siki">Siki, Battling</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Baxter, Harry, <a href="#Page_217">217</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Beall, Fred, <a href="#Page_187">187</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Becker, Charles, <a href="#Page_49">49</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Bedell, Joe, <a href="#Page_164">164</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Bedell, Johnny, <a href="#Page_33">33</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Bedell, Menus, <a href="#Page_33">33</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Bendigo, <a href="#Page_182">182</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Bennison, Ben, <a href="#Page_268">268</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Berlenbach, Paul, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>, <a href="#Page_92">92-93</a>, <a href="#Page_256">256</a>, <a href="#Page_257">257</a>, <a href="#Page_281">281</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Bernaugh, Peter, <a href="#Page_17">17</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Biltmore Hotel (New York City), <a href="#Page_111">111</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Bimstein, Whitey, <a href="#Page_276">276</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Black, Julian, <a href="#Page_141">141</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Black Colossus, <i>see</i> <a href="#Johnson">Johnson, Jack</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Bloom, Phil, <a href="#Page_195">195</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Bloomfield, Jack, <a href="#Page_194">194</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Bonhag, George, <a href="#Page_33">33-34</a>, <a href="#Page_43">43-44</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_286">[286]</span>Borden, Eddie, <a href="#Page_246">246</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx"><i>Boston Post</i>, <a href="#Page_59">59</a>, <a href="#Page_270">270</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Bothner, George, <a href="#Page_187">187</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Boyle’s Thirty Acres, <a href="#Page_119">119</a>, <a href="#Page_200">200</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Boys’ Club (New York City), <a href="#Page_7">7</a>, <a href="#Page_10">10</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Brace Memorial School, <a href="#Page_7">7</a>, <a href="#Page_8">8</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Braddock, James J., <a href="#Page_6">6</a>, <a href="#Page_140">140</a>, <a href="#Page_147">147-149</a>, <a href="#Page_153">153</a>, <a href="#Page_155">155</a>,
+    <a href="#Page_158">158</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Bradley, Hugh, <a href="#Page_268">268</a>, <a href="#Page_271">271</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Brady, William A., <a href="#Page_32">32</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Breitenstraetter, Hans, <a href="#Page_135">135</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Brennan, Bill, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>, <a href="#Page_202">202</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Brenner, I. C., <a href="#Page_247">247-248</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Britt, Jimmy, <a href="#Page_259">259</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Britton, Jack, <a href="#Page_185">185</a>, <a href="#Page_281">281</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Brix, Lou, <a href="#Page_217">217</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Broadribb, Ted, <a href="#Page_147">147-154</a>, <a href="#Page_157">157</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Broadway Club (Brooklyn), <a href="#Page_185">185</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Brocco, <a href="#Page_33">33</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Broderick, Johnny, <a href="#Page_37">37</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Bromberg, Lester, <a href="#Page_270">270</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Bromely, Joe, <a href="#Page_272">272</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Bronx Home News, <a href="#Page_271">271</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Brougham, Royal, <a href="#Page_271">271</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Brown, Freddie, <a href="#Page_276">276</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Brown, Joey, <a href="#Page_224">224</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Brown, K. O., <a href="#Page_180">180-184</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Brown, Major, <a href="#Page_26">26</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Brown, Natie, <a href="#Page_140">140-141</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Brown, Ned, <a href="#Page_221">221</a>, <a href="#Page_246">246</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Brown, Panama Al, <a href="#Page_282">282</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Brown, Warren, <a href="#Page_263">263</a>, <a href="#Page_271">271</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Browning, Jim, <a href="#Page_187">187</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Brown’s Gymnasium, <a href="#Page_168">168</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Buck, Al, <a href="#Page_271">271</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Buelow, Arthur, <a href="#Page_127">127-134</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Buff, Johnny, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>, <a href="#Page_282">282</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Burke, Jem, <a href="#Page_182">182</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Burke, Joe, <a href="#Page_60">60-61</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Burke, Sailor, <a href="#Page_195">195-196</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Burns, Frankie, <a href="#Page_201">201</a>, <a href="#Page_282">282</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Burns, Tommy, <a href="#Page_77">77</a>, <a href="#Page_279">279</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Butler, Frank, <a href="#Page_272">272</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Butler, James, <a href="#Page_268">268</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Butler, Tom, <a href="#Page_32">32</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Butt, Captain Archibald, <a href="#Page_16">16</a></li>
+
+<li class="ifrst">Cameron, Ruth, <i>see</i> <a href="#Johnson_Mrs">Johnson, Mrs. Jack</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Camp, Walter, <a href="#Page_249">249</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Camp Greenleaf (Chattanooga), <a href="#Page_27">27</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Campi, Eddie, <a href="#Page_282">282</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Cannon, Jimmy, <a href="#Page_261">261</a>, <a href="#Page_271">271</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Canzoneri, Tony, <a href="#Page_193">193</a>, <a href="#Page_282">282</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Capone, Al, <a href="#Page_46">46</a>, <a href="#Page_47">47-49</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Capone, Mrs. Al, <a href="#Page_48">48</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Carbo, Frankie, <a href="#Page_46">46</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Carey, Bill, <a href="#Page_262">262</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Carmichael, Johnny, <a href="#Page_271">271</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Carnera, Primo, <a href="#Page_189">189</a>, <a href="#Page_260">260</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx"><i>Carpathia</i>, <a href="#Page_16">16</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx" id="Carpentier">Carpentier, Georges, <a href="#Page_90">90</a>, <a href="#Page_91">91</a>, <a href="#Page_93">93</a>, <a href="#Page_119">119-121</a>, <a href="#Page_125">125</a>,
+    <a href="#Page_135">135</a>, <a href="#Page_202">202</a>, <a href="#Page_257">257</a>, <a href="#Page_281">281</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Carroll, Dink, <a href="#Page_271">271</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Carruthers, Jimmy, <a href="#Page_225">225-229</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Castro, Fidel, <a href="#Page_223">223</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Catholic Youth Movement, <a href="#Page_175">175</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Chaney, George K. O., <a href="#Page_282">282</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Charles, Ezzard, <a href="#Page_4">4</a>, <a href="#Page_204">204</a>, <a href="#Page_270">270</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Chavez, Simon, <a href="#Page_218">218-221</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Chemaris, George, <a href="#Page_276">276</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Chicago <i>American</i>, <a href="#Page_265">265</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Chicago <i>Chronicle</i>, <a href="#Page_265">265</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Chicago <i>Tribune</i>, <a href="#Page_48">48</a>, <a href="#Page_260">260</a>, <a href="#Page_270">270</a>, <a href="#Page_272">272</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Chip, George, <a href="#Page_184">184</a>, <a href="#Page_236">236</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Choynski, Joe, <a href="#Page_256">256</a>, <a href="#Page_257">257</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Christodora House, <a href="#Page_7">7</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Cifuentas, Armando Garcia, <a href="#Page_223">223</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Cincinnati <i>Enquirer</i>, <a href="#Page_268">268</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">City College (New York City), <a href="#Page_8">8</a>, <a href="#Page_10">10</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Clabby, Jimmy, <a href="#Page_236">236</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Clark, Elky, <a href="#Page_282">282</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Clarke, Jackie, <a href="#Page_33">33</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Cleveland, Grover, <a href="#Page_12">12</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Cleveland, Harry, <a href="#Page_268">268</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Cleveland <i>News</i>, <a href="#Page_271">271</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Cleveland <i>Press</i>, <a href="#Page_271">271</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Coe, Bill, <a href="#Page_34">34</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_287">[287]</span>Coffey, Jim, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>, <a href="#Page_188">188</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Coffroth, Jim, <a href="#Page_111">111</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Cohen, Robert, <a href="#Page_229">229-230</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Cohn, Harvey, <a href="#Page_34">34</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Conifrey, Frankie, <a href="#Page_168">168</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Conn, Billy, <a href="#Page_251">251</a>, <a href="#Page_264">264-265</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Considine, Bob, <a href="#Page_271">271</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Cooper, Jack, <a href="#Page_24">24</a>, <a href="#Page_58">58</a>, <a href="#Page_59">59</a>, <a href="#Page_258">258</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Copeland, Al, <a href="#Page_17">17</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Corbett, James J., <a href="#Page_6">6</a>, <a href="#Page_28">28</a>, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>, <a href="#Page_58">58</a>, <a href="#Page_154">154</a>, <a href="#Page_166">166</a>,
+    <a href="#Page_171">171</a>, <a href="#Page_176">176</a>, <a href="#Page_199">199</a>, <a href="#Page_204">204</a>, <a href="#Page_253">253-254</a>, <a href="#Page_256">256</a>,
+    <a href="#Page_257">257</a>, <a href="#Page_275">275</a>, <a href="#Page_277">277</a>, <a href="#Page_279">279</a>, <a href="#Page_280">280</a>, <a href="#Page_281">281</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Corbett, Young, <a href="#Page_257">257</a>, <a href="#Page_259">259</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Corum, Bill, <a href="#Page_270">270</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Coulon, Johnny, <a href="#Page_200">200-201</a>, <a href="#Page_282">282</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Coultry, Frank, <a href="#Page_103">103</a>, <a href="#Page_247">247-248</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Critchley, General, <a href="#Page_148">148-149</a>, <a href="#Page_152">152</a>, <a href="#Page_153">153</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Cross, Harry, <a href="#Page_246">246</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Cross, Leach, <a href="#Page_9">9-10</a>, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>, <a href="#Page_163">163-168</a>, <a href="#Page_183">183</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Cuba, <a href="#Page_218">218</a>, <a href="#Page_221">221-224</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Cuddy, Jack, <a href="#Page_271">271</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Cunningham, Bill, <a href="#Page_271">271</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Curley, Jack, <a href="#Page_83">83</a>, <a href="#Page_135">135-137</a>, <a href="#Page_187">187</a>, <a href="#Page_260">260</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Curtin, Johnny, <a href="#Page_194">194</a></li>
+
+<li class="ifrst">Dale, Grover, <a href="#Page_9">9</a>, <a href="#Page_10">10</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Daley, Arthur, <a href="#Page_271">271</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Daley, George, <a href="#Page_246">246</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Daly, John, <a href="#Page_34">34</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Daniel, Daniel M., <a href="#Page_17">17</a>, <a href="#Page_38">38-41</a>, <a href="#Page_43">43-44</a>, <a href="#Page_270">270</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Daniels, Gypsy, <a href="#Page_131">131</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Darcy, Les, <a href="#Page_236">236</a>, <a href="#Page_282">282</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Dartmouth College, <a href="#Page_33">33</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Dartnell, Fred, <a href="#Page_268">268</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Davies, Parson, <a href="#Page_276">276</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Davis, George, <a href="#Page_271">271</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Davis, “One Round,” <a href="#Page_197">197</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Dawson, James P., <a href="#Page_122">122</a>, <a href="#Page_158">158</a>, <a href="#Page_270">270</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Deforest, Jimmy, <a href="#Page_118">118</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Delaney, Billy, <a href="#Page_257">257</a>, <a href="#Page_276">276</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Delaney, High Police Commissioner, <a href="#Page_229">229</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Delaney, Jack, <a href="#Page_256">256</a>, <a href="#Page_257">257</a>, <a href="#Page_281">281</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Dempsey, Jack (heavyweight), <a href="#Page_4">4</a>, <a href="#Page_6">6</a>, <a href="#Page_28">28</a>, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>, <a href="#Page_57">57</a>,
+    <a href="#Page_64">64</a>, <a href="#Page_78">78</a>, <a href="#Page_84">84</a>, <a href="#Page_112">112-124</a>, <a href="#Page_125">125</a>, <a href="#Page_140">140</a>, <a href="#Page_171">171</a>,
+    <a href="#Page_174">174</a>, <a href="#Page_176">176</a>, <a href="#Page_191">191</a>, <a href="#Page_201">201</a>, <a href="#Page_202">202-203</a>, <a href="#Page_221">221</a>,
+    <a href="#Page_226">226</a>, <a href="#Page_249">249</a>, <a href="#Page_250">250</a>, <a href="#Page_254">254</a>, <a href="#Page_257">257</a>, <a href="#Page_263">263</a>,
+    <a href="#Page_273">273</a>, <a href="#Page_277">277-280</a>, <a href="#Page_281">281</a>, <a href="#Page_283">283</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Dempsey, Jack (the Nonpareil), <a href="#Page_268">268</a>, <a href="#Page_275">275</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Des Moines <i>Register</i>, <a href="#Page_271">271</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Descamps, François, <a href="#Page_135">135-137</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Detroit <i>Free Press</i>, <a href="#Page_261">261</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Dexter Pavilion (Chicago), <a href="#Page_266">266</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Diamond, Robert, <a href="#Page_229">229-230</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Diekmann, Max, <a href="#Page_130">130</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Diener, Franz, <a href="#Page_131">131</a>, <a href="#Page_136">136-137</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Dillon, Jack, <a href="#Page_278">278</a>, <a href="#Page_281">281</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Dipley, Walter, <a href="#Page_74">74</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Dixie Kid, <a href="#Page_195">195</a>, <a href="#Page_282">282</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Dixon, George, <a href="#Page_28">28</a>, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>, <a href="#Page_57">57</a>, <a href="#Page_256">256</a>, <a href="#Page_257">257</a>, <a href="#Page_279">279</a>,
+    <a href="#Page_282">282</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Doesserick, Charley, <a href="#Page_194">194</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Dolan’s restaurant (New York City), <a href="#Page_29">29-30</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Domgoergen, Hein, <a href="#Page_131">131</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Donovan, Mike, <a href="#Page_23">23</a>, <a href="#Page_24">24</a>, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>, <a href="#Page_258">258</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Dorgan, John (Ike), <a href="#Page_103">103</a>, <a href="#Page_104">104</a>, <a href="#Page_132">132-133</a>, <a href="#Page_247">247-248</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Dorgan, Tad, <a href="#Page_70">70</a>, <a href="#Page_112">112</a>, <a href="#Page_247">247</a>, <a href="#Page_252">252-260</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Drew, John, <a href="#Page_34">34</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Driscoll, Boyo, <a href="#Page_197">197</a>, <a href="#Page_198">198</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Driscoll, Jem, <a href="#Page_155">155</a>, <a href="#Page_171">171</a>, <a href="#Page_253">253</a>, <a href="#Page_279">279</a>, <a href="#Page_282">282</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Dry Dock Club, <a href="#Page_50">50</a>, <a href="#Page_168">168</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Duke family, <a href="#Page_212">212</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Duffy, Arthur, <a href="#Page_34">34</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Dundee, Angelo, <a href="#Page_276">276</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Dundee, Johnny, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>, <a href="#Page_279">279</a>, <a href="#Page_282">282</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Dunkley, Charley, <a href="#Page_271">271</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Durborrow, Louis, <a href="#Page_37">37-38</a></li>
+
+<li class="ifrst">Echevarria, Orlando, <a href="#Page_224">224</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Edgren, Bob, <a href="#Page_34">34</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Egan, Dave, <a href="#Page_271">271</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Egan, Pierce, <a href="#Page_28">28</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Eighteenth Amendment, <a href="#Page_46">46</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Einstein, Izzy, <a href="#Page_50">50</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_288">[288]</span>Elks, Harry, <a href="#Page_32">32</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Empire Athletic Club, <a href="#Page_168">168</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Erickson, Egon, <a href="#Page_40">40-41</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Erne, Frank, <a href="#Page_256">256</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Ertle, Johnny Kewpie, <a href="#Page_169">169</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Erwin, Jimmy, <a href="#Page_142">142</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Escobar, Sixto, <a href="#Page_216">216</a>, <a href="#Page_217">217</a>, <a href="#Page_221">221</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Esparza, Nava, <a href="#Page_190">190</a></li>
+
+<li class="ifrst">Fairchild Newspapers, <a href="#Page_214">214</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Fairmont Athletic Club, <a href="#Page_168">168</a>, <a href="#Page_195">195</a>, <a href="#Page_197">197</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Fangio, <a href="#Page_223">223</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Farnsworth, Bill, <a href="#Page_140">140</a>, <a href="#Page_143">143</a>, <a href="#Page_145">145</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Farr, Tommy, <a href="#Page_146">146-155</a>, <a href="#Page_157">157</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Ferguson, Elmer, <a href="#Page_271">271</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Ferrera, Chickie, <a href="#Page_276">276</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Firpo, Luis, <a href="#Page_4">4</a>, <a href="#Page_78">78</a>, <a href="#Page_121">121-124</a>, <a href="#Page_125">125</a>, <a href="#Page_172">172</a>,
+    <a href="#Page_202">202-203</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Fiss, Doerr, and Carroll’s Horse Mart, <a href="#Page_67">67</a>, <a href="#Page_186">186</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Fitzgerald, Willie, <a href="#Page_257">257</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Fitzsimmons, Bob, <a href="#Page_24">24</a>, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>, <a href="#Page_172">172-173</a>, <a href="#Page_176">176</a>, <a href="#Page_203">203-204</a>,
+    <a href="#Page_206">206-207</a>, <a href="#Page_236">236-241</a>, <a href="#Page_256">256</a>, <a href="#Page_257">257</a>, <a href="#Page_275">275</a>, <a href="#Page_277">277</a>,
+    <a href="#Page_279">279</a>, <a href="#Page_280">280</a>, <a href="#Page_281">281</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Fitzsimmons, Catherine, <a href="#Page_239">239</a>, <a href="#Page_240">240</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Fitzsimmons, Jack, <a href="#Page_239">239-240</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Fitzsimmons, Jarrett, <a href="#Page_238">238</a>, <a href="#Page_240">240</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Fitzsimmons, Rose, <a href="#Page_203">203-204</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Fitzsimmons family, <a href="#Page_235">235-241</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Flaherty, Martin, <a href="#Page_79">79</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Fleischer, Harold, <a href="#Page_133">133</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Fleischer, Jack, <a href="#Page_156">156</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Fleischer, Joan, <a href="#Page_231">231</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Fleischer, Mark, <a href="#Page_8">8</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Fleischer, Trudie, <a href="#Page_126">126</a>, <a href="#Page_135">135</a>, <a href="#Page_262">262</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Fleischer family, <a href="#Page_8">8</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Florio, Dan, <a href="#Page_276">276</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Florio, Nick, <a href="#Page_276">276</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Flowers, Tiger, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>, <a href="#Page_206">206</a>, <a href="#Page_249">249</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Flynn, Jim, <a href="#Page_84">84</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Flynn, Porky, <a href="#Page_70">70-71</a>, <a href="#Page_188">188</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Fogler, Joe, <a href="#Page_33">33</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Foley, Larry, <a href="#Page_239">239</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Foster, Ed, <a href="#Page_154">154</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Foster, Judge, <a href="#Page_42">42-43</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Fox, Richard K., <a href="#Page_267">267</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Fox family, <a href="#Page_267">267</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Fraley, Oscar, <a href="#Page_271">271</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Fralick, Dr., <a href="#Page_132">132</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Franco, Gen. Francisco, <a href="#Page_137">137</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Frank, Dago, <a href="#Page_49">49</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Frawley, Senator, <a href="#Page_246">246</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Frawley Law, <a href="#Page_49">49</a>, <a href="#Page_163">163</a>, <a href="#Page_190">190</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Frayne, Ed, <a href="#Page_140">140</a>, <a href="#Page_145">145</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Frazee, Harry, <a href="#Page_83">83</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Fried, Jack, <a href="#Page_271">271</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Friel, Ed, <a href="#Page_272">272</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Frohman, Charles, <a href="#Page_16">16</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Fullerton, Hugh, <a href="#Page_253">253</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Fulton, Fred, <a href="#Page_113">113</a>, <a href="#Page_202">202</a>, <a href="#Page_257">257</a></li>
+
+<li class="ifrst">Galiani, Eddie, <a href="#Page_214">214</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Gallico, Paul, <a href="#Page_47">47</a>, <a href="#Page_48">48</a>, <a href="#Page_270">270</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Gans, Joe, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>, <a href="#Page_166">166</a>, <a href="#Page_254">254</a>, <a href="#Page_256">256</a>, <a href="#Page_257">257</a>, <a href="#Page_278">278</a>,
+    <a href="#Page_282">282</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Genaro, Frankie, <a href="#Page_282">282</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">George, W. G., <a href="#Page_33">33</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Gibbons, Mike, <a href="#Page_169">169</a>, <a href="#Page_195">195</a>, <a href="#Page_282">282</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Gibbons, Tom, <a href="#Page_281">281</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Gibson, Billy, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>, <a href="#Page_179">179</a>, <a href="#Page_188">188</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Gibson, Truman, <a href="#Page_223">223</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Goethals, Major General George, <a href="#Page_212">212-213</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Goldberg, Hy, <a href="#Page_272">272</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Goldberg, Rube, <a href="#Page_254">254</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Goldman, Charley, <a href="#Page_276">276</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Goldstein, Ruby, <a href="#Page_164">164</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Goodman, Murray, <a href="#Page_271">271</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Gordon, Lady Duff, <a href="#Page_16">16</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Gordon, Joe, <a href="#Page_10">10</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Gore, Bill, <a href="#Page_276">276</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Goss, Joe, <a href="#Page_266">266-267</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Gotch, Frank, <a href="#Page_187">187</a>, <a href="#Page_266">266</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Gould, Mrs. Jay, <a href="#Page_10">10</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Gould, Joe, <a href="#Page_148">148</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Goulett, Al, <a href="#Page_33">33</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Graham, Frank, <a href="#Page_270">270</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Grayson, Harry, <a href="#Page_271">271</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_289">[289]</span>Greb, Harry, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>, <a href="#Page_186">186</a>, <a href="#Page_206">206</a>, <a href="#Page_249">249</a>,
+    <a href="#Page_278">278</a>, <a href="#Page_281">281</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Gregory, L. H., <a href="#Page_272">272</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Grenda, Al, <a href="#Page_33">33</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Grieve, Curley, <a href="#Page_272">272</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Griffin, Hank, <a href="#Page_78">78</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Griffo, Young, <a href="#Page_279">279</a>, <a href="#Page_282">282</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Grim, Joe, <a href="#Page_172">172-173</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Grody, Ray, <a href="#Page_272">272</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Grosvenor, Walter, <a href="#Page_9">9</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Guerrero, Gus, <a href="#Page_33">33</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Gulick, Dr. Luther Halsey, <a href="#Page_8">8</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Gutteridge, Reg, <a href="#Page_272">272</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Gyp the Blood, <a href="#Page_49">49</a></li>
+
+<li class="ifrst">Hackenschmidt, George, <a href="#Page_187">187</a>, <a href="#Page_265">265-266</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Hackett, Desmond, <a href="#Page_272">272</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Hadley, Ralph, <a href="#Page_272">272</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Hale, Teddy, <a href="#Page_32">32</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Haley, Referee Patsy, <a href="#Page_186">186</a>, <a href="#Page_203">203</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Hall, Captain, <a href="#Page_26">26</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Hammond, John, <a href="#Page_103">103</a>, <a href="#Page_104">104</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Hand, Jack, <a href="#Page_271">271</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Hannigan, Steve, <a href="#Page_47">47</a>, <a href="#Page_262">262</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Hanson, Knute, <a href="#Page_137">137</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Harlem Hospital, <a href="#Page_169">169</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Harriman, Mrs. Oliver, <a href="#Page_10">10</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Harris, Sam, <a href="#Page_205">205</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Hartford <i>Courant</i>, <a href="#Page_271">271</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Harvard University, <a href="#Page_21">21</a>, <a href="#Page_23">23</a>, <a href="#Page_24">24</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Harvey, Charley, <a href="#Page_165">165</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Haucap, Referee, <a href="#Page_180">180</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Hawkins, Dal, <a href="#Page_257">257</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Hayes, Johnny, <a href="#Page_20">20</a>, <a href="#Page_33">33</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Heeney, Tom, <a href="#Page_137">137</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Hegelman, Pete, <a href="#Page_33">33</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Henie, Sonja, <a href="#Page_100">100</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Henneberry, Bill, <a href="#Page_228">228</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Hennessey, John, <a href="#Page_16">16</a>, <a href="#Page_50">50-51</a>, <a href="#Page_213">213</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Henry, O., <a href="#Page_32">32</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Herman, Babe, <a href="#Page_194">194</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Herman, Pete, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>, <a href="#Page_279">279</a>, <a href="#Page_282">282</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Herrera, Aurelia, <a href="#Page_205">205</a>, <a href="#Page_257">257</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Herse, Otto, <a href="#Page_129">129</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Hillman, Harry, <a href="#Page_33">33</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Hippodrome (New York City), <a href="#Page_140">140</a>, <a href="#Page_143">143-145</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Hirschfield, Harry, <a href="#Page_271">271</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Hitler, Adolf, <a href="#Page_237">237</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Hoff, Boo Boo, <a href="#Page_46">46</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Holly, Dave, <a href="#Page_205">205</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Horton Law, repeal of the, <a href="#Page_6">6</a>, <a href="#Page_45">45</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Howard, Phocian, <a href="#Page_57">57</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Howard, Roy, <a href="#Page_18">18</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Howard Athletic Club, <a href="#Page_169">169</a>, <a href="#Page_192">192</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Hoyt, Richard F., <a href="#Page_106">106</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Hughes, Ed, <a href="#Page_193">193-194</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Hulls, Syd, <a href="#Page_148">148-153</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Humphreys, Joe, <a href="#Page_205">205</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Hurst, Norman, <a href="#Page_268">268</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Hurst, Tim, <a href="#Page_36">36</a>, <a href="#Page_69">69</a></li>
+
+<li class="ifrst">Igoe, Hype, <a href="#Page_66">66</a>, <a href="#Page_70">70</a>, <a href="#Page_72">72</a>, <a href="#Page_81">81</a>, <a href="#Page_158">158</a>, <a href="#Page_254">254</a>,
+    <a href="#Page_270">270</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx"><i>Illustrated News</i>, <a href="#Page_261">261</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">International Boxing Club, <a href="#Page_218">218</a>, <a href="#Page_223">223</a>, <a href="#Page_271">271</a>, <a href="#Page_273">273</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">International News Service, <a href="#Page_272">272</a></li>
+
+<li class="ifrst">“Jack’s” (New York restaurant), <a href="#Page_254">254-255</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Jackson, Peter, <a href="#Page_205">205</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Jacobs, Joe, <a href="#Page_133">133-134</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Jacobs, Mike, <a href="#Page_6">6</a>, <a href="#Page_105">105-107</a>, <a href="#Page_119">119</a>, <a href="#Page_120">120-121</a>, <a href="#Page_135">135</a>,
+    <a href="#Page_138">138-159</a>, <a href="#Page_251">251</a>, <a href="#Page_264">264-265</a>, <a href="#Page_283">283</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Jeannette, Joe, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>, <a href="#Page_78">78</a>, <a href="#Page_205">205</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Jeffries, James J., <a href="#Page_32">32</a>, <a href="#Page_58">58</a>, <a href="#Page_59">59</a>, <a href="#Page_75">75</a>, <a href="#Page_77">77-78</a>, <a href="#Page_84">84</a>,
+    <a href="#Page_109">109-110</a>, <a href="#Page_111">111</a>, <a href="#Page_176">176</a>, <a href="#Page_202">202</a>, <a href="#Page_203">203-204</a>, <a href="#Page_206">206-207</a>,
+    <a href="#Page_253">253</a>, <a href="#Page_254">254</a>, <a href="#Page_255">255</a>, <a href="#Page_256">256</a>, <a href="#Page_257">257</a>, <a href="#Page_259">259</a>,
+    <a href="#Page_275">275</a>, <a href="#Page_277">277</a>, <a href="#Page_279">279</a>, <a href="#Page_281">281</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Jeffries, Mrs. James J., <a href="#Page_112">112</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Jenkins, <a href="#Page_187">187</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Jennings, Jim, <a href="#Page_270">270-271</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx"><i>Jewish Forward</i>, <a href="#Page_166">166</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Joh, Billy, <a href="#Page_189">189</a>, <a href="#Page_191">191</a>, <a href="#Page_196">196-197</a>, <a href="#Page_198">198</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx" id="Johnson"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_290">[290]</span>Johnson, Jack, <a href="#Page_56">56-59</a>, <a href="#Page_75">75-89</a>, <a href="#Page_109">109-110</a>, <a href="#Page_111">111</a>,
+    <a href="#Page_136">136</a>, <a href="#Page_141">141</a>, <a href="#Page_171">171</a>, <a href="#Page_176">176</a>, <a href="#Page_199">199</a>, <a href="#Page_205">205</a>,
+    <a href="#Page_253">253</a>, <a href="#Page_254">254</a>, <a href="#Page_255">255</a>, <a href="#Page_256">256</a>, <a href="#Page_257">257</a>, <a href="#Page_259">259</a>,
+    <a href="#Page_275">275</a>, <a href="#Page_277">277</a>, <a href="#Page_278">278</a>, <a href="#Page_279">279</a>, <a href="#Page_280">280</a>, <a href="#Page_281">281</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx" id="Johnson_Mrs">Johnson, Mrs. Jack, <a href="#Page_76">76</a>, <a href="#Page_77">77</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Johnson, John Lester, <a href="#Page_191">191-192</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Johnston, Jimmy, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>, <a href="#Page_134">134</a>, <a href="#Page_260">260</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Jones, Horace, <a href="#Page_136">136</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Jones, Jersey, <a href="#Page_270">270</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Jones, John Paul, <a href="#Page_34">34</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Joyce, John, <a href="#Page_34">34</a></li>
+
+<li class="ifrst">Kane, Peter, <a href="#Page_282">282</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Kaplan, Louis Kid, <a href="#Page_250">250</a>, <a href="#Page_282">282</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Kase, Max, <a href="#Page_271">271</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Kaufman, Al, <a href="#Page_84">84</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Kearns, Jack, <a href="#Page_114">114</a>, <a href="#Page_118">118-119</a>, <a href="#Page_173">173</a>, <a href="#Page_194">194</a>, <a href="#Page_202">202</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Kearns, Soldier, <a href="#Page_197">197</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Keck, Harry, <a href="#Page_271">271</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Keefe, Bill, <a href="#Page_271">271</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Keener, Sid, <a href="#Page_271">271</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Kellerman, Annette, <a href="#Page_37">37</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Kelly, Judge, <a href="#Page_70">70</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Kelly, Tom, <a href="#Page_198">198</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Kennedy, Bill, <a href="#Page_32">32</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Kessler, Gene, <a href="#Page_271">271</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx" id="Ketchel">Ketchel, Stanley, <a href="#Page_63">63-74</a>, <a href="#Page_186">186</a>, <a href="#Page_254">254</a>, <a href="#Page_255">255</a>, <a href="#Page_257">257</a>,
+    <a href="#Page_278">278</a>, <a href="#Page_281">281</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Keyes, Bert, <a href="#Page_257">257</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Kid Chocolate, <a href="#Page_279">279</a>, <a href="#Page_282">282</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Kilbane, Johnny, <a href="#Page_279">279</a>, <a href="#Page_282">282</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">King, Harry, <a href="#Page_17">17</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Kiviat, Abel, <a href="#Page_33">33</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Klaus, Frank, <a href="#Page_282">282</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Kline, Izzy, <a href="#Page_276">276</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Kofoed, Jack, <a href="#Page_271">271</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Kottman, Dr., <a href="#Page_11">11</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Kullavanijya, Brig. Gen. Pichai, <a href="#Page_225">225</a>, <a href="#Page_232">232</a></li>
+
+<li class="ifrst">La Barba, Fidel, <a href="#Page_282">282</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Laing, Jack, <a href="#Page_271">271</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Langford, Sam, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>, <a href="#Page_78">78-80</a>, <a href="#Page_171">171</a>, <a href="#Page_190">190-192</a>, <a href="#Page_205">205</a>,
+    <a href="#Page_277">277</a>, <a href="#Page_281">281</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Lanigan, Ernie, <a href="#Page_11">11</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Lavigne, George Kid, <a href="#Page_256">256</a>, <a href="#Page_282">282</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Lee, Bill, <a href="#Page_271">271</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Leon, Benny, <a href="#Page_169">169</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Leon, Casper, <a href="#Page_169">169</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Leon, Jack, <a href="#Page_169">169</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Leonard, Benny, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>, <a href="#Page_164">164</a>, <a href="#Page_166">166</a>, <a href="#Page_167">167</a>, <a href="#Page_168">168</a>,
+    <a href="#Page_171">171</a>, <a href="#Page_177">177-180</a>, <a href="#Page_195">195</a>, <a href="#Page_199">199</a>, <a href="#Page_200">200</a>, <a href="#Page_249">249</a>,
+    <a href="#Page_250">250</a>, <a href="#Page_276">276</a>, <a href="#Page_278">278</a>, <a href="#Page_282">282</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Levinsky, Battling, <a href="#Page_188">188</a>, <a href="#Page_281">281</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Levy, Papa, <a href="#Page_94">94</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Lewin, Murray, <a href="#Page_47">47</a>, <a href="#Page_158">158</a>, <a href="#Page_271">271</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Lewis, Ed Strangler, <a href="#Page_187">187</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Lewis, Harry, <a href="#Page_195">195</a>, <a href="#Page_282">282</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Lewis, Ted Kid, <a href="#Page_185">185</a>, <a href="#Page_281">281</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Lewis, Whitey, <a href="#Page_49">49</a>, <a href="#Page_271">271</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Lewis, Willie, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>, <a href="#Page_71">71-72</a>, <a href="#Page_185">185</a>, <a href="#Page_195">195-196</a>, <a href="#Page_282">282</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Lieb, Frederick G., <a href="#Page_11">11</a>, <a href="#Page_17">17</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx"><i>Life</i> Magazine, <a href="#Page_222">222</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Littleton, Happy, <a href="#Page_194">194</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Littlewood, <a href="#Page_33">33</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Ljungstrom, Gusta, <a href="#Page_33">33</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Lomski, Leo, <a href="#Page_186">186-187</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">London, Jack, <a href="#Page_258">258-259</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Londos, Jim, <a href="#Page_187">187</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Long, Tom, <a href="#Page_21">21</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Long Island Bowl, <a href="#Page_173">173</a>, <a href="#Page_186">186</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Longacre Club, <a href="#Page_168">168</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Longboat, Tom, <a href="#Page_33">33</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Losada, Jess, <a href="#Page_218">218</a>, <a href="#Page_220">220</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Los Angeles <i>Examiner</i>, <a href="#Page_265">265</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Loubet, Nathaniel R., <a href="#Page_248">248</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Loughran, Tommy, <a href="#Page_147">147</a>, <a href="#Page_185">185</a>, <a href="#Page_186">186-187</a>, <a href="#Page_202">202</a>, <a href="#Page_281">281</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Louis, Joe, <a href="#Page_4">4</a>, <a href="#Page_6">6</a>, <a href="#Page_80">80-81</a>, <a href="#Page_140">140-141</a>, <a href="#Page_146">146-155</a>,
+    <a href="#Page_158">158</a>, <a href="#Page_171">171</a>, <a href="#Page_174">174</a>, <a href="#Page_176">176</a>, <a href="#Page_265">265</a>, <a href="#Page_273">273</a>,
+    <a href="#Page_277">277</a>, <a href="#Page_279">279</a>, <a href="#Page_280">280</a>, <a href="#Page_281">281</a>, <a href="#Page_283">283</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Louis, Lefty, <a href="#Page_49">49</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Lovelock, Jack, <a href="#Page_237">237</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Luchow’s Restaurant (New York City), <a href="#Page_72">72</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Lumley, Arthur, <a href="#Page_261">261</a>, <a href="#Page_266">266</a>, <a href="#Page_267">267</a>, <a href="#Page_268">268</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Lustig, Elias, <a href="#Page_144">144</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_291">[291]</span>Lynch, Benny, <a href="#Page_282">282</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Lynch, Joe, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>, <a href="#Page_282">282</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Lyons, Dan, <a href="#Page_122">122</a></li>
+
+<li class="ifrst">Macadam, John, <a href="#Page_272">272</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Mace, Jem, <a href="#Page_239">239</a>, <a href="#Page_240">240</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">MacFadden, Bernarr, <a href="#Page_248">248</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Mackey, Biz, <a href="#Page_197">197</a>, <a href="#Page_198">198</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Madden, Frankie, <a href="#Page_49">49</a>, <a href="#Page_164">164-165</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Madden, Owney, <a href="#Page_46">46</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Madison Square Garden, <a href="#Page_8">8</a>, <a href="#Page_30">30-37</a>, <a href="#Page_99">99-107</a>, <a href="#Page_108">108</a>, <a href="#Page_110">110</a>,
+    <a href="#Page_111">111</a>, <a href="#Page_121">121</a>, <a href="#Page_127">127</a>, <a href="#Page_132">132</a>, <a href="#Page_137">137</a>, <a href="#Page_138">138</a>,
+    <a href="#Page_140">140</a>, <a href="#Page_141">141</a>, <a href="#Page_148">148</a>, <a href="#Page_174">174</a>, <a href="#Page_178">178</a>, <a href="#Page_180">180</a>,
+    <a href="#Page_185">185</a>, <a href="#Page_186">186</a>, <a href="#Page_187">187</a>, <a href="#Page_189">189</a>, <a href="#Page_193">193</a>, <a href="#Page_200">200</a>,
+    <a href="#Page_222">222</a>, <a href="#Page_241">241</a>, <a href="#Page_245">245</a>, <a href="#Page_246">246</a>, <a href="#Page_250">250</a>, <a href="#Page_256">256</a>,
+    <a href="#Page_260">260</a>, <a href="#Page_263">263</a>, <a href="#Page_276">276</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Madison Square Garden Corporation, <a href="#Page_47">47</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Maher, Peter, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>, <a href="#Page_257">257</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Maher, Robert, <a href="#Page_214">214</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Mandell, Sammy, <a href="#Page_250">250</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Mandot, Joe, <a href="#Page_167">167</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Manhattan Casino, <a href="#Page_166">166</a>, <a href="#Page_168">168</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Manhattan Railway Company, <a href="#Page_101">101</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Mann, Bill, <a href="#Page_272">272</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Marciano, Rocky, <a href="#Page_4">4</a>, <a href="#Page_171">171</a>, <a href="#Page_176">176</a>, <a href="#Page_204">204</a>, <a href="#Page_218">218</a>,
+    <a href="#Page_273">273</a>, <a href="#Page_277">277</a>, <a href="#Page_278">278</a>, <a href="#Page_279">279</a>, <a href="#Page_280">280</a>, <a href="#Page_281">281</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Marianao (Oriente) Race Track (Cuba), <a href="#Page_83">83</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Markson, Harry, <a href="#Page_271">271</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Martin, Cannonball Eddie, <a href="#Page_250">250</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Martin, Denver Ed, <a href="#Page_78">78</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Martin, Plugger Bill, <a href="#Page_32">32</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Masterson, Bat, <a href="#Page_246">246</a>, <a href="#Page_253">253</a>, <a href="#Page_266">266</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Mastro, Frank, <a href="#Page_272">272</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Mathison, Charles F., <a href="#Page_11">11</a>, <a href="#Page_17">17</a>, <a href="#Page_246">246</a>, <a href="#Page_253">253</a>, <a href="#Page_260">260</a>,
+    <a href="#Page_261">261</a>, <a href="#Page_266">266</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Maxim, Joey, <a href="#Page_204">204</a>, <a href="#Page_270">270</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Mayer, Judge Julius, <a href="#Page_101">101-106</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Mayes, Harold, <a href="#Page_272">272</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">McArdle, Tom, <a href="#Page_250">250</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">McAuliffe, Jack, <a href="#Page_28">28</a>, <a href="#Page_185">185</a>, <a href="#Page_256">256</a>, <a href="#Page_268">268</a>, <a href="#Page_275">275</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">McAvoy, Jock, <a href="#Page_174">174</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">McAvoy, Johnny, <a href="#Page_193">193</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">McBeth, Bill, <a href="#Page_246">246</a>, <a href="#Page_260">260</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">McCarney, Billy, <a href="#Page_133">133</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">McCarty, Luther, <a href="#Page_36">36-37</a>, <a href="#Page_82">82</a>, <a href="#Page_83">83</a>, <a href="#Page_265">265</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">McCarty, Tom, <a href="#Page_188">188</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">McConachy, Clark, <a href="#Page_237">237</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">McCormack, Macon, <a href="#Page_253">253</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">McCoy, Al, <a href="#Page_185">185</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">McCoy, Kid, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>, <a href="#Page_118">118</a>, <a href="#Page_257">257</a>, <a href="#Page_281">281</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">McCue, Marty, <a href="#Page_247">247</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">McDonald, Pat, <a href="#Page_34">34</a>, <a href="#Page_92">92</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">McDonell, Leo, <a href="#Page_271">271</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">McFarland, Floyd, <a href="#Page_33">33</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">McFarland, Packey, <a href="#Page_174">174-175</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">McGarry, Mike, <a href="#Page_192">192</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">McGeehan, Bill, <a href="#Page_115">115</a>, <a href="#Page_246">246</a>, <a href="#Page_253">253</a>, <a href="#Page_254">254</a>, <a href="#Page_259">259-263</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">McGinn, Joe, <a href="#Page_269">269</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">McGoogan, Bill, <a href="#Page_271">271</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">McGoorty, Eddie, <a href="#Page_236">236</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">McGovern, Hughie, <a href="#Page_169">169-170</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">McGovern, Phil, <a href="#Page_169">169-170</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">McGovern, Terry, <a href="#Page_8">8</a>, <a href="#Page_9">9</a>, <a href="#Page_166">166</a>, <a href="#Page_169">169-170</a>, <a href="#Page_205">205-206</a>,
+    <a href="#Page_279">279</a>, <a href="#Page_282">282</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">McGrath, Matt, <a href="#Page_34">34</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">McGuinness, James K., <a href="#Page_17">17</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">McKenna, Betsy, <a href="#Page_235">235</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">McKettrick, Dan, <a href="#Page_258">258</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">McLaglen, Victor, <a href="#Page_189">189-190</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">McLarnin, Jimmy, <a href="#Page_185">185</a>, <a href="#Page_186">186</a>, <a href="#Page_193">193</a>, <a href="#Page_282">282</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">McLaughlin, Wurra Wurra, <a href="#Page_246">246</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">McLean, Bobby, <a href="#Page_100">100</a>, <a href="#Page_102">102</a>, <a href="#Page_105">105</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">McMahon, Jess, <a href="#Page_133">133</a>, <a href="#Page_134">134</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">McNamee, Graham, <a href="#Page_262">262</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">McPartland, Kid, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>, <a href="#Page_195">195</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">McTigue, Mike, <a href="#Page_91">91</a>, <a href="#Page_185">185</a>, <a href="#Page_186">186</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">McVey, Sam, <a href="#Page_78">78</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Mead, Eddie, <a href="#Page_142">142</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Meadows, Fred, <a href="#Page_33">33</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Mechanics Building (Boston), <a href="#Page_59">59</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Mellor, Sammy, <a href="#Page_33">33</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Mendez, Arturo, <a href="#Page_219">219</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Mendez, Miguel, <a href="#Page_219">219</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Mercer, Sid, <a href="#Page_47">47</a>, <a href="#Page_262">262</a>, <a href="#Page_263">263</a>, <a href="#Page_264">264</a>, <a href="#Page_270">270</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Meredith, Ted, <a href="#Page_34">34</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Merenghi, Tony, <a href="#Page_272">272</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_292">[292]</span>Merriwell, Frank, <a href="#Page_56">56</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Miami <i>Herald</i>, <a href="#Page_271">271</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Michaels, Bobby, <a href="#Page_32">32</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Michigan Assassin, <i>see</i> <a href="#Ketchel">Ketchel, Stanley</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Miley, Jack, <a href="#Page_158">158</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Military Athletic League, <a href="#Page_43">43</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Millard, Joe, <a href="#Page_17">17</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Miller, Freddie, <a href="#Page_142">142</a>, <a href="#Page_143">143</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">“Millionaire Kid,” <i>see</i> <a href="#Barbour">Barbour, W. Warren</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Milwaukee <i>Sentinel</i>, <a href="#Page_272">272</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Minneapolis <i>Tribune</i>, <a href="#Page_271">271</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Miranda, General Fernandez y, <a href="#Page_221">221-223</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Miske, Billy, <a href="#Page_257">257</a>, <a href="#Page_263">263</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Mitchell, Charley, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>, <a href="#Page_147">147</a>, <a href="#Page_150">150</a>, <a href="#Page_154">154</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Mitchell, Big Jim, <a href="#Page_36">36</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Mitchell, Richie, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>, <a href="#Page_178">178-180</a>, <a href="#Page_200">200</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Mizner, Wilson, <a href="#Page_70">70</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Monte, Joe, <a href="#Page_132">132</a>, <a href="#Page_133">133</a>, <a href="#Page_135">135</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Montreal <i>Gazette</i>, <a href="#Page_271">271</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Montreal <i>Herald</i>, <a href="#Page_271">271</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Moore, Doc, <a href="#Page_276">276</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Moore, Pal, <a href="#Page_282">282</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Mora, General, <a href="#Page_232">232</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Moran, Frank, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>, <a href="#Page_84">84</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Moran, Owen, <a href="#Page_155">155</a>, <a href="#Page_282">282</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Morgan, “Dumb” Dan, <a href="#Page_182">182-184</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Morgan, Kayo, <a href="#Page_216">216</a>, <a href="#Page_217">217</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Morrissey, John, <a href="#Page_46">46</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx"><i>Morning Telegraph</i>, <a href="#Page_102">102</a>, <a href="#Page_261">261-262</a>, <a href="#Page_270">270</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Morris, Carl, <a href="#Page_83">83</a>, <a href="#Page_202">202</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Mott Haven Athletic Club, <a href="#Page_40">40</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Muldoon, William, <a href="#Page_122">122-123</a>, <a href="#Page_187">187</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Mulhare, Hughey, <a href="#Page_17">17</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Mullins, Paddy, <a href="#Page_60">60</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Muller, Eddie, <a href="#Page_272">272</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Mulvihill, Joe, <a href="#Page_119">119</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx"><i>Mundo, El</i>, <a href="#Page_83">83</a>, <a href="#Page_217">217</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Munsey, Frank A., <a href="#Page_17">17</a>, <a href="#Page_247">247</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Murphy, Billy, <a href="#Page_257">257</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Murphy, Bob, <a href="#Page_271">271</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Murphy, Harlem Tommy, <a href="#Page_185">185</a>, <a href="#Page_200">200</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Murray Hill Hotel (New York City), <a href="#Page_16">16</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Myers, Lon, <a href="#Page_33">33</a></li>
+
+<li class="ifrst">Naegeli’s Hotel (Hoboken, N.J.), <a href="#Page_110">110</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Nagler, Barney, <a href="#Page_270">270</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">National Boxing Association, <a href="#Page_154">154</a>, <a href="#Page_156">156</a>, <a href="#Page_229">229</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">National Sporting Club (New York City), <a href="#Page_71">71</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Naughton, Bill, <a href="#Page_253">253</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Neil, Frankie, <a href="#Page_257">257</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Nelson, Battling, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>, <a href="#Page_180">180</a>, <a href="#Page_253">253</a>, <a href="#Page_256">256</a>, <a href="#Page_259">259</a>,
+    <a href="#Page_282">282</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Neusel, Walter, <a href="#Page_146">146</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">New Orleans <i>Item</i>, <a href="#Page_271">271</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">New York <i>American</i>, <a href="#Page_145">145</a>, <a href="#Page_271">271</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">New York <i>Daily Mirror</i>, <a href="#Page_270">270</a>, <a href="#Page_271">271</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">New York <i>Daily News</i>, <a href="#Page_48">48</a>, <a href="#Page_270">270</a>, <a href="#Page_271">271</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">New York <i>Evening Sun</i>, <a href="#Page_214">214</a>, <a href="#Page_266">266</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">New York <i>Globe</i>, <a href="#Page_122">122</a>, <a href="#Page_261">261</a>, <a href="#Page_270">270</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">New York <i>Herald</i>, <a href="#Page_14">14</a>, <a href="#Page_38">38</a>, <a href="#Page_44">44</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">New York <i>Herald Tribune</i>, <a href="#Page_259">259</a>, <a href="#Page_270">270</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">New York <i>Journal</i>, <a href="#Page_81">81</a>, <a href="#Page_145">145</a>, <a href="#Page_270">270</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">New York <i>Journal American</i>, <a href="#Page_270">270</a>, <a href="#Page_271">271</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">New York Life Insurance Company, <a href="#Page_100">100-101</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">New York <i>Mail-Telegram</i>, <a href="#Page_17">17</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">New York <i>Morning Herald</i>, <a href="#Page_17">17</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">New York <i>Morning Sun</i>, <a href="#Page_17">17</a>, <a href="#Page_23">23</a>, <a href="#Page_27">27</a>, <a href="#Page_28">28</a>, <a href="#Page_36">36</a>,
+    <a href="#Page_214">214</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">New York <i>Post</i>, <a href="#Page_271">271</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">New York <i>Press</i>, <a href="#Page_10">10</a>, <a href="#Page_11">11</a>, <a href="#Page_14">14-17</a>, <a href="#Page_22">22</a>, <a href="#Page_35">35</a>,
+    <a href="#Page_37">37</a>, <a href="#Page_40">40</a>, <a href="#Page_44">44</a>, <a href="#Page_49">49</a>, <a href="#Page_212">212</a>, <a href="#Page_213">213</a>, <a href="#Page_247">247</a>,
+    <a href="#Page_261">261</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">New York <i>Sun</i>, <a href="#Page_261">261</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">New York <i>Sun Press</i>, <a href="#Page_17">17</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">New York <i>Telegram</i>, <a href="#Page_17">17</a>, <a href="#Page_38">38</a>, <a href="#Page_100">100</a>, <a href="#Page_101">101</a>, <a href="#Page_102">102</a>,
+    <a href="#Page_125">125</a>, <a href="#Page_126">126</a>, <a href="#Page_135">135</a>, <a href="#Page_214">214</a>, <a href="#Page_247">247</a>, <a href="#Page_261">261</a>,
+    <a href="#Page_264">264</a>, <a href="#Page_265">265</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">New York <i>Times</i>, <a href="#Page_122">122</a>, <a href="#Page_213">213</a>, <a href="#Page_270">270</a>, <a href="#Page_271">271</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">New York <i>Tribune</i>, <a href="#Page_14">14</a>, <a href="#Page_38">38</a>, <a href="#Page_263">263</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">New York University, <a href="#Page_10">10</a>, <a href="#Page_11">11</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">New York <i>World</i>, <a href="#Page_14">14</a>, <a href="#Page_66">66</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_293">[293]</span>New York <i>World-Telegram</i>, <a href="#Page_260">260</a>, <a href="#Page_270">270</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">New Zealand, <a href="#Page_235">235-240</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">New Zealand Sports Association, <a href="#Page_235">235</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Newark <i>Evening News</i>, <a href="#Page_272">272</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Newark <i>News</i>, <a href="#Page_272">272</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Newark <i>Star Ledger</i>, <a href="#Page_272">272</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Newman, Billy, <a href="#Page_139">139</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Newspapermen’s Military Corps, <a href="#Page_25">25-26</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Nichols, Joe, <a href="#Page_271">271</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Norfolk, Kid, <a href="#Page_249">249</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Norris, Jim, <a href="#Page_264">264</a></li>
+
+<li class="ifrst">O’Ben, Frank, <a href="#Page_20">20</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx" id="OBrien">O’Brien, Jack, <a href="#Page_67">67-70</a>, <a href="#Page_84">84</a>, <a href="#Page_185">185</a>, <a href="#Page_186">186</a>, <a href="#Page_278">278</a>,
+    <a href="#Page_281">281</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">O’Connor, Jerry, <a href="#Page_40">40-41</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">O’Donnell, Steve, <a href="#Page_23">23-24</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">O’Dowd, Mike, <a href="#Page_185">185</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">O’Grady, Martin, <a href="#Page_137">137</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Old Sports Writers’ Association, <a href="#Page_269">269</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">O’Leary, Dan, <a href="#Page_33">33</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Olin, Bob, <a href="#Page_147">147</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">O’Neil, Ike, <a href="#Page_117">117</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Orbeta, Police Chief, <a href="#Page_216">216</a>, <a href="#Page_218">218</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Orchid Kid, <i>see</i> <a href="#Carpentier">Carpentier, Georges</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Oregon Athletic Club, <a href="#Page_9">9</a>, <a href="#Page_10">10</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Oriente Park Race Track (Marianao, Cuba), <a href="#Page_83">83</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">O’Reilly, Nan, <a href="#Page_17">17</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">O’Rourke, Tex, <a href="#Page_83">83-89</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">O’Rourke, Tom, <a href="#Page_71">71</a>, <a href="#Page_182">182</a>, <a href="#Page_205">205</a>, <a href="#Page_276">276</a></li>
+
+<li class="ifrst">Pace, Ishmael, <a href="#Page_131">131</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Palmer, Pedlar, <a href="#Page_8">8</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Palzer, Al, <a href="#Page_32">32</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Panama, <a href="#Page_212">212-215</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Panama <i>Herald</i>, <a href="#Page_215">215</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Papke, Billy, <a href="#Page_63">63</a>, <a href="#Page_71">71</a>, <a href="#Page_195">195</a>, <a href="#Page_236">236</a>, <a href="#Page_282">282</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Parker, Dan, <a href="#Page_261">261</a>, <a href="#Page_270">270</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Parsons, Mr., <a href="#Page_156">156-157</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Patterson, Floyd, <a href="#Page_57">57</a>, <a href="#Page_58">58</a>, <a href="#Page_171">171</a>, <a href="#Page_279">279</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Payne, Emory, <a href="#Page_59">59-60</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Pecord, Ollie, <a href="#Page_114">114-117</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Pegler, Westbrook, <a href="#Page_47">47-49</a>, <a href="#Page_260">260</a>, <a href="#Page_270">270</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Pelkey, Arthur, <a href="#Page_36">36</a>, <a href="#Page_82">82</a>, <a href="#Page_83">83</a>, <a href="#Page_265">265</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Pennsylvania, University of, <a href="#Page_33">33</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Pep, Willie, <a href="#Page_279">279</a>, <a href="#Page_282">282</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Perez, Pascual, <a href="#Page_282">282</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Perry’s “drug store” (New York City), <a href="#Page_30">30</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Pershing, General John, <a href="#Page_26">26</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">“Pete the Goat,” <i>see</i> <a href="#Stone">Stone, Pete</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Petrolle, Billy, <a href="#Page_185">185</a>, <a href="#Page_186">186</a>, <a href="#Page_253">253</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Phal, Louis, <i>see</i> <a href="#Siki">Siki, Battling</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Phao Sriyanonda, General, <a href="#Page_229">229</a>, <a href="#Page_231">231</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Phar Lap (race horse), <a href="#Page_237">237</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Philadelphia <i>Bulletin</i>, <a href="#Page_271">271</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Philadelphia Jack, <i>see</i> <a href="#OBrien">O’Brien, Jack</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Phillips, Dad, <a href="#Page_79">79</a>, <a href="#Page_80">80</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Phillips, Tom, <a href="#Page_272">272</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Pietri, Dorando, <a href="#Page_20">20</a>, <a href="#Page_33">33</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Pilates, Joseph, <a href="#Page_127">127-128</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Pilgrim, Paul, <a href="#Page_34">34</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Pippin, Roger, <a href="#Page_271">271</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Pitinoff, Rose, <a href="#Page_38">38-40</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Pittsburgh <i>Post-Gazette</i>, <a href="#Page_271">271</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Pittsburgh <i>Sun-Telegraph</i>, <a href="#Page_271">271</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Plattsburg Citizens’ Training Camp, <a href="#Page_26">26</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Plimmer, Billy, <a href="#Page_32">32</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx"><i>Police Gazette</i>, <a href="#Page_266">266</a>, <a href="#Page_267">267-268</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Pollock, Harry, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>, <a href="#Page_258">258</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Polo Grounds, <a href="#Page_246">246</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Poole, Bill, <a href="#Page_46">46</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Portland <i>Oregonian</i>, <a href="#Page_272">272</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Pottowatomie Giant, <i>see</i> <a href="#Willard">Willard, Jess</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Povich, Shirley, <a href="#Page_272">272</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Powers, Jimmy, <a href="#Page_271">271</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Powers, Pat, <a href="#Page_32">32</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Pratt, Donald, <a href="#Page_214">214</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Pratt Institute, <a href="#Page_10">10</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Price, James R., <a href="#Page_11">11</a>, <a href="#Page_14">14</a>, <a href="#Page_17">17</a>, <a href="#Page_83">83</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Public Schools Athletic League, <a href="#Page_8">8</a>, <a href="#Page_11">11-12</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Puerto Rico, <a href="#Page_215">215-218</a></li>
+
+<li class="ifrst">Rademacher, Peter, <a href="#Page_57">57</a>, <a href="#Page_58">58</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Ratner, Willie, <a href="#Page_272">272</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_294">[294]</span>Raymond, Lew, <a href="#Page_190">190</a>, <a href="#Page_191">191</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Reilly, Pete, <a href="#Page_133">133</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Reynolds, Captain, <a href="#Page_170">170</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Rice, Grantland, <a href="#Page_246">246</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Richman, Sammy, <a href="#Page_218">218</a>, <a href="#Page_220">220</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Rickard, George L. (Tex), <a href="#Page_6">6</a>, <a href="#Page_31">31</a>, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>, <a href="#Page_33">33</a>, <a href="#Page_34">34</a>, <a href="#Page_37">37</a>,
+    <a href="#Page_47">47</a>, <a href="#Page_57">57</a>, <a href="#Page_99">99-124</a>, <a href="#Page_125">125-127</a>, <a href="#Page_130">130-133</a>, <a href="#Page_135">135-137</a>,
+    <a href="#Page_138">138-140</a>, <a href="#Page_146">146</a>, <a href="#Page_180">180</a>, <a href="#Page_245">245</a>, <a href="#Page_246">246</a>, <a href="#Page_247">247</a>,
+    <a href="#Page_249">249</a>, <a href="#Page_250">250</a>, <a href="#Page_255">255</a>, <a href="#Page_263">263</a>, <a href="#Page_275">275</a>, <a href="#Page_278">278</a>,
+    <a href="#Page_283">283</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Rickard, Mrs. George L., <a href="#Page_112">112</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx"><i>Ring, The</i>, <a href="#Page_81">81</a>, <a href="#Page_132">132</a>, <a href="#Page_139">139</a>, <a href="#Page_222">222</a>, <a href="#Page_240">240</a>,
+    <a href="#Page_245">245-251</a>, <a href="#Page_265">265</a>, <a href="#Page_270">270</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx"><i>Ring Record Book, The</i>, <a href="#Page_240">240</a>, <a href="#Page_274">274</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Ringling, John, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>, <a href="#Page_104">104</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Risko, Babe, <a href="#Page_174">174</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Ritchie, Willie, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>, <a href="#Page_282">282</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Robb, Doc, <a href="#Page_276">276</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Robinson, Murray, <a href="#Page_271">271</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Robinson, Pat, <a href="#Page_272">272</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Robinson, Ray, <a href="#Page_273">273</a>, <a href="#Page_277">277</a>, <a href="#Page_278">278</a>, <a href="#Page_282">282</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Rodel, George (Boer), <a href="#Page_83">83</a>, <a href="#Page_188">188</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Rodenbach, Billy, <a href="#Page_58">58</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Roeber, Ernest, <a href="#Page_187">187</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Rogers, Joe, <a href="#Page_187">187</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Roller, Dr., <a href="#Page_187">187</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Roman Athletic Club, <a href="#Page_49">49</a>, <a href="#Page_168">168</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Roosevelt, Franklin D., <a href="#Page_216">216</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Roosevelt, Theodore, <a href="#Page_16">16</a>, <a href="#Page_19">19-24</a>, <a href="#Page_58">58</a>, <a href="#Page_258">258</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Roosevelt, Theodore, Jr., <a href="#Page_19">19-20</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Root, Eddie, <a href="#Page_33">33</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Root, Jack, <a href="#Page_281">281</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Rose, Murray, <a href="#Page_271">271</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Rose, Ralph, <a href="#Page_34">34</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Rosenthal murder case, <a href="#Page_49">49-51</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Ross, Barney, <a href="#Page_143">143</a>, <a href="#Page_185">185</a>, <a href="#Page_186">186</a>, <a href="#Page_282">282</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Ross, Hugh, <a href="#Page_198">198</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Ross, Tony, <a href="#Page_84">84</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Rossano, Rocco, <a href="#Page_190">190</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Roswell, <a href="#Page_33">33</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Rothenberg, Walter, <a href="#Page_127">127</a>, <a href="#Page_129">129</a>, <a href="#Page_135">135</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Roxborough, John, <a href="#Page_141">141</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Rozetsky, Isaac, <i>see</i> <a href="#Smith">Smith, Sammy</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Ruhlin, Gus, <a href="#Page_204">204-205</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Rumson Estate, <a href="#Page_156">156-157</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Runyon, Damon, <a href="#Page_47">47</a>, <a href="#Page_49">49</a>, <a href="#Page_140">140</a>, <a href="#Page_143">143-144</a>, <a href="#Page_145">145</a>,
+    <a href="#Page_246">246</a>, <a href="#Page_253">253</a>, <a href="#Page_254">254</a>, <a href="#Page_260">260</a>, <a href="#Page_270">270</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Russell, Inspector, <a href="#Page_165">165</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Rutgers University, <a href="#Page_10">10</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Rutt, Walter, <a href="#Page_33">33</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Ryan, Paddy, <a href="#Page_266">266-267</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Ryan, Tommy, <a href="#Page_206">206-207</a>, <a href="#Page_256">256</a>, <a href="#Page_278">278</a>, <a href="#Page_281">281</a></li>
+
+<li class="ifrst">St. Nicholas Arena, <a href="#Page_190">190</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">St. Yves, <a href="#Page_33">33</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Salisbury, Kendall, <a href="#Page_59">59</a>, <a href="#Page_60">60</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Salsinger, Harry, <a href="#Page_271">271</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Sampson, Paul, <a href="#Page_127">127</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">San Francisco <i>Bulletin</i>, <a href="#Page_254">254</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">San Francisco <i>Examiner</i>, <a href="#Page_272">272</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">San Francisco <i>Express</i>, <a href="#Page_271">271</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Sands, George, <a href="#Page_246">246</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Sandwina, Ted, <a href="#Page_133">133</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Sarron, Petey, <a href="#Page_141">141-143</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Savage, Jim, <a href="#Page_188">188</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Scanlon, Dinty, <a href="#Page_100">100-107</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Schaaf, Ernie, <a href="#Page_189">189</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Schlossberg, Phil, <a href="#Page_189">189</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Schmeling, Max, <a href="#Page_4">4</a>, <a href="#Page_80">80-81</a>, <a href="#Page_128">128-135</a>, <a href="#Page_147">147-155</a>, <a href="#Page_173">173</a>,
+    <a href="#Page_174">174</a>, <a href="#Page_176">176</a>, <a href="#Page_186">186</a>, <a href="#Page_278">278</a>, <a href="#Page_281">281</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Schoenlein, Gus, <a href="#Page_187">187</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Schultz, Dutch, <a href="#Page_46">46</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Scott, James, <a href="#Page_14">14</a>, <a href="#Page_15">15</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Scripps-Howard Syndicate, <a href="#Page_17">17-18</a>, <a href="#Page_48">48</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Seattle <i>Post-Intelligencer</i>, <a href="#Page_271">271</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Sesquicentennial Stadium (Philadelphia), <a href="#Page_174">174</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Shade, Dave, <a href="#Page_185">185</a>, <a href="#Page_186">186</a>, <a href="#Page_250">250</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Shadow Lawn estate, <a href="#Page_156">156-157</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Sharkey, Jack, <a href="#Page_6">6</a>, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>, <a href="#Page_47">47</a>, <a href="#Page_134">134</a>, <a href="#Page_176">176</a>, <a href="#Page_186">186</a>,
+    <a href="#Page_203">203</a>, <a href="#Page_262">262</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Sharkey, Tom, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>, <a href="#Page_204">204</a>, <a href="#Page_206">206</a>, <a href="#Page_255">255</a>, <a href="#Page_256">256</a>,
+    <a href="#Page_279">279</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Sharkey Club, <a href="#Page_168">168</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Sheppard, Mel, <a href="#Page_33">33</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Sheridan, Martin, <a href="#Page_34">34-35</a>, <a href="#Page_37">37</a>, <a href="#Page_165">165</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Shock, Al, <a href="#Page_32">32</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_295">[295]</span>Shrubb, Alf, <a href="#Page_33">33</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx" id="Siki">Siki, Battling, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>, <a href="#Page_90">90-95</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Siler, George, <a href="#Page_253">253</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Singer, Al, <a href="#Page_193">193</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Sirkt, Queen, <a href="#Page_230">230</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Sirocco, Jack, <a href="#Page_165">165</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Skelly, Jack, <a href="#Page_57">57</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Skene, Don, <a href="#Page_262">262</a>, <a href="#Page_263">263</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Slattery, Jimmy, <a href="#Page_185">185</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Smith, Al, <a href="#Page_178">178</a>, <a href="#Page_246">246-247</a>, <a href="#Page_260">260-261</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Smith, Billy (Mysterious), <a href="#Page_281">281</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Smith, Ed, <a href="#Page_253">253</a>, <a href="#Page_261">261</a>, <a href="#Page_265">265-266</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Smith, Gunboat, <a href="#Page_83">83</a>, <a href="#Page_188">188</a>, <a href="#Page_257">257</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Smith, Harry, <a href="#Page_270">270</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Smith, Homer, <a href="#Page_137">137</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Smith, Jeff, <a href="#Page_236">236</a>, <a href="#Page_282">282</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Smith, Jim, <a href="#Page_190">190-191</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Smith, Lyall, <a href="#Page_271">271</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Smith, Maurice, <a href="#Page_272">272</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Smith, Midget, <a href="#Page_32">32</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Smith, Moe, <a href="#Page_50">50</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Smith, Red, <a href="#Page_270">270</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx" id="Smith">Smith, Sammy, <a href="#Page_166">166-167</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Smith, Wilfred, <a href="#Page_272">272</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Smits, Ted, <a href="#Page_271">271</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Songkitrat, Chamrern, <a href="#Page_225">225-229</a>, <a href="#Page_232">232</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Spanish John, <a href="#Page_49">49</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Speed, Keats, <a href="#Page_27">27</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Stanley, Jack, <a href="#Page_127">127</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Star Athletic Club, <a href="#Page_168">168</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Stead, William, <a href="#Page_16">16</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Stecher, Joe, <a href="#Page_187">187</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Stevens, Harry, <a href="#Page_35">35</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Stewart, Joe, <a href="#Page_238">238</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Stockton, Roy, <a href="#Page_271">271</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Stoddard, Alexander, <a href="#Page_14">14-15</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx" id="Stone">Stone, Pete, <a href="#Page_72">72</a>, <a href="#Page_73">73</a>, <a href="#Page_254">254</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Strauss, Nathan, <a href="#Page_16">16</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Strauss, Mrs. Nathan, <a href="#Page_16">16</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Strauss, Sol, <a href="#Page_144">144</a>, <a href="#Page_153">153</a>, <a href="#Page_154">154</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Stribling, Willie, <a href="#Page_47">47</a>, <a href="#Page_174">174</a>, <a href="#Page_249">249</a>, <a href="#Page_262">262</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Sullivan, John L., <a href="#Page_24">24</a>, <a href="#Page_28">28</a>, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>, <a href="#Page_147">147</a>, <a href="#Page_253">253</a>,
+    <a href="#Page_257">257</a>, <a href="#Page_261">261</a>, <a href="#Page_268">268</a>, <a href="#Page_275">275</a>, <a href="#Page_277">277</a>, <a href="#Page_279">279</a>,
+    <a href="#Page_280">280</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Sullivan, Kid, <a href="#Page_250">250</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Sullo, Johnny, <a href="#Page_276">276</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Summers, Johnny, <a href="#Page_203">203</a></li>
+
+<li class="ifrst">Tammany Hall, <a href="#Page_46">46</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Taub, Sam, <a href="#Page_144">144</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Taylor, Bud, <a href="#Page_282">282</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Taylor, Jack, <a href="#Page_127">127</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Taylor, John B., <a href="#Page_33">33</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Taylor, Major, <a href="#Page_32">32</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Taylor, Sec, <a href="#Page_271">271</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Tendler, Lew, <a href="#Page_177">177</a>, <a href="#Page_200">200</a>, <a href="#Page_282">282</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Terris, Sid, <a href="#Page_164">164</a>, <a href="#Page_250">250</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Thailand, <a href="#Page_225">225-234</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Thomas, Joe, <a href="#Page_63">63</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx"><i>Titanic</i>, <a href="#Page_13">13-16</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Titus, Fred, <a href="#Page_32">32</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Toby, <a href="#Page_72">72</a>, <a href="#Page_73">73</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Tone, Don, <a href="#Page_166">166</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Touhey, George, <a href="#Page_253">253</a>, <a href="#Page_269">269</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Townsend, Harris Hall, <a href="#Page_8">8</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Trumbull, Walter, <a href="#Page_246">246</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Tunney, Gene, <a href="#Page_5">5</a>, <a href="#Page_6">6</a>, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>, <a href="#Page_78">78</a>, <a href="#Page_171">171</a>, <a href="#Page_174">174</a>,
+    <a href="#Page_176">176</a>, <a href="#Page_201">201-202</a>, <a href="#Page_226">226</a>, <a href="#Page_249">249</a>, <a href="#Page_254">254</a>, <a href="#Page_277">277</a>,
+    <a href="#Page_279">279-280</a>, <a href="#Page_281">281</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Twentieth Century Sporting Club, <a href="#Page_140">140</a>, <a href="#Page_142">142</a>, <a href="#Page_218">218</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Twist, Kid, <a href="#Page_50">50</a></li>
+
+<li class="ifrst">Underwood, George B., <a href="#Page_11">11</a>, <a href="#Page_17">17</a>, <a href="#Page_35">35</a>, <a href="#Page_70">70</a>, <a href="#Page_72">72</a>,
+    <a href="#Page_246">246</a>, <a href="#Page_260">260</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">United Press, <a href="#Page_154">154</a>, <a href="#Page_271">271</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Uzcudun, Paulino, <a href="#Page_134">134</a>, <a href="#Page_135">135-137</a></li>
+
+<li class="ifrst">Valentine, Howard, <a href="#Page_17">17</a>, <a href="#Page_34">34</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Van Anda, Carl, <a href="#Page_213">213-214</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Van Loan, Charles E., <a href="#Page_253">253</a>, <a href="#Page_254">254</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Venezuela, <a href="#Page_218">218-221</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Vila, Joe, <a href="#Page_266">266</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Villa, Francisco (Pancho), <a href="#Page_25">25-26</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Villa, Pancho (boxer), <a href="#Page_249">249</a>, <a href="#Page_250">250</a>, <a href="#Page_282">282</a></li>
+
+<li class="ifrst">Wahle, Judge Otto, <a href="#Page_51">51</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Walcott, Joe, <a href="#Page_205">205</a>, <a href="#Page_256">256</a>, <a href="#Page_278">278</a>, <a href="#Page_281">281</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Walker, Fred, <a href="#Page_126">126</a>, <a href="#Page_264">264</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_296">[296]</span>Walker, Mickey, <a href="#Page_173">173</a>, <a href="#Page_185">185</a>, <a href="#Page_186">186</a>, <a href="#Page_249">249</a>,
+    <a href="#Page_250">250</a>, <a href="#Page_278">278</a>, <a href="#Page_281">281</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Walker, Senator, <a href="#Page_246">246</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Walker, Dr. William A., <a href="#Page_122">122-124</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Walker Law, <a href="#Page_185">185</a>, <a href="#Page_246">246</a>, <a href="#Page_261">261</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx"><i>Wall Street Journal</i>, <a href="#Page_101">101</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Walter, Gerald, <a href="#Page_272">272</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Waltham, Teddy, <a href="#Page_230">230</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Walthour, Bobby, <a href="#Page_33">33</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Ward, Arch, <a href="#Page_271">271</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Ward, Gene, <a href="#Page_271">271</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Wardman, Irvin, <a href="#Page_212">212-213</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Washington <i>Post</i>, <a href="#Page_272">272</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Watson, Curley, <a href="#Page_196">196</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Webb, Capt. Matthew, <a href="#Page_37">37</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Webber, Captain Max, <a href="#Page_232">232</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Webster, Tom, <a href="#Page_253">253</a>, <a href="#Page_268">268</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Weill, Al, <a href="#Page_142">142</a>, <a href="#Page_218">218</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Weinert, Charley, <a href="#Page_188">188-189</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Weldon, Harry, <a href="#Page_268">268</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Wells, Bombardier Billy, <a href="#Page_32">32</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Wells, Matt, <a href="#Page_174">174-175</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Welsh, Freddy, <a href="#Page_5">5</a>, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>, <a href="#Page_155">155</a>, <a href="#Page_166">166</a>, <a href="#Page_195">195</a>,
+    <a href="#Page_282">282</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Wembley Stadium (London), <a href="#Page_148">148</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Weston, Edward Payson, <a href="#Page_33">33</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">White, Charley, <a href="#Page_58">58-62</a>, <a href="#Page_132">132</a>, <a href="#Page_177">177</a>, <a href="#Page_282">282</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">White, Stanford, <a href="#Page_31">31</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Whiting, George, <a href="#Page_272">272</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Wignall, Trevor, <a href="#Page_150">150</a>, <a href="#Page_268">268</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Wilde, Jimmy, <a href="#Page_155">155</a>, <a href="#Page_282">282</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx" id="Willard">Willard, Jess, <a href="#Page_4">4</a>, <a href="#Page_57">57</a>, <a href="#Page_83">83-89</a>, <a href="#Page_113">113-118</a>, <a href="#Page_136">136</a>,
+    <a href="#Page_140">140</a>, <a href="#Page_171">171</a>, <a href="#Page_176">176</a>, <a href="#Page_278">278</a>, <a href="#Page_279">279</a>, <a href="#Page_280">280</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Williams, Joe, <a href="#Page_18">18</a>, <a href="#Page_48">48</a>, <a href="#Page_260">260</a>, <a href="#Page_265">265</a>, <a href="#Page_270">270</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Williams, Kid, <a href="#Page_279">279</a>, <a href="#Page_282">282</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Wills, Harry, <a href="#Page_137">137</a>, <a href="#Page_203">203</a>, <a href="#Page_205">205</a>, <a href="#Page_249">249</a>, <a href="#Page_254">254</a>,
+    <a href="#Page_275">275</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Wilson, Peter, <a href="#Page_272">272</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Wingate, General George W., <a href="#Page_8">8</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Winship, Governor, <a href="#Page_216">216-218</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Wolgast, Ad, <a href="#Page_167">167</a>, <a href="#Page_180">180-184</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Wolgast, Midget, <a href="#Page_282">282</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Wood, Major General Leonard, <a href="#Page_25">25</a>, <a href="#Page_26">26</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Wood, Lanson, <a href="#Page_272">272</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Woodman, Joe, <a href="#Page_78">78-80</a>, <a href="#Page_191">191</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">World Boxing Championship Committee, <a href="#Page_229">229</a>, <a href="#Page_230">230</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Wray, Ed, <a href="#Page_271">271</a></li>
+
+<li class="ifrst">Yankee Stadium, <a href="#Page_134">134</a>, <a href="#Page_141">141</a>, <a href="#Page_155">155</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Young, Bull, <a href="#Page_83">83</a>, <a href="#Page_279">279</a></li>
+
+<li class="ifrst">Zbyszko, Stanislaus, <a href="#Page_187">187</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Zbyszko, Wladek, <a href="#Page_187">187</a></li>
+
+<li class="indx">Zyhariat, Walter, <a href="#Page_42">42</a></li>
+</ul>
+<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78585 ***</div>
+</body>
+</html>
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diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt
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+This book, including all associated images, markup, improvements,
+metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be
+in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES.
+
+Procedures for determining public domain status are described in
+the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org.
+
+No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in
+jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize
+this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright
+status under the laws that apply to them.
diff --git a/README.md b/README.md
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+Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for eBook #78585
+(https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/78585)