Packy McFarland
McFarland, Cleverest Boxer of All Time, Proved Champions Aren't Always Best
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Edgren Says Chicagoan at Official 135 Today Would Be Kingpin.
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Packey, Success in Ring, Showed Same Sagacity in Business World.
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By ROBERT EDGREN. (1934)
Packy McFarland, now a State Athletic Commissioner in Illinois, was the cleverest fighter I ever saw in the ring, bar none, at any weight. Like a lot of others, Packey started his career with a long string of knockouts. He knocked out 14 of his first 15 opponents. In his first four years he had 42 fights, and won 33 with knockouts. But he developed amazing speed and skill, and after that knocked his men out only when he had to. He had a lot more fun making them look foolish in the ring.
I first heard of McFarland when a New York friend of mine, Mart Waterman, who missed very few good fights while taking business trips around the country, dropped me a line from Chicago.
"I've just seen the greatest lightweight I ever looked at," he wrote. "His name is Packey McFarland."
On returning to New York he told me the story. Mart went to see Battling Nelson, lightweight champion, who was showing in Chicago, in a theater near the stockyards district. Among the boys who wanted to put the gloves on with the champ was a tall, lean, curly-haired youngster, who volunteered for a couple of rounds. Bat asked Mart to come up back of the scenes and hold the watch on his bouts. Nelson was a great endurance fighter, rugged, tough, furiously aggressive, not much of a boxer. He sailed into Packey intent of scoring a quick knockout. But Packey wasn't waiting to be socked. He went into a whirling attack himself, all around Nelson, dodging the champ's flying gloves with ease, picking at Nelson, jabbing his head back, stopping his rushes with swift counters.
Nelson was surprised, annoyed and finally enraged. He couldn't lay a glove on the youngster, and he was getting his head nearly punched off. He was cut, jarred, bruised, humiliated and he couldn't do a thing. A fine exhibition for a champion. The crowd was up on the seats, yelling, and Waterman was so interested in the fight he forgot he was holding the watch. Nelson finally grabbed Packey, wrestled around near the timekeeper and snorted: "Call time, you big bum! Whadda ya think this is, a Marathon?" Mart glanced at his watch. The round had gone five minutes. He yelled "time."
During the rest Bat Nelson tried to catch Mart's eye, but Mart wouldn't look at him. The second round started. It was worse than the first, for Nelson was getting winded. In fairness to Bat, he had been on a theatrical tour and was in no condition for a fast fight. Packey clipped and banged him all over the ring. Nelson was bleeding and his eyes were puffing up and he was panting as he never panted in a fight. He snarled at the timekeeper and made various threats, but Waterman didn't call time. He was enjoying the fight too much to stop it, and it was too good a joke on Bat. Finally Nelson called "time" himself and made a dive for the timekeeper. But Mart discreetly slipped the watch into his pocket and hopped off the stage into the crowd. He gave Bat plenty of time to cool off before going to the dressing room to return the watch. Bat was just having a talk with his manager, Billy Nolan.
"Billy," said Bat, "you get hold of that kid McFarland right away and sign him up to an ironclad contract. We'll manage him together. I want him in the same stable where I won't have to fight him." Nolan failed to sign McFarland. Packey was fully as smart as Nelson. He was sure he could beat Nelson and he wasn't going to sign away his chance. But he never could get Bat into a match. That was one of the reasons why the cleverest of all lightweights in that or any other day never became champion.
In another year or so Packey was finding it hard to make 133 pounds. He could do 135, but Nelson, naturally a 130-pound lightweight, demanded ringside weight in full fighting costume--and that was that.
Today, at the official 135, Packey would be kingpin of them all. The cleverest exhibition I ever saw any boxer give was by McFarland in the Jack Britton bout in New York in 1913. Packey had boxed a no-decision eight-round bout with Britton in Indiana, and one paper had given Britton the "Newspaper decision." Britton went to New York and Dan Morgan became his manager. Morgan got a large number of copies of the paper mentioned and distributed them through New York sport departments, meanwhile taking a blue streak--Dan is one of the most entertaining talkers I ever listened to--about Britton's "victory over McFarland." Of course, we had all seen Packey fight and considered him a marvel.
The beauty of it was that under Morgan's coaching Britton was becoming the sensation of the New York rings, winning fight after fight and showing quite amazing speed and skill and a wicked punch that furnished a lot of fighters with plenty of class.
So New York sent for McFarland, and Packey came.
Just before the fight Packey said to me: "I'm not going to try to knock Britton out. I'm just going to show him up and get even with that manager of his for saying he beat me in that eight-round fight."
The fight started like a whirlwind, Britton attacking swiftly and confidently. And Packey, grinning, never let go a hard punch, but just circled around Jack with a rapid fire of short, light taps that tipped him off balance and kept his head bobbing back. As it went on round after round Britton, who was as game a fighter as ever lived, went at Packey in plunge after plunge, throwing everything he had into a wild flurry of punches, and never landing anything! I remember Jack desperately tearing after Packey, and Packey, stopping and standing still, ducking or blocking Jack's blows without once moving his feet, meanwhile shutting off Britton's vision by holding one open glove across his eyes and working on him with the other hand.
Used to seeing Britton outboxing other fighters almost as easily, we at the ringside could hardly believe it. And I think we were all sorry for poor Jack when, in sheer exasperation over his inability to land a punch on the teasing McFarland or to make headway against Packey's constant tap-drumming of light hits, Jack went into a crying rage. Like a small boy in a street fight, he tore after Packey with wild swings, tears running in streams down his cheeks. I think Packey was a bit sorry for Jack after the fight. He had had his revenge, and more. Anyway they made peace and became good friends. And Britton proved his real class by twice winning the welterweight world's championship and holding the title for five busy years without ever dodging a challenger.
Packey earned a fortune in the ring and retired. Two years after that they persuaded him to come back and fight Mike Gibbons, who was one of the cleverest and most dangerous of all the good middleweights of that time and claimant of the middleweight championship. Always smart, Packey fixed the weight a notch low for Gibbons. Mike burned himself out getting down to it, and Packey got a majority of the "newspaper decisions." This was in the no-decision period of New York boxing, back in 1915. Packey retired for good and went into business, and just to show how smart he was, aside from boxing, he was one of the few fighters who ever tolled up a million dollars outside the roped arena.
