I ain’t no cellar fighter, he said. You’re afraid of blacks.
This way, I said, pointing the index finger of a big left hand ready to flatten him.
Johnson darted the other way, out the door."
- James J Jeffries
"It must’ve been around 1904 at a bar in San Francisco, I was drinking with some admirers when Jack Johnson strutted in and demanded I fight him for my heavyweight championship of the world. For about a minute I listened to his boasts about speed and defense and how he’d carve me up, then told him to get out before I knocked him out. Johnson persisted, what an obnoxious fellow he was, so I reached into my coat, grabbed about two grand, and slammed it on the bar and said, let’s go down to the cellar, and this money’s yours if you make it back up the stairs.
I ain’t no cellar fighter, he said. You’re afraid of blacks.
This way, I said, pointing the index finger of a big left hand ready to flatten him.
Johnson darted the other way, out the door."
- James J Jeffries
I ain’t no cellar fighter, he said. You’re afraid of blacks.
This way, I said, pointing the index finger of a big left hand ready to flatten him.
Johnson darted the other way, out the door."
- James J Jeffries
