Showing posts with label mickey. Show all posts
Showing posts with label mickey. Show all posts
In one of his sober moments, Mickey Walker had made Doc Kearns promise they would take a trip to Ireland. His father’s people had come from Roscommon, his mother’s from Kerry, and his mail bag was always full of letters from people claiming to be cousins or related in some way, warm, friendly letters, and Mickey wanted to meet them. So Doc gave Walter Friedman a roll of bills and told him to book the trip to the Emerald Isle.
Friedman was a Broadway character labeled “Good-Time Charley” by Damon Runyon. Friedman didn’t know anybody in Ireland, but he did know a cute little French actress with whom he had been keeping company in London, and she was returning to Paris the next day. Problem solved. He bought a bunch of tickets for Paris and took them to Kearns. Doc was just as happy about the new destination. He didn’t know anybody in Ireland either.
Mickey had been in Paris a couple of days before he realized that he wasn’t in Ireland, and that the people were speaking French, not Gaelic. By that time he didn’t seem to care. He was having too good a time.
(by John Jarrett)
Friedman was a Broadway character labeled “Good-Time Charley” by Damon Runyon. Friedman didn’t know anybody in Ireland, but he did know a cute little French actress with whom he had been keeping company in London, and she was returning to Paris the next day. Problem solved. He bought a bunch of tickets for Paris and took them to Kearns. Doc was just as happy about the new destination. He didn’t know anybody in Ireland either.
Mickey had been in Paris a couple of days before he realized that he wasn’t in Ireland, and that the people were speaking French, not Gaelic. By that time he didn’t seem to care. He was having too good a time.
(by John Jarrett)
The crazy tale of the night that Paul Swiderski fought Mickey Walker...
Doc Kearns (Walkers manager) claimed he had accepted an original offer for Mickey to box Pat Dillon, a Canadian journeyman fighter, in Louisville on the eve of the Kentucky Derby in 1930, but when Dillon suffered a hand injury, the promoters asked Doc if he would accept Paul Swiderski as a substitute. Kearns would refer to Swiderski as a “local boy noted as a very rough and tough customer,” but Paul was actually a light-heavyweight from Syracuse with a so-so record. They needed spending money for the big weekend, so Kearns agreed to the fight.
But when fight day rolled around, the promoters told Kearns that they hadn’t taken in enough money to pay Mickey’s purse. There were plenty of sporting gents in town but they had come to see the big race, not a boxing match, even if there was a world champion topping the card. Doc told them if there was no money, there was no fight. When he told Mickey, the Toy Bulldog joined in the festivities and started hitting the bars.
It was some hours later when Kearns was called by the promoters. They had three grand for Walker if he was still sober. He wasn’t when Teddy Hayes (his trainer at the time) found him, but he was always ready for a fight, and manager and trainer set to work to get their star attraction fit for the fray. They finally got him into the ring but were hoping Swiderski wasn’t feeling too ambitious. He was.
Kearns recalled, “Swiderski galloped across the ring at the opening bell and walloped Mickey on the chin with a right hand that knocked him flatter than a house detective’s arches. Through the next couple of minutes, Mickey was up and down like a pump handle, and finally Swiderski fetched him a smash on the jaw that knocked Mickey cold.”
The way Kearns told it, he happened to hit the timekeeper’s gong with Mickey’s water bottle, thus ending the round. Harry Lenny (Swiderski's manager) had seen Doc’s unofficial action and jumped into the ring, yelling to the timekeeper that the round was not over. Kearns and Hayes had followed Lenny into the ring, intent on hauling Mickey back to his corner for some badly needed first aid.
They needed a diversion and a free-for-all broke out in the middle of the ring with the local police joining in. Meanwhile Doc got Walker back to his stool, doused him with water and shoved the smelling salts under his nose. He was stirring when they cleared the ring and the bell rang for round two.
Kearns would recall that Swiderski cornered Mickey again and knocked him out, absolutely cold. Luckily there were only five seconds left in the round and Walker was saved by the bell. But he was still virtually out on his feet when going out for round three.
For Doc Kearns, desperate times called for desperate measures, and this was one of those times. He recalled on entering the arena seeing a bank of switches in the box office, which he pointed out to Hayes. If those switches were pulled by some careless person, all the arena lights would go out. So, with the dangerous Swiderski taking aim on the hapless Walker, Doc sent Hayes off to the box office.
Leaving the ringside, Hayes raced off to the front of the hall and found the box office. Surprising the guy in there, he yelled something about the lights, pulled on two large switches, and out went the arena lights. Then he charged back to the ring, got Walker to his corner, and worked on him. By the time the lights came on again, Mickey was shaking his head and coming out of his nightmare.
When all the lights went out, Kearns recalled that he was in the ring and swapping punches with Swiderski, having shoved the semi-conscious Walker into a corner. He was soon joined by Hayes, who slugged Lenny, and with the crowd going crazy and the referee looking on helplessly, the cops again charged into the ring to sort things out. It took about half an hour this time to clear everybody out of the ring except the principals, and the real fight started again.
The story of this fight is as mixed up as the circumstances leading up to it. In his “Sportlight” column, Grantland Rice wrote, “It was almost another Dempsey–Firpo melee.... It took a fighter to get back and tear in as Walker did. Only a fighting man could have staged such a counter attack. And here was $100,000 worth of drama and excitement on tap for a $7,000 house.”
By all accounts, Paul Swiderski put Mickey Walker’s lights out in that hectic first round, and by the accounts of Kearns and Hayes, they put everybody else’s lights out. They didn’t mention a double knockdown in the opening round, yet in several reports there was such a rare happening.
In a review for Ring magazine, Dan Daniels recorded, “The rivals connected simultaneously and both hit the canvas. Paul pulled himself up at six, Walker needed nine.... The round had gone 2:30 with the champion sprawled out on the canvas when the bell suddenly rang. Kearns had sent trainer Teddy Hayes to rap the gong in time to save Walker from being counted out.” Daniels concluded that, but for the skullduggery pulled by Hayes and Kearns, Walker would have been knocked out.
Damon Runyon, in Louisville for the Derby, was at the Walker fight. He saw the double knockdown, recording in his column a few days later, “As Mr. Swiderski speared him on the chin with a left hook, Mr. Walker’s right landing at the same instant on Mr. Swiderski’s kisser. Down they both went. ’Twas the first double knockdown these aged eyes have viewed in many a semester.”
Somebody else remembered the double knockdown—Paul Swiderski. He would tell sportswriter/cartoonist “Lank” Leonard, “We both land at the same time and we both go down. Well, I’m the first to get up. Mickey finally makes it but he’s in terrible shape.” Swiderski also recalled the lights going out. “By the time they find a new fuse Walker is himself again and I’m tired out from giving him everything I’ve got. He finished strong and I was lucky to finish.”
A couple of months after the fight, Swiderski talked with columnist William Braucher for his “Hooks & Slides” column. “Sure, low blows hurt,” he said, “and I still carry effects of one that Mickey handed me in Louisville. Well, just as the bell rang ending the third round, Mickey let a wild one go and it took me right in the groin. I went over on my face and felt very sick to my stomach.”
Swiderski and manager Lenny tried to buy the pictures that were taken of the knockdowns but they were too late. Doc Kearns had already bought the plates from the only photographer who covered the fight. Recalled sportswriter Henry J. McCormick some years later, “Swiderski’s manager had placards made up showing his boy knocking down Walker eight times. In some of the pictures the fighter purporting to be Walker wore dark trunks, in others he wore white trunks; in some pictures the fight was in a ring outdoors, in others in a ring indoors.”
(by John Jarrett)
Doc Kearns (Walkers manager) claimed he had accepted an original offer for Mickey to box Pat Dillon, a Canadian journeyman fighter, in Louisville on the eve of the Kentucky Derby in 1930, but when Dillon suffered a hand injury, the promoters asked Doc if he would accept Paul Swiderski as a substitute. Kearns would refer to Swiderski as a “local boy noted as a very rough and tough customer,” but Paul was actually a light-heavyweight from Syracuse with a so-so record. They needed spending money for the big weekend, so Kearns agreed to the fight.
But when fight day rolled around, the promoters told Kearns that they hadn’t taken in enough money to pay Mickey’s purse. There were plenty of sporting gents in town but they had come to see the big race, not a boxing match, even if there was a world champion topping the card. Doc told them if there was no money, there was no fight. When he told Mickey, the Toy Bulldog joined in the festivities and started hitting the bars.
It was some hours later when Kearns was called by the promoters. They had three grand for Walker if he was still sober. He wasn’t when Teddy Hayes (his trainer at the time) found him, but he was always ready for a fight, and manager and trainer set to work to get their star attraction fit for the fray. They finally got him into the ring but were hoping Swiderski wasn’t feeling too ambitious. He was.
Kearns recalled, “Swiderski galloped across the ring at the opening bell and walloped Mickey on the chin with a right hand that knocked him flatter than a house detective’s arches. Through the next couple of minutes, Mickey was up and down like a pump handle, and finally Swiderski fetched him a smash on the jaw that knocked Mickey cold.”
The way Kearns told it, he happened to hit the timekeeper’s gong with Mickey’s water bottle, thus ending the round. Harry Lenny (Swiderski's manager) had seen Doc’s unofficial action and jumped into the ring, yelling to the timekeeper that the round was not over. Kearns and Hayes had followed Lenny into the ring, intent on hauling Mickey back to his corner for some badly needed first aid.
They needed a diversion and a free-for-all broke out in the middle of the ring with the local police joining in. Meanwhile Doc got Walker back to his stool, doused him with water and shoved the smelling salts under his nose. He was stirring when they cleared the ring and the bell rang for round two.
Kearns would recall that Swiderski cornered Mickey again and knocked him out, absolutely cold. Luckily there were only five seconds left in the round and Walker was saved by the bell. But he was still virtually out on his feet when going out for round three.
For Doc Kearns, desperate times called for desperate measures, and this was one of those times. He recalled on entering the arena seeing a bank of switches in the box office, which he pointed out to Hayes. If those switches were pulled by some careless person, all the arena lights would go out. So, with the dangerous Swiderski taking aim on the hapless Walker, Doc sent Hayes off to the box office.
Leaving the ringside, Hayes raced off to the front of the hall and found the box office. Surprising the guy in there, he yelled something about the lights, pulled on two large switches, and out went the arena lights. Then he charged back to the ring, got Walker to his corner, and worked on him. By the time the lights came on again, Mickey was shaking his head and coming out of his nightmare.
When all the lights went out, Kearns recalled that he was in the ring and swapping punches with Swiderski, having shoved the semi-conscious Walker into a corner. He was soon joined by Hayes, who slugged Lenny, and with the crowd going crazy and the referee looking on helplessly, the cops again charged into the ring to sort things out. It took about half an hour this time to clear everybody out of the ring except the principals, and the real fight started again.
The story of this fight is as mixed up as the circumstances leading up to it. In his “Sportlight” column, Grantland Rice wrote, “It was almost another Dempsey–Firpo melee.... It took a fighter to get back and tear in as Walker did. Only a fighting man could have staged such a counter attack. And here was $100,000 worth of drama and excitement on tap for a $7,000 house.”
By all accounts, Paul Swiderski put Mickey Walker’s lights out in that hectic first round, and by the accounts of Kearns and Hayes, they put everybody else’s lights out. They didn’t mention a double knockdown in the opening round, yet in several reports there was such a rare happening.
In a review for Ring magazine, Dan Daniels recorded, “The rivals connected simultaneously and both hit the canvas. Paul pulled himself up at six, Walker needed nine.... The round had gone 2:30 with the champion sprawled out on the canvas when the bell suddenly rang. Kearns had sent trainer Teddy Hayes to rap the gong in time to save Walker from being counted out.” Daniels concluded that, but for the skullduggery pulled by Hayes and Kearns, Walker would have been knocked out.
Damon Runyon, in Louisville for the Derby, was at the Walker fight. He saw the double knockdown, recording in his column a few days later, “As Mr. Swiderski speared him on the chin with a left hook, Mr. Walker’s right landing at the same instant on Mr. Swiderski’s kisser. Down they both went. ’Twas the first double knockdown these aged eyes have viewed in many a semester.”
Somebody else remembered the double knockdown—Paul Swiderski. He would tell sportswriter/cartoonist “Lank” Leonard, “We both land at the same time and we both go down. Well, I’m the first to get up. Mickey finally makes it but he’s in terrible shape.” Swiderski also recalled the lights going out. “By the time they find a new fuse Walker is himself again and I’m tired out from giving him everything I’ve got. He finished strong and I was lucky to finish.”
A couple of months after the fight, Swiderski talked with columnist William Braucher for his “Hooks & Slides” column. “Sure, low blows hurt,” he said, “and I still carry effects of one that Mickey handed me in Louisville. Well, just as the bell rang ending the third round, Mickey let a wild one go and it took me right in the groin. I went over on my face and felt very sick to my stomach.”
Swiderski and manager Lenny tried to buy the pictures that were taken of the knockdowns but they were too late. Doc Kearns had already bought the plates from the only photographer who covered the fight. Recalled sportswriter Henry J. McCormick some years later, “Swiderski’s manager had placards made up showing his boy knocking down Walker eight times. In some of the pictures the fighter purporting to be Walker wore dark trunks, in others he wore white trunks; in some pictures the fight was in a ring outdoors, in others in a ring indoors.”
(by John Jarrett)
"I can see that left hook as if it was yesterday, he didn't go down but I heard the 'aaggh!' and saw his face and from then on I knew I had him.
Once my gloves went on I was in warrior mode. The home crowd for McKenzie never bothered me – I would have fought in Vietnam because it was just me and the opponent in the ring. After that left hook he knew that I could take him out with one punch, or at least I could hurt him, so that changed everything. Suddenly he realised he was in a fight.
He got so desperate that he tried to butt me in one of the rounds and got a warning from the referee, Randy Neumann. I managed to get out of the way but that could have not only ruined the fight but my career because it would have just opened me up.
I knew I had won, but in boxing you are never sure and Mickey Duff was lifting McKenzie and walking around the ring with him. But if they had given it to McKenzie it would have been one of the worst decisions in history.
When I heard 'and the new world champion' it gave me a feeling like I have never had before... when my hand was raised it was just indescribable.
Boxing is brutal and I remember when my mindset to the sport changed. It was the night Barry McGuigan won his World title at Loftus Road in 1985. I was fighting Bobby McDermott in a British title eliminator and I remember hearing from his corner 'Kill him, kill him Bobby, kill him Bobby and I could see the trainer out of the corner of my eye... that changed my mindset about boxing because to me it was just a boxing match. But it's more than that.
I remember before the fight all that the media was interested in was Duke, and my dressing room was like a ghost-town while you couldn't get near his for journalists. Afterwards it was the reverse, as you could not move in mine and his was empty. I slipped out to see duke to commiserate and I could just not believe the difference that there was, all because he lost the fight. But that's boxing for you - losing is a hard medicine."
(Dave 'Boy' McAuley)
http://youtu.be/0sBeNRJHk0A?t=2m31s
Once my gloves went on I was in warrior mode. The home crowd for McKenzie never bothered me – I would have fought in Vietnam because it was just me and the opponent in the ring. After that left hook he knew that I could take him out with one punch, or at least I could hurt him, so that changed everything. Suddenly he realised he was in a fight.
He got so desperate that he tried to butt me in one of the rounds and got a warning from the referee, Randy Neumann. I managed to get out of the way but that could have not only ruined the fight but my career because it would have just opened me up.
I knew I had won, but in boxing you are never sure and Mickey Duff was lifting McKenzie and walking around the ring with him. But if they had given it to McKenzie it would have been one of the worst decisions in history.
When I heard 'and the new world champion' it gave me a feeling like I have never had before... when my hand was raised it was just indescribable.
Boxing is brutal and I remember when my mindset to the sport changed. It was the night Barry McGuigan won his World title at Loftus Road in 1985. I was fighting Bobby McDermott in a British title eliminator and I remember hearing from his corner 'Kill him, kill him Bobby, kill him Bobby and I could see the trainer out of the corner of my eye... that changed my mindset about boxing because to me it was just a boxing match. But it's more than that.
I remember before the fight all that the media was interested in was Duke, and my dressing room was like a ghost-town while you couldn't get near his for journalists. Afterwards it was the reverse, as you could not move in mine and his was empty. I slipped out to see duke to commiserate and I could just not believe the difference that there was, all because he lost the fight. But that's boxing for you - losing is a hard medicine."
(Dave 'Boy' McAuley)
http://youtu.be/0sBeNRJHk0A?t=2m31s
They met in mid-ring and Greb sent a right to the body. Greb blocked left and right and when Walker insisted on mauling at close quarters, Greb gave him some of his own medicine. Walker sent a left swing low. Walker outslugged Greb at close quarters and Greb broke up his attack by forcing him to the ropes , holding with his left and pummeling with his right to the body, landing solidly, Greb suddenly stood his ground and traded punch for punch with walker, making mickey back up. A right to the head almost sent mickey to the floor. It was a great slugging bee and had the crowd cheering. They continued the furious fighting until the bell. It was another Walker round, on his clean punching. Greb's seconds worked furiously on his arms and legs during the intermission.
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