Ray Arcel Has Seen It All
From Dec, 1980..
Mrs Nelson
Sept. 28. 1912
For the first time in his life Battling Nelson has declined to be interviewed. This time the subject of the proposed interview was matrimonial, not pugilism. "Is it true that your rumored engagement with Miss Fay King of Denver is all off?" Nelson was asked.
"The only match I know about is the one my Chicago representative is trying to clinch with Packey McFarland," replied Nelson, "and he is pretty slow about it, too."
Miss King says she loves you like a brother, but that she has not considered you for a husband," Nelson was informed.
"If McFarland thinks he can lick me, now is his chance," replied Bat.
"Didn't you and Miss King go up on Pikes peak and engage a minister to marry you? And didn't the minister fail to show up?" were the next questions.
"I'm not going to talk about marriage," said Bat. "I am leaving the matter up to her. What she says is right, no matter if she's wrong." Then Nelson got serious.
"There's no use in my talking marriage," he said. "Any man who says he's going to marry a woman is crazy, unless he has her right at the altar—and even then he's liable to be fooled. She may not like the color of his necktie and call off the match. Miss King is a fine cartoonist, and she'd make a fine wife for anybody. If I'm the lucky fellow at the finish I'll be tickled to death, that's all. But I'm not saying a word one way or the other on the time, the place or the girl."
.......................................
January 22, 1913.
Oscar Matthew Nelson, once famed as the lightweight champion pugilist 'Battling' Nelson, and Miss Fay Barbara King, a Denver cartoonist, were married today at the fighter's home in Hegewisch. The ceremony was brief, but as the final words fell from the minister's lips the bride, overcome by the nervous strain, swayed and toppled over into her husband's arms, sobbing violently. "Bat" soothed his bride, and pretty soon she smiled and said, "I feel much better after my cry."
Rev. W.E. Pearson, a Lutheran clergyman of Moline, performed the ceremony. "Jack" Robinson, manager of the fighter, was best man, and Miss Ida Nelson, sister of the groom, was maid of honor.
Outside a brass band burst forth into "Moonlight Bay." A report said there was to be a double wedding. Miss Ida Nelson, it was said, was to have been married to a young man of the town immediately after her brother's marriage. The story run that at the last minute the young man, fearing bad luck if he married on the twenty-third, insisted upon a postponement. Miss Nelson denied the story.
"I'm the happiest guy in the world." Bat said. Asked about his wife's future, the groom said:
"She'll probably devote her time to illustrating my map. But I'll stay in the ring. I've got to, as that's the only way I have of making a living."
The couple came to Chicago after the ceremony and a wedding breakfast was served at the Wellington hotel.
The trip downtown to "Bat's" home was a gala affair. A special car on the Illinois Central was chartered and a band hired.
On the train Miss King drew a cartoon of the pugilist. The moving picture men were clamoring for some pictures and set up their machines before, the happy pair. The band played and "Bat" leaned over and (kissed his bride to be twice, and the picture machines got it all.
A big crowd turned out at Hegewisch to greet "Bat" and his fiancee. There were vigorous cheers as the party stepped from the train. The band played as the long line of friends, townsmen. newspaper men, moving picture operators and photographers started for the Nelson home behind the bridal party in a big automobile.
Tonight the couple entertained friends at a theater.
.................................................. .......
February 28, 1913.
Nelson's Wife Says Pugilist Kidnapped Her
Former Lightweight Champion Will Be Met at Denver by Summons in Divorce Suit
Battling Nelson, financier of Hegewiseh and erstwhile champion lightweight prize fighter, will be met with a summons in a suit for divorce when he arrives in Denver March 5.
This announcement was made tonight by friends of Mrs. Nelson, better known in Denver as Fay King, a cartoonist on the Post.
That she was kidnaped by Battling Nelson on the night of January 20 for her marriage three days later at the fighter's home will be the charge which the suit will be based.
Fay King remained three days as Nelson's wife. She left for Denver on the Sunday night following the marriage and then went on to Portland. Ore., to visit her parents before resuming her work on the Post.
"Nelson heard of my reported engagement to a Denver man and ho stopped his fighting engagements to come here for me." said Miss King tonight. "He took me by storm after I was weak and a nervous wreck from resisting him and his proposals he forced me into a taxicab and rushed me off to the station.
"I realized that I had made a mistake the day of the wedding and the first opportunity I got I hurried back to Denver. I will go right on working on the Post as though the affair had never happened.
"The marriage must not and will not stand."
.....................................
May 6, 1913.
Couple back together.
Fay Has the Say and Battler Will Retire
Battling Nelson, hero of many ring battles, the receiver of many a lacing, ''…and former lightweight champion of the world, today announced the date of his retirement from the ring. Bat is going to quit. There's no idle boast connected with the announcement. It may not be the wish of the once durable Dane to put the gloves on the shelf, but it is the request Mrs. Battling Nelson, Fay King, and Fay has the say. Labor day will be the Dane's last fight—this because it will be the eighteenth anniversary of his fighting career. He would quit now but for that. There will be no fights between now and September, however. Nelson and his wife are now in Bedford, Va., resting up. Bat plans on settling in the far west.
...........
Years later Nelson sued King for divorce as reported in Cartoons Magazine, March 1916. A divorce was granted later that year.
Fay King's name was not found in the 1940 census. Battling Nelson passed away February 7, 1954.
The Oregonian newspaper , February 9, 1954, reported that the funeral expenses were to be paid by King.
Battling Nelson died February 7, 1954 at the age of 71 in the Chicago State Hospital where the rugged old battler was committed; his death was attributed to senility. Fay King preformed a very gentle and gracious act when she hears of his death. Fay was truly a kind person. She defrayed the funeral expenses so he could be buried in Chicago next to his second wife, “whom he loved so much,” who had died just 2 months before, December 26, 1953.
Fay had been married to Bat over 40 years before his death and yet, when she was told her response was. “He was such a noble, honest man he did not deserve such a tragic end.” Fay had not seen him since 1919.
(from - WHO WAS FAY KING by Marilyn Slater)
"I Can See Clearly Now"
via - https://www.facebook.com/pages/West-Coast-Boxing-Hall-of-Fame/1439182726321176
West Coast Boxing Legend, Jose Napoles . . .
"I Can See Clearly Now"
by Roger Esty
I decided to walk across the old bridge into Ciudad ,Juarez from El Paso. I was looking for my favorite fighter Jose Napoles. In my hand was the portrait I made of him some years ago. I get these impulse and need to follow through with them. I had read various articles recently that he lived in Juarez and had a gym. He was struggling financially and physically. He had a wife who looked after him. Friends,and even a figure like Carlos Slim the billionare,made sure he wasn't put out in the street.There was enough money there to make ,in my vision,life tolerable for the greatest fighter I ever saw do combat in the ring. But I wanted to see for myself.
I attempted to look for him on Saturday afternoon. I walked across the bridge with my painting noticing that there weren't many people crossing the bridge into Juarez.Unlike the heavy foot traffic that crosses into Tijuana from San Diego,there was only an old Mexican couple holding hands slowly walking up the sidewalk of the bridge ahead of me. The sun was bearing down and the heat made me sweat profusely.After turning the curve on the downslope,I saw a female Mexican immigration officer searching a man's backpack. There was no anxiety in her motions nor with his reaction. She was working alone. Her efforts were probably an excuse for her to show that she was doing something. After reaching the otherside I became aware of the quietness. The heat.The glare. The slow movements of the few people in the area made me think that this city couldn't be the murder capital of the world. It would take too much energy to kill somebody.
At the bottom of the ramp I asked a soldier where I could find a taxi. He politely motioned for me to walk to the traffic light and cross the street.The light was red ,but there were no cars at the intersection. I saw three taxi cabs parked at the corner. I didn't see anyone sitting inside the cabs.As I neared the taxis and old gray haired man wearing a crumpled fedora limped out from behind a tree and asked if I wanted to go somewhere. I asked him if he knew where I could find Jose Napoles.I showed him the painting. He shrugged his shoulders.
"No, I do not know,but if you walk to the corner on the next block,he has friends there that know him.They are also taxistas."
I continued my walk. I was sweating and my hip was giving me trouble again. I thought that afternoon my efforts were going to wash out. At the corner I saw a man taking something out of the trunk of his taxi.Holding out the painting ,I tried again.
"Por favor amigo. Estoy buscando for Mantequiila Napoles."
The taxi driver looked at me and then the painting.
"I know him. He has a gym,but he doesn't go there on the weekends."
"Do you know where he lives?"
"We can go to the gym.Maybe someone there knows where he lives."
As we drove around a maze of streets,the cab driver asked me where I was from. I told him that I lived in San Diego.The taxista told me his name was Javier.He had a friendly face and was relaxed.I asked him if he knew who Jose Napoles was and he said that he knew of him,but was too young to recall any of his fights.
After turning many corners,the cab driver pulled in front of a big white building. The front of the building was dirty and there was graffiti on the front wall. A hand painted sign near the top of the wall said"Salon de Belleza y Gimnasio Roma."The neighborhood was rundown and empty.I couldn't see anyone around.Some cars were parked along the street.
We walked inside a spacious front room with a concrete floor. A young woman sitting behind an old wooden desk smiled at us.She was a little overweight and very pretty.
"Donde esta Mantequilla? Este senor tiene un regalo para el,"asked Javier
The young woman looked at my painting. She asked me if I had painted it.
"Yes,I want to give this to Mantequilla. Will he be here today?"
"No,"she replied." He doesn't come here anymore."
I had read that he had some physical issues.
"Is he sick?"I asked as my hopes for seeing my idol were dwindling.
"He gets confused,"she said. "His wife takes care of him."
"Where is his gym?"
"It's upstairs,but it is locked."
"Do you know where he lives?"
"He used to live around the corner.You can ask in the street if anyone knows where he lives."
Javier took my painting and put it on the back seat of the cab.I got inside the passenger side. I had a hard time swinging my sore leg inside the cab. Javier quickly got out of his seat to help me.
"No,no. I can do it ,"I said.
I finally managed to get my leg in and we proceeded around the corner. There were three men working under the hood of an old car.Javier pulled the taxi next to the men working on the car.The three men looked at us. I could tell from their expressions that they knew Javier.
"Mantecas vive in la colonia todavia?"asked Javier with a laugh.
"No," answered a voice. "He used to live on that house at the corner,but he moved. You could always see him walking around the street smoking his cigar."
"Ask if any of them know his phone number,"I tried another option.
Javier asked the three men.None of them knew the phone number.
"His wife has a phone," said one of them."But it is a Nextel. Nobody around here has a phone like that."
Javier drove back to the gym.I didn't want to give him the impression that there was desperation in my quest,but now I was hoping for some luck to break my way. The young woman at the desk said that maybe the janitor that was cleaning in the backroom might be of assistance. As she was motioning us to the backroom,a young fellow holding a mop walked out.
"I know where Mantequilla lives. I can give you directions."
I felt a rush and a sense of some relief. Javier and the janitor where talking ,but I couldn't pick up on their conversation,Javier told me to get inside of the cab. He put my painting on the back seat. We drove off.
"I can find him,but I'll need to ask for some directions."
After turning more corners,Javier stopped the taxi at a corner across from a church.
"Wait here,"he said. "I need to ask someone."
I didn't see were Javier went,but when he got back inside the cab he was looking straight ahead.
"I know where he lives. We need to go around the block."
Javier steered the taxi around the corner onto a small back street.The small stucco houses all looked the same. Rectangular with flat roofs.The only thing that distinguished them was that they were painted in different pastel colors. The street was narrow. So narrow that two cars could not navigate in opposite directions.In order for cars to get through the street the parked vehicles had their driver's side wheels parked on top of the curb. When the taxi cleared the corner,we could see Jose Napoles sitting on a chair under the shade of a tree. There was no one else in the street. He stood out as big as life. There was no doubt. Javier sped up the taxi and stopped quickly in front of him. Mantequiila puffed on a cigar and smiled.
"Campeon,"I said to him.
Still smiling he held up his fist. Javier parked the taxi up on the curb.He took my painting from ther back seat and handed it to me.
"Mantequilla,"I said excitedly."Este cuadro es para ti. Yo pinte."
Mantequilla didn't reach out for the painting. I held it out in front of him to see.Javier walked to the side and leaned against a wall. Mantequilla stared at the painting studying it. Then he extended his hand to me.
"This is where I live,"he said. "This is my wife's house."
Mantequilla never got off his chair. I asked him if I could take some pictures. He puffed on his cigar again,but it had gone out. Javier quickly took a lighter out of his shirt pocket and relit the cigar.
"How are you feeling?"I asked the ex champion.
"I feel very good. My wife is not here. She went shopping.She will be back soon."
"I was your number one fan,"I said. "I saw many of your fights."
Mantequilla was down to the end of his cigar. I put the painting against the wall of the house.
"You see this truck?"asked Mantequilla pointing.
There was a big four wheel drive truck parked with the wheels on the curb in front of the house next door.The truck was caked with mud.
"This is my wife's truck. She went shopping."
"They say you don't go to the gym anymore,"I said."We looked for you there."
"Oh no.I go.If I want to go my wife drives me."
Mantequilla looked at the corner of the street. A little boy walked out of the abarrotes holding a bottle of soda. Mantequilla waved and smiled at the boy,but the boy didn't notice him nor did he look his way.
"Many people see me everyday,"he said. "I have many fans.My wife went shopping with my mother in law."
"How did you meet your wife?"
"I was sitting here smoking my cigar and she waked by with her mother."
"Isn't she you third wife?"
Mantequilla burst out laughing.
"Oooo,I had many wives. Many wives."
"You're like Pancho Villa."
Mantequilla continued laughing. It was a subject I could tell he like to relish in.
"Then you have many ninos tambien."
"Muchos."
"And many mother in laws."
"No,no.I have only one mother in law."
"Dime Mantequilla.Puedes coher todavia?"
Now he was laughing so hard he almost fell out of his chair.
"But at our age screwing isn't that important,"he remarked. He tried to inhale on what was left of his cigar.
"Having a wife that cooks is more important,"I said.
"Seguro. Hay muchas que le gustan a coher. Pero una mujar que puede a cocinar? Es magica."
I told him my wife was Mexican born in Michoacán and that she was back in California.
"When my wife gets home from shopping I invite you and your wife to eat dinner with us."
Mantequilla then turned to Javier who was still leaning against the wall.
"Why don't you talk?"asked Mantequilla.
"I enjoy listening to the two of you."
'Mantequilla,didn't you know Ciro Morisan?"I asked.
"Ciro?The most beautiful boxer who ever lived."
"Didn't he commit suicide when he couldn't leave Cuba?"
Mantequilla didn't say anything. Then he started up again.
"My wife went shopping.She will be back soon."
"Campeon,did you know that you are going to be inducted into the California Boxing Hall of Fame in October?"
"I am?Then I will go with you."
"Give me your phone number.We can make arrangements"
"My wife knows it.She went shopping."
I gave him my card with my personal information .He took it and studied it. He then played with the card with his hands.
"A few years ago I talked with Emile Griffith,"I said.
"He comes by to see me all the time."
"He passed away last year."
Mantequilla tried to puff on his dead cigar.
"My wife is with her mother. They will be right back."
"I never saw a fighter who was as smart as you,"I said.
"I was always in tremendous physical condition. I ran through out the whole city up in the hills."
"You always knew what you were doing in the ring."
"I would look shoulder to shoulder,"he said pointing at my shoulders."My left foot was always in front."
"How many fights did you have in Cuba?"
"Thousands,"he said laughing. "My uncles would throw me in the street with the older boys and then bet that I would win."
"Did you win?"
"I had to or I had to fight my uncles."
"You had a good trainer with Kid Rapidez. Tell me. Do you ever hear from Angelo Dundee anymore."
"He comes by almost everyday to see me."
"Have you ever been back to Cuba?"
" I went one time. You see this truck? It belongs to my wife."
"Who is the best fighter in Mexico today?"I went on.
"There is this kid who lives near by. He used to come to the gym,but I don't see him anymore."
"I saw you after you retired with your band at the Rancho Grande Bar in Tijuana. Your wife sang and you played the trumpet."
"Musica tropical."
"Didn't you have a few bars? Didn't the police try to shake you down in your place in the Zona Rosa in Mexico City?
"We beat them up and threw them out into the street with no clothes."
As we talked that day,I couldn't help see the old scars crisscrossed on Mantequilla's eyelids.That fragile tissue around his eyes. He even tried plastic surgery to correct the problem.Visiting the track more than trying to sweat off the late nights in the gym.Age and some brutal fights at the end. By the time he lost to Stracey he wasn't running through the hills in the city.
I waited around. Mrs. Napoles never showed up .In a way I was glad she didn't I didn't want to hear the truth. Mantequilla Napoles is happy.He sits outside his wife's house smoking his cigars and waves and smiles to anyone who wants to stop by and listen to his stories.Maybe he stretches the truth,but the truth is nothing more than what it is at the moment.
The curious tale of Henry 'Slaughterhouse' Baker
Boxer Henry Baker's legend persists from beyond the grave
Henry Baker lived to fight another day after future heavyweight boxing champion James J. Jeffries figuratively handed him his head in the most important match of Baker's career in 1897.
The mystery is, how did the Milwaukee boxer manage to go on living after the wheels of a freight train lopped Baker's head clean off -- literally -- 11 years later?
Once hailed by the Brooklyn Eagle newspaper as "the coming heavyweight champion," the man known locally as "Heine" Baker had a downtown tavern and was a boxing instructor at the Milwaukee Athletic Society. A stint in the Chicago stockyards accounted for his fighting nickname, "Slaughterhouse" Henry.
Baker was "a real fighter," recalled Jeffries in his memoirs. "He was built like Tom Sharkey [another rugged 1890s heavyweight], but more smoothly muscled, and his weight, like Tom's, was 185 pounds. He was one of the most confident men I ever saw."
Heine earned his first notoriety in 1894 by whipping Denver Billy Woods in Chicago. A year later, Baker boxed an exhibition match with then-middleweight (and future heavyweight and light heavyweight) champion Bob Fitzsimmons at a Milwaukee theater, and "was not only aggressive all through the bout," reported The Journal, "but his protection was strong and effective."
Real prizefighting was illegal in Wisconsin, and many of Baker's fights were bootleg events. On June 9, 1895, he and Lem McGregor were supposed to fight in some woods south of Milwaukee. When less than $100 was put in the hat passed around by the 60 spectators for the winner's purse, McGregor refused to fight. "Baker called him a coward, but that did not stir his Southern blood to boiling," reported The Evening Wisconsin. A spectator named George Curtis agreed to fight Baker for $50, and was knocked out in four rounds for his trouble.
A month later, just as Baker and a Chicagoan named Michael Brennan squared off in a dance hall on the city's southern outskirts, a posse of county sheriff's deputies busted in and put everyone under arrest for violating the state statute against prizefighting. "Consternation seized the crowd and there was the liveliest kind of a scramble for the freedom of adjacent fields," reported The Evening Wisconsin.
Baker and Brennan were the first ones charged with violating the anti-boxing law in Milwaukee County in eight years. They could have gotten up to five years in jail and a fine of $1,000, but the boxers were fined only $10 each plus court costs.
A week after that, a fight at a North Side Milwaukee tavern on July 22 between Frank Klein and Louis Schmidt ended when Schmidt was knocked out in five rounds. Schmidt died at the scene. Klein was arrested for murder, and Baker, his cornerman in the fight, was also indicted. Heine skipped town, but a week later was arrested in Grand Rapids, Mich. and extradited to Milwaukee. This time the fine was stiffer, and Baker departed Milwaukee for good.
On the West Coast he helped prepare Bob Fitzsimmons for a match against Tom Sharkey in San Francisco. "The fact that Bob Fitzsimmons has selected Henry Baker of this city to assist him in training for his bout with Tom Sharkey goes to show that the Milwaukee boy is well thought of by the middleweight champion," said The Evening Wisconsin. "There has never been a 'Dutchman' who has displayed more gameness in the roped arena than this same Henry Baker."
"Baker Is Expected To Win," proclaimed The Milwaukee Journal hopefully when Heine fought Jeffries in San Francisco on May 18, 1897. It was scheduled for 20 rounds, and "the prediction is freely made by the Chicago sports that if Baker manages to land either glove on Jeffries, the latter's gallop toward the championship will be stopped."
Baker had his moments. He "did some pretty footwork for half a dozen rounds, and once or twice managed to land left and right on the Los Angelan when the latter least expected it," according to the San Francisco Examiner's report of the fight.
Jeffries himself later recalled, "I must say that the stockyards champion gave me good, hard work to do. As soon as we began he rushed at me and swung on my jaw with all his might. It was a great punch. He kept on swinging and tearing at me. He surely was a husky, tough fellow.
"I began nailing him with lefts and rights, and as the fight went along I measured him and knocked him down half a dozen times. In the seventh round, I remember, I hit him so hard that his heels flew up in the air and he turned a complete somersault."
They stopped it in the ninth, after two left hooks from Jeffries made Slaughterhouse Henry woozy as a cow whose next stop is the hamburger factory.
Because the confident Milwaukee fighter had bet his entire end of the purse on himself, he ended up with nothing and had to scrounge money to pay for an expensive oyster dinner he promised friends after the fight.
Baker fought until 1903, and then went to work for the streets department in Kansas City, Mo., and was out of the news until Oct. 10, 1908.
Under the headline "Heine Baker Dead," the Milwaukee Free Press reported, "The headless body of Henry Baker, one of the best known heavyweight boxers in the country at one time, was found on the railroad tracks near the Union depot" in Kansas City. "It is thought he was run over by a Burlington train." The Kansas City Star reported that services were held at Stewart's Chapel a few days later, and that Baker was laid to rest in Union Cemetery. He was 42.
"Baker was a big, good-natured German and he had many friends here," eulogized The Evening Wisconsin. "He was never considered a clever man, but was as strong as a bull and (was) always picked out for the big fellows when they wanted a real try-out."
Apparently Slaughterhouse Henry was stronger than any bull, because he didn't let losing his head keep him from living a very long life.
In April of 1951, a San Francisco Bay area newspaper ran an item announcing a sports program for residents of the Livermore Veterans Home. "Among participants," it said, "will be Sailor Tom Sharkey and his former sparring partner, Henry Baker, who contributed so much to Sharkey's standing as a heavyweight 50 years ago."
Ten years later, another West Coast newspaper reported, "Henry Baker, who was Jim Jeffries' third San Francisco opponent in 1897, died here last week of a kidney ailment. Close friends say he was 91. Baker appeared on the old Orpheum circuit at various times with Jim Jeffries, Jim Corbett and Tom Sharkey."
Jeffries and Sharkey both died in 1953, and haven't been heard from since. They were merely human after all, lacking the true indestructibility that Milwaukee's slaughterhouse champion had, apparently, up the Heine.
(By Pete Ehrmann)
Tony Canzoneri vs Jimmy McLarnin I - May 8, 1936
In a marvellous battle of former champions, Tony Canzoneri met Jimmy McLarnin for the first of two bouts on May 8, 1936 at Madison Square Garden, New York.
Canzoneri was actually cut after he got into the ring, and before the first bell, after being stunned by the overhanging microphone during the referee's instructions.
................................
Tony had started out as a pro in 1925, Jimmy in 1923. Both men were nearing the end of their glory days, yet still mustered magical reserves to serve up one of the most thrilling fights of a golden era.
People had their hearts in their mouths that night as Canzoneri dug deep and rallied back from the precipice of destruction. He was nearly swept away in a frantic opening round as he teetered on the edge of the first knockout defeat of his career.
Tony was staggering and tottering drunkenly after being hit by three terrific right hands in succession by McLarnin. Jimmy, who always tried for the early knockout and was a merciless finisher, struck Canzoneri yet again and sent him into the ropes. McLarnin surged in for the kill, firing with both fists. Tony sought refuge in a clinch, but was soon rocking and reeling again as Jimmy ripped punches to the body and drove Canzoneri into a corner. The bell rang but it seemed that Tony had only bought himself a brief stay of execution.
Not so. One could never make such assumptions where Canzoneri was concerned. His comeback in the second round was a ferocious microcosm of everything he was. McLarnin, sensing an early night, picked right up from where he had left off and drilled Tony with a jolting left. More blows followed, but then Canzoneri sprang back to life like a sleepy man thrown under a cold shower. A left-right combination halted Jimmy’s march and three more lefts suddenly reversed the roles and cast Tony as the hunter. A right to the cheek forced McLarnin to hang on, but shelter was hard to come by as Canzoneri kept shelling him. A left-right combination dropped Jimmy to one knee as the crowd roared. People were jumping and jigging and throwing imaginary punches as they watched Canzoneri turning the tide and turning back the clock.
McLarnin, with his trademark pluck, refused to take a count. He needed to. He was quickly sucked back into the maelstrom and took a sustained pounding for the remainder of the round.
Thereafter, Tony Canzoneri was a man inspired who never lost the initiative. The pace of the fight remained exceptional right to the end as two of the ring’s greatest mechanics fired away at each other. Canzoneri had perhaps the smallest fists of any fighter of his day, yet possessed tremendous punching power. In the last minute of the ninth round, he unleashed one of his Sunday best and caught McLarnin flush on the jaw. Jimmy was all over the place and nearly out as Tony followed up with another big salvo.
McLarnin, as tough and as gutsy as any man who ever stepped into a ring, simply would not go under. But Jimmy was in a sorry state as he came out for the tenth and final round, the left side of his face swollen and bruised. Canzoneri was too tired by that stage to apply the finishing touches and cap a brilliant performance with a knockout. But it really didn’t matter. He was the hero of New York City.
(by Mike Casey)
Walter McGowan vs Alan Rudkin II - 13th May 1968
A superb article on the great Bantamweight Battle of Britain - a rematch between British & Commonwealth Champion Walter McGowan from Scotland and Liverpool's Alan Rudkin on 13th May 1968 at The Kings Hall in Manchester.
Written by Greg Paterson
.................................................. ....
On the 6th of September 1966, two fighters embraced as the bell rang and waited anxiously for the referee to make a decision on who had won.
In one corner was the slick Scottish flyweight from Burnbank, Walter McGowan (left) who was WBC world champion. The other was Liverpool's reigning British and Empire bantamweight champion, Alan Rudkin. Rudkin's titles were on the line.
The decision was given. McGowan had won a controversial decision, most believing Rudkin had taken it, although respected veteran broadcaster Harry Carpenter believed McGowan had just done enough. There were calls for a rematch that seemed inevitable. However, Rudkin felt hard done by, believing he'd had his titles stolen from him.
22 months later the fighters re-entered the ring in the long awaited rematch. It was a natural to sell; the first fight was an epic and close fight and ended with a disputed decision. And here it was.
McGowan had lost his flyweight title to the great Chatchai Chinoi in a war but eventually his eye gave out and he lost on cuts. In the rematch he was ahead on the cards before his left eye fell to pieces and again he lost on cuts. He took eight months out before signing to fight Rudkin again.
Rudkin on the other hand was quite successful in the interim with six wins including two stoppages. However he had lost on points in a fight for the European bantamweight crown but still longed for his British and Empire titles. After the defeat by Mimoun Ben Ali (for the European title) he rebounded with a brilliant second round KO of the touted American Ronnie Jones, landing a perfect right hand to lay Jones out.
The action got under way.
The early rounds were close with McGowan the pure boxer he was landing fast jabs but Rudkin fought back well with the harder shots and edged these early rounds. Both fighters produced beautiful boxing of the highest quality.
As the fight wore onto the middle rounds Rudkin hit fine form in the eighth; he turned up his pressure and McGowan started to struggle as Alan forced himself forward with hard straight punches to the head and brutal body shots. He continued this in the ninth causing TV commentator, Harry Carpenter, to a liken him to a ‘Bulldog’. A few seconds later Alan seemed to floor Walter with a wicked right hand but legendary referee Harry Gibbs ruled it a slip, which was highly plausible as the ring was very slippy. But, Alan turned it on believing Walter to be hurt and really bullied the Scotsman for the rest of the round. In the tenth Rudkin kept up the pressure and looked to be in complete control with the average card being 8-2 to the scouser and Rudkin was keeping a ferocious pace.
Walter sat down on his stool after the tenth, his right eye was shut and in the last round Rudkin had opened a cut over his left cheek bone. Looking at him you wouldn’t have expected what was about to happen.
The bell for the eleventh rang. McGowan, sensing the need for a big push in the late rounds, got up on his toes and started to land beautiful combinations and fast jabs on the advancing Rudkin. No one could believe it. Walter looked to be fading in the last few rounds but had started this amazing comeback. Could he keep it up?
As Walter came out for the twelfth round he walked onto a brilliantly placed shot by Rudkin that seemed to shake the Scotsman. Watching it, I had the feeling this could be the end for the Scotsman as he tied up Rudkin to avoid his follow up attacks. As they broke Walter got up on his toes and proceeded to box as he had done in the last round but this round he was landing with authority and landed a precise right uppercut onto the onrushing Alan’s chin, forcing him back. This brilliant comeback continued in the thirteenth as Walter boxed brilliantly but Alan was always forcing the pace. Now the solid lead for Rudkin had evaporated and now the fight was in the balance but all Rudkin needed to do was win one of the last two rounds to secure victory.
The penultimate round commenced and Alan tore straight into McGowan with punishing body shots. The tide started to turn as Rudkin found the target more and more with hard accurate shots. Commentator Carpenter commented that Rudkin had ‘savage intensity’ which summed it up brilliantly, Alan wasn’t going to be denied of his titles that he believed rightfully belonged to him. Alan’s ‘savage intensity’ caused a horrific cut over the cut-prone McGowan’s left eye.
‘Seconds out, fifteenth and final round!’ shouted the timekeeper.
Both men rose from their stools Rudkin cut over his left eye and McGowan with both eyes shut and cuts above and below his left eye. You knew these guys had been in a fight. They got to centre ring and touched gloves and proceeded to tear into each other like hungry dogs. Rudkin landed furiously to the body making sickening 'booms' every time they landed. Walter threw fast flurries to the body back in an attempt to keep Alan off him but he couldn’t as they both kept trading. McGowan had to give ground and he did, as Alan stalked him landing bloodying combinations as McGowan leaped in with fast flurries in a brilliant last round.
As the bell sounded both men embraced tightly and Walter planted a kiss, instead of a hook, on the cheek of Rudkin, which summed up the love and respect each guy had for each other. In a fight of such savagery they could embrace like this was a testament to their sportsmanship.
Harry Gibbs walked over to Rudkin and raised his hand; he had scored it to Rudkin by a round or half a point – the closest it could be!
Rudkin was delighted he had redeemed himself and won back his treasured titles. The look on Rudkin’s face showed it all he was full of relief and joy for winning as he was raised onto someone’s shoulders and paraded around the ring as the crowd cheered for his and McGowan’s amazing performance. Oddly there was some booing but this writer believes it to be of fans' disagreement with the decision but the booing was minimal.
Thus concluded the greatest, most savage yet superbly skilled fight to take place in the British ring. Many would say that one of the Kevin Finnegan vs Alan Minter trilogy, or Jamie Moore vs Mathew Macklin.
But for me this honour belongs too the incredible fight between two of the almost forgotten greats of the British ring in Alan Rudkin and Walter McGowan.
Tony DeMarco Wins The Title
The crowd noise was at fever pitch as I walked the pathway to the ring. The closer I got, the more my friends and fans shouted encouragement. I was moved. I climbed the steps and entered my corner of the ring.
As my manager and trainer gave me last minute instructions, they had to yell over the shouts of the crowd. I looked at the people sitting ringside, recognizing many of them. All were waving, smiling and screaming words of encouragement as I sat waiting for the referee to call us to the center of the ring. I told myself that, with God’s help, I wouldn’t disappoint the fans. I was ready. This was the moment that I had worked for all of these years. It was almost surrealistic.
After introducing several celebrities in the audience, the ring announcer, Freddie Russo, said in his booming voice, “Ladieees and gentlemen, tonight we have a fifteen round fight for the Welterweight Championship of the World.” As is customary, he introduced the challenger first, “Weighing in at 145 ½ pounds, from Boston, Massachusetts, the challenger with a record of forty-five wins and six defeats, the Flame and Fury of Fleet Street, Tony Demarco!” The cheering was deafening and seemed never to end. When Johnny Saxton, the reigning champion was introduced, the cheering for me had not yet subsided.
Mel Manning, the referee, gave the instructions to each of us before we went back to our corners to wait for the bell. We stared at each other from our respective corners. It seemed as though our eye contact brought us closer and closer to the middle of the ring. We were both eager for the fight to start.
The bell finally rang and we charged on one another, hurling leather. This was the defining moment. Immediately I threw punches to Saxton’s head and body. I seemed to get the best of him with my body punches. The fact is that body punches don’t knock you out but they have a devastating effect on your stamina. It was certainly the case with this fight.
Between rounds my trainer, Sammy Fuller, told me to keep using body punches and not to let up. I continued to throw body punches at every opportunity. We went back and forth, round after round, but the body shots on Saxton were finally taking their toll. Whenever I could, I threw left hooks and continued until I could see that they were hurting Saxton.
Johnny was a devastating puncher, and believe me, he was inflicting some real punishment on me, but I began to wear him down.
The excitement mounted with every round. It got to a point where Saxton and I walked to the center of the ring and just stared each other down until the bell rang to start the round. My adrenaline was off the charts, and I was throwing shots that were coming from left field. A couple of times, Mel Manning, the referee, had to come between us to make sure we didn’t throw any punches before the bell rang.
For the first thirteen rounds, the fight seesawed back and forth between the two of us. At the beginning of the fourteenth round everything changed. I hit Saxton with a combination of punches ending with a vicious right that sent him to the canvas. He was hurt and the crowd went wild. Saxton struggled to his feet before the count of ten. Looking back at his condition at that point, I think it would have been better for the Champ if he hadn’t tried to stand up. He was helpless and defenseless as I attacked with punch after punch. I caught the Champ with a relentless array of left hooks and right crosses that were devastating. I hit him with a total of twenty-four consecutive punches that were right on the mark.
The crowd was amazed at the amount of punishment the Champ was capable of taking. Many in the crowd shouted for the referee to stop the fight before it was too late.
After those twenty-four punches, Johnny Saxton, the champion of the world, was dead on his feet. The Champ was helpless and the referee stopped the fight. I, Tony DeMarco, Leonardo Liotta, had reached the top of the mountain. I was the new undisputed Welterweight Champion of the World.
(by Tony DeMarco)
Patterson vs Machen
Shortly after Floyd Patterson had defeated Eddie Machen in 12 rounds of boxing that would never frighten Cassius Clay back into training, Floyd received two visitors in his Stockholm dressing room. One, wearing a neat, gray Ivy League suit, was Ingemar Johannson. "You too nice, Floyd," said Ingemar. The other, wearing a jaunty bow tie, was Nat Fleischer, the publisher of Ring magazine, who announced triumphantly that Floyd Patterson had moved up, that he was now the No. 2 challenger for the heavyweight championship.
Both were right, of course. Floyd is a nice man, too nice to be a professional fistfighter, but despite this he is also unquestionably superior—just as he has always been—to the five men over whom he had just leapfrogged from his old ranking down in seventh place: Doug Jones, Zora Folley, Cleveland Williams, Ernest Terrell and Machen. It was a little difficult to understand, however, why Floyd was so cheered by Fleischer's statement. For one thing, still above him stand Clay and Sonny Liston, and exactly why Floyd should ever want to fight either of them—he has plenty of money and his health—is a question that not even Patterson can adequately explain. Beyond that, his sudden rise in Ring's form chart had no more relation to reality than his precipitous drop from the top to his place behind Jones, Folley, etc. immediately after his back-to-back and back-on-the-canvas first-round knockouts at the hands of Liston. He was no worse a fighter after his losses to Liston than he had been before, and he is no better a fighter now after his wins over Machen and Sante Amonti, the inept Italian heavyweight he defeated on points in Sweden last January. He is still fast and strong and game—but he still is easy to hit. He still is acutely aware of helplessness, in himself or in others, including those he hurts in the ring. He still lacks the egocentric concentration of the true athlete, the single-minded aggressiveness of the great fighter, the consuming need to conquer or destroy everything in his way.
In the 11th round of the fight last Sunday he caught Machen against the ropes and hit him with a powerful right hand that sliced open Eddie's face and sent him to his knees. The mandatory eight-count rule, which requires that fighters knocked off their feet must take a count of eight before resuming battle, had been waived for the meeting, and Machen popped back to his feet at once, though dazed and with blood streaming down his face. It was an opportunity—an opponent momentarily helpless—that would have been capitalized on immediately by a Rocky Marciano or a Cassius Clay or a Sonny Liston. But Patterson stood quietly by and waited, looking at Machen with a curious half smile on his face. He did not move in for the kill, and Machen quickly recovered.
This was the maneuver—or rather, the nonmaneuver—that upset Johansson. "You take a step back when you should not," he told Patterson in the dressing room. "You had him hurt maybe five, six times. Why you don't move in? You must take a step forward, Floyd." Patterson looked at him enigmatically and did not reply. Later, however, Patterson said, "I was winning the 11th round when I hurt him, and I looked in his face and I saw hurt and defeat. This is a man who has had a hard life. He has been broke and in a mental institution. Should I knock him down further for my own good? I was winning. I didn't have to hurt him." Then he added, "He fought a good fight. He deserves a shot at Clay more than I do. He's broke and he's been down, and he deserves it."
This kindliness of Floyd's, a reflection of his hunger for friendship, for approval, for recognition, has its counterpart in his fear and resentment of disapproval, his touchiness, his moodiness. Before the fight in Stockholm (from which he earned $100,000, as a crowd of 40,000 damp Swedes paid approximately $300,000 dollars to watch on a rainy northern evening), Floyd annoyed even his enthusiastic Scandinavian admirers by sequestering himself like a moody Garbo in a small resort town 300 miles from Stockholm. He strained the abundant friendship most of the Swedish press has for him by making himself very hard to find for interviews. "I spent three days in Ronneby trying to talk to him," one Swedish reporter said, "and finally I got to see him for 20 minutes. Is this the Patterson we liked so well? I do not think so."
"He misses Cus D'Amato," said a man who is close to Patterson, referring to Floyd's first and longtime manager, from whom he is estranged. "He tries to do everything himself now—run the camp, worry about the money, take legal advice, everything. D'Amato used to do all that and keep him away from everyone so that he could concentrate on fighting. And then you have to remember that he was raised by Cus. When Cus first got him he was just a kid who didn't know anything about anything. All he knows and all his attitudes he got from D'Amato, including his suspicions and prejudices and his quickness to resent. He's got all of D'Amato's craftiness without D'Amato's background and intelligence."
In one of his rare colloquies with a member of the press, Patterson said, "I have to prove something. If I could preview a fight and see that I would be destroyed I would still fight. If I had to fight every day for seven days I would do it to prove myself." He focused all of his attention on the task at hand: beating Machen, proving himself. Although his brother Ray, who served as a sparring partner in his camp, could have had a fight on the card with Floyd and Machen, Patterson turned thumbs down on the grounds that he had to give his entire concentration to his own bout and did not want to have to worry about his brother at the same time.
(Sports Illustrated - July 1964)
On the afternoon of September 22, 1922 fight fans packed the Buffalo Velodrome in Paris, France to see Georges Carpentier defend his light-heavyweight title against Battling Siki.
Nicknamed the “Orchid Man” for the corsages he often wore with his tailored suits, Carpentier had been fighting professionally since he was 14. Although he was coming off a failed attempt to win Dempsey’s heavyweight title, he’d helped secure boxing’s first million-dollar gate. Fighting again as a light-heavyweight, the Frenchman’s future was still bright—so bright that Carpentier’s handlers were taking no chances. They offered Battling Siki a bribe to throw the fight. Siki agreed, under the condition that he “didn’t want to get hurt.” What followed was one of the strangest bouts in boxing history.
Although Siki later admitted that the fight was rigged, there’s some question as to whether Carpentier knew it. Early in the first of 20 scheduled rounds, Siki dropped to a knee after Carpentier grazed him, and then rose and began to throw wild, showy punches with little behind them. In the third, Carpentier landed a powerful blow, and Siki went down again; when he got back on his feet, he lunged at his opponent head first, hands low, as if inviting Carpentier to hit him again. Carpentier obliged, sending Siki to the canvas once more.
At that point, the action in the ring turned serious. Siki later told a friend that during the fight, he had reminded Carpentier, “You aren’t supposed to hit me,” but the Frenchman “kept doing it. He thought he could beat me without our deal, and he kept on hitting me.”
Suddenly, Battling Siki’s punches had a lot more power to them. He pounded away at Carpentier in the fourth round, then dropped him with a vicious combination and stood menacingly over him. Through the fourth and into the fifth, the fighters stood head to head, trading punches, but it was clear that Siki was getting the better of the champion. Frustrated, Carpentier charged in and head-butted Siki, knocking him to the floor. Rising to his feet, Siki tried to protest to the referee, but Carpentier charged again, backing him into a corner. The Frenchman slipped and fell to the canvas—and Siki, seemingly confused, helped him get to his feet. Seeing Siki’s guard down, Carpentier showed his gratitude by launching a hard left hook to Siki’s head just before the bell ended the round. The Senegalese tried to follow Carpentier back to his corner, but handlers pulled him back onto his stool.
At the start of round six, Battling Siki pounced. Furious, he spun Carpentier around and delivered an illegal knee to his midsection, which dropped the Frenchman for good. Enraged, Siki stood above him and shouted down at his fallen foe. With his right eye swollen shut and his nose broken, the Orchid Man was splayed awkwardly on his side, his left leg resting on the lower rope.
Siki returned to his corner. His manager, Charlie Hellers, blurted out, “My God. What have you done?”
“He hit me,” Siki answered.
Referee M. Henri Bernstein didn’t even bother counting. Believed by some to be in on the fix, Bernstein tried to explain that he was disqualifying Siki for fouling Carpentier, who was then being carried to his corner. Upon hearing of the disqualification, the crowd unleashed a “great chorus of hoots and jeers and even threaten the referee with bodily harm.” Carpentier, they believed, had been “beaten squarely by a better man.”
Amid the pandemonium, the judges quickly conferred, and an hour later, reversed the disqualification. Battling Siki was the new champion.
Siki was embraced, just as Carpentier had been, and he quickly became the toast of Paris. He was a late-night fixture in bars around the city, surrounded by women, and he could often be seen walking the Champs-Elysees in a top hat and tuxedo, with a pet lion cub on a leash.
(By Gilbert King)
Nicknamed the “Orchid Man” for the corsages he often wore with his tailored suits, Carpentier had been fighting professionally since he was 14. Although he was coming off a failed attempt to win Dempsey’s heavyweight title, he’d helped secure boxing’s first million-dollar gate. Fighting again as a light-heavyweight, the Frenchman’s future was still bright—so bright that Carpentier’s handlers were taking no chances. They offered Battling Siki a bribe to throw the fight. Siki agreed, under the condition that he “didn’t want to get hurt.” What followed was one of the strangest bouts in boxing history.
Although Siki later admitted that the fight was rigged, there’s some question as to whether Carpentier knew it. Early in the first of 20 scheduled rounds, Siki dropped to a knee after Carpentier grazed him, and then rose and began to throw wild, showy punches with little behind them. In the third, Carpentier landed a powerful blow, and Siki went down again; when he got back on his feet, he lunged at his opponent head first, hands low, as if inviting Carpentier to hit him again. Carpentier obliged, sending Siki to the canvas once more.
At that point, the action in the ring turned serious. Siki later told a friend that during the fight, he had reminded Carpentier, “You aren’t supposed to hit me,” but the Frenchman “kept doing it. He thought he could beat me without our deal, and he kept on hitting me.”
Suddenly, Battling Siki’s punches had a lot more power to them. He pounded away at Carpentier in the fourth round, then dropped him with a vicious combination and stood menacingly over him. Through the fourth and into the fifth, the fighters stood head to head, trading punches, but it was clear that Siki was getting the better of the champion. Frustrated, Carpentier charged in and head-butted Siki, knocking him to the floor. Rising to his feet, Siki tried to protest to the referee, but Carpentier charged again, backing him into a corner. The Frenchman slipped and fell to the canvas—and Siki, seemingly confused, helped him get to his feet. Seeing Siki’s guard down, Carpentier showed his gratitude by launching a hard left hook to Siki’s head just before the bell ended the round. The Senegalese tried to follow Carpentier back to his corner, but handlers pulled him back onto his stool.
At the start of round six, Battling Siki pounced. Furious, he spun Carpentier around and delivered an illegal knee to his midsection, which dropped the Frenchman for good. Enraged, Siki stood above him and shouted down at his fallen foe. With his right eye swollen shut and his nose broken, the Orchid Man was splayed awkwardly on his side, his left leg resting on the lower rope.
Siki returned to his corner. His manager, Charlie Hellers, blurted out, “My God. What have you done?”
“He hit me,” Siki answered.
Referee M. Henri Bernstein didn’t even bother counting. Believed by some to be in on the fix, Bernstein tried to explain that he was disqualifying Siki for fouling Carpentier, who was then being carried to his corner. Upon hearing of the disqualification, the crowd unleashed a “great chorus of hoots and jeers and even threaten the referee with bodily harm.” Carpentier, they believed, had been “beaten squarely by a better man.”
Amid the pandemonium, the judges quickly conferred, and an hour later, reversed the disqualification. Battling Siki was the new champion.
Siki was embraced, just as Carpentier had been, and he quickly became the toast of Paris. He was a late-night fixture in bars around the city, surrounded by women, and he could often be seen walking the Champs-Elysees in a top hat and tuxedo, with a pet lion cub on a leash.
(By Gilbert King)
Sept. 1906.
A highly touted fight, held in the Nevada hinterlands to escape anti-boxing laws, had the box-office appeal of pitting a fan-favorite boxer, Battling Nelson, against one of the greatest fighters of all time, Joe Gans. Gans was black, and any interracial boxing match was big news in those days. Nelson was considered to be over-matched, but Gans was coming into the twilight of his career, and may have already been ill with tuberculosis (he would die of the disease just a few years later). The grueling fight lasted 42 rounds, and was finally won by Gans on a foul, a low blow by Nelson. The foul call was amazing because black fighters were rarely given the benefit of a clean fight in those days. Referees made it a habit to turn a blind eye to dirty tricks by white fighters against black fighters.
(by Allan Holtz)
Gans literally killed himself to make the lightweight limit for this bout, Nat Fleischer stated in "The Three Colored Aces." As a result of his extremely light diet and strenuous training in the Nevada heat, Gans would feel the effects of tuberculosis shortly afterward. Nelson's manager Billy Nolan allegedly set extremely unfair standards, as Champion Gans received only $11,000, compared to Nelson's $34,000 (or $22,500, depending upon the source). And when Gans did make it down to 133 pounds, the lightweight limit at the time, Nolan announced that he must enter the ring at the same weight or the fight would be called off. Gans, who allowed all this just to reportedly "bring home the bacon" for his family, still had a vicious combatant to face in the ring.
United States President Teddy Roosevelt's son Kermit was in the audience.
A highly touted fight, held in the Nevada hinterlands to escape anti-boxing laws, had the box-office appeal of pitting a fan-favorite boxer, Battling Nelson, against one of the greatest fighters of all time, Joe Gans. Gans was black, and any interracial boxing match was big news in those days. Nelson was considered to be over-matched, but Gans was coming into the twilight of his career, and may have already been ill with tuberculosis (he would die of the disease just a few years later). The grueling fight lasted 42 rounds, and was finally won by Gans on a foul, a low blow by Nelson. The foul call was amazing because black fighters were rarely given the benefit of a clean fight in those days. Referees made it a habit to turn a blind eye to dirty tricks by white fighters against black fighters.
(by Allan Holtz)
Gans literally killed himself to make the lightweight limit for this bout, Nat Fleischer stated in "The Three Colored Aces." As a result of his extremely light diet and strenuous training in the Nevada heat, Gans would feel the effects of tuberculosis shortly afterward. Nelson's manager Billy Nolan allegedly set extremely unfair standards, as Champion Gans received only $11,000, compared to Nelson's $34,000 (or $22,500, depending upon the source). And when Gans did make it down to 133 pounds, the lightweight limit at the time, Nolan announced that he must enter the ring at the same weight or the fight would be called off. Gans, who allowed all this just to reportedly "bring home the bacon" for his family, still had a vicious combatant to face in the ring.
United States President Teddy Roosevelt's son Kermit was in the audience.
I remember when Lionel Rose arrived in Los Angeles. I was 16-years-old at the time and had read a lot about Rose and wanted to watch him train. I had no idea that less than a year later I would have a chance to spar with Rose while he trained for his last title defense.
Chucho Castillo was the Mexican Bantamweight Champion and had defeated Edmundo Esparza, Jose Medel, Memo Tellez and Jesus Pimentel. You have to understand that in Mexico, being the Mexican Champion is more important than being the world champion. Often the Mexican Champion was, or would become, the World Champ. When Chucho Castillo stepped into the Forum ring to fight Rose for the title, he had the support of thousands of Mexican's who had spent hard earned money to travel to Los Angeles from below the border. They expected Castillo to return home with the title, and he almost did.
Rose and Castillo put on a great battle for 15 rounds. Rose boxed brilliantly, using his darting left jab and sharp counter punches to hold off the charging Castillo. Castillo landed the harder blows and in the 10th round floored the Australian which drove the Mexican fans crazy. "Chucho, Chucho, Chucho"" the fans chanted. However, Rose made it to his feet and went right back to his original plan. He held off the furious attack of the Mexican and continued to box. At the end of 15 rounds ring announcer Mario Machado read the verdict. Lionel Rose was awarded a split decision victory over Castillo. The Mexican fans went crazy and literally tore apart the brand new 18,000 seat Forum.
I had attended the match with one of friends, amateur heavyweight Al Boursse. This was one time Al and I were glad our seats were nowhere near the ring. After the decision was announced there was booing, then cups of beer were tossed toward the ring from way back. Then cherry bombs began to explode and fights started breaking out everywhere. Cushioned seats were slashed open and the stuffing set afire.
After Rose and Castillo left the ring, featherweights Dwight Hawkins and Fernando Sotelo were set to fight in a ten rounder. However, the crowd was so unruly the fight was halted after the third round to protect the fighters from all of the debris being tossed into the ring.
Al Boursse and I had come to see our stablemate Hawkins or we'd have left quickly after the title fight. When they stopped the Hawkins-Sotelo bout, Al and I headed up the aisle, away from all all the missiles being thrown down. People were pushing and shoving each other trying to escape. As we passed through a tunnel toward an exit we ran into another one of our stablemates, Ruben Navarro. Navarro said he knew of a short cut so Al & I followed Ruben back down to the floor and slipped out through the dressing room area. As we headed up the ramp to the parking lot we saw Canto Robledo, an old trainer who was totally blind. Robledo had been separated from his guide and had been hit with several bottles and was bleeding. Navarro took Canto by the arm and led him away from the trouble. Outside, cars were being tipped over and the riot squad was arriving just as we pulled out of the parking lot. All over a close decision.
Eight months later, in August of 1969, Rose returned to Los Angeles for another title defense. This time he would take on one of the greatest bantamweights of all-time, Ruben Olivares.
(by Rick Farris)
Chucho Castillo was the Mexican Bantamweight Champion and had defeated Edmundo Esparza, Jose Medel, Memo Tellez and Jesus Pimentel. You have to understand that in Mexico, being the Mexican Champion is more important than being the world champion. Often the Mexican Champion was, or would become, the World Champ. When Chucho Castillo stepped into the Forum ring to fight Rose for the title, he had the support of thousands of Mexican's who had spent hard earned money to travel to Los Angeles from below the border. They expected Castillo to return home with the title, and he almost did.
Rose and Castillo put on a great battle for 15 rounds. Rose boxed brilliantly, using his darting left jab and sharp counter punches to hold off the charging Castillo. Castillo landed the harder blows and in the 10th round floored the Australian which drove the Mexican fans crazy. "Chucho, Chucho, Chucho"" the fans chanted. However, Rose made it to his feet and went right back to his original plan. He held off the furious attack of the Mexican and continued to box. At the end of 15 rounds ring announcer Mario Machado read the verdict. Lionel Rose was awarded a split decision victory over Castillo. The Mexican fans went crazy and literally tore apart the brand new 18,000 seat Forum.
I had attended the match with one of friends, amateur heavyweight Al Boursse. This was one time Al and I were glad our seats were nowhere near the ring. After the decision was announced there was booing, then cups of beer were tossed toward the ring from way back. Then cherry bombs began to explode and fights started breaking out everywhere. Cushioned seats were slashed open and the stuffing set afire.
After Rose and Castillo left the ring, featherweights Dwight Hawkins and Fernando Sotelo were set to fight in a ten rounder. However, the crowd was so unruly the fight was halted after the third round to protect the fighters from all of the debris being tossed into the ring.
Al Boursse and I had come to see our stablemate Hawkins or we'd have left quickly after the title fight. When they stopped the Hawkins-Sotelo bout, Al and I headed up the aisle, away from all all the missiles being thrown down. People were pushing and shoving each other trying to escape. As we passed through a tunnel toward an exit we ran into another one of our stablemates, Ruben Navarro. Navarro said he knew of a short cut so Al & I followed Ruben back down to the floor and slipped out through the dressing room area. As we headed up the ramp to the parking lot we saw Canto Robledo, an old trainer who was totally blind. Robledo had been separated from his guide and had been hit with several bottles and was bleeding. Navarro took Canto by the arm and led him away from the trouble. Outside, cars were being tipped over and the riot squad was arriving just as we pulled out of the parking lot. All over a close decision.
Eight months later, in August of 1969, Rose returned to Los Angeles for another title defense. This time he would take on one of the greatest bantamweights of all-time, Ruben Olivares.
(by Rick Farris)
The confusing Joe Gans v Jimmy Britt World Lightweight Title story...
....................
In both the 'Ring Record Book' and 'The Ring: Boxing The 20th Century' it is found that Gans relinquished the title in November 1904, “because of difficulty making the weight.” No exact date of the forfeiture is given in either source. The reason for this omission is simple – there is no date because there is no record to be found in any newspaper account of his era quoting Gans as saying that he gave up his lightweight title.
In an 'Illustrated History of Boxing' (Fleischer and Andre p 300) it is found that “Jimmy Britt claimed that Gans had declined to make weight and thereby forfeited his title.” The problem with Britt's claim is that Gans clearly did make the weight. Press accounts prove that Gans’ weight was a big issue in the days preceding the fight, but the fight nevertheless took place on Oct. 31, 1904, in San Francisco, as a lightweight championship match. The Oct. 28, 1904, San Francisco Chronicle reported that “Last night along the line there were all sorts of discussions upon this weight problem …it is the consensus of opinion that the colored lad is in for a hard time trimming off the surplus poundage. This being the first fight Gans ever made at 133 pounds, ringside.” The weight of 133 pounds, however, should not be considered as set in stone for the lightweight limit as the Frank Erne-Gans title fight of two years previous the combatants had agreed to a higher weight limit. Nat Fleischer wrote, (BD, 153) "The contest was for world lightweight championship and the men agreed to scale at 136 pounds." This fact is backed up by newspaper accounts; the Chronicle May 13, 1902 reported, "The weight for the bout was 136 pounds ringside." The now accepted weight limit of 135 pounds became standard a few years later, after Willie Ritchie won the title in 1912.
The Oct. 21, 1904, Chronicle reported the two fighters’ managers would meet at Harry Corbett’s to “discuss the question of the referee of the championship battle between Gans and Britt.” The Oct. 23 Chronicle wrote “To the casual visitor to Gans’ camp the lightweight champion looks a trifle drawn.” Gans himself said in the same issue “If Britt wins from me I hope he will abandon all his talk about the color line. If I am beaten the lightweight championship goes to him.” Clearly both the press and Gans considered himself champion going into the Jimmy Britt fight.
The controversy over Gans’ record seems to result from the way Gans won the fight with Britt – Britt fouled Gans in the fifth round and was disqualified. Britt was warned throughout the fight several times for fouls, including hitting low. The Nov. 1 Chronicle quoted referee Eddie Graney as saying, “He hit Gans three times while he was on his knees and there was only one thing that could possibly be done,” i.e., disqualify Britt.
Gans, then, retained the title by foul. At no time did Gans say he relinquished the title. After the fight, Gans told the Chronicle (Nov. 1, 1904) “I shall not give him a return match for two reasons. His fouls were so open that he is not entitled to another match, but besides that I am convinced I cannot be strong at 133 pounds, ringside.” Though admitting he was weak, he never said he gave up the title. He merely said that he couldn’t be strong at that weight, excusing what was reported to be an admittedly weak performance against Britt. But performing badly does not mean he lost, as we will see later on. But despite his performance, the Nov. 2 Chronicle had Gans’ manager, Al Herford, making this offer: “I will match Gans against Britt at 134 pounds ringside and will guarantee a purse of 15,000 at Baltimore.”
The November newspaper clippings on microfilm reveal that at no time did Gans abdicate the lightweight title or say he will no longer campaign at lightweight. There is no evidence whatsoever that Gans ever relinquished the title. The Nov. 19, 1904 National Police Gazette reported "Joe Gans and Jimmy Britt May be Matched Again for a Purse and The Lightweight Championship." If Gans was no longer going to fight at lightweight then why was he trying to negotiate a second Britt fight for the title?
The idea that Gans gave up the title in November 1904 seems to come from Jimmy Britt, who sought to rewrite the record books and erase his loss by appealing to the sentiments of the white press. Britt took Gans’ statement to mean that he could no longer make 133 pounds, leading Britt to believe he was to be the rightful champion. Britt claimed this because he believed publicly that he was the better man in the fight and “should” have won. This fact is backed up in Nat Fleischer's 'Black Dynamite' (172) "Britt and his adherents refused to yield. They declared the action of the referee was unwarranted and Britt in the eyes of the Californians was still the champion.”
The British Boxing Board of Control Boxing Yearbook 2002 on page 230 seems to quote Fleischer with the following reference:
“1904. 31 October Joe Gans W Dis 5 Jimmy Britt , San Francisco, USA. For over two years Britt had disputed the title, firstly drawing the 'colour bar' and later claiming that Gans was incapable of making 133 lbs. However, while Gans proved he could make the weight for this one it obviously left him weakened, something that was painfully exploited by Britt. The only thing that saved Gans was Britt's impetuosity. Having downed the coloured man twice in the fourth round, Britt was excused hitting him after the bell because of the din but there was no excuse in the fifth and he was finally disqualified after hitting his rival who was in the act of rising from another knockdown. Britt continued to claim the title on the grounds that the action of the referee was unwarranted and that, in the eyes of most Californians, he was still the champion.”
The first indication of this in the Californian press is the Nov. 19, 1904, edition of the San Francisco Chronicle, where Britt is attempting to negotiate a match with former featherweight champion Young Corbett, whom he bested once before. Britt was quoted as saying to Corbett “You must remember that when we fought before you were the champion…I want you to know that I am the champion now…”
The Britt and Young Corbett fight in November didn’t materialize. Instead, Battling Nelson fought Corbett and knocked him out in the tenth round. Britt and Nelson then agreed to meet in a battle of premier lightweights, it was first called the "lightweight championship of America" in the Dec 19, 1904 Boston Globe. The question now becomes “How did the Britt-Nelson fight on Dec. 20, 1904, in San Francisco, come to be regarded as a contest for the ‘world lightweight championship’ in the official Ring, IBHOF, and British Boxing Board record books?”
The answer is found in the Dec. 20, 1904, edition of the Boston Globe: “Britt is the acknowledged lightweight champion of America. The decision Gans got over him, on a foul, is not considered seriously. The greater number of sporting men are convinced that the fight was a fake, and giving the decision to Gans did not help the colored boxer any. Britt showed that he was Gans’ master and that was enough. The fight tonight, therefore, is for the lightweight championship.” The San Francisco Chronicle in the Dec. 21, 1904, issue reiterates this claim: “In the opinion of the sporting men at ringside. The victory (of Britt over Nelson) carried with it the lightweight championship of the world. Gans showed in his fight with Britt that it is an impossibility for him to make 133 pounds ringside and remain strong. The lightweight limit is 133 pounds ringside. Before last night’s bout it was generally agreed that Britt and Nelson were the best men in the world at this weight.”
Not only is the above statement unfounded and unjust, other newspaper accounts make it clear that while the press was upset with Gans’ win over Britt in the short term, in the long term they came to grips with Gans’ victory and continued to recognize him as champion. The Jan. 17, 1905 San Francisco Chronicle says of Gans “his claim on the lightweight title has placed him in a position to dictate weight to prospective opponents.” This demonstrates by newspaper accounts that Gans was still considered as lightweight champion at the beginning of 1905 even by the Californian papers. After his second fight with Mike “Twin” Sullivan, Gans said in Jan 20, 1906 Chronicle, “I will make 133 pounds” against Jimmy Britt, “I can do that now” proving he still considered himself lightweight champion, which means he never gave up the title.
The Feb 4, 1905 'National Police Gazette', which is considered an authority on fistic matters reported, "Nelson and Gans Will Fight For Title" this is barely over 3 months after the Gans-Britt fight and about 6 weeks after Nelson lost to Britt in December. The Gans-Nelson fight didn’t come off at that time but the Police Gazette continues to report Gans as the champion. It seems Britt is claiming that he is the champion also, although Gans is still the recognized champion, note the following headline, Mar. 18, 1905 Gazette, "Jabez White is Here to Fight Jimmy Britt, or Joe Gans for the Worlds Lightweight Title."
Gans made the weight against Britt in their Oct 31, 1904 fight. He won and kept his title. For Britt or anyone else to claim “Gans can no longer make the lightweight limit” is guesswork. Do we strip champions of titles for guessing that they may not be able to make the weight the next time they fight? Clearly not. In fact, Gans made weight for subsequent lightweight championship fights, including Gans-Nelson bouts one through three, a rematch with Jimmy Britt (which incidentally Gans won by knockout) and other post 1906 bouts.
The press and public continued to recognize Joe Gans as lightweight champion. The racist “white lightweight championship” as it is referred to in The Boxing Register on Nelson’s record, between Britt and Nelson, was not taken seriously at the time. Consider the statement of San Francisco fight promoter Jim Coffroth, (Ring Magazine May 1943), "Gans greatest misfortune was that he lived in the low purse days of pugilism, and that he was sadly mismanaged. I can cite no better illustration of this than to point out in 1906, when Gans, then champion of the world, agreed to take a $10,000 guarantee of a $30,000 purse, agreeing that Battling Nelson, the challenger, was to get $20,000."
The argument that the Britt-Nelson affair was for the world’s lightweight championship is just not true. First, the idea that Gans couldn’t make the weight so he gave up the title comes from Britt, and is clearly false. Secondly, the notion that Britt “should” have won is absurd; what we are discussing is the official record, and the official record clearly shows that Britt was disqualified for hitting Gans while he was down. Consequently, the Britt-Nelson fight should be recorded in record books as nothing more than a “title claimant” bout, a bout where a white fighter claims a title that justly belongs to a black champion. When The Boston Globe referred to Britt as the "lightweight champion of America" as in the Dec. 19 edition, what it really means is the "white lightweight champion." The Boston Globe admitted that Gans was the true champion before the first Gans-Nelson fight. One must realize that Joe Gans was the first African American to hold a world championship. This was over 40 years before Jackie Robinson broke through in major league baseball.
(By Monte D. Cox)
....................
In both the 'Ring Record Book' and 'The Ring: Boxing The 20th Century' it is found that Gans relinquished the title in November 1904, “because of difficulty making the weight.” No exact date of the forfeiture is given in either source. The reason for this omission is simple – there is no date because there is no record to be found in any newspaper account of his era quoting Gans as saying that he gave up his lightweight title.
In an 'Illustrated History of Boxing' (Fleischer and Andre p 300) it is found that “Jimmy Britt claimed that Gans had declined to make weight and thereby forfeited his title.” The problem with Britt's claim is that Gans clearly did make the weight. Press accounts prove that Gans’ weight was a big issue in the days preceding the fight, but the fight nevertheless took place on Oct. 31, 1904, in San Francisco, as a lightweight championship match. The Oct. 28, 1904, San Francisco Chronicle reported that “Last night along the line there were all sorts of discussions upon this weight problem …it is the consensus of opinion that the colored lad is in for a hard time trimming off the surplus poundage. This being the first fight Gans ever made at 133 pounds, ringside.” The weight of 133 pounds, however, should not be considered as set in stone for the lightweight limit as the Frank Erne-Gans title fight of two years previous the combatants had agreed to a higher weight limit. Nat Fleischer wrote, (BD, 153) "The contest was for world lightweight championship and the men agreed to scale at 136 pounds." This fact is backed up by newspaper accounts; the Chronicle May 13, 1902 reported, "The weight for the bout was 136 pounds ringside." The now accepted weight limit of 135 pounds became standard a few years later, after Willie Ritchie won the title in 1912.
The Oct. 21, 1904, Chronicle reported the two fighters’ managers would meet at Harry Corbett’s to “discuss the question of the referee of the championship battle between Gans and Britt.” The Oct. 23 Chronicle wrote “To the casual visitor to Gans’ camp the lightweight champion looks a trifle drawn.” Gans himself said in the same issue “If Britt wins from me I hope he will abandon all his talk about the color line. If I am beaten the lightweight championship goes to him.” Clearly both the press and Gans considered himself champion going into the Jimmy Britt fight.
The controversy over Gans’ record seems to result from the way Gans won the fight with Britt – Britt fouled Gans in the fifth round and was disqualified. Britt was warned throughout the fight several times for fouls, including hitting low. The Nov. 1 Chronicle quoted referee Eddie Graney as saying, “He hit Gans three times while he was on his knees and there was only one thing that could possibly be done,” i.e., disqualify Britt.
Gans, then, retained the title by foul. At no time did Gans say he relinquished the title. After the fight, Gans told the Chronicle (Nov. 1, 1904) “I shall not give him a return match for two reasons. His fouls were so open that he is not entitled to another match, but besides that I am convinced I cannot be strong at 133 pounds, ringside.” Though admitting he was weak, he never said he gave up the title. He merely said that he couldn’t be strong at that weight, excusing what was reported to be an admittedly weak performance against Britt. But performing badly does not mean he lost, as we will see later on. But despite his performance, the Nov. 2 Chronicle had Gans’ manager, Al Herford, making this offer: “I will match Gans against Britt at 134 pounds ringside and will guarantee a purse of 15,000 at Baltimore.”
The November newspaper clippings on microfilm reveal that at no time did Gans abdicate the lightweight title or say he will no longer campaign at lightweight. There is no evidence whatsoever that Gans ever relinquished the title. The Nov. 19, 1904 National Police Gazette reported "Joe Gans and Jimmy Britt May be Matched Again for a Purse and The Lightweight Championship." If Gans was no longer going to fight at lightweight then why was he trying to negotiate a second Britt fight for the title?
The idea that Gans gave up the title in November 1904 seems to come from Jimmy Britt, who sought to rewrite the record books and erase his loss by appealing to the sentiments of the white press. Britt took Gans’ statement to mean that he could no longer make 133 pounds, leading Britt to believe he was to be the rightful champion. Britt claimed this because he believed publicly that he was the better man in the fight and “should” have won. This fact is backed up in Nat Fleischer's 'Black Dynamite' (172) "Britt and his adherents refused to yield. They declared the action of the referee was unwarranted and Britt in the eyes of the Californians was still the champion.”
The British Boxing Board of Control Boxing Yearbook 2002 on page 230 seems to quote Fleischer with the following reference:
“1904. 31 October Joe Gans W Dis 5 Jimmy Britt , San Francisco, USA. For over two years Britt had disputed the title, firstly drawing the 'colour bar' and later claiming that Gans was incapable of making 133 lbs. However, while Gans proved he could make the weight for this one it obviously left him weakened, something that was painfully exploited by Britt. The only thing that saved Gans was Britt's impetuosity. Having downed the coloured man twice in the fourth round, Britt was excused hitting him after the bell because of the din but there was no excuse in the fifth and he was finally disqualified after hitting his rival who was in the act of rising from another knockdown. Britt continued to claim the title on the grounds that the action of the referee was unwarranted and that, in the eyes of most Californians, he was still the champion.”
The first indication of this in the Californian press is the Nov. 19, 1904, edition of the San Francisco Chronicle, where Britt is attempting to negotiate a match with former featherweight champion Young Corbett, whom he bested once before. Britt was quoted as saying to Corbett “You must remember that when we fought before you were the champion…I want you to know that I am the champion now…”
The Britt and Young Corbett fight in November didn’t materialize. Instead, Battling Nelson fought Corbett and knocked him out in the tenth round. Britt and Nelson then agreed to meet in a battle of premier lightweights, it was first called the "lightweight championship of America" in the Dec 19, 1904 Boston Globe. The question now becomes “How did the Britt-Nelson fight on Dec. 20, 1904, in San Francisco, come to be regarded as a contest for the ‘world lightweight championship’ in the official Ring, IBHOF, and British Boxing Board record books?”
The answer is found in the Dec. 20, 1904, edition of the Boston Globe: “Britt is the acknowledged lightweight champion of America. The decision Gans got over him, on a foul, is not considered seriously. The greater number of sporting men are convinced that the fight was a fake, and giving the decision to Gans did not help the colored boxer any. Britt showed that he was Gans’ master and that was enough. The fight tonight, therefore, is for the lightweight championship.” The San Francisco Chronicle in the Dec. 21, 1904, issue reiterates this claim: “In the opinion of the sporting men at ringside. The victory (of Britt over Nelson) carried with it the lightweight championship of the world. Gans showed in his fight with Britt that it is an impossibility for him to make 133 pounds ringside and remain strong. The lightweight limit is 133 pounds ringside. Before last night’s bout it was generally agreed that Britt and Nelson were the best men in the world at this weight.”
Not only is the above statement unfounded and unjust, other newspaper accounts make it clear that while the press was upset with Gans’ win over Britt in the short term, in the long term they came to grips with Gans’ victory and continued to recognize him as champion. The Jan. 17, 1905 San Francisco Chronicle says of Gans “his claim on the lightweight title has placed him in a position to dictate weight to prospective opponents.” This demonstrates by newspaper accounts that Gans was still considered as lightweight champion at the beginning of 1905 even by the Californian papers. After his second fight with Mike “Twin” Sullivan, Gans said in Jan 20, 1906 Chronicle, “I will make 133 pounds” against Jimmy Britt, “I can do that now” proving he still considered himself lightweight champion, which means he never gave up the title.
The Feb 4, 1905 'National Police Gazette', which is considered an authority on fistic matters reported, "Nelson and Gans Will Fight For Title" this is barely over 3 months after the Gans-Britt fight and about 6 weeks after Nelson lost to Britt in December. The Gans-Nelson fight didn’t come off at that time but the Police Gazette continues to report Gans as the champion. It seems Britt is claiming that he is the champion also, although Gans is still the recognized champion, note the following headline, Mar. 18, 1905 Gazette, "Jabez White is Here to Fight Jimmy Britt, or Joe Gans for the Worlds Lightweight Title."
Gans made the weight against Britt in their Oct 31, 1904 fight. He won and kept his title. For Britt or anyone else to claim “Gans can no longer make the lightweight limit” is guesswork. Do we strip champions of titles for guessing that they may not be able to make the weight the next time they fight? Clearly not. In fact, Gans made weight for subsequent lightweight championship fights, including Gans-Nelson bouts one through three, a rematch with Jimmy Britt (which incidentally Gans won by knockout) and other post 1906 bouts.
The press and public continued to recognize Joe Gans as lightweight champion. The racist “white lightweight championship” as it is referred to in The Boxing Register on Nelson’s record, between Britt and Nelson, was not taken seriously at the time. Consider the statement of San Francisco fight promoter Jim Coffroth, (Ring Magazine May 1943), "Gans greatest misfortune was that he lived in the low purse days of pugilism, and that he was sadly mismanaged. I can cite no better illustration of this than to point out in 1906, when Gans, then champion of the world, agreed to take a $10,000 guarantee of a $30,000 purse, agreeing that Battling Nelson, the challenger, was to get $20,000."
The argument that the Britt-Nelson affair was for the world’s lightweight championship is just not true. First, the idea that Gans couldn’t make the weight so he gave up the title comes from Britt, and is clearly false. Secondly, the notion that Britt “should” have won is absurd; what we are discussing is the official record, and the official record clearly shows that Britt was disqualified for hitting Gans while he was down. Consequently, the Britt-Nelson fight should be recorded in record books as nothing more than a “title claimant” bout, a bout where a white fighter claims a title that justly belongs to a black champion. When The Boston Globe referred to Britt as the "lightweight champion of America" as in the Dec. 19 edition, what it really means is the "white lightweight champion." The Boston Globe admitted that Gans was the true champion before the first Gans-Nelson fight. One must realize that Joe Gans was the first African American to hold a world championship. This was over 40 years before Jackie Robinson broke through in major league baseball.
(By Monte D. Cox)
Jimmy Slattery - he danced on his toes like a ballet dancer, his arms dangling at his sides, rifling fast and accurate punches through the tightest of defences.
In 1925, the year he fought for the World Light-Heavyweight Title (in September), he fought 19 fights - in that year alone...the year he turned 21 years old.
In the end he was another who was badly beaten by John Barleycorn.
...........................
He came out of Buffalo's old First Ward, starting as a long rangy kid in the Broadway auditorium, to become one of the smoothest, most efficient fighting machines in the world. The first pair of green trunks he ever wore in the ring were made by his mother; the bathrobe slung carelessly over his broad young shoulders was borrowed. He fought him, first professional fight for $40. Yet in a few swift ears, Jimmy Slattery's murderous left had clouted him a straight path to Madison Square Garden, where he eventually became the light heavyweight champion of the world and a heavy weight title contender. In his hey-dey, he was like the hero of some ancient Irish fable-a ring wise, black haired Irish imp who carried man made lightening in his gloves.
He was only 20 years old when he fought his first fight in the big time. Hoarse-voiced thousands that night in 1924 watched this dancing will-o'-the-wisp out-box. out-guess and outfight the veteran Jack Delaney. Yet within that same year the same Madison Square Garden crowd watched, agonized, while Paul Berlenbach, a huge hunk of ex-wrestler, belted Buffalo's golden boy all around the ring. The referee stopped the fight in the eleventh round after Berlenbach had smashed Slats to the canvas three times.
Despite this beating, though, he lived to win the title five years later when on February 10, 1930, he won a 15-round decision over another Buffalo fighter, Lou Scozza, in the Broadway Auditorium. But those were five fast years that only served to grease the skids for Slattery's ride bloom hailed a cab on Eighth Avenue and rode it nearly four hundred miles to a training camp up in the Adirondacks.
The vanishing act was another of his pet tricks; he'd drop out of sight regardless of circumstances. His manager, Red Carr, once lined up a big fight for Slats only to find that Slats was nowhere around. For five days he was gone. Police at Elkhart, Ind wired to Buffalo that he had been arrested for vagrancy. Another time-in New York-Slats told Carr he was going out to buy a hat. He was gone for half a week before he came back without the hat.
Once Slattery turned up missing in Venice. His companions were getting ready to have the canals dragged when they found him at 4 a. m., floating aimlessly around in an appropriated gondola.
Anyone could put the "bite" on him. That was another of his weaknesses That staunch heart of his was brimming with too much kindness. A buck? Sure. A fin? Sure. Fifty? Hell yes! He made more than that a second. So the gang hung on. Used his cars, his liquor, his money and used him for all he was worth. Once a delegation of 28 home-town pals dropped into his New York - hotel after a fight. They had spent all their money. How were they going to get home? Slats snapped his fingers. "Nothing to it," he said, and picked up the phone and ordered 28 Pullman berths for Buffalo.
What caused Slattery's rapid downfall as a fighter, as meteoric as his rise to fame? Maybe the trouble was too much too soon. Maybe it was a case of "too many parties and too many pals." One guess is as good as another. Slattery himself perhaps had the answer to the ride down. He once said that he'd give up fighting in a minute if he could play the piano. However, be never learned to play anything but the harmonica. Before Slat's first 15-round fight with Paul Berlenbach, the late Tex Rickard went to his dressing room with the idea of soothing, the nervous youngster. He found Slattery stretched out on the rubbing table trying, to play his harmonica with gloved hands.
But for a fighter who preferred music to mayhem, he made-and lost -a tidy fortune. In a career of 126 fights he earned and flung away $438,000. He could have been heavyweight champion of the world, according to most sports experts who saw him in action in his prime. Gentleman Jim Corbett made it a point to see every Slattery fight because, according to sports writers, he saw his own greatness mirrored in the lean Irishman. Gene Tunny has called him the greatest natural boxer of those times.
Slattery boxed frequently with Tunney when the latter was getting into shape for his second Dempsey fight during one furious session, Slats sent Tunney sprawling through the ropes. Newspaper stories said Tunney "slipped," but Slattery's followers have always maintained that it was a clean punch that nearly knocked the heavyweight champ out.
Slattery fought his last professional fight on August 22, 1932 in Offermann Stadium. He was knocked out in the second round by Charley Belanger, Canadian light-heavy weight champion.
(by Ed Dunn)
In 1925, the year he fought for the World Light-Heavyweight Title (in September), he fought 19 fights - in that year alone...the year he turned 21 years old.
In the end he was another who was badly beaten by John Barleycorn.
...........................
He came out of Buffalo's old First Ward, starting as a long rangy kid in the Broadway auditorium, to become one of the smoothest, most efficient fighting machines in the world. The first pair of green trunks he ever wore in the ring were made by his mother; the bathrobe slung carelessly over his broad young shoulders was borrowed. He fought him, first professional fight for $40. Yet in a few swift ears, Jimmy Slattery's murderous left had clouted him a straight path to Madison Square Garden, where he eventually became the light heavyweight champion of the world and a heavy weight title contender. In his hey-dey, he was like the hero of some ancient Irish fable-a ring wise, black haired Irish imp who carried man made lightening in his gloves.
He was only 20 years old when he fought his first fight in the big time. Hoarse-voiced thousands that night in 1924 watched this dancing will-o'-the-wisp out-box. out-guess and outfight the veteran Jack Delaney. Yet within that same year the same Madison Square Garden crowd watched, agonized, while Paul Berlenbach, a huge hunk of ex-wrestler, belted Buffalo's golden boy all around the ring. The referee stopped the fight in the eleventh round after Berlenbach had smashed Slats to the canvas three times.
Despite this beating, though, he lived to win the title five years later when on February 10, 1930, he won a 15-round decision over another Buffalo fighter, Lou Scozza, in the Broadway Auditorium. But those were five fast years that only served to grease the skids for Slattery's ride bloom hailed a cab on Eighth Avenue and rode it nearly four hundred miles to a training camp up in the Adirondacks.
The vanishing act was another of his pet tricks; he'd drop out of sight regardless of circumstances. His manager, Red Carr, once lined up a big fight for Slats only to find that Slats was nowhere around. For five days he was gone. Police at Elkhart, Ind wired to Buffalo that he had been arrested for vagrancy. Another time-in New York-Slats told Carr he was going out to buy a hat. He was gone for half a week before he came back without the hat.
Once Slattery turned up missing in Venice. His companions were getting ready to have the canals dragged when they found him at 4 a. m., floating aimlessly around in an appropriated gondola.
Anyone could put the "bite" on him. That was another of his weaknesses That staunch heart of his was brimming with too much kindness. A buck? Sure. A fin? Sure. Fifty? Hell yes! He made more than that a second. So the gang hung on. Used his cars, his liquor, his money and used him for all he was worth. Once a delegation of 28 home-town pals dropped into his New York - hotel after a fight. They had spent all their money. How were they going to get home? Slats snapped his fingers. "Nothing to it," he said, and picked up the phone and ordered 28 Pullman berths for Buffalo.
What caused Slattery's rapid downfall as a fighter, as meteoric as his rise to fame? Maybe the trouble was too much too soon. Maybe it was a case of "too many parties and too many pals." One guess is as good as another. Slattery himself perhaps had the answer to the ride down. He once said that he'd give up fighting in a minute if he could play the piano. However, be never learned to play anything but the harmonica. Before Slat's first 15-round fight with Paul Berlenbach, the late Tex Rickard went to his dressing room with the idea of soothing, the nervous youngster. He found Slattery stretched out on the rubbing table trying, to play his harmonica with gloved hands.
But for a fighter who preferred music to mayhem, he made-and lost -a tidy fortune. In a career of 126 fights he earned and flung away $438,000. He could have been heavyweight champion of the world, according to most sports experts who saw him in action in his prime. Gentleman Jim Corbett made it a point to see every Slattery fight because, according to sports writers, he saw his own greatness mirrored in the lean Irishman. Gene Tunny has called him the greatest natural boxer of those times.
Slattery boxed frequently with Tunney when the latter was getting into shape for his second Dempsey fight during one furious session, Slats sent Tunney sprawling through the ropes. Newspaper stories said Tunney "slipped," but Slattery's followers have always maintained that it was a clean punch that nearly knocked the heavyweight champ out.
Slattery fought his last professional fight on August 22, 1932 in Offermann Stadium. He was knocked out in the second round by Charley Belanger, Canadian light-heavy weight champion.
(by Ed Dunn)
Aside from there being a whopping 65 losses on his record, “The Croat Comet” Fritzie Zivic, was one of the “dirtiest” boxers in ring history, perhaps the dirtiest, even though, as the record shows, he was never disqualified. As a result, his reputation suffered. Everyone understood what Zivic was about. Tough, canny and clever, he was a master at the dark art of errant elbows and well-timed head butts, discreet low blows and painful thumbs to the eyes. Zivic didn’t try to deny it either. As far as he was concerned, this amounted to standard procedure. Pugilism was a rough business and when it came to foul tactics, boxers had to be ready to both take it and dish it out.
“I’d hit guys low,” admitted Zivic. “Choke ‘em or give ‘em the head. My best punch was a left hook to you-know-where.”
Zivic’s career began in 1931 and by 1940 he had yet to earn a title shot, his inconsistency preventing the public from viewing him as a legitimate threat. But a big win over Sammy Angott set him up nicely for a chance at Armstrong’s welterweight crown. And Zivic began dreaming about that big Cadillac he always wanted. With Henry Armstrong having already established himself as one of the greatest fighters in boxing history, a triple division champion with 18 straight defenses of his welterweight title, Fritzie was a big underdog. The day of the fight, Zivic went down to the Cadillac dealership to check out the latest models and give himself some extra motivation for the battle to come.
But the first several rounds of the match were not good for the challenger. The aggressive Armstrong looked as strong and capable as ever and seemed to be cruising to a record nineteenth successful title defense. Zivic, his reputation preceding him, sought to be extra careful about any unseemly tactics, and appeared inhibited.
“That night Henry’s givin’ it to me pretty good,” recounted Zivic... “And I can see that Cadillac rollin’ farther and farther away from me. Henry’s givin’ me the elbows and the shoulders and the top of the head, and I can give that stuff back pretty good, but I don’t dare to or maybe they’ll throw me out of the ring.”
Zivic in fact was pacing himself, as he had never gone 15 rounds and knew he had to have something extra for the late going; stopping the tough Armstrong inside the distance was simply not a realistic prospect. So entering the middle rounds, the challenger began to pick it up. He used hard uppercuts to perfection, nailing Armstrong repeatedly. And then he got the break he needed.
“In the seventh round I give him the head a couple times and choked him a couple times and use the elbow some, and the referee says: ‘If you guys want to fight that way, it’s okay with me.’ Hot damn! I told Luke Carney in my corner: ‘Watch me go now,’ and from there out I saw that Cadillac turn around and come rollin’ back.”
The bout turned into a bloody alley war. And while Zivic’s uppercuts were his prime weapon, his thumbs and laces to the champion’s eyes also took their toll. Going into the final rounds, the bout was deadly close, but the challenger closed the show. He battered a hurt and exhausted Armstrong mercilessly and with seconds left in the fight, put “Homicide Hank” on the deck. We’ll never know if Henry could have beaten the count; the bell rang to end the fight before he had the chance. Zivic took a close but unanimous decision.
It was a huge upset, but Fritzie Zivic didn’t hold the title for very long. He defeated Armstrong in a rematch and then lost the crown to Freddie Cochrane just six months later. But he held on to that big Cadillac for many years after.
(by Michael Carbert)
“I’d hit guys low,” admitted Zivic. “Choke ‘em or give ‘em the head. My best punch was a left hook to you-know-where.”
Zivic’s career began in 1931 and by 1940 he had yet to earn a title shot, his inconsistency preventing the public from viewing him as a legitimate threat. But a big win over Sammy Angott set him up nicely for a chance at Armstrong’s welterweight crown. And Zivic began dreaming about that big Cadillac he always wanted. With Henry Armstrong having already established himself as one of the greatest fighters in boxing history, a triple division champion with 18 straight defenses of his welterweight title, Fritzie was a big underdog. The day of the fight, Zivic went down to the Cadillac dealership to check out the latest models and give himself some extra motivation for the battle to come.
But the first several rounds of the match were not good for the challenger. The aggressive Armstrong looked as strong and capable as ever and seemed to be cruising to a record nineteenth successful title defense. Zivic, his reputation preceding him, sought to be extra careful about any unseemly tactics, and appeared inhibited.
“That night Henry’s givin’ it to me pretty good,” recounted Zivic... “And I can see that Cadillac rollin’ farther and farther away from me. Henry’s givin’ me the elbows and the shoulders and the top of the head, and I can give that stuff back pretty good, but I don’t dare to or maybe they’ll throw me out of the ring.”
Zivic in fact was pacing himself, as he had never gone 15 rounds and knew he had to have something extra for the late going; stopping the tough Armstrong inside the distance was simply not a realistic prospect. So entering the middle rounds, the challenger began to pick it up. He used hard uppercuts to perfection, nailing Armstrong repeatedly. And then he got the break he needed.
“In the seventh round I give him the head a couple times and choked him a couple times and use the elbow some, and the referee says: ‘If you guys want to fight that way, it’s okay with me.’ Hot damn! I told Luke Carney in my corner: ‘Watch me go now,’ and from there out I saw that Cadillac turn around and come rollin’ back.”
The bout turned into a bloody alley war. And while Zivic’s uppercuts were his prime weapon, his thumbs and laces to the champion’s eyes also took their toll. Going into the final rounds, the bout was deadly close, but the challenger closed the show. He battered a hurt and exhausted Armstrong mercilessly and with seconds left in the fight, put “Homicide Hank” on the deck. We’ll never know if Henry could have beaten the count; the bell rang to end the fight before he had the chance. Zivic took a close but unanimous decision.
It was a huge upset, but Fritzie Zivic didn’t hold the title for very long. He defeated Armstrong in a rematch and then lost the crown to Freddie Cochrane just six months later. But he held on to that big Cadillac for many years after.
(by Michael Carbert)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)