Jack Dempsey of Salt Lake was knocked out at Murray, a suburb of Salt Lake City, Tuesday night by Jim Flynn of Pueblo, Colo., ten seconds after the men shook hands. Flynn pushed down Dempsey's guard with his right and swung his left to the jaw. The Salt Lake man sunk down for the count and it was twenty seconds after Flynn had been declared the winner before Dempsey regained his feet.
(San Antonio Light)
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Dempsey was insensible for several minutes and when brought back from the land of nod he evidently thought he was still in the prize ring and attempted to slug his seconds.
Before the fighters entered the ring, the gate receipts were split after considerable wrangling, but those connected with the affair will not say who got the big end of the money. It is understood, however, that Flynn's demands were met and when he got into the ring he cut loose for a knockout, outclassing his opponent in every respect.
During the time the men had been in the ring after shaking hands, Dempsey was hit twice on the left side of the head and twice on the right and the finish punch which closed the short but brutal contest between two giants.
After being hit twice, Dempsey appeared dazed and he was helpless as a baby against the final rain of blows. Dempsey appeared ready to do battle at the opening gong and rushed in with all his speed, but the hammer punches ended his aspirations to finish a winner.
Johnny and Alex Bratton, nine year old twins, appeared in a preliminary bout. The boys fought in the same ring as the heavyweights. They fought and slugged away but being equipped with soft gloves neither was hurt, but despite this, there was the spirit of the occasion present and the thousands of fight rooters cheered loudly as though the boys were heavyweights.
(Deseret Evening News)
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It was the thirteenth day of the month and Jack Dempsey forgot to duck.
The "pride of Utah" will therefore have ample reason to shy at the baker's dozen day in the future for he lasted just about twenty-five seconds before Jim Flynn at Murray last night. A right hook square on the chin apparently sent Dempsey to the place where the birdies sing and it was curtains.
After a whole lot of unnecessary delay, both fighters finally entered the ring somewhere nearer midnight than 9 o'clock and much to the discomfiture of the audience and, apparently, themselves as well, Jack forgot to shake hands, but Flynn insisted on this little formality, all of which took up about five seconds. Jack rushed at Dempsey as if he, too, had a last car to catch. Jack bent over and covered up. Flynn rushed again. In fact he tore into the local man, pushed him into position with one hand and laced him with the other. Dempsey acted as if he might be content to let well enough alone, perhaps in the hope that Flynn might tire, step back or finally give him a chance to straighten up. Dempsey did not appear to be in any distress, at any rate. Then came the end like a flash. With Dempsey still bent over and walking toward Flynn, both forearms and gloves covering his face, Flynn rushed again. The Pueblo battler gave Dempsey's head a quick shove toward his right and sent a short right hand hook through Dempsey's guard and straight to the point of the chin. He stepped back at the same instant and Jack went down face first in his gloves. It was all done in a flash, but those close to the west side of the ring could plainly see the punch and all grabbed their hats and coats for the bout was over before it had gotten started.
Dempsey entered the ring as if scared out of his wits and shook like a leaf as the seconds were putting on his gloves. No one realized this any more than Flynn did and the latter was not slow to take advantage of it.
(Salt Lake Telegram)
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Salt Lake, Feb. 14.--Exit Dempsey! A "one-two" to the jaw was about all there was to the much-advertised battle at Murray last night. There was only one redeeming feature to the entire bout, and that was the fact that the dope books will carry down to posterity the information that Jim Flynn was engaged in one of the shortest bouts in history. The contest lasted twenty seconds and in that time Jack Dempsey never laid his glove on the "Pueblo trial horse." The men shook hands, Flynn put his head down and bored in. He got a left to Dempsey's face and had the local boy covering up and not knowing what to do. As Jack dropped his guard from his chin and peeked out, Jim put a right swing to the local boy's jaw, followed quickly with a right to the same spot, and Referee Ralph Armstrong counted ten. It was all over except hauling the "local pride" to his corner.
(The Ogden Standard)
Oct 28, 1920.
"Harry Greb, light-heavyweight of Pittsburgh, won the newspaper decision over Mickey Shannon of Newark N.J. in their ten round bout here Thursday night. Greb scored a knockdown in the ninth round, but Shannon recovered and was able to stay the limit." (Decatur Daily Review) The Pittsburgh Post reported that Greb went in and simply traded blows with the heavier Shannon, making little effort at defense. Shannon held his own in the first round and clearly won the second. Greb handed out a lot of punishment in the next four rounds. Shannon rallied in the 7th, but Greb fought back and cut his eye. Greb socked Shannon all over the ring in the last three rounds, flooring him for a 3-count in the 9th. Shannon was badly marked at the end.
And these are the gloves that Greb wore...
"Harry Greb, light-heavyweight of Pittsburgh, won the newspaper decision over Mickey Shannon of Newark N.J. in their ten round bout here Thursday night. Greb scored a knockdown in the ninth round, but Shannon recovered and was able to stay the limit." (Decatur Daily Review) The Pittsburgh Post reported that Greb went in and simply traded blows with the heavier Shannon, making little effort at defense. Shannon held his own in the first round and clearly won the second. Greb handed out a lot of punishment in the next four rounds. Shannon rallied in the 7th, but Greb fought back and cut his eye. Greb socked Shannon all over the ring in the last three rounds, flooring him for a 3-count in the 9th. Shannon was badly marked at the end.
And these are the gloves that Greb wore...
29 Aug 1960
A fight between spectators, officials and boxers ended the European Heavyweight title fight between holder Dick Richardson and former European Champion Brian London, at Porthcawl, Wales. Trouble started when referee Andrew Smyth stopped the match after the eighth round due to London's badly cut left eye. He awarded the fight to Richardson, whereupon London dashed across the ring and attacked his victor.
Richardson's trainer was knocked to the floor by London, spectators swarmed into the ring and the battle began. It took 20 policemen to control the two rivals and their supporters.
(Source - REUTERS)
A fight between spectators, officials and boxers ended the European Heavyweight title fight between holder Dick Richardson and former European Champion Brian London, at Porthcawl, Wales. Trouble started when referee Andrew Smyth stopped the match after the eighth round due to London's badly cut left eye. He awarded the fight to Richardson, whereupon London dashed across the ring and attacked his victor.
Richardson's trainer was knocked to the floor by London, spectators swarmed into the ring and the battle began. It took 20 policemen to control the two rivals and their supporters.
(Source - REUTERS)
Two weeks after knocking out Red Burman in Madison Square Garden, Joe Louis stepped into Convention Hall in Philadelphia to face Gus Dorazio, his third “bum“ in as many months. But Louis was never happy with the disparaging label reporter Jack Miley pinned on his opponents. “Those guys I fought were not bums,” he told Art Rust, Jr. “They were hard-working professionals trying to make a dollar, too. I knew the training they went through, and I knew the dreams they had. No different than me. I respected every man I fought.”
Louis may have respected Dorazio, but he would have to go a long way to find someone else who shared his sentiments. Betting lines fluctuated and neared lottery odds before finally settling on Dorazio as a 15 to 1 underdog. James P. Dawson of The New York Times called Dorazio “…one of the most harmless challengers Louis, or any other champion of recent years, for that matter, has ever faced.” Even Pennsylvania Senator John J. Haluska, a former amateur boxer, called the match a farce and threatened a congressional hearing. In response, Dorazio promised to knock Louis through the ropes and into the lap of Senator Haluska. Rarely are wish fulfillment scenarios so farfetched.
Ticket prices, scaled from $1.25 to $5.75, were indicative of the second-rate show promoter Herman Taylor thought the fight would be. Dorazio, on the other hand, was as chipper as ever. “I’ve been training for three weeks now and I’ll be in top form when I meet Louis,” Dorazio told the Associated Press. “I can’t lose. I always fight best against the good boys.”
On February 17, 1941, Gus Dorazio entered the ring against Joe Louis for the chance of a lifetime. Even a strong losing effort would make him a hero throughout Pennsylvania. Anything less than that and Dorazio faced the possibility of being a laughing stock. Indeed, Dorazio seemed acutely aware of his reputation in the days leading up to the fight. “All the money in all the banks in Philadelphia couldn’t make me climb into that ring Monday night if I thought I couldn’t win,” he told the newswires. “Not with all those people looking at me.” Of course, if he won, his rough and tumble life would be changed forever. 15,902 fans jammed Convention Hall to see if he could do it.
When the bell rang for round one, Louis, 203 ½, and Dorazio, 193 ½, met at ring center. Dorazio was counting on his crouching style, in theory–if not exactly in practice–similar to that of Nathan Mann and Arturo Godoy, to fluster Louis, and it did–for all of a minute. Louis looked awkward sailing shots over his ducking opponent early in the opening round, and Dorazio, to the astonishment of the Milky Way, even managed to land several hard body shots as well as a flicking left hook. But Louis remained unflustered. Midway through the first round “The Brown Bomber” started to reach his target and Dorazio began to resemble a man staggering through Tornado Alley. Still, it was a fairly good round for Dorazio, and he returned to his corner in high spirits. During the rest period Dorazio told his trainer Jimmy Wilson that Louis was not nearly as tough as advertised. “I’m going out and stiffen him,” he said. But it was Dorazio who would wind up stiff.
Round two began with Dorazio squatting so low that he resembled Arturo Godoy in disguise. He exchanged a few jabs with Louis and rushed in without consequence. A little over a minute into the round, Dorazio popped up from his crouch and Louis straightened him up with a left hook. Then he stepped forward and connected with a short straight right that landed with the force of a Howitzer. “Dorazio,” reported Ted Meier, “fell flat on his face completely senseless.” The Philadelphia tough guy was counted out by referee Irving Kutcher while struggling to regain his feet. He had to be carried to his corner by his seconds.
Despite the humiliating knockout defeat, Dorazio continued his career, now losing nearly as often as he won. His record after the Louis fiasco includes an upset of Joe Baksi and decisions over Gunnar Barlund and Harry Bobo, but the TKOs started to mount and the scar tissue lining his brows began to split with revolting ease. He was still an attraction in Philadelphia, however, and thousands paid to see him war with the likes of Melio Bettina and Turkey Thompson. By 1943 Dorazio was under the management of the infamous Blinky Palermo, numbers king of Philadelphia and close associate of Frankie Carbo, and was hitting the road more often where spotty decisions often went against him.
In 1946 Dorazio, with his career in a deadfall, was convicted of draft dodging after the FBI discovered that his job as a wartime welder was strictly “no show.” He was sentenced to a year in prison. After his release, Dorazio mounted a dismal comeback before retiring for good in 1946 with a record of 77-20-5.
In retirement Dorazio revealed a bleak entrepreneurial side that included numbers running, leg-breaking, and armed robbery. But it was as a union goon that Dorazio found himself in existential trouble. In 1949 Dorazio lost control while performing his duties as an enforcer at the C. Schmidt and Sons Brewery in Philadelphia. Ostensibly a bottler at the plant, Dorazio was really hired muscle for the mob. The vicious beating he gave to Albert Blomeyer, 33, on January 27, 1949 proved to be fatal. Blomeyer, a bottler who had been circulating pro-labor petitions at the brewery, died of a fractured skull after Dorazio was through with him. Did Dorazio miscalculate the amount of force he needed to teach Blomeyer a lesson? Or did he just snap at the wrong time? When collared by detectives at his home in Yeadon, Dorazio spluttered out an impromptu, pre-Miranda Rights defense: “”People had been taunting me,” he said. “They called me punch drunk. They called me on the phone to heckle me. I just got the notion to get even with someone.” His outburst, negligible as a defense, seems odd in light of the circumstances. Did Dorazio slip over the edge and take out the frustrations of his life on Albert Blomeyer?
None of this, of course, made any difference to his open and shut case. The evidence against Dorazio was overwhelming and it took less than an hour for a jury to find him guilty of second-degree murder. Dorazio spent nearly three and a half years in notorious Eastern State penitentiary. After being released, he drifted in and out of both jobs and trouble for the next decade. Dorazio slowed down when a chronic back injury suffered during his days as a boxer flared up and forced him to collect disability. Never far from his mind, it seemed, was the fight with Joe Louis.
In his later years, out of work and with a reputation for being slightly punchy, Dorazio would repeat his claim that he would have beaten “The Brown Bomber” in a rematch to whoever would stop and listen. When Louis died in 1981, The Philadelphia Inquirer sought Dorazio out for an interview. “I still dream of that fight,” he said. “I was sure I could beat Louis, and in the first round I hurt him. I know I’d have beaten him if I hadn’t left my feet throwing a hook and he nailed me. I could’ve handled him–honest.” Gus Dorazio died in 1987, more than 50 years after he first stepped into the Waltz Dream Arena.
(by Carlos Acevedo)
Louis may have respected Dorazio, but he would have to go a long way to find someone else who shared his sentiments. Betting lines fluctuated and neared lottery odds before finally settling on Dorazio as a 15 to 1 underdog. James P. Dawson of The New York Times called Dorazio “…one of the most harmless challengers Louis, or any other champion of recent years, for that matter, has ever faced.” Even Pennsylvania Senator John J. Haluska, a former amateur boxer, called the match a farce and threatened a congressional hearing. In response, Dorazio promised to knock Louis through the ropes and into the lap of Senator Haluska. Rarely are wish fulfillment scenarios so farfetched.
Ticket prices, scaled from $1.25 to $5.75, were indicative of the second-rate show promoter Herman Taylor thought the fight would be. Dorazio, on the other hand, was as chipper as ever. “I’ve been training for three weeks now and I’ll be in top form when I meet Louis,” Dorazio told the Associated Press. “I can’t lose. I always fight best against the good boys.”
On February 17, 1941, Gus Dorazio entered the ring against Joe Louis for the chance of a lifetime. Even a strong losing effort would make him a hero throughout Pennsylvania. Anything less than that and Dorazio faced the possibility of being a laughing stock. Indeed, Dorazio seemed acutely aware of his reputation in the days leading up to the fight. “All the money in all the banks in Philadelphia couldn’t make me climb into that ring Monday night if I thought I couldn’t win,” he told the newswires. “Not with all those people looking at me.” Of course, if he won, his rough and tumble life would be changed forever. 15,902 fans jammed Convention Hall to see if he could do it.
When the bell rang for round one, Louis, 203 ½, and Dorazio, 193 ½, met at ring center. Dorazio was counting on his crouching style, in theory–if not exactly in practice–similar to that of Nathan Mann and Arturo Godoy, to fluster Louis, and it did–for all of a minute. Louis looked awkward sailing shots over his ducking opponent early in the opening round, and Dorazio, to the astonishment of the Milky Way, even managed to land several hard body shots as well as a flicking left hook. But Louis remained unflustered. Midway through the first round “The Brown Bomber” started to reach his target and Dorazio began to resemble a man staggering through Tornado Alley. Still, it was a fairly good round for Dorazio, and he returned to his corner in high spirits. During the rest period Dorazio told his trainer Jimmy Wilson that Louis was not nearly as tough as advertised. “I’m going out and stiffen him,” he said. But it was Dorazio who would wind up stiff.
Round two began with Dorazio squatting so low that he resembled Arturo Godoy in disguise. He exchanged a few jabs with Louis and rushed in without consequence. A little over a minute into the round, Dorazio popped up from his crouch and Louis straightened him up with a left hook. Then he stepped forward and connected with a short straight right that landed with the force of a Howitzer. “Dorazio,” reported Ted Meier, “fell flat on his face completely senseless.” The Philadelphia tough guy was counted out by referee Irving Kutcher while struggling to regain his feet. He had to be carried to his corner by his seconds.
Despite the humiliating knockout defeat, Dorazio continued his career, now losing nearly as often as he won. His record after the Louis fiasco includes an upset of Joe Baksi and decisions over Gunnar Barlund and Harry Bobo, but the TKOs started to mount and the scar tissue lining his brows began to split with revolting ease. He was still an attraction in Philadelphia, however, and thousands paid to see him war with the likes of Melio Bettina and Turkey Thompson. By 1943 Dorazio was under the management of the infamous Blinky Palermo, numbers king of Philadelphia and close associate of Frankie Carbo, and was hitting the road more often where spotty decisions often went against him.
In 1946 Dorazio, with his career in a deadfall, was convicted of draft dodging after the FBI discovered that his job as a wartime welder was strictly “no show.” He was sentenced to a year in prison. After his release, Dorazio mounted a dismal comeback before retiring for good in 1946 with a record of 77-20-5.
In retirement Dorazio revealed a bleak entrepreneurial side that included numbers running, leg-breaking, and armed robbery. But it was as a union goon that Dorazio found himself in existential trouble. In 1949 Dorazio lost control while performing his duties as an enforcer at the C. Schmidt and Sons Brewery in Philadelphia. Ostensibly a bottler at the plant, Dorazio was really hired muscle for the mob. The vicious beating he gave to Albert Blomeyer, 33, on January 27, 1949 proved to be fatal. Blomeyer, a bottler who had been circulating pro-labor petitions at the brewery, died of a fractured skull after Dorazio was through with him. Did Dorazio miscalculate the amount of force he needed to teach Blomeyer a lesson? Or did he just snap at the wrong time? When collared by detectives at his home in Yeadon, Dorazio spluttered out an impromptu, pre-Miranda Rights defense: “”People had been taunting me,” he said. “They called me punch drunk. They called me on the phone to heckle me. I just got the notion to get even with someone.” His outburst, negligible as a defense, seems odd in light of the circumstances. Did Dorazio slip over the edge and take out the frustrations of his life on Albert Blomeyer?
None of this, of course, made any difference to his open and shut case. The evidence against Dorazio was overwhelming and it took less than an hour for a jury to find him guilty of second-degree murder. Dorazio spent nearly three and a half years in notorious Eastern State penitentiary. After being released, he drifted in and out of both jobs and trouble for the next decade. Dorazio slowed down when a chronic back injury suffered during his days as a boxer flared up and forced him to collect disability. Never far from his mind, it seemed, was the fight with Joe Louis.
In his later years, out of work and with a reputation for being slightly punchy, Dorazio would repeat his claim that he would have beaten “The Brown Bomber” in a rematch to whoever would stop and listen. When Louis died in 1981, The Philadelphia Inquirer sought Dorazio out for an interview. “I still dream of that fight,” he said. “I was sure I could beat Louis, and in the first round I hurt him. I know I’d have beaten him if I hadn’t left my feet throwing a hook and he nailed me. I could’ve handled him–honest.” Gus Dorazio died in 1987, more than 50 years after he first stepped into the Waltz Dream Arena.
(by Carlos Acevedo)
Dec. 4, 1961
The first clean punch Liston landed was a crisp left hook that caught the aggressive Westphal coming in. He didn't stagger long. Sonny caught him with a huge right to the chin. Albert spun like a pole-axed bull into a full face-plant, layout position. Referee Zack Clayton could have counted 100. At 10, Westphal rolled over slowly and lay staring at the ceiling through unseeing eyes. Liston emerged from a neutral corner to admire his glove work. He just gazed impassively at the timbered German.
(by Bill Conlin)
The first clean punch Liston landed was a crisp left hook that caught the aggressive Westphal coming in. He didn't stagger long. Sonny caught him with a huge right to the chin. Albert spun like a pole-axed bull into a full face-plant, layout position. Referee Zack Clayton could have counted 100. At 10, Westphal rolled over slowly and lay staring at the ceiling through unseeing eyes. Liston emerged from a neutral corner to admire his glove work. He just gazed impassively at the timbered German.
(by Bill Conlin)
The history of boxing turned a page in June 1948 when Rocco Marchegiano appeared in Al Weill’s office. Weill telephoned Charley Goldman and told him to set up a sparring session so they could gauge Rocco’s potential. Later that day, Marchegiano stepped into the ring at a CYO gym on 17th Street in Manhattan with a heavyweight from Florida named Wade Chancey.
Marchegiano didn’t look like a professional fighter. He was short for a heavyweight; five feet ten inches tall. His hands were huge, but he had stubby arms that would make it difficult for him to develop an effective jab.
A. J. Liebling later likened what Weill and Goldman saw to “the understander in the nine-man pyramid of a troupe of Arab acrobats. He has big calves,” Liebling wrote. “Forearms, wrists, and a neck so thick that it minimizes the span of his shoulders. He is neither tall nor heavy for a heavyweight, but gives the impression of bigness when you are close to him. His face, like his body, is craggy. Big jaw, big nose askew from punching, high cheekbones; and almost always when he is outside the ring, a pleasant asymetrical grin.”
Marchegiano was also two months shy of his twenty-fifth birthday; old for a novice fighter.
“Al and I often looked over green kids who thought they could become fighters,” Goldman reminisced years later. “I’ll eat my derby hat if I ever saw anyone cruder than Rocky. He was so awkward that we stood there and laughed. He didn’t stand right. He didn’t throw a punch right. He didn’t block right. He didn’t do anything right. Then he hit Chancey with a roundhouse right which nearly put a hole in the guy’s head, and I told Weill that maybe I could do something with him.”
“Charley Goldman,” Michael Silver later wrote, “found a block of marble and sculpted it into The Pieta.”
Marchegiano entered the ring as a professional for the second time on July 12, 1948. The site was Providence, Rhode Island; twenty-five miles from Brockton. The opponent was Harry Belzarian. Marciano won on a first-round knockout. His purse was forty dollars.
Years later, Belzarian recalled, “The first time he knocked me down, he broke my tooth. Then he knocked me down again. Then I don’t remember anything.”
Soon after, at Weill’s suggestion, Marchegiano changed his name to Rocky Marciano. But Weill wasn’t sold yet on his new fighter. He was using him to test other prospects.
On August 23, 1948, in his fifth professional fight, Marciano fought a 15-0-1 heavyweight named Eddie Ross. Rocky was the “opponent” that night. Prior to fighting Ross, Marciano had traveled from Brockton to New York to train occasionally with Goldman, but the trainer hadn’t attended his fights.
Marciano knocked Ross out at 1:03 of the first round. Seven days later, when Marciano fought Jimmy Weeks in Providence, Goldman was in his corner.
Marciano fought eleven times during the last six months of 1948, scoring eight first-round knockouts and two in the second stanza. One opponent made it into the third round.
Rather than work with the fighter at Stillman’s Gym (which was a hub of boxing commerce in New York), Goldman continued to sculpt his creation at the CYO gym on 17th Street.
Marciano had poor balance, minimal defense, and little understanding of how to throw a jab or hook. Goldman taught him how to stand properly for balance and maximum leverage on his punches. Turning Marciano’s lack of height into an advantage, he taught him to fight from a crouch, which made him harder to hit and forced opponents to lower their hands to hit him. He taught him the rudiments of defense and schooled him to go to the body.
“You got to realize,” Goldman said later, “when I took him over, he didn’t know what a body punch was. In the first ten fights I handled him, he didn’t throw a single one. Some of those early fights when he didn’t know how to fight; he won them all, but I was afraid he’d get killed.”
But Marciano had a great equalizer; his right hand. Goldman gave him just enough moves and enough of a jab to get inside and use it.
“I got a guy who’s short, stoop-shouldered, and balding with two left feet,” the trainer said. “They all look better than he does as far as the moves are concerned. But they don’t look so good on the canvas. God, how he can punch.”
(By Thomas Hauser)
Marchegiano didn’t look like a professional fighter. He was short for a heavyweight; five feet ten inches tall. His hands were huge, but he had stubby arms that would make it difficult for him to develop an effective jab.
A. J. Liebling later likened what Weill and Goldman saw to “the understander in the nine-man pyramid of a troupe of Arab acrobats. He has big calves,” Liebling wrote. “Forearms, wrists, and a neck so thick that it minimizes the span of his shoulders. He is neither tall nor heavy for a heavyweight, but gives the impression of bigness when you are close to him. His face, like his body, is craggy. Big jaw, big nose askew from punching, high cheekbones; and almost always when he is outside the ring, a pleasant asymetrical grin.”
Marchegiano was also two months shy of his twenty-fifth birthday; old for a novice fighter.
“Al and I often looked over green kids who thought they could become fighters,” Goldman reminisced years later. “I’ll eat my derby hat if I ever saw anyone cruder than Rocky. He was so awkward that we stood there and laughed. He didn’t stand right. He didn’t throw a punch right. He didn’t block right. He didn’t do anything right. Then he hit Chancey with a roundhouse right which nearly put a hole in the guy’s head, and I told Weill that maybe I could do something with him.”
“Charley Goldman,” Michael Silver later wrote, “found a block of marble and sculpted it into The Pieta.”
Marchegiano entered the ring as a professional for the second time on July 12, 1948. The site was Providence, Rhode Island; twenty-five miles from Brockton. The opponent was Harry Belzarian. Marciano won on a first-round knockout. His purse was forty dollars.
Years later, Belzarian recalled, “The first time he knocked me down, he broke my tooth. Then he knocked me down again. Then I don’t remember anything.”
Soon after, at Weill’s suggestion, Marchegiano changed his name to Rocky Marciano. But Weill wasn’t sold yet on his new fighter. He was using him to test other prospects.
On August 23, 1948, in his fifth professional fight, Marciano fought a 15-0-1 heavyweight named Eddie Ross. Rocky was the “opponent” that night. Prior to fighting Ross, Marciano had traveled from Brockton to New York to train occasionally with Goldman, but the trainer hadn’t attended his fights.
Marciano knocked Ross out at 1:03 of the first round. Seven days later, when Marciano fought Jimmy Weeks in Providence, Goldman was in his corner.
Marciano fought eleven times during the last six months of 1948, scoring eight first-round knockouts and two in the second stanza. One opponent made it into the third round.
Rather than work with the fighter at Stillman’s Gym (which was a hub of boxing commerce in New York), Goldman continued to sculpt his creation at the CYO gym on 17th Street.
Marciano had poor balance, minimal defense, and little understanding of how to throw a jab or hook. Goldman taught him how to stand properly for balance and maximum leverage on his punches. Turning Marciano’s lack of height into an advantage, he taught him to fight from a crouch, which made him harder to hit and forced opponents to lower their hands to hit him. He taught him the rudiments of defense and schooled him to go to the body.
“You got to realize,” Goldman said later, “when I took him over, he didn’t know what a body punch was. In the first ten fights I handled him, he didn’t throw a single one. Some of those early fights when he didn’t know how to fight; he won them all, but I was afraid he’d get killed.”
But Marciano had a great equalizer; his right hand. Goldman gave him just enough moves and enough of a jab to get inside and use it.
“I got a guy who’s short, stoop-shouldered, and balding with two left feet,” the trainer said. “They all look better than he does as far as the moves are concerned. But they don’t look so good on the canvas. God, how he can punch.”
(By Thomas Hauser)
“My oh my, wasn’t Joe Walcott a tough boy! He was the hardest hitter I ever met. Never before or never since then have I been hit as hard and as often as that night, and I never landed more blows on a fighter in fifteen rounds than I hurled into Joe Walcott that night. The house was in an uproar before the first round ended and from then until the end of the fight the customers never sat down." - Sam Langford.
(enhanced photo courtesy of CBS contributor JTheron)
An epic comeback by Harry Greb in his 1923 fight with Soldier Jones.
..........
The first round began with Greb forcing the fight while Jones “missed with lefts and rights.” Greb hooked lefts and rights to the body and face while Jones continued to miss. According to the Pittsburgh Post, “Both were swinging wild and Jones sent a left to the chin, which backed Greb up to the ropes. Jones hooked a left to the head and Greb went down.” It was just one minute into the first round. Being blind in his right eye, he probably didn’t even see the left punch coming. While he was being counted out, Greb “lolled and rolled about on the lower ropes.” While the count continued Greb was able to “regain his feet after a count of eight and wobble about like a drunken man.” Jones continued his attack “and another right caught Greb’s chin.” Greb went down again, this time holding on to Jones’s legs. Referee Joe Keally had counted to four when Greb finally staggered to his feet. Greb went in for a clinch to try to clear his head. While Greb was still “groggy” Jones landed two more left hooks. Mason called for Greb from a corner since he was “staggering and did not know which corner to go to.”
In between rounds Greb sat “limp” on his chair while Mason tried to revive him. “Mason worked frantically but wisely over him, rubbed his tired legs back into life, massaged his ears and brought color back into his pale face.”
Greb came out at the start of the second round still blinking, tired and groggy, but slowly recovering due to the help of his manager. After a minute of the round Greb had seemingly recovered, and it looked like he would survive. Then Jones landed two more left hooks to the head which rocked Greb again. Greb went in for a clinch then later landed a left and right of his own. These punches were able to delay Jones’s attack until the bell rang to end the round.
When in his corner Greb was silent, but then halfway through the rest time he began to “straighten up in his chair and began talking to Mason.” When the third round started the crowd was “standing on chairs, yelling and howling for Greb.” This seemed to refresh Greb, who then “began moving, swinging, jabbing, hooking and throwing with both hands.” With one of the best chins in boxing history, Greb had shaken off the cobwebs and finally recovered. Throughout the third round his energy continued to replenish itself with Greb throwing “right and left overhand punches to Jones’ head and face.” Near the end of the third round Greb threw a punch that caused a “gaping cut” over Jones’s right eye. The third round was awarded to Greb.
By round four Greb was not only fully recovered but was dominating Jones. He was even able to stagger Jones with a right to the chin. The Post wrote: “Greb was battering Jones to all sides of the ring at the bell. It was a terrific round and Greb had a big margin, sending Jones to his corner with his right eye closed.” Now, unbeknown to most people, both boxers were fighting with only one eye.
For the rest of the fight Greb proceeded to punish Jones so badly it was described as “a slaughter.” Greb landed twenty unanswered punches in the fifth round, and by the sixth round “Jones was wobbling around. It was another round for Greb and Jones seemed more tired even than Greb was in the first two rounds.” By the seventh Jones was “leg weary” and only managed to land two blows. Greb was back to his normal self and was completely dominating his opponent, who was staggering around groggily. At the end of the round the referee had to ask Jones if he wanted to continue. In round eight “Greb hooked a hard right to Jones’ chin and Jones went down for the count of nine, Jones arose and seemed helpless as Greb pounded.”
Jones continued to stagger around at the start of round nine. During the round Greb punished Jones severely, “which made the soldier’s face a mass of blood.” Jones had one eye closed while blood flowed from his nose and mouth. The tenth round was much the same. When the fight ended Greb had lost the first two rounds but won the remaining eight in a very one-sided finish. It was said to be one of the biggest massacres Greb had dished out. A headline in the Post the next day read, “Pittsburgh’s great boxer displays wonderful gameness and recuperative powers. Tears into Soldier Jones, earning verdict by taking last eight rounds.”
(by Bill Paxton)
..........
The first round began with Greb forcing the fight while Jones “missed with lefts and rights.” Greb hooked lefts and rights to the body and face while Jones continued to miss. According to the Pittsburgh Post, “Both were swinging wild and Jones sent a left to the chin, which backed Greb up to the ropes. Jones hooked a left to the head and Greb went down.” It was just one minute into the first round. Being blind in his right eye, he probably didn’t even see the left punch coming. While he was being counted out, Greb “lolled and rolled about on the lower ropes.” While the count continued Greb was able to “regain his feet after a count of eight and wobble about like a drunken man.” Jones continued his attack “and another right caught Greb’s chin.” Greb went down again, this time holding on to Jones’s legs. Referee Joe Keally had counted to four when Greb finally staggered to his feet. Greb went in for a clinch to try to clear his head. While Greb was still “groggy” Jones landed two more left hooks. Mason called for Greb from a corner since he was “staggering and did not know which corner to go to.”
In between rounds Greb sat “limp” on his chair while Mason tried to revive him. “Mason worked frantically but wisely over him, rubbed his tired legs back into life, massaged his ears and brought color back into his pale face.”
Greb came out at the start of the second round still blinking, tired and groggy, but slowly recovering due to the help of his manager. After a minute of the round Greb had seemingly recovered, and it looked like he would survive. Then Jones landed two more left hooks to the head which rocked Greb again. Greb went in for a clinch then later landed a left and right of his own. These punches were able to delay Jones’s attack until the bell rang to end the round.
When in his corner Greb was silent, but then halfway through the rest time he began to “straighten up in his chair and began talking to Mason.” When the third round started the crowd was “standing on chairs, yelling and howling for Greb.” This seemed to refresh Greb, who then “began moving, swinging, jabbing, hooking and throwing with both hands.” With one of the best chins in boxing history, Greb had shaken off the cobwebs and finally recovered. Throughout the third round his energy continued to replenish itself with Greb throwing “right and left overhand punches to Jones’ head and face.” Near the end of the third round Greb threw a punch that caused a “gaping cut” over Jones’s right eye. The third round was awarded to Greb.
By round four Greb was not only fully recovered but was dominating Jones. He was even able to stagger Jones with a right to the chin. The Post wrote: “Greb was battering Jones to all sides of the ring at the bell. It was a terrific round and Greb had a big margin, sending Jones to his corner with his right eye closed.” Now, unbeknown to most people, both boxers were fighting with only one eye.
For the rest of the fight Greb proceeded to punish Jones so badly it was described as “a slaughter.” Greb landed twenty unanswered punches in the fifth round, and by the sixth round “Jones was wobbling around. It was another round for Greb and Jones seemed more tired even than Greb was in the first two rounds.” By the seventh Jones was “leg weary” and only managed to land two blows. Greb was back to his normal self and was completely dominating his opponent, who was staggering around groggily. At the end of the round the referee had to ask Jones if he wanted to continue. In round eight “Greb hooked a hard right to Jones’ chin and Jones went down for the count of nine, Jones arose and seemed helpless as Greb pounded.”
Jones continued to stagger around at the start of round nine. During the round Greb punished Jones severely, “which made the soldier’s face a mass of blood.” Jones had one eye closed while blood flowed from his nose and mouth. The tenth round was much the same. When the fight ended Greb had lost the first two rounds but won the remaining eight in a very one-sided finish. It was said to be one of the biggest massacres Greb had dished out. A headline in the Post the next day read, “Pittsburgh’s great boxer displays wonderful gameness and recuperative powers. Tears into Soldier Jones, earning verdict by taking last eight rounds.”
(by Bill Paxton)
One day at Stillman’s Gym, Charley Goldman, who trained Rocky Marciano (shortly to become world heavyweight champion), approached a young, then-middleweight, yet to turn pro, Floyd Patterson and asked if he could go a few rounds with a new fighter Goldman was working with, Tommy Harrison. Patterson wasn’t so sure he was ready for that. Harrison was one of Marciano’s regular sparring partners, and he was taller and heavier than Patterson. And he was fast, nearly as fast as Floyd himself.
Patterson told Goldman to ask Cus D’Amato, who was cautiously bringing Floyd along, not rushing him to spar fighters substantially better than he. D’Amato, to Patterson’s surprise, gave the OK. Early in the first round, Harrison unloaded twelve unanswered jabs, most landing in spite of Patterson’s bobbing and weaving. Those blows hurt Floyd, even though Harrison wore padded sparring gloves. In all his amateur career, even fighting for the championships of the AAU and the Olympics, Floyd never encountered punches as hard as these. It was a brutal introduction to just what Floyd could expect as a pro. The eyes of the Stillman’s cognoscenti locked onto Patterson as he took those heavy shots — Would the kid collapse? Patterson knew he had to do something. He timed Harrison’s next big jab. When it arrived, Patterson threw a stiff right cross above it, tagging Harrison in the face. The experienced pro staggered. After that, Floyd pursued Harrison, firing combinations that Harrison struggled to ward off. The men in the folding chairs nodded their approval, happy with how Floyd had overcome adversity, transforming it into an advantage.
A buzz began to spread around New York about D’Amato’s up-and-comer, a kid who someday soon just might be good enough to put in the ring with the likes of Sugar Ray Robinson.
There were plenty of questions about his manager, however, the most eccentric man in the New York fight community. He was a weirdo, someone who read too many books, someone who believed in flying saucers and welcomed visitors from another planet, someone who never smoked or drank — the latter all but unheard of in the world of professional boxing.
And there was more. For reasons no one could quite understand, D’Amato refused to play ball with the men who ran professional boxing. It seemed as if he bore a vendetta against something, but just what that something was left boxing insiders scratching their heads. It also seemed as if he were preparing for a war of some kind. He lived in his gym, sleeping in a small room to the left of the boxing ring, a baseball bat within easy reach, a gun or two hidden away, his fierce dog curled up on the floor next to him. He never rode subways, fearing enemies could push him onto the tracks as he waited for a train. But he was plotting to become the most powerful force in professional boxing.
(by W.K. Stratton)
..............................
*A couple of years later in 1954, 15 fights into his professional career, and now weighing 169lbs, Patterson TKO'd Tommy Harrison in 89 seconds of the first round of their fight in Brooklyn. The fight report is testament to Patterson's nature as a boxer -
"Patterson staggered Harrison against the ropes, floored him with a clean flurry for "four" and the mandatory eight-count, and floored him a second time with a left-right combination to the head that sent Harrison down flat on his back. Harrison barely made the count of ten. But he lurched helplessly around the ring with his arms down. Referee Conn appeared contented to let the bout continue but Patterson refused to attack and implored him to step in."
Patterson told Goldman to ask Cus D’Amato, who was cautiously bringing Floyd along, not rushing him to spar fighters substantially better than he. D’Amato, to Patterson’s surprise, gave the OK. Early in the first round, Harrison unloaded twelve unanswered jabs, most landing in spite of Patterson’s bobbing and weaving. Those blows hurt Floyd, even though Harrison wore padded sparring gloves. In all his amateur career, even fighting for the championships of the AAU and the Olympics, Floyd never encountered punches as hard as these. It was a brutal introduction to just what Floyd could expect as a pro. The eyes of the Stillman’s cognoscenti locked onto Patterson as he took those heavy shots — Would the kid collapse? Patterson knew he had to do something. He timed Harrison’s next big jab. When it arrived, Patterson threw a stiff right cross above it, tagging Harrison in the face. The experienced pro staggered. After that, Floyd pursued Harrison, firing combinations that Harrison struggled to ward off. The men in the folding chairs nodded their approval, happy with how Floyd had overcome adversity, transforming it into an advantage.
A buzz began to spread around New York about D’Amato’s up-and-comer, a kid who someday soon just might be good enough to put in the ring with the likes of Sugar Ray Robinson.
There were plenty of questions about his manager, however, the most eccentric man in the New York fight community. He was a weirdo, someone who read too many books, someone who believed in flying saucers and welcomed visitors from another planet, someone who never smoked or drank — the latter all but unheard of in the world of professional boxing.
And there was more. For reasons no one could quite understand, D’Amato refused to play ball with the men who ran professional boxing. It seemed as if he bore a vendetta against something, but just what that something was left boxing insiders scratching their heads. It also seemed as if he were preparing for a war of some kind. He lived in his gym, sleeping in a small room to the left of the boxing ring, a baseball bat within easy reach, a gun or two hidden away, his fierce dog curled up on the floor next to him. He never rode subways, fearing enemies could push him onto the tracks as he waited for a train. But he was plotting to become the most powerful force in professional boxing.
(by W.K. Stratton)
..............................
*A couple of years later in 1954, 15 fights into his professional career, and now weighing 169lbs, Patterson TKO'd Tommy Harrison in 89 seconds of the first round of their fight in Brooklyn. The fight report is testament to Patterson's nature as a boxer -
"Patterson staggered Harrison against the ropes, floored him with a clean flurry for "four" and the mandatory eight-count, and floored him a second time with a left-right combination to the head that sent Harrison down flat on his back. Harrison barely made the count of ten. But he lurched helplessly around the ring with his arms down. Referee Conn appeared contented to let the bout continue but Patterson refused to attack and implored him to step in."
Stephen Singer, a collector of all things Muhammad Ali, had sought out to collect the signatures of every man Ali fought in his 21-year professional career.
After all, many became famous for fighting Ali. Chuck Wepner's 1975 effort spawned the billion dollar Rocky franchise.
Joe Frazier's 1971 victory cinched his place in heavyweight history. Great Britain's own Henry Cooper became a knight of the British empire and his legend lives on long after him for what he did against a 21-year-old Clay in London, England.
Enlisting the services of a "professional autograph collector," the first 35 signatures came easy. As the pro's well ran dry, Singer set out to find the rest on his own.
Searching over the course of months, Singer went from gym to gym, seedy neighborhood to seedy neighborhood in his quest.
He located a notarized letter from a fighter turned Mafia hit man. A rabbi acted as a middle man in a small Argentine town for the passport of a fighter who'd been dead since 1964. He was No. 49.
Bit by bit, the puzzle came together as Singer counted his autographs.
He counted 49.
Only one remained.
One February night in 1961, just a few weeks removed from celebrating his 19th birthday with a 3rd-round stoppage over gangster Tony Esperti -- who later did time for a mob hit -- Clay was scheduled for his fourth fight.
The scheduled opponent had fallen through. Jimmy Robinson, a last-minute replacement from Miami, found himself with the assignment to pad Clay's record.
He lasted a mere 94 seconds in what turned out to be Ali's only 1st-round KO, sans the Sonny Liston dive.
"If promoter Chris Dundee had canvassed the women in the audience, he couldn't have found an easier opponent for Clay," The Miami Times wrote.
Robinson, known as "Sweet Jimmy" went on to carve a niche as a local "enhancement talent," a jobber - a guy paid to lose.
He retired in 1964 with an 8-24 record, coming out of retirement in '68 to lose once more.
There's been only one sighting since then. In 1979, a photographer shooting pictures for Sports Illustrated went to find Ali's earliest opponents. Michael Brennan located Jim Robinson, whom people down in Miami called "Sweet Jimmy." Most of what's known about his life comes from the brief blurb that ran with the photos. He lived off veteran's benefits. He claimed he was born around 1925. He claimed he was wrongfully convicted of armed robbery. Most days, he just hung out in the seedy Overtown neighborhood, at the pool hall owned by Miami concert promoter Clyde Killens.
The photos show a haunted man. His jaw juts out, like he's lost teeth. His eyebrows are bushy; once, they probably seemed delicate. A visor throws a shadow across his eyes. A deep scar runs along his left cheekbone. In one, he leans up against the wall of a Winn-Dixie. In another, he walks down railroad tracks, the skyline of Miami rising behind him. He never smiles.
Brennan shot the photos on a Friday night and Saturday morning. Sweet Jimmy smelled of booze and Camel cigarettes. Brennan remembers the last time he saw him. It was in the morning, on the railroad tracks, and he slipped the old fighter 20 bucks. Sweet Jimmy turned and walked off, negotiating the crossties. He never looked back.
"Tell Clay I ain't doing too good," he said.
...............................................
Some other Ali opponents...
Tunney Hunsaker, the first opponent, spent nine days in a coma after a bout.
Trevor Berbick, the final opponent, was beat to death with a steel pipe.
Herb Siler went to prison for shooting his girlfriend.
Tony Esperti went to prison for a Mafia hit in a Miami Beach nightclub.
Alfredo Evangelista went to prison in Spain.
Alejandro Lavorante died from injuries sustained in the ring.
Sonny Banks did, too.
Jerry Quarry died broke, his mind scrambled from dementia pugilistica.
Jimmy Ellis suffered from it, too.
Rudi Lubbers turned into a drunk and joined a carnival.
Buster Mathis blew up to 550 pounds and died of a heart attack at 52.
George Chuvalo lost three sons to heroin overdoses; his wife killed herself after the second son's death.
Oscar Bonavena was shot through the heart with a high-powered rifle outside a Reno whorehouse.
Cleveland Williams was killed in a hit-and-run.
Zora Folley died mysteriously in a motel swimming pool.
Sonny Liston died of a drug overdose in Las Vegas. Many still believe the Mafia killed him.
(by Wright Thompson)
After all, many became famous for fighting Ali. Chuck Wepner's 1975 effort spawned the billion dollar Rocky franchise.
Joe Frazier's 1971 victory cinched his place in heavyweight history. Great Britain's own Henry Cooper became a knight of the British empire and his legend lives on long after him for what he did against a 21-year-old Clay in London, England.
Enlisting the services of a "professional autograph collector," the first 35 signatures came easy. As the pro's well ran dry, Singer set out to find the rest on his own.
Searching over the course of months, Singer went from gym to gym, seedy neighborhood to seedy neighborhood in his quest.
He located a notarized letter from a fighter turned Mafia hit man. A rabbi acted as a middle man in a small Argentine town for the passport of a fighter who'd been dead since 1964. He was No. 49.
Bit by bit, the puzzle came together as Singer counted his autographs.
He counted 49.
Only one remained.
One February night in 1961, just a few weeks removed from celebrating his 19th birthday with a 3rd-round stoppage over gangster Tony Esperti -- who later did time for a mob hit -- Clay was scheduled for his fourth fight.
The scheduled opponent had fallen through. Jimmy Robinson, a last-minute replacement from Miami, found himself with the assignment to pad Clay's record.
He lasted a mere 94 seconds in what turned out to be Ali's only 1st-round KO, sans the Sonny Liston dive.
"If promoter Chris Dundee had canvassed the women in the audience, he couldn't have found an easier opponent for Clay," The Miami Times wrote.
Robinson, known as "Sweet Jimmy" went on to carve a niche as a local "enhancement talent," a jobber - a guy paid to lose.
He retired in 1964 with an 8-24 record, coming out of retirement in '68 to lose once more.
There's been only one sighting since then. In 1979, a photographer shooting pictures for Sports Illustrated went to find Ali's earliest opponents. Michael Brennan located Jim Robinson, whom people down in Miami called "Sweet Jimmy." Most of what's known about his life comes from the brief blurb that ran with the photos. He lived off veteran's benefits. He claimed he was born around 1925. He claimed he was wrongfully convicted of armed robbery. Most days, he just hung out in the seedy Overtown neighborhood, at the pool hall owned by Miami concert promoter Clyde Killens.
The photos show a haunted man. His jaw juts out, like he's lost teeth. His eyebrows are bushy; once, they probably seemed delicate. A visor throws a shadow across his eyes. A deep scar runs along his left cheekbone. In one, he leans up against the wall of a Winn-Dixie. In another, he walks down railroad tracks, the skyline of Miami rising behind him. He never smiles.
Brennan shot the photos on a Friday night and Saturday morning. Sweet Jimmy smelled of booze and Camel cigarettes. Brennan remembers the last time he saw him. It was in the morning, on the railroad tracks, and he slipped the old fighter 20 bucks. Sweet Jimmy turned and walked off, negotiating the crossties. He never looked back.
"Tell Clay I ain't doing too good," he said.
...............................................
Some other Ali opponents...
Tunney Hunsaker, the first opponent, spent nine days in a coma after a bout.
Trevor Berbick, the final opponent, was beat to death with a steel pipe.
Herb Siler went to prison for shooting his girlfriend.
Tony Esperti went to prison for a Mafia hit in a Miami Beach nightclub.
Alfredo Evangelista went to prison in Spain.
Alejandro Lavorante died from injuries sustained in the ring.
Sonny Banks did, too.
Jerry Quarry died broke, his mind scrambled from dementia pugilistica.
Jimmy Ellis suffered from it, too.
Rudi Lubbers turned into a drunk and joined a carnival.
Buster Mathis blew up to 550 pounds and died of a heart attack at 52.
George Chuvalo lost three sons to heroin overdoses; his wife killed herself after the second son's death.
Oscar Bonavena was shot through the heart with a high-powered rifle outside a Reno whorehouse.
Cleveland Williams was killed in a hit-and-run.
Zora Folley died mysteriously in a motel swimming pool.
Sonny Liston died of a drug overdose in Las Vegas. Many still believe the Mafia killed him.
(by Wright Thompson)
The joint was packed, a full house, with people standing around the ropes. Stooped over, waving Clay’s letter of intent, I shuffled my way to the front of the crowd, chirping in my best Southern falsetto, “Yoo-hoo! Yoo-hoo! Is that Cautious Clay I see up there? Cautious, why are you afraid to fight a little ol’ washerwoman?”
When I reached the ring, I swung the mop and bucket through the ropes and then climbed through. Out came the rags. Out came the box of Grandma’s Lye Soap. Cassius looked stunned. He was quiet and confused, just like he’d been when I’d chided him about his Popeye arms in Louisville.
I knew full well how ridiculous I looked, but the stunt had the desired effect. Diles quickly instructed his cameraman to swing over to me before he stuck his microphone in my face. Naturally, I stayed in character. “Cautious Cassius backed out of fighting me,” I cackled, waving the letter of intent at the camera. “He’s chicken. How can he possibly be afraid of fighting someone like little ol’ me?”
My stunt was the lead item on all the TV sportscasts later that evening, and in the next day’s papers Clay danced around the questions by saying he wasn’t going to fight anybody—least of all “that dirty Chuvalo”—before his upcoming title shot against Liston in February.
My appearance in drag wasn’t the only excitement at the Big D that afternoon. While all the commotion was going on in the ring, somebody slipped into the dressing room and swiped Clay’s wallet. A handful of shady suspects who were hanging around the room were questioned, but the culprit was never found. I later found out that Cassius only had about $80 in his billfold, but he was furious that anyone would have the temerity to rob him. I guess he found out Detroit was a lot less friendly than Louisville.
(by George Chuvalo)
When I reached the ring, I swung the mop and bucket through the ropes and then climbed through. Out came the rags. Out came the box of Grandma’s Lye Soap. Cassius looked stunned. He was quiet and confused, just like he’d been when I’d chided him about his Popeye arms in Louisville.
I knew full well how ridiculous I looked, but the stunt had the desired effect. Diles quickly instructed his cameraman to swing over to me before he stuck his microphone in my face. Naturally, I stayed in character. “Cautious Cassius backed out of fighting me,” I cackled, waving the letter of intent at the camera. “He’s chicken. How can he possibly be afraid of fighting someone like little ol’ me?”
My stunt was the lead item on all the TV sportscasts later that evening, and in the next day’s papers Clay danced around the questions by saying he wasn’t going to fight anybody—least of all “that dirty Chuvalo”—before his upcoming title shot against Liston in February.
My appearance in drag wasn’t the only excitement at the Big D that afternoon. While all the commotion was going on in the ring, somebody slipped into the dressing room and swiped Clay’s wallet. A handful of shady suspects who were hanging around the room were questioned, but the culprit was never found. I later found out that Cassius only had about $80 in his billfold, but he was furious that anyone would have the temerity to rob him. I guess he found out Detroit was a lot less friendly than Louisville.
(by George Chuvalo)
He knew this was his chance. He had no intention of letting the opportunity slip. As he waited in the ring for his opponent, he looked focused and far from nervous. Few knew or understood that he carried the hopes of a nation desperate for success. His trunks reflected that hope and that nation.
With both boxers in the ring, the announcer began his introductions: “The man in charge of this scheduled fifteen-round World Boxing Council Featherweight Championship is referee Tony Perez. And now, boxing fans, introducing the principals: First, in the blue corner, wearing the yellow trunks with the red and green trim, he is weighing in at an even 124 pounds. He is undefeated in thirteen professional fights with ten knockouts. He is the Commonwealth champion from Accra, Ghana, Africa. He is Azumah Nelson.”
A roar goes up and the challenger raises his arms above his head. The ringside bell began to strike.
The announcer continues. “His opponent in the red corner, wearing the red trunks with the white trim, is weighing in at an even 126 pounds. This young man has a record of forty-two wins, one loss, one draw, and thirty knockouts. From Mexico City, Mexico, the WBC featherweight champion is Salvador Sanchez.”
A massive roar followed the announcement of Sanchez’s name as the Mexicans inside “The Garden” make it clear who they are supporting.
The referee brings the two together in the centre of the ring for their final instructions. Both boxers then return to their respective corners, and the bell sounds for the fight to begin.
The ringside commentators on the Don King Sports and Entertainment Network had never seen Azumah Nelson fight and are evaluating him as the fight progresses.
Azumah is compact and dominates the centre of the ring in the opening round, landing some telling blows early on. One minute and twenty seconds into the opening round, however, he worries Sanchez with a right hand.
World Heavyweight Champion Larry Holmes, commentating ringside, makes a telling point: “We have a fight on our hands. Nelson has no fear—he’s come to fight.”
The challenger then throws in an “Ali Shuffle.” Was this showboating or trying to show he has dominated the opening three minutes? Whatever it was, the crowd loved it.
Sanchez knows he has a fight on his hands, and in an effort to emphasise that fact, Azumah does not sit down in his corner straightaway, trying to stir up the crowd.
Round two starts almost as round one had finished, with another Ali Shuffle from Azumah, followed by a fast exchange of punches.
Azumah waits for Sanchez to throw and then counters effectively. In five minutes, he has shown he is a very competent fighter who does not fear Sanchez, or his reputation. The challenger is forcing the fight, making Sanchez reach for him, and the touch of gloves at the end of the round, shows that both boxers know this is going to be a tough fight, and that they already respect each other.
Commentator John Condon, despite the opening salvo from Nelson, believes the challenger has to get lucky early to win, as Sanchez has been fifteen rounds before and that experience will tell as the fight goes on.
Azumah stops and smiles at Sanchez in the third as Sanchez thrusts his jab into the face of the challenger, but he keeps coming forward. No one had seen Azumah fight before; none of his fights were on film. Sanchez can only attempt to work him out, round by round, while trying to avoid getting hurt at the same time. At the end of the round, Sanchez lands two good rights over the top of Azumah’s left, revealing a possible chink in the Ghanaian’s armor.
Sanchez sits in his corner, waiting for the bell for round four. When it sounds, he crosses himself as he does before every round and rises to his feet.
Once again, though, it is Azumah who takes the lead, landing a good flurry of punches at the start of the round. After another Ali Shuffle, he manages to avoid most of Sanchez’s punches. At the end of the round, both boxers stand toe-to-toe, belting each other with blows to the body and to the head, prompting the commentator Holmes at ringside to say, “He is the champion in his country, and the way he is fighting, he’s trying to prove he is the best in all countries.”
When the bell sounds, Azumah smiles at Sanchez, and once again, the two touch gloves. Azumah is raring to go at the start of round five, so much so that he comes out from his corner early, and referee Tony Perez sends him back to wait until the bell sounds. Once it does, he chases Sanchez around the ring and lands four or five good blows, including a telling right. “A warrior down to his toes” was how commentator John Condon saw the challenger.
Azumah lands a series of good body punches and is starting to hurt Sanchez. His expression has changed and he is beginning to take more blows than in previous rounds. Early in round six, Azumah is caught by a left hook as Sanchez starts to move and jab, attempting to control the fight. He circles Azumah, holding him off with his jab and restricts him from being able to move forward and get in close. As good as Sanchez is, he cannot avoid being caught with a right in the dying seconds as Azumah keeps plugging away.
The seventh round sees Sanchez continue to jab, and when he unleashes a powerful left hook, he has Azumah stumbling backwards. He manages to stay on his feet, but Sanchez moves in for the kill. Azumah tries to fight back but eventually hits the canvas when another short left hook lands flush on the side of his head. He is up at the count of five, and standing in front of Tony Perez, taking the mandatory eight-count.
Azumah comes forward, knowing the best form of defence is to attack. Sanchez is patient and not prepared to risk being caught by one of Azumah’s powerful hooks. That caution gives Azumah time to recover, but at the end of the round, it is apparent that all is not well with the challenger when he goes to a neutral corner, rather than to his own.
Early in the eighth round, a left hook rocks Azumah, and he wobbles as if drunk. As he tries to steady himself, a right hook catches him. He stumbles again but somehow manages to stay on his feet.
There is no doubt that Azumah is hurt, but when a warrior is hurt, pride kicks in and he comes forward rather than retreats. Azumah throws a flurry of punches that lets Sanchez know he isn’t finished yet. The salvo has the desired effect. Sanchez eases up the attack, deciding that caution is the best option rather than getting caught by one of Azumah’s powerful swinging punches. Sanchez then plays a patient game knowing there are still plenty of rounds left to take out the challenger. The courageous Azumah keeps fighting, but the momentum of the fight is starting to shift, and Sanchez’s experience is starting to win out.
Again, Azumah is up early and out of his corner, waiting for the bell to start the ninth. Sanchez, however, remains seated in his and doesn’t rise until he hears the bell. A close exchange of blows sees Azumah rocked again when the champion lands a left hook over the top of his guard. A minute into the round, Sanchez circles his opponent and neither boxer throws any punches. Suddenly, Azumah launches an attack, but unlike in the early rounds, Sanchez fights back. Both fighters land a flurry of punches, and when they are separated, Azumah is bleeding from his mouth. But being the warrior that he is, he can only go one way: He continues to move forward. At the end of the round, the evidence is clear that Sanchez has again troubled the challenger when Azumah bizarrely goes to Sanchez’s corner rather than his own.
As the bell sounds for the tenth, many are surprised that Azumah is still there, especially after accepting the fight at the eleventh hour, but the ascendancy is definitely with Sanchez. Azumah keeps moving forward, but Sanchez is picking him off and manages to slip in his dangerous, swinging right hook. Azumah keeps forcing the champion back, concentrating his attack to the body and landing some hard, powerful blows. When the bell sounds, Azumah does a little dance, but rather than showboating, he looks to be trying to reinvigorate his undoubtedly tired body.
Between rounds, World Champion Larry Holmes announces that the fighters are now entering championship territory. “This is where the champions show their class and overpower the challenger,” he declared.
Azumah is up from his stool early again, ready to get on with the fight. Sanchez lands a good right, but Azumah continues to move forward. The Mexicans in the crowd start to find their voice, hoping to cheer their champion home in the last five rounds. The two stand toe-to-toe, head-to-head, as Sanchez begins to throw to the body, Azumah to the head. Azumah then backs Sanchez into the corner and lands two powerful left hooks, which hurt the champion.
Suddenly, questions are being asked as to whether the challenger can really take the fight and the title from the champion. With less than thirty seconds left in the round, Azumah is knocked off-balance. He stumbles but then throws a left hook that visibly hurts Sanchez, who looks to be hanging on in the final seconds of the round. This time, it is Sanchez who dances at the bell, but it is a dance to try and convince his fans that he still has control of his legs. The determined Azumah is still standing, and in unknown territory in terms of rounds fought. But as he proved in that round, if he can land his punches, he can hurt the champion.
Azumah is again up early from his corner, wanting to get down to business. He starts the twelfth as the aggressor, throwing punches from all angles, while Sanchez keeps snapping his jab into Azumah’s face.
The challenger is looking for a knockout and is trying to set Sanchez up for a right hook. He manages to force Sanchez into the corner, but cannot land a telling right. As they come back out into the centre of the ring, Azumah forces his opponent back again and lands a left hook that skims off Sanchez. But as the champion backs away, his right foot slips in the wet patch in his corner. He takes a right as he tries to get up. Meanwhile, Azumah keeps landing punches and scoring points, and ringside observers consider the fight even at this point, with just three rounds to go. For once, Azumah is not out before the bell, and his corner have worked hard on the swelling around his left eye. Both boxers are fighting like champions.
Still, the two fighters go at it, with referee Perez peripheral. Azumah is still forcing Sanchez back and lands most of his punches. With one minute and thirty seconds to go, a left and then a great right hook rock Sanchez, as does another combination seconds later. The champion looks tired and is suddenly taking a lot of punches. As the round comes to a close, Azumah staggers by him with a right, followed by an uppercut, and then a right hook. It looks to be Azumah’s round—that is, until a left hook rocks him just after the bell sounds. Courageously, he dances in the ring to say, “I’m okay.”
The left hook appears to be the one weapon Sanchez has to save himself from defeat. There are two rounds to go, and there was little doubt his corner has told him he has to step it up. Sanchez is more purposeful at the start of the fourteenth; he is constantly thrusting his jab into Azumah’s face. He then lands two jabs in a row, followed by a good right. Halfway through the round, though, Azumah starts chasing Sanchez and lands some good blows. Once again, the two stand toe-to-toe and both land powerful punches.
At the end of the round, both boxers are still standing there, throwing punches with little movement, and fail to hear the bell. For the first time in the fight, referee Perez has to step in and separate them. As they break apart, Azumah looks like he is out on his feet, while Sanchez slumps heavily onto his own stool.
No one had expected the fight to go the distance. Sanchez was regarded as one of the truly great champions, and no one had heard of the Ghanaian Azumah Nelson. But one thing was sure: Few were going to forget him.
Again, Azumah is up and ready before the bell, while Sanchez waits on his stool until it sounds. The two warriors come to the centre of the ring and touch gloves as the crowd shows its appreciation of a great fight. Azumah goes on the attack early; many still believing he needs a knockout to win.
His opening flurry looks impressive. However, in looking for that much-needed knockout, he opens himself up and is caught by a right hook, and then another follow-up right. Azumah keeps fighting back, the right side of his jaw is visibly swollen and blood is pouring out of his mouth. His breathing has become difficult and his mouth is hanging open. He is noticeably tired, and his punches have become wilder.
With just under two minutes left, Azumah finds himself on the ropes in his corner. Suddenly, a short right and two follow-up punches force his legs to buckle. He falls to the canvas. As he did in round seven, though, he bounces up and takes a standing eight-count, but the spring in his step has gone. Perez lets the fight continue with just under a minute-and-a-half left. Two swinging lefts from Sanchez and Azumah’s resistance is nonexistent; his legs wobble and the referee moves in to stop the fight.
The fight ended after one minute and forty-nine seconds of the final round. Azumah had lost in cruel circumstances. He had tried to stay on his feet and fight back, but the lack of time to prepare for a fight against a great world champion had taken its toll in the very last round.
Commentator John Landon showed his respect for Azumah when he summed up the fight by saying, “I salute you for a great performance. You’re a great fighter, and you are going to be greater as you go on.” Prophetic words, indeed.
As it turned out, the judges all had Azumah behind when the fight was stopped, and only a knockout would have seen him take the WBC featherweight championship from Salvador Sanchez. The judges’ scores were: Castelano 135–131, Reid 132–133, Aidala 134–131.
They say that life is about seizing opportunities when they come your way, and Azumah Nelson certainly did that against the great Salvador Sanchez. No one had given the young unknown from Ghana a hope of lasting the distance, but he had stood toe-to-toe with the champion, and even dominated him at times. With just seventeen days’ notice, he had almost weathered fifteen rounds with one of the greats.
He woke up that day unknown outside of Africa, but his name was now indelibly stamped in the minds of fight fans the world over.
(by Ashley Morrison)
With both boxers in the ring, the announcer began his introductions: “The man in charge of this scheduled fifteen-round World Boxing Council Featherweight Championship is referee Tony Perez. And now, boxing fans, introducing the principals: First, in the blue corner, wearing the yellow trunks with the red and green trim, he is weighing in at an even 124 pounds. He is undefeated in thirteen professional fights with ten knockouts. He is the Commonwealth champion from Accra, Ghana, Africa. He is Azumah Nelson.”
A roar goes up and the challenger raises his arms above his head. The ringside bell began to strike.
The announcer continues. “His opponent in the red corner, wearing the red trunks with the white trim, is weighing in at an even 126 pounds. This young man has a record of forty-two wins, one loss, one draw, and thirty knockouts. From Mexico City, Mexico, the WBC featherweight champion is Salvador Sanchez.”
A massive roar followed the announcement of Sanchez’s name as the Mexicans inside “The Garden” make it clear who they are supporting.
The referee brings the two together in the centre of the ring for their final instructions. Both boxers then return to their respective corners, and the bell sounds for the fight to begin.
The ringside commentators on the Don King Sports and Entertainment Network had never seen Azumah Nelson fight and are evaluating him as the fight progresses.
Azumah is compact and dominates the centre of the ring in the opening round, landing some telling blows early on. One minute and twenty seconds into the opening round, however, he worries Sanchez with a right hand.
World Heavyweight Champion Larry Holmes, commentating ringside, makes a telling point: “We have a fight on our hands. Nelson has no fear—he’s come to fight.”
The challenger then throws in an “Ali Shuffle.” Was this showboating or trying to show he has dominated the opening three minutes? Whatever it was, the crowd loved it.
Sanchez knows he has a fight on his hands, and in an effort to emphasise that fact, Azumah does not sit down in his corner straightaway, trying to stir up the crowd.
Round two starts almost as round one had finished, with another Ali Shuffle from Azumah, followed by a fast exchange of punches.
Azumah waits for Sanchez to throw and then counters effectively. In five minutes, he has shown he is a very competent fighter who does not fear Sanchez, or his reputation. The challenger is forcing the fight, making Sanchez reach for him, and the touch of gloves at the end of the round, shows that both boxers know this is going to be a tough fight, and that they already respect each other.
Commentator John Condon, despite the opening salvo from Nelson, believes the challenger has to get lucky early to win, as Sanchez has been fifteen rounds before and that experience will tell as the fight goes on.
Azumah stops and smiles at Sanchez in the third as Sanchez thrusts his jab into the face of the challenger, but he keeps coming forward. No one had seen Azumah fight before; none of his fights were on film. Sanchez can only attempt to work him out, round by round, while trying to avoid getting hurt at the same time. At the end of the round, Sanchez lands two good rights over the top of Azumah’s left, revealing a possible chink in the Ghanaian’s armor.
Sanchez sits in his corner, waiting for the bell for round four. When it sounds, he crosses himself as he does before every round and rises to his feet.
Once again, though, it is Azumah who takes the lead, landing a good flurry of punches at the start of the round. After another Ali Shuffle, he manages to avoid most of Sanchez’s punches. At the end of the round, both boxers stand toe-to-toe, belting each other with blows to the body and to the head, prompting the commentator Holmes at ringside to say, “He is the champion in his country, and the way he is fighting, he’s trying to prove he is the best in all countries.”
When the bell sounds, Azumah smiles at Sanchez, and once again, the two touch gloves. Azumah is raring to go at the start of round five, so much so that he comes out from his corner early, and referee Tony Perez sends him back to wait until the bell sounds. Once it does, he chases Sanchez around the ring and lands four or five good blows, including a telling right. “A warrior down to his toes” was how commentator John Condon saw the challenger.
Azumah lands a series of good body punches and is starting to hurt Sanchez. His expression has changed and he is beginning to take more blows than in previous rounds. Early in round six, Azumah is caught by a left hook as Sanchez starts to move and jab, attempting to control the fight. He circles Azumah, holding him off with his jab and restricts him from being able to move forward and get in close. As good as Sanchez is, he cannot avoid being caught with a right in the dying seconds as Azumah keeps plugging away.
The seventh round sees Sanchez continue to jab, and when he unleashes a powerful left hook, he has Azumah stumbling backwards. He manages to stay on his feet, but Sanchez moves in for the kill. Azumah tries to fight back but eventually hits the canvas when another short left hook lands flush on the side of his head. He is up at the count of five, and standing in front of Tony Perez, taking the mandatory eight-count.
Azumah comes forward, knowing the best form of defence is to attack. Sanchez is patient and not prepared to risk being caught by one of Azumah’s powerful hooks. That caution gives Azumah time to recover, but at the end of the round, it is apparent that all is not well with the challenger when he goes to a neutral corner, rather than to his own.
Early in the eighth round, a left hook rocks Azumah, and he wobbles as if drunk. As he tries to steady himself, a right hook catches him. He stumbles again but somehow manages to stay on his feet.
There is no doubt that Azumah is hurt, but when a warrior is hurt, pride kicks in and he comes forward rather than retreats. Azumah throws a flurry of punches that lets Sanchez know he isn’t finished yet. The salvo has the desired effect. Sanchez eases up the attack, deciding that caution is the best option rather than getting caught by one of Azumah’s powerful swinging punches. Sanchez then plays a patient game knowing there are still plenty of rounds left to take out the challenger. The courageous Azumah keeps fighting, but the momentum of the fight is starting to shift, and Sanchez’s experience is starting to win out.
Again, Azumah is up early and out of his corner, waiting for the bell to start the ninth. Sanchez, however, remains seated in his and doesn’t rise until he hears the bell. A close exchange of blows sees Azumah rocked again when the champion lands a left hook over the top of his guard. A minute into the round, Sanchez circles his opponent and neither boxer throws any punches. Suddenly, Azumah launches an attack, but unlike in the early rounds, Sanchez fights back. Both fighters land a flurry of punches, and when they are separated, Azumah is bleeding from his mouth. But being the warrior that he is, he can only go one way: He continues to move forward. At the end of the round, the evidence is clear that Sanchez has again troubled the challenger when Azumah bizarrely goes to Sanchez’s corner rather than his own.
As the bell sounds for the tenth, many are surprised that Azumah is still there, especially after accepting the fight at the eleventh hour, but the ascendancy is definitely with Sanchez. Azumah keeps moving forward, but Sanchez is picking him off and manages to slip in his dangerous, swinging right hook. Azumah keeps forcing the champion back, concentrating his attack to the body and landing some hard, powerful blows. When the bell sounds, Azumah does a little dance, but rather than showboating, he looks to be trying to reinvigorate his undoubtedly tired body.
Between rounds, World Champion Larry Holmes announces that the fighters are now entering championship territory. “This is where the champions show their class and overpower the challenger,” he declared.
Azumah is up from his stool early again, ready to get on with the fight. Sanchez lands a good right, but Azumah continues to move forward. The Mexicans in the crowd start to find their voice, hoping to cheer their champion home in the last five rounds. The two stand toe-to-toe, head-to-head, as Sanchez begins to throw to the body, Azumah to the head. Azumah then backs Sanchez into the corner and lands two powerful left hooks, which hurt the champion.
Suddenly, questions are being asked as to whether the challenger can really take the fight and the title from the champion. With less than thirty seconds left in the round, Azumah is knocked off-balance. He stumbles but then throws a left hook that visibly hurts Sanchez, who looks to be hanging on in the final seconds of the round. This time, it is Sanchez who dances at the bell, but it is a dance to try and convince his fans that he still has control of his legs. The determined Azumah is still standing, and in unknown territory in terms of rounds fought. But as he proved in that round, if he can land his punches, he can hurt the champion.
Azumah is again up early from his corner, wanting to get down to business. He starts the twelfth as the aggressor, throwing punches from all angles, while Sanchez keeps snapping his jab into Azumah’s face.
The challenger is looking for a knockout and is trying to set Sanchez up for a right hook. He manages to force Sanchez into the corner, but cannot land a telling right. As they come back out into the centre of the ring, Azumah forces his opponent back again and lands a left hook that skims off Sanchez. But as the champion backs away, his right foot slips in the wet patch in his corner. He takes a right as he tries to get up. Meanwhile, Azumah keeps landing punches and scoring points, and ringside observers consider the fight even at this point, with just three rounds to go. For once, Azumah is not out before the bell, and his corner have worked hard on the swelling around his left eye. Both boxers are fighting like champions.
Still, the two fighters go at it, with referee Perez peripheral. Azumah is still forcing Sanchez back and lands most of his punches. With one minute and thirty seconds to go, a left and then a great right hook rock Sanchez, as does another combination seconds later. The champion looks tired and is suddenly taking a lot of punches. As the round comes to a close, Azumah staggers by him with a right, followed by an uppercut, and then a right hook. It looks to be Azumah’s round—that is, until a left hook rocks him just after the bell sounds. Courageously, he dances in the ring to say, “I’m okay.”
The left hook appears to be the one weapon Sanchez has to save himself from defeat. There are two rounds to go, and there was little doubt his corner has told him he has to step it up. Sanchez is more purposeful at the start of the fourteenth; he is constantly thrusting his jab into Azumah’s face. He then lands two jabs in a row, followed by a good right. Halfway through the round, though, Azumah starts chasing Sanchez and lands some good blows. Once again, the two stand toe-to-toe and both land powerful punches.
At the end of the round, both boxers are still standing there, throwing punches with little movement, and fail to hear the bell. For the first time in the fight, referee Perez has to step in and separate them. As they break apart, Azumah looks like he is out on his feet, while Sanchez slumps heavily onto his own stool.
No one had expected the fight to go the distance. Sanchez was regarded as one of the truly great champions, and no one had heard of the Ghanaian Azumah Nelson. But one thing was sure: Few were going to forget him.
Again, Azumah is up and ready before the bell, while Sanchez waits on his stool until it sounds. The two warriors come to the centre of the ring and touch gloves as the crowd shows its appreciation of a great fight. Azumah goes on the attack early; many still believing he needs a knockout to win.
His opening flurry looks impressive. However, in looking for that much-needed knockout, he opens himself up and is caught by a right hook, and then another follow-up right. Azumah keeps fighting back, the right side of his jaw is visibly swollen and blood is pouring out of his mouth. His breathing has become difficult and his mouth is hanging open. He is noticeably tired, and his punches have become wilder.
With just under two minutes left, Azumah finds himself on the ropes in his corner. Suddenly, a short right and two follow-up punches force his legs to buckle. He falls to the canvas. As he did in round seven, though, he bounces up and takes a standing eight-count, but the spring in his step has gone. Perez lets the fight continue with just under a minute-and-a-half left. Two swinging lefts from Sanchez and Azumah’s resistance is nonexistent; his legs wobble and the referee moves in to stop the fight.
The fight ended after one minute and forty-nine seconds of the final round. Azumah had lost in cruel circumstances. He had tried to stay on his feet and fight back, but the lack of time to prepare for a fight against a great world champion had taken its toll in the very last round.
Commentator John Landon showed his respect for Azumah when he summed up the fight by saying, “I salute you for a great performance. You’re a great fighter, and you are going to be greater as you go on.” Prophetic words, indeed.
As it turned out, the judges all had Azumah behind when the fight was stopped, and only a knockout would have seen him take the WBC featherweight championship from Salvador Sanchez. The judges’ scores were: Castelano 135–131, Reid 132–133, Aidala 134–131.
They say that life is about seizing opportunities when they come your way, and Azumah Nelson certainly did that against the great Salvador Sanchez. No one had given the young unknown from Ghana a hope of lasting the distance, but he had stood toe-to-toe with the champion, and even dominated him at times. With just seventeen days’ notice, he had almost weathered fifteen rounds with one of the greats.
He woke up that day unknown outside of Africa, but his name was now indelibly stamped in the minds of fight fans the world over.
(by Ashley Morrison)
In one of his sober moments, Mickey Walker had made Doc Kearns promise they would take a trip to Ireland. His father’s people had come from Roscommon, his mother’s from Kerry, and his mail bag was always full of letters from people claiming to be cousins or related in some way, warm, friendly letters, and Mickey wanted to meet them. So Doc gave Walter Friedman a roll of bills and told him to book the trip to the Emerald Isle.
Friedman was a Broadway character labeled “Good-Time Charley” by Damon Runyon. Friedman didn’t know anybody in Ireland, but he did know a cute little French actress with whom he had been keeping company in London, and she was returning to Paris the next day. Problem solved. He bought a bunch of tickets for Paris and took them to Kearns. Doc was just as happy about the new destination. He didn’t know anybody in Ireland either.
Mickey had been in Paris a couple of days before he realized that he wasn’t in Ireland, and that the people were speaking French, not Gaelic. By that time he didn’t seem to care. He was having too good a time.
(by John Jarrett)
Friedman was a Broadway character labeled “Good-Time Charley” by Damon Runyon. Friedman didn’t know anybody in Ireland, but he did know a cute little French actress with whom he had been keeping company in London, and she was returning to Paris the next day. Problem solved. He bought a bunch of tickets for Paris and took them to Kearns. Doc was just as happy about the new destination. He didn’t know anybody in Ireland either.
Mickey had been in Paris a couple of days before he realized that he wasn’t in Ireland, and that the people were speaking French, not Gaelic. By that time he didn’t seem to care. He was having too good a time.
(by John Jarrett)
Sept 23, 1948. New York.
Jesse Flores sinks to the canvas for a fifth and final time as referee Mark Conn pushes away lightweight champion Ike Williams, Trenton, N.J., in the 10th round of a scheduled 15-round title bout at Yankee Stadium.
Bells tolled for the for the California-Mexican challenger at 2.04 of the round.
On the undercard Sugar Ray Robinson won a controversial decision in the first of two unforgettable clashes with the future welterweight champ from Cuba - Kid Gavilan.
Jesse Flores sinks to the canvas for a fifth and final time as referee Mark Conn pushes away lightweight champion Ike Williams, Trenton, N.J., in the 10th round of a scheduled 15-round title bout at Yankee Stadium.
Bells tolled for the for the California-Mexican challenger at 2.04 of the round.
On the undercard Sugar Ray Robinson won a controversial decision in the first of two unforgettable clashes with the future welterweight champ from Cuba - Kid Gavilan.
In a six-month stretch between 1943 and 1944, Jake LaMotta and Fritzie Zivic fought four times. Three of the four bouts ended in disputed split decisions, and three of the four bouts occurred in the hometowns of each fighter. LaMotta went 3-1 against Zivic, but it wasn’t that simple.
The first Jake LaMotta vs. Fritzie Zivic bout occurred on June 10, 1943 in Zivic’s hometown of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. LaMotta was a major force in the middleweight division. At the time, LaMotta was a month shy of his twenty-second birthday. The Bronx Bull was already 1-2 against Sugar Ray Robinson, and was a veteran of over forty professional fights. He was young, hungry and eager for a title shot.
In stark contrast, Zivic was considered a grizzled, fading, thirty-year-old former welterweight champion. Zivic was one of the most active fighters in boxing history. Fritzie had participated in an eye-popping 170 bouts when he and LaMotta first met. Leading up to the bout, Zivic had lost four of his last seven contests.
Regardless of Zivic’s latest showings, he hadn’t lost in his hometown since dropping a decision to Charley Burley in 1939. Nevertheless, some of Zivic’s most ardent supporters were predicting doom for the quotable, carefree, and peripatetic former champion. Even Zivic’s Ph.D. in butting, thumbing and heeling wouldn’t be able to overcome natural wear and tear and LaMotta’s strength and stamina.
As it turned out, Zivic proved the skeptics wrong, but not without unexpected controversy. Weighing 151½ to LaMotta’s 155½, Zivic was too smart and experienced for the young contender. He outboxed the charging LaMotta before the hometown fans, and seemed to win an easy ten round decision. Zivic’s biographer, Timpav, describes the action and controversy surrounding LaMotta vs. Zivic 1 in his book 'Champ: Fritzie Zivic: The Life and Times of the Croat Comet'.
“At the start of the seventh, Zivic appeared to have the decision in his lap. LaMotta must have sensed it too, for he started rushing in that frame, and continued the same tactics in the 8th. Zivic, unruffled, took the 9th round with ease, and coasted to an apparent victory.
LaMotta staged a last-round rally to win that stanza, but his face was splattered in blood flowing from gashes over both eyes.
When the decision was announced, the crowd went wild. It just didn’t make sense to the fans who just saw the Crafty Croat fight one of the most brilliant battles in his long career.
Even LaMotta was amazed when the result was announced.
Referee Al Graybar tallied six rounds for LaMotta, four for Zivic; Judge Kid Stinger had six for LaMotta, two for Zivic and two even; and Judge George Martzo scored it six for Zivic, three for LaMotta, and one even."
Fans reportedly booed the decision for a full twenty minutes. Along with several top writers, Timpav reported that Barney Ross and LaMotta’s pilot, Mike Capriano, thought Zivic won comfortably. The decision was so bad that when the rematch was ordered, new officials were appointed to oversee the action.
Zivic won the fifteen round rematch on July 12, 1943. The bout was a bloody, ebb and flow war, but it was also close and controversial. Zivic was effective in the middle rounds after taking a beating from LaMotta in the first round. LaMotta ultimately took charge and shut Zivic out in the championship rounds. The scorecards read: 8-5-2, 8-7, 5-7-3.
This time, most observers thought LaMotta won. Timpav reported that an eerie stench loomed over both decisions. In fact, part of the requirement for LaMotta vs. Zivic 3 entailed that the bout wouldn’t take place in Pittsburgh.
The rubber match occurred on November 12, 1943 at Madison Square Garden. LaMotta weighed 161 to Zivic’s 149¼. LaMotta was a 3-1 favorite.
LaMotta was the hometown fighter, but Zivic was extraordinarily popular in NYC. The 23,190 fans who witnessed Zivic’s welterweight title defense stoppage of Henry Armstrong on January 17, 1941 remains a Madison Square Garden attendance record.
As LaMotta would discover, being the hometown fighter isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. For starters, Zivic successfully bargained for five-ounce gloves with hopes of cutting LaMotta to shreds. Timpav describes the action and controversy.
“For the first five rounds it was a pip of a brawl, with Zivic apparently ahead on points. The Croat Comet cut Jake’s eye in the 4th, but LaMotta never backtracked. Fritzie got his foe to straighten up out of his familiar crouches with telling hooks and uppercuts in the early rounds.
Starting with the 6th, Jake’s punishing punches began to slow Zivic down. A cut was opened over Fritz’s eye in the 7th. The 8th, 9th and 10th rounds had LaMotta in control all the way. He showed his good form in the 9th, when he stormed over Zivic from all angles. They were still slugging it out hard at the final bell.
Jake took the decision, but it wasn’t unanimous. Referee Eddie Joseph voted for LaMotta, 6-4, as did Judge Marty Monroe. But the third official, Judge Jack Goodwin, gave 7 to Zivic and 3 to Jake.”
Much to the chagrin of LaMotta, his hometown fans reportedly rooted for Zivic during the entire bout, and loudly booed the split decision victory in his favor.
LaMotta and Zivic would fight once more on January 14, 1944. For the first time, the bout occurred at a neutral venue: Olympia Stadium in Detroit. By the same token, for the first time, the bout ended without controversy. LaMotta dominated Fritzie over ten rounds despite being penalized for low blows in the second and fourth round. The scorecards read: 8-2, 8-2, 6-3-1.
Their combined careers totaled nearly 340 bouts and over 2,600 rounds of ring activity. Despite the depth and veracity of their skill and will, neither could escape the tangled and intricate web of the hometown decision.
(by Greg Smith)
The first Jake LaMotta vs. Fritzie Zivic bout occurred on June 10, 1943 in Zivic’s hometown of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. LaMotta was a major force in the middleweight division. At the time, LaMotta was a month shy of his twenty-second birthday. The Bronx Bull was already 1-2 against Sugar Ray Robinson, and was a veteran of over forty professional fights. He was young, hungry and eager for a title shot.
In stark contrast, Zivic was considered a grizzled, fading, thirty-year-old former welterweight champion. Zivic was one of the most active fighters in boxing history. Fritzie had participated in an eye-popping 170 bouts when he and LaMotta first met. Leading up to the bout, Zivic had lost four of his last seven contests.
Regardless of Zivic’s latest showings, he hadn’t lost in his hometown since dropping a decision to Charley Burley in 1939. Nevertheless, some of Zivic’s most ardent supporters were predicting doom for the quotable, carefree, and peripatetic former champion. Even Zivic’s Ph.D. in butting, thumbing and heeling wouldn’t be able to overcome natural wear and tear and LaMotta’s strength and stamina.
As it turned out, Zivic proved the skeptics wrong, but not without unexpected controversy. Weighing 151½ to LaMotta’s 155½, Zivic was too smart and experienced for the young contender. He outboxed the charging LaMotta before the hometown fans, and seemed to win an easy ten round decision. Zivic’s biographer, Timpav, describes the action and controversy surrounding LaMotta vs. Zivic 1 in his book 'Champ: Fritzie Zivic: The Life and Times of the Croat Comet'.
“At the start of the seventh, Zivic appeared to have the decision in his lap. LaMotta must have sensed it too, for he started rushing in that frame, and continued the same tactics in the 8th. Zivic, unruffled, took the 9th round with ease, and coasted to an apparent victory.
LaMotta staged a last-round rally to win that stanza, but his face was splattered in blood flowing from gashes over both eyes.
When the decision was announced, the crowd went wild. It just didn’t make sense to the fans who just saw the Crafty Croat fight one of the most brilliant battles in his long career.
Even LaMotta was amazed when the result was announced.
Referee Al Graybar tallied six rounds for LaMotta, four for Zivic; Judge Kid Stinger had six for LaMotta, two for Zivic and two even; and Judge George Martzo scored it six for Zivic, three for LaMotta, and one even."
Fans reportedly booed the decision for a full twenty minutes. Along with several top writers, Timpav reported that Barney Ross and LaMotta’s pilot, Mike Capriano, thought Zivic won comfortably. The decision was so bad that when the rematch was ordered, new officials were appointed to oversee the action.
Zivic won the fifteen round rematch on July 12, 1943. The bout was a bloody, ebb and flow war, but it was also close and controversial. Zivic was effective in the middle rounds after taking a beating from LaMotta in the first round. LaMotta ultimately took charge and shut Zivic out in the championship rounds. The scorecards read: 8-5-2, 8-7, 5-7-3.
This time, most observers thought LaMotta won. Timpav reported that an eerie stench loomed over both decisions. In fact, part of the requirement for LaMotta vs. Zivic 3 entailed that the bout wouldn’t take place in Pittsburgh.
The rubber match occurred on November 12, 1943 at Madison Square Garden. LaMotta weighed 161 to Zivic’s 149¼. LaMotta was a 3-1 favorite.
LaMotta was the hometown fighter, but Zivic was extraordinarily popular in NYC. The 23,190 fans who witnessed Zivic’s welterweight title defense stoppage of Henry Armstrong on January 17, 1941 remains a Madison Square Garden attendance record.
As LaMotta would discover, being the hometown fighter isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. For starters, Zivic successfully bargained for five-ounce gloves with hopes of cutting LaMotta to shreds. Timpav describes the action and controversy.
“For the first five rounds it was a pip of a brawl, with Zivic apparently ahead on points. The Croat Comet cut Jake’s eye in the 4th, but LaMotta never backtracked. Fritzie got his foe to straighten up out of his familiar crouches with telling hooks and uppercuts in the early rounds.
Starting with the 6th, Jake’s punishing punches began to slow Zivic down. A cut was opened over Fritz’s eye in the 7th. The 8th, 9th and 10th rounds had LaMotta in control all the way. He showed his good form in the 9th, when he stormed over Zivic from all angles. They were still slugging it out hard at the final bell.
Jake took the decision, but it wasn’t unanimous. Referee Eddie Joseph voted for LaMotta, 6-4, as did Judge Marty Monroe. But the third official, Judge Jack Goodwin, gave 7 to Zivic and 3 to Jake.”
Much to the chagrin of LaMotta, his hometown fans reportedly rooted for Zivic during the entire bout, and loudly booed the split decision victory in his favor.
LaMotta and Zivic would fight once more on January 14, 1944. For the first time, the bout occurred at a neutral venue: Olympia Stadium in Detroit. By the same token, for the first time, the bout ended without controversy. LaMotta dominated Fritzie over ten rounds despite being penalized for low blows in the second and fourth round. The scorecards read: 8-2, 8-2, 6-3-1.
Their combined careers totaled nearly 340 bouts and over 2,600 rounds of ring activity. Despite the depth and veracity of their skill and will, neither could escape the tangled and intricate web of the hometown decision.
(by Greg Smith)
The crazy tale of the night that Paul Swiderski fought Mickey Walker...
Doc Kearns (Walkers manager) claimed he had accepted an original offer for Mickey to box Pat Dillon, a Canadian journeyman fighter, in Louisville on the eve of the Kentucky Derby in 1930, but when Dillon suffered a hand injury, the promoters asked Doc if he would accept Paul Swiderski as a substitute. Kearns would refer to Swiderski as a “local boy noted as a very rough and tough customer,” but Paul was actually a light-heavyweight from Syracuse with a so-so record. They needed spending money for the big weekend, so Kearns agreed to the fight.
But when fight day rolled around, the promoters told Kearns that they hadn’t taken in enough money to pay Mickey’s purse. There were plenty of sporting gents in town but they had come to see the big race, not a boxing match, even if there was a world champion topping the card. Doc told them if there was no money, there was no fight. When he told Mickey, the Toy Bulldog joined in the festivities and started hitting the bars.
It was some hours later when Kearns was called by the promoters. They had three grand for Walker if he was still sober. He wasn’t when Teddy Hayes (his trainer at the time) found him, but he was always ready for a fight, and manager and trainer set to work to get their star attraction fit for the fray. They finally got him into the ring but were hoping Swiderski wasn’t feeling too ambitious. He was.
Kearns recalled, “Swiderski galloped across the ring at the opening bell and walloped Mickey on the chin with a right hand that knocked him flatter than a house detective’s arches. Through the next couple of minutes, Mickey was up and down like a pump handle, and finally Swiderski fetched him a smash on the jaw that knocked Mickey cold.”
The way Kearns told it, he happened to hit the timekeeper’s gong with Mickey’s water bottle, thus ending the round. Harry Lenny (Swiderski's manager) had seen Doc’s unofficial action and jumped into the ring, yelling to the timekeeper that the round was not over. Kearns and Hayes had followed Lenny into the ring, intent on hauling Mickey back to his corner for some badly needed first aid.
They needed a diversion and a free-for-all broke out in the middle of the ring with the local police joining in. Meanwhile Doc got Walker back to his stool, doused him with water and shoved the smelling salts under his nose. He was stirring when they cleared the ring and the bell rang for round two.
Kearns would recall that Swiderski cornered Mickey again and knocked him out, absolutely cold. Luckily there were only five seconds left in the round and Walker was saved by the bell. But he was still virtually out on his feet when going out for round three.
For Doc Kearns, desperate times called for desperate measures, and this was one of those times. He recalled on entering the arena seeing a bank of switches in the box office, which he pointed out to Hayes. If those switches were pulled by some careless person, all the arena lights would go out. So, with the dangerous Swiderski taking aim on the hapless Walker, Doc sent Hayes off to the box office.
Leaving the ringside, Hayes raced off to the front of the hall and found the box office. Surprising the guy in there, he yelled something about the lights, pulled on two large switches, and out went the arena lights. Then he charged back to the ring, got Walker to his corner, and worked on him. By the time the lights came on again, Mickey was shaking his head and coming out of his nightmare.
When all the lights went out, Kearns recalled that he was in the ring and swapping punches with Swiderski, having shoved the semi-conscious Walker into a corner. He was soon joined by Hayes, who slugged Lenny, and with the crowd going crazy and the referee looking on helplessly, the cops again charged into the ring to sort things out. It took about half an hour this time to clear everybody out of the ring except the principals, and the real fight started again.
The story of this fight is as mixed up as the circumstances leading up to it. In his “Sportlight” column, Grantland Rice wrote, “It was almost another Dempsey–Firpo melee.... It took a fighter to get back and tear in as Walker did. Only a fighting man could have staged such a counter attack. And here was $100,000 worth of drama and excitement on tap for a $7,000 house.”
By all accounts, Paul Swiderski put Mickey Walker’s lights out in that hectic first round, and by the accounts of Kearns and Hayes, they put everybody else’s lights out. They didn’t mention a double knockdown in the opening round, yet in several reports there was such a rare happening.
In a review for Ring magazine, Dan Daniels recorded, “The rivals connected simultaneously and both hit the canvas. Paul pulled himself up at six, Walker needed nine.... The round had gone 2:30 with the champion sprawled out on the canvas when the bell suddenly rang. Kearns had sent trainer Teddy Hayes to rap the gong in time to save Walker from being counted out.” Daniels concluded that, but for the skullduggery pulled by Hayes and Kearns, Walker would have been knocked out.
Damon Runyon, in Louisville for the Derby, was at the Walker fight. He saw the double knockdown, recording in his column a few days later, “As Mr. Swiderski speared him on the chin with a left hook, Mr. Walker’s right landing at the same instant on Mr. Swiderski’s kisser. Down they both went. ’Twas the first double knockdown these aged eyes have viewed in many a semester.”
Somebody else remembered the double knockdown—Paul Swiderski. He would tell sportswriter/cartoonist “Lank” Leonard, “We both land at the same time and we both go down. Well, I’m the first to get up. Mickey finally makes it but he’s in terrible shape.” Swiderski also recalled the lights going out. “By the time they find a new fuse Walker is himself again and I’m tired out from giving him everything I’ve got. He finished strong and I was lucky to finish.”
A couple of months after the fight, Swiderski talked with columnist William Braucher for his “Hooks & Slides” column. “Sure, low blows hurt,” he said, “and I still carry effects of one that Mickey handed me in Louisville. Well, just as the bell rang ending the third round, Mickey let a wild one go and it took me right in the groin. I went over on my face and felt very sick to my stomach.”
Swiderski and manager Lenny tried to buy the pictures that were taken of the knockdowns but they were too late. Doc Kearns had already bought the plates from the only photographer who covered the fight. Recalled sportswriter Henry J. McCormick some years later, “Swiderski’s manager had placards made up showing his boy knocking down Walker eight times. In some of the pictures the fighter purporting to be Walker wore dark trunks, in others he wore white trunks; in some pictures the fight was in a ring outdoors, in others in a ring indoors.”
(by John Jarrett)
Doc Kearns (Walkers manager) claimed he had accepted an original offer for Mickey to box Pat Dillon, a Canadian journeyman fighter, in Louisville on the eve of the Kentucky Derby in 1930, but when Dillon suffered a hand injury, the promoters asked Doc if he would accept Paul Swiderski as a substitute. Kearns would refer to Swiderski as a “local boy noted as a very rough and tough customer,” but Paul was actually a light-heavyweight from Syracuse with a so-so record. They needed spending money for the big weekend, so Kearns agreed to the fight.
But when fight day rolled around, the promoters told Kearns that they hadn’t taken in enough money to pay Mickey’s purse. There were plenty of sporting gents in town but they had come to see the big race, not a boxing match, even if there was a world champion topping the card. Doc told them if there was no money, there was no fight. When he told Mickey, the Toy Bulldog joined in the festivities and started hitting the bars.
It was some hours later when Kearns was called by the promoters. They had three grand for Walker if he was still sober. He wasn’t when Teddy Hayes (his trainer at the time) found him, but he was always ready for a fight, and manager and trainer set to work to get their star attraction fit for the fray. They finally got him into the ring but were hoping Swiderski wasn’t feeling too ambitious. He was.
Kearns recalled, “Swiderski galloped across the ring at the opening bell and walloped Mickey on the chin with a right hand that knocked him flatter than a house detective’s arches. Through the next couple of minutes, Mickey was up and down like a pump handle, and finally Swiderski fetched him a smash on the jaw that knocked Mickey cold.”
The way Kearns told it, he happened to hit the timekeeper’s gong with Mickey’s water bottle, thus ending the round. Harry Lenny (Swiderski's manager) had seen Doc’s unofficial action and jumped into the ring, yelling to the timekeeper that the round was not over. Kearns and Hayes had followed Lenny into the ring, intent on hauling Mickey back to his corner for some badly needed first aid.
They needed a diversion and a free-for-all broke out in the middle of the ring with the local police joining in. Meanwhile Doc got Walker back to his stool, doused him with water and shoved the smelling salts under his nose. He was stirring when they cleared the ring and the bell rang for round two.
Kearns would recall that Swiderski cornered Mickey again and knocked him out, absolutely cold. Luckily there were only five seconds left in the round and Walker was saved by the bell. But he was still virtually out on his feet when going out for round three.
For Doc Kearns, desperate times called for desperate measures, and this was one of those times. He recalled on entering the arena seeing a bank of switches in the box office, which he pointed out to Hayes. If those switches were pulled by some careless person, all the arena lights would go out. So, with the dangerous Swiderski taking aim on the hapless Walker, Doc sent Hayes off to the box office.
Leaving the ringside, Hayes raced off to the front of the hall and found the box office. Surprising the guy in there, he yelled something about the lights, pulled on two large switches, and out went the arena lights. Then he charged back to the ring, got Walker to his corner, and worked on him. By the time the lights came on again, Mickey was shaking his head and coming out of his nightmare.
When all the lights went out, Kearns recalled that he was in the ring and swapping punches with Swiderski, having shoved the semi-conscious Walker into a corner. He was soon joined by Hayes, who slugged Lenny, and with the crowd going crazy and the referee looking on helplessly, the cops again charged into the ring to sort things out. It took about half an hour this time to clear everybody out of the ring except the principals, and the real fight started again.
The story of this fight is as mixed up as the circumstances leading up to it. In his “Sportlight” column, Grantland Rice wrote, “It was almost another Dempsey–Firpo melee.... It took a fighter to get back and tear in as Walker did. Only a fighting man could have staged such a counter attack. And here was $100,000 worth of drama and excitement on tap for a $7,000 house.”
By all accounts, Paul Swiderski put Mickey Walker’s lights out in that hectic first round, and by the accounts of Kearns and Hayes, they put everybody else’s lights out. They didn’t mention a double knockdown in the opening round, yet in several reports there was such a rare happening.
In a review for Ring magazine, Dan Daniels recorded, “The rivals connected simultaneously and both hit the canvas. Paul pulled himself up at six, Walker needed nine.... The round had gone 2:30 with the champion sprawled out on the canvas when the bell suddenly rang. Kearns had sent trainer Teddy Hayes to rap the gong in time to save Walker from being counted out.” Daniels concluded that, but for the skullduggery pulled by Hayes and Kearns, Walker would have been knocked out.
Damon Runyon, in Louisville for the Derby, was at the Walker fight. He saw the double knockdown, recording in his column a few days later, “As Mr. Swiderski speared him on the chin with a left hook, Mr. Walker’s right landing at the same instant on Mr. Swiderski’s kisser. Down they both went. ’Twas the first double knockdown these aged eyes have viewed in many a semester.”
Somebody else remembered the double knockdown—Paul Swiderski. He would tell sportswriter/cartoonist “Lank” Leonard, “We both land at the same time and we both go down. Well, I’m the first to get up. Mickey finally makes it but he’s in terrible shape.” Swiderski also recalled the lights going out. “By the time they find a new fuse Walker is himself again and I’m tired out from giving him everything I’ve got. He finished strong and I was lucky to finish.”
A couple of months after the fight, Swiderski talked with columnist William Braucher for his “Hooks & Slides” column. “Sure, low blows hurt,” he said, “and I still carry effects of one that Mickey handed me in Louisville. Well, just as the bell rang ending the third round, Mickey let a wild one go and it took me right in the groin. I went over on my face and felt very sick to my stomach.”
Swiderski and manager Lenny tried to buy the pictures that were taken of the knockdowns but they were too late. Doc Kearns had already bought the plates from the only photographer who covered the fight. Recalled sportswriter Henry J. McCormick some years later, “Swiderski’s manager had placards made up showing his boy knocking down Walker eight times. In some of the pictures the fighter purporting to be Walker wore dark trunks, in others he wore white trunks; in some pictures the fight was in a ring outdoors, in others in a ring indoors.”
(by John Jarrett)
Feb 3, 1963.
Chris Christensen, Danish middleweight, is sprawled on the canvas, driven there by Emile Griffith's right and left to the head in the third round of their scheduled 15-round fight in Forum Stadium, Copenhagan, today. Griffith is waved away by referee Robert Seidel, of Switzerland, as he looks down on his fallen foe. Christensen was down for the count of eight in this round.
Griffith, whose world welterweight title was not at stake, won by a technical knockout in the ninth round of this fight.
(AP sports wire)
Emile Griffith celebrated his 25th birthday by successfully defending his World Junior middleweight title in Copenhagen. He stopped the 36-year old Dane, Christian Christensen in the 9th, after "Gentleman Chris" had been down twice in that round. The towel came flying in. Christensen had also been down in the 3rd.
Griffith moved in and out on the Dane, he even could take some extra seconds off to admire the effect of his combinations. The first two knockdowns were from right crosses, the final attack was a two fisted volley.
Prior to the fight, in January 1963, Boxing News reported that a member of the Danish parlament intended to stop the event, fearing that Christensen would get seriously hurt.
(boxrec)
(Griffith's World Light Middleweight Title was Recognized by the Austrian Boxing Board of Control, but by no other agencies)
Chris Christensen, Danish middleweight, is sprawled on the canvas, driven there by Emile Griffith's right and left to the head in the third round of their scheduled 15-round fight in Forum Stadium, Copenhagan, today. Griffith is waved away by referee Robert Seidel, of Switzerland, as he looks down on his fallen foe. Christensen was down for the count of eight in this round.
Griffith, whose world welterweight title was not at stake, won by a technical knockout in the ninth round of this fight.
(AP sports wire)
Emile Griffith celebrated his 25th birthday by successfully defending his World Junior middleweight title in Copenhagen. He stopped the 36-year old Dane, Christian Christensen in the 9th, after "Gentleman Chris" had been down twice in that round. The towel came flying in. Christensen had also been down in the 3rd.
Griffith moved in and out on the Dane, he even could take some extra seconds off to admire the effect of his combinations. The first two knockdowns were from right crosses, the final attack was a two fisted volley.
Prior to the fight, in January 1963, Boxing News reported that a member of the Danish parlament intended to stop the event, fearing that Christensen would get seriously hurt.
(boxrec)
(Griffith's World Light Middleweight Title was Recognized by the Austrian Boxing Board of Control, but by no other agencies)
“They say I haven’t trained hard enough for this fight. Who is to be the judge of how hard I work? I have worked all right, harder than most people think.” That’s Randy Turpin before the fight with Olson. He only spars 30 rounds leading up to it, and does this with his featherweight-size brother Jackie. Beats the hell out of Jackie, sure, but it ain’t a real workout. Does he not take Carl “Bobo” Olson seriously? Or is he distracted, something on his mind …
A woman. Adele Daniels. The light-skinned beauty from Harlem that Turpin met on his first trip outside of England, back in ’51 when he gave the middleweight title back to Sugar Ray Robinson, the belt he’d taken just months before.
Turpin’s in New York again and she’s hanging around. Getting crazy at his hotel, making a scene. George Middleton, Turpin’s manager, had warned Randy about Adele when they first met. Randy’s getting the message now, and he’s trying to hide out, staying at the camp, laying low. He won’t train in public, won’t talk to the press, even telling folks he may just fly back to England, forget the whole thing.
“Bobo” Olson doesn’t believe all the talk, thinks Turpin is in great shape. Thinks his opponent’s camp is trying to mess with his head, get him to let his guard down. So he trains twice as hard.
A few weeks before the match, Adele Daniels accuses Randy Turpin of assault.
The fight is held at Madison Square Garden, in front of almost 19,000. With Sugar Ray retired, the World Middleweight title is vacant – the winner will take it.
So they get to it. Turpin owns the first three rounds, despite his head being elsewhere. In the fourth, Olson opens up Randy’s cheek with a jab. They go back and forth a bit, but it’s Olson’s round. By the sixth, Olson is taking control, leading the fight.
Ninth round, Turpin gets a couple good shots in, regains confidence. He comes at “Bobo” with a left hook, but Olson slips it. Turpin comes at him with a right, but gets caught with a left hook of Olson’s. Back against the ropes, four, five, six big punches from Olson, no answer from Turpin. Randy gets off the ropes, throws his right but can’t land it. Back to the ropes and it’s left, right, left, right from Olson and Turpin goes down. He beats the count and the round is over.
Turpin’s caught on the ropes with another left hook in the tenth and is down for the second time. The eleventh, bang-bang, double-jab from “Bobo”, putting Turpin on the ropes again. Turpin gets away, only to get caught with a brutal belly shot, and he’s leaning, leaning. It goes on like this, Turpin being held up, Olson moving in, working it. Randy does get a good round off in the thirteenth, avoids punishment and dishes out some of his own, but it’s late.
In the last round, the fifteenth, Turpin lets it hang out, goes for the knockout, but he just can’t land the shot he needs. He takes the round, and there’s some pride in that, but the night is Olson’s.
“If I had been in my natural mental state, I could have stopped him about the eighth round. But I’ve had so many personal troubles recently, I wasn’t myself.” That’s Turpin after the fight. He says Olson is no Sugar Ray.
Adele Daniels drops the assault charges a couple weeks after the fight. She does end up suing Turpin for $100, 000 in damages, but gets only $3500, out of court, in the winter of ’55.
Turpin just fades after that, losing the bouts he needs to stay relevant. When he wins he’s putting down nobodies in nothing-fights. He finally retires in the early sixties. Short on cash, he turns to professional wrestling, but he was never a showman and even those crowds tire of him.
In 1966, he’s bankrupt. He shoots himself, and he’s gone.
But you go to Market Square in Warwick, England and you’ll find a statue of Randy Turpin. You look at that fighting pose, and you can flash way back to July 1951, when he took the belt from Sugar Ray in fifteen rounds. Way back when he got his taste, when everything shone so bright.
(by David Como)
A woman. Adele Daniels. The light-skinned beauty from Harlem that Turpin met on his first trip outside of England, back in ’51 when he gave the middleweight title back to Sugar Ray Robinson, the belt he’d taken just months before.
Turpin’s in New York again and she’s hanging around. Getting crazy at his hotel, making a scene. George Middleton, Turpin’s manager, had warned Randy about Adele when they first met. Randy’s getting the message now, and he’s trying to hide out, staying at the camp, laying low. He won’t train in public, won’t talk to the press, even telling folks he may just fly back to England, forget the whole thing.
“Bobo” Olson doesn’t believe all the talk, thinks Turpin is in great shape. Thinks his opponent’s camp is trying to mess with his head, get him to let his guard down. So he trains twice as hard.
A few weeks before the match, Adele Daniels accuses Randy Turpin of assault.
The fight is held at Madison Square Garden, in front of almost 19,000. With Sugar Ray retired, the World Middleweight title is vacant – the winner will take it.
So they get to it. Turpin owns the first three rounds, despite his head being elsewhere. In the fourth, Olson opens up Randy’s cheek with a jab. They go back and forth a bit, but it’s Olson’s round. By the sixth, Olson is taking control, leading the fight.
Ninth round, Turpin gets a couple good shots in, regains confidence. He comes at “Bobo” with a left hook, but Olson slips it. Turpin comes at him with a right, but gets caught with a left hook of Olson’s. Back against the ropes, four, five, six big punches from Olson, no answer from Turpin. Randy gets off the ropes, throws his right but can’t land it. Back to the ropes and it’s left, right, left, right from Olson and Turpin goes down. He beats the count and the round is over.
Turpin’s caught on the ropes with another left hook in the tenth and is down for the second time. The eleventh, bang-bang, double-jab from “Bobo”, putting Turpin on the ropes again. Turpin gets away, only to get caught with a brutal belly shot, and he’s leaning, leaning. It goes on like this, Turpin being held up, Olson moving in, working it. Randy does get a good round off in the thirteenth, avoids punishment and dishes out some of his own, but it’s late.
In the last round, the fifteenth, Turpin lets it hang out, goes for the knockout, but he just can’t land the shot he needs. He takes the round, and there’s some pride in that, but the night is Olson’s.
“If I had been in my natural mental state, I could have stopped him about the eighth round. But I’ve had so many personal troubles recently, I wasn’t myself.” That’s Turpin after the fight. He says Olson is no Sugar Ray.
Adele Daniels drops the assault charges a couple weeks after the fight. She does end up suing Turpin for $100, 000 in damages, but gets only $3500, out of court, in the winter of ’55.
Turpin just fades after that, losing the bouts he needs to stay relevant. When he wins he’s putting down nobodies in nothing-fights. He finally retires in the early sixties. Short on cash, he turns to professional wrestling, but he was never a showman and even those crowds tire of him.
In 1966, he’s bankrupt. He shoots himself, and he’s gone.
But you go to Market Square in Warwick, England and you’ll find a statue of Randy Turpin. You look at that fighting pose, and you can flash way back to July 1951, when he took the belt from Sugar Ray in fifteen rounds. Way back when he got his taste, when everything shone so bright.
(by David Como)
"The perfect prizefighter, to me, next to Dempsey, in type the pure, unspoiled standard bearer of the prize ring was a middleweight from Nebraska by the name of Ace Hudkins. He wasn’t the best fighter in the world, indeed he was never a world’s champion; but he was tough, hard, mean, cantankerous, combative, foul, nasty, courageous, acrimonious, and filled at all times with bitter and flaming lust for battle. If there was a kindly trait in Hudkins, I never knew it.
He weighed roughly around 150 pounds and had sort of pinkish, tousled hair, a long stubborn jaw that always showed a four-day stubble of beard, and a pair of the most baleful and vindictive blue eyes ever placed in a human head. His lips were thin and his teeth always bared in a snarl. He was utterly vicious, truculent, and brutal. He would heel, rip, thumb and butt with his head. He was meant to be strictly a rough-and-tumble bar-room fighter."
(Paul Gallico - sports editor of the New York Daily News)
New Yorkers had gathered to cheer their favorite, Ruby Goldstein, the pale-skinned boy with the big eyes they called the Jewel of the Ghetto on a warm June night in 1926. They had cheered him through 23 straight victories; tonight would be another as he knocked out some rube from out West, a raw kid called Ace Hudkins.
When the fight was made, another ghetto favorite, lightweight Sid Terris, sounded a warning. Sid had outboxed Hudkins in Chicago for a decision a few months previously, and he cautioned, “That Hudkins, he’s too tough. Keep him away from Ruby, I’m telling you. He’ll chase anybody out of the ring" But they hadn’t heard of Ace Hudkins in New York and they backed Ruby with every dollar not nailed down. It was all over inside four rounds. Ace climbed off the canvas in the first round and in round four hung Goldstein over the ropes like a bundle of wet washing.
The Evening Journal headline on June 26 said it all: “$400,000 Changed Hands. It would be remembered as the fight that broke the Jewish banks.” It was the fight that made Ace Hudkins.
(by John Jarrett)
He weighed roughly around 150 pounds and had sort of pinkish, tousled hair, a long stubborn jaw that always showed a four-day stubble of beard, and a pair of the most baleful and vindictive blue eyes ever placed in a human head. His lips were thin and his teeth always bared in a snarl. He was utterly vicious, truculent, and brutal. He would heel, rip, thumb and butt with his head. He was meant to be strictly a rough-and-tumble bar-room fighter."
(Paul Gallico - sports editor of the New York Daily News)
New Yorkers had gathered to cheer their favorite, Ruby Goldstein, the pale-skinned boy with the big eyes they called the Jewel of the Ghetto on a warm June night in 1926. They had cheered him through 23 straight victories; tonight would be another as he knocked out some rube from out West, a raw kid called Ace Hudkins.
When the fight was made, another ghetto favorite, lightweight Sid Terris, sounded a warning. Sid had outboxed Hudkins in Chicago for a decision a few months previously, and he cautioned, “That Hudkins, he’s too tough. Keep him away from Ruby, I’m telling you. He’ll chase anybody out of the ring" But they hadn’t heard of Ace Hudkins in New York and they backed Ruby with every dollar not nailed down. It was all over inside four rounds. Ace climbed off the canvas in the first round and in round four hung Goldstein over the ropes like a bundle of wet washing.
The Evening Journal headline on June 26 said it all: “$400,000 Changed Hands. It would be remembered as the fight that broke the Jewish banks.” It was the fight that made Ace Hudkins.
(by John Jarrett)
21st September 1948
Lee Oma vs Bruce Woodcock - Haringey Stadium, London.
In New York they thought Oma should win, but they'd had the word and bet Woodcock. Oma said he 'didn't feel too good' the day before the contest and those with good boxing dialect knew what that meant. He certainly didn't look too good a few flurries into the fourth round. Woodcock caught Oma with a right hand blow and the American swayed and took a little time to lie on the canvas and roll from side to side. There was no ovation, only pennies thrown into the ring by the disgruntled crowd. A crackerjack headline in the next day's 'Daily Mirror' above Peter Wilson's report read "OMA! AROMA! COMA!", which led to a commotion and Lee Oma's purse being held by the British Boxing Board of Control.
(By Douglas Thompson)
Lee Oma vs Bruce Woodcock - Haringey Stadium, London.
In New York they thought Oma should win, but they'd had the word and bet Woodcock. Oma said he 'didn't feel too good' the day before the contest and those with good boxing dialect knew what that meant. He certainly didn't look too good a few flurries into the fourth round. Woodcock caught Oma with a right hand blow and the American swayed and took a little time to lie on the canvas and roll from side to side. There was no ovation, only pennies thrown into the ring by the disgruntled crowd. A crackerjack headline in the next day's 'Daily Mirror' above Peter Wilson's report read "OMA! AROMA! COMA!", which led to a commotion and Lee Oma's purse being held by the British Boxing Board of Control.
(By Douglas Thompson)
Legend has it that Chicago-born Jackie Fields took his ring name from either a Chicago department store or in honor of an obscure fighter named Marty Fields. Jackie, an Olympic gold medal winner in 1924 at featherweight, turned pro in September 1924.
Fighting mostly out of Los Angeles, Fields won 8 of his first 9 bouts, his lone blemish being a draw. Since Jackie had won a gold medal, his career began with a measure of fanfare and instant identification. Buoyed by his early success and the temptation of a $5000 purse (very large shekels for a basically prelim fighter in 1925), the 17-year-old prototype L.A. "Golden Boy," made the huge mistake of stepping way up in class and jumping into the ring with one of boxing's all-time greats "Babyface" Jimmy McLarnin on November 12, 1925. At that point, McLarnin had 34 pro bouts with only one loss. "Babyface" brutalized Fields with five knockdowns in 2 rounds, finally putting Jackie away for the count with a vicious right cross. That was the only time in his 10-year career that Fields would lose by kayo.
(From Bio by GorDoom - enhanced photo courtesy of CBS contributor jtheron)
Fighting mostly out of Los Angeles, Fields won 8 of his first 9 bouts, his lone blemish being a draw. Since Jackie had won a gold medal, his career began with a measure of fanfare and instant identification. Buoyed by his early success and the temptation of a $5000 purse (very large shekels for a basically prelim fighter in 1925), the 17-year-old prototype L.A. "Golden Boy," made the huge mistake of stepping way up in class and jumping into the ring with one of boxing's all-time greats "Babyface" Jimmy McLarnin on November 12, 1925. At that point, McLarnin had 34 pro bouts with only one loss. "Babyface" brutalized Fields with five knockdowns in 2 rounds, finally putting Jackie away for the count with a vicious right cross. That was the only time in his 10-year career that Fields would lose by kayo.
(From Bio by GorDoom - enhanced photo courtesy of CBS contributor jtheron)
Sept 2, 1920 -
Dempsey tackled Bill Tate, Harry Greb and Marty Farrell in sparring this afternoon. He took them on in that order, boxing two rounds with Tate and three each with Greb and Farrell. The bout with Greb was a real one. It was the best work-out Dempsey has had. The Pittsburgher was in prime shape, and although he weighs only 165 pounds he gave the champion a real honust-to-goodness battle. Dempsey hasn't seen so many gloves in a long time as Greb showed him. Greb was all over him and kept forcing him around the ring throughout the session. Dempsey could do but little with the speedy light heavyweight, while Greb seemed to be able to hit Dempsey almost at will. Time and again Greb made the champion miss with his famous right and left hooks to the head and countered with heavy swings to the head and hooks to the body.
Greb was a veritable whirlwind. Twenty-five pounds lighter than the champion and about four inches shorter, Harry made the champion step lively. He had to jump off the floor to hit Dempsey in the head when the latter was standing straight, but managed to do it and landed without leaving himself open to Jack's snappy hooks and short swings. One of the most notable things about Dempsey's boxing is the fact that he is not hitting as straight as he did in Toledo. This is not a particularly good sign. Why he should hook and swing his blows more is a mystery. He can hit straight when he wants to, and when he does his blows carry a wealth of power behind them, for the champion knows how to put his powerful shoulders behind his punches and how also to get the necessary asistance from his legs by rising to the ball of the rearward foot when the punch gets over. It may be that Dempsey does not care to hit straight from the shoulder, fearing to punish his partners too severly.
Sept 3, 1920 -
Dempsey sparred three sessions with Harry Greb, Pittsburgh lightweight, and another trio with Marty Farrell, Pacific Coast middleweight. Miske felt the lack of capable sparring mates and he was compelled to set the pace himself. He stepped the first two rounds with George Wilson, a negro heavyweight, the second two with Jack Heinen.
Early in the third round Greb's head collided with Dempsey's mouth, cutting the champion's tongue so severly that he spat blood for the remainder of the round.
The Pittsburgher was in fine fettle after the excellent showing he made against the champion. He was full of pep. With the call of time signalizing the beginning of activities, Greb promptly rushed Dempsey. The onslaught was so sudden that Jack was caught off his guard and it took a solid left hook into the body, plied with all the force at Greb's command, which is considerable, to jolt Dempsey into action. Then the fur began to fly.
It was a whirlwind three rounds that these two fighters staged for the edification of the biggest crowd that has yet shoe-horned its way into the grandstand at the baseball park in front of which the ring is built. There were fully 2,000 people present, and they were treated to as much action in those three rounds as is usually crowded into eight of a real bout.
The bout caused the crowd to burst into cheers and prolonged applasuse. In fact, during the intermission between the second and third rounds Ted Hayes, who acts as announcer at the Dempsey camp, was compelled to request the spectators to refrain from urging either of the men to greater efforts.
Although Dempsey insists that his wind is perfect and that he is not troubled by shortness of breath while working out, to those who have studied him closely it appears as if his wind might be in better shape. He was puffing very hard after boxing Greb. Of course, it was an unusually fast workout, but it seemed to take him longer than it should to recover his wind even after so strenuous a session.
Sept 4, 1920 -
Harry Greb, looking as chipper as ever in his U.S. Navy Jersey and his black tights, climbed into the ring to take Dempsey over the jumps for two rounds of three minutes each.
Just as soon as they squared off it was apparent that there was to be none of the continuous slam-bang stuff which had accompanied their previous engagements. Greb did not rush the champion and they feinted and pranced about for a full minute before either made a real lead. Toward the close of the round they met near mid-ring and there was a sharp exchange of body punches. The second round was a little livelier, but it wasn't a cyclone, and the crowd was somewhat dissappointed. The fans had expected to see more of a real battling than had featured the jousts between these two.
"Doc Kearns, who was managing Jack Dempsey, refused to let his tiger in the ring with Harry Greb. They did spar on two occasions. The first time was when Dempsey was getting ready for his title defense against Billy Miske in Benton Harbor, Michigan. Greb ripped into dempsey, punching the heaveyweight champion as he pleased, until Kearns finally threw him out of the ring for being too rough."
"It is not generally known however, that Greb and Dempsey did actually meet in the ring. It was at Jack's Atlantic City training camp. They were to box four rounds with sixteen ounce training gloves. Jack Kearns refereed. Harry came snorting out of his corner raising hell with the heaveyweight champion's middle. Dempsey looked confused, he hesitated about throwing punches at first. But he became desperate along about the second round and started putting ginger behind his left hooks. But Greb raced around so fast and poked so many jabs into Jack's face that the great Mauler couldn't land one solid wallop during the entire exhibition. The next day, in bold black type the size off an egg, some papers carried the headline "GREB MAKES DEMPSEY LOOK LIKE A KITTEN."
(Quotes taken from - New York Times / The Washington Post / Ring Magazine / Boxing and Wrestling Magazine)
Dempsey tackled Bill Tate, Harry Greb and Marty Farrell in sparring this afternoon. He took them on in that order, boxing two rounds with Tate and three each with Greb and Farrell. The bout with Greb was a real one. It was the best work-out Dempsey has had. The Pittsburgher was in prime shape, and although he weighs only 165 pounds he gave the champion a real honust-to-goodness battle. Dempsey hasn't seen so many gloves in a long time as Greb showed him. Greb was all over him and kept forcing him around the ring throughout the session. Dempsey could do but little with the speedy light heavyweight, while Greb seemed to be able to hit Dempsey almost at will. Time and again Greb made the champion miss with his famous right and left hooks to the head and countered with heavy swings to the head and hooks to the body.
Greb was a veritable whirlwind. Twenty-five pounds lighter than the champion and about four inches shorter, Harry made the champion step lively. He had to jump off the floor to hit Dempsey in the head when the latter was standing straight, but managed to do it and landed without leaving himself open to Jack's snappy hooks and short swings. One of the most notable things about Dempsey's boxing is the fact that he is not hitting as straight as he did in Toledo. This is not a particularly good sign. Why he should hook and swing his blows more is a mystery. He can hit straight when he wants to, and when he does his blows carry a wealth of power behind them, for the champion knows how to put his powerful shoulders behind his punches and how also to get the necessary asistance from his legs by rising to the ball of the rearward foot when the punch gets over. It may be that Dempsey does not care to hit straight from the shoulder, fearing to punish his partners too severly.
Sept 3, 1920 -
Dempsey sparred three sessions with Harry Greb, Pittsburgh lightweight, and another trio with Marty Farrell, Pacific Coast middleweight. Miske felt the lack of capable sparring mates and he was compelled to set the pace himself. He stepped the first two rounds with George Wilson, a negro heavyweight, the second two with Jack Heinen.
Early in the third round Greb's head collided with Dempsey's mouth, cutting the champion's tongue so severly that he spat blood for the remainder of the round.
The Pittsburgher was in fine fettle after the excellent showing he made against the champion. He was full of pep. With the call of time signalizing the beginning of activities, Greb promptly rushed Dempsey. The onslaught was so sudden that Jack was caught off his guard and it took a solid left hook into the body, plied with all the force at Greb's command, which is considerable, to jolt Dempsey into action. Then the fur began to fly.
It was a whirlwind three rounds that these two fighters staged for the edification of the biggest crowd that has yet shoe-horned its way into the grandstand at the baseball park in front of which the ring is built. There were fully 2,000 people present, and they were treated to as much action in those three rounds as is usually crowded into eight of a real bout.
The bout caused the crowd to burst into cheers and prolonged applasuse. In fact, during the intermission between the second and third rounds Ted Hayes, who acts as announcer at the Dempsey camp, was compelled to request the spectators to refrain from urging either of the men to greater efforts.
Although Dempsey insists that his wind is perfect and that he is not troubled by shortness of breath while working out, to those who have studied him closely it appears as if his wind might be in better shape. He was puffing very hard after boxing Greb. Of course, it was an unusually fast workout, but it seemed to take him longer than it should to recover his wind even after so strenuous a session.
Sept 4, 1920 -
Harry Greb, looking as chipper as ever in his U.S. Navy Jersey and his black tights, climbed into the ring to take Dempsey over the jumps for two rounds of three minutes each.
Just as soon as they squared off it was apparent that there was to be none of the continuous slam-bang stuff which had accompanied their previous engagements. Greb did not rush the champion and they feinted and pranced about for a full minute before either made a real lead. Toward the close of the round they met near mid-ring and there was a sharp exchange of body punches. The second round was a little livelier, but it wasn't a cyclone, and the crowd was somewhat dissappointed. The fans had expected to see more of a real battling than had featured the jousts between these two.
"Doc Kearns, who was managing Jack Dempsey, refused to let his tiger in the ring with Harry Greb. They did spar on two occasions. The first time was when Dempsey was getting ready for his title defense against Billy Miske in Benton Harbor, Michigan. Greb ripped into dempsey, punching the heaveyweight champion as he pleased, until Kearns finally threw him out of the ring for being too rough."
"It is not generally known however, that Greb and Dempsey did actually meet in the ring. It was at Jack's Atlantic City training camp. They were to box four rounds with sixteen ounce training gloves. Jack Kearns refereed. Harry came snorting out of his corner raising hell with the heaveyweight champion's middle. Dempsey looked confused, he hesitated about throwing punches at first. But he became desperate along about the second round and started putting ginger behind his left hooks. But Greb raced around so fast and poked so many jabs into Jack's face that the great Mauler couldn't land one solid wallop during the entire exhibition. The next day, in bold black type the size off an egg, some papers carried the headline "GREB MAKES DEMPSEY LOOK LIKE A KITTEN."
(Quotes taken from - New York Times / The Washington Post / Ring Magazine / Boxing and Wrestling Magazine)
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