classic boxing bits and pieces scrapbook

dougm1970

He received his first opportunity to win a world title in his 87th fight, in 1913. Although he fought the champion, Johnny Kilbane, to a draw, he would not receive another shot at a title until 1921. By this time he had fought an astounding 264 fights. He won the title when his opponent, George KO Chaney, was disqualified in the fifth round. Johnny Dundee thus became the first universally recognized world junior lightweight champion in ring history.

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Jack Dempsey of Salt Lake was knocked out at Murray, a suburb of Salt Lake City, Tuesday night by Jim Flynn of Pueblo, Colo., ten seconds after the men shook hands. Flynn pushed down Dempsey's guard with his right and swung his left to the jaw. The Salt Lake man sunk down for the count and it was twenty seconds after Flynn had been declared the winner before Dempsey regained his feet.

(San Antonio Light)

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Dempsey was insensible for several minutes and when brought back from the land of nod he evidently thought he was still in the prize ring and attempted to slug his seconds.

Before the fighters entered the ring, the gate receipts were split after considerable wrangling, but those connected with the affair will not say who got the big end of the money. It is understood, however, that Flynn's demands were met and when he got into the ring he cut loose for a knockout, outclassing his opponent in every respect.

During the time the men had been in the ring after shaking hands, Dempsey was hit twice on the left side of the head and twice on the right and the finish punch which closed the short but brutal contest between two giants.

After being hit twice, Dempsey appeared dazed and he was helpless as a baby against the final rain of blows. Dempsey appeared ready to do battle at the opening gong and rushed in with all his speed, but the hammer punches ended his aspirations to finish a winner.

Johnny and Alex Bratton, nine year old twins, appeared in a preliminary bout. The boys fought in the same ring as the heavyweights. They fought and slugged away but being equipped with soft gloves neither was hurt, but despite this, there was the spirit of the occasion present and the thousands of fight rooters cheered loudly as though the boys were heavyweights.

(Deseret Evening News)

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It was the thirteenth day of the month and Jack Dempsey forgot to duck.

The "pride of Utah" will therefore have ample reason to shy at the baker's dozen day in the future for he lasted just about twenty-five seconds before Jim Flynn at Murray last night. A right hook square on the chin apparently sent Dempsey to the place where the birdies sing and it was curtains.

After a whole lot of unnecessary delay, both fighters finally entered the ring somewhere nearer midnight than 9 o'clock and much to the discomfiture of the audience and, apparently, themselves as well, Jack forgot to shake hands, but Flynn insisted on this little formality, all of which took up about five seconds. Jack rushed at Dempsey as if he, too, had a last car to catch. Jack bent over and covered up. Flynn rushed again. In fact he tore into the local man, pushed him into position with one hand and laced him with the other. Dempsey acted as if he might be content to let well enough alone, perhaps in the hope that Flynn might tire, step back or finally give him a chance to straighten up. Dempsey did not appear to be in any distress, at any rate. Then came the end like a flash. With Dempsey still bent over and walking toward Flynn, both forearms and gloves covering his face, Flynn rushed again. The Pueblo battler gave Dempsey's head a quick shove toward his right and sent a short right hand hook through Dempsey's guard and straight to the point of the chin. He stepped back at the same instant and Jack went down face first in his gloves. It was all done in a flash, but those close to the west side of the ring could plainly see the punch and all grabbed their hats and coats for the bout was over before it had gotten started.

Dempsey entered the ring as if scared out of his wits and shook like a leaf as the seconds were putting on his gloves. No one realized this any more than Flynn did and the latter was not slow to take advantage of it.

(Salt Lake Telegram)

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Salt Lake, Feb. 14.--Exit Dempsey! A "one-two" to the jaw was about all there was to the much-advertised battle at Murray last night. There was only one redeeming feature to the entire bout, and that was the fact that the dope books will carry down to posterity the information that Jim Flynn was engaged in one of the shortest bouts in history. The contest lasted twenty seconds and in that time Jack Dempsey never laid his glove on the "Pueblo trial horse." The men shook hands, Flynn put his head down and bored in. He got a left to Dempsey's face and had the local boy covering up and not knowing what to do. As Jack dropped his guard from his chin and peeked out, Jim put a right swing to the local boy's jaw, followed quickly with a right to the same spot, and Referee Ralph Armstrong counted ten. It was all over except hauling the "local pride" to his corner.

(The Ogden Standard)

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Silver belt won by boxer Jem Carney in 1887 *

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When this fight was made, it was to unite an undisputed lightweight world champion. McAuliffe was the current USA lightweight champion and Carney was the current British Lightweight kingpin. Carney's reputation was as a mean-spirited mauler who was there to wear you down. He had previously participated in bare-knuckle matches.
The bout was originally scheduled for May of 1887, but was postponed due to McAuliffe's failure to come up with the money for the stake. It was re-scheduled for October of that year--but, due to an illness, McAuliffe got an additional six weeks until the bout. It finally took place in November.

For the first ten rounds of the bout, McAuliffe dominated Carney with his obvious advantage of boxing skill. Carney, though losing, was also applying his fight plan of wearing down the champion since this was a fight to the finish. When the 20th round arose, McAuliffe was showing signs of fatigue, although his defense and boxing skills were still making it very difficult for Carney. In the 26th, the ruthless Carney headbutted McAuliffe in the midsection and knocked him over. McAuliffe's handlers jumped into the ring and for a moment it looked as if a riot would break out, but the action was finally restored. In the 60th, McAuliffe looked very unsteady and nearly exhausted; Carney had done an effective job of wearing him down. But McAuliffe, in the 62nd, produced one of his last brilliant fighting surges by dropping Carney with a right hand. In the 70th, Carney dropped McAuliffe with a shot that nearly finished the bout.

McAuliffe's supporters jumped into the ring and delayed time for their fallen and nearly beaten fighter. Action was resumed however. Again in the 74th McAuliffe was dropped hard and once again his supporters jumped into the ring.

Referee Stevenson had seen enough of this wild battle, and called it a draw to prevent a serious riot that would probably result in arrests, since prize-fighting was illegal in this jurisdiction. Both Carney and McAuliffe were ready to continue and both had legitimate cases that they should have won. Carney's position was that McAuliffe couldn't last three more rounds with him and was too weary to put forward much of a fight if it were to be resumed. McAuliffe believed that Carney had fouled him throughout the bout, and had kneed him, even bit him. Both arguments appeared true but the environment was too unpredictable and dangerous to host this fight much longer. So one of the most controversial fights in boxing history went into the books as a 74-round draw.

(by Nat Fleischer)

*Carney claimed the title in Britain and Europe





(i'm getting different reports on different pages about this belt.... fellows the auctioneers state - "After 70 plus rounds, the fight was disrupted as McAuliffe's party broke into the ring. The fight was thus declared a draw and, as a letter sold with the belt reveals, both Carney and McAuliffe were awarded a belt." ....but i am surprised there would be two belts of that quality made.
however, its stated here that Carney got the belt...
http://www.paulfrasercollectibles.com/News/Sports-Memorabilia/Boxer-Jem-Carney's-silver-belt-makes-$12,000-at-Fellows/17739.page )

dougm1970

A dear friend of mine, Seymour Sorkowitz, recalls personal memories of going to boxing matches at Madison Square Garden in the 1940's / 50s and visiting the classic Stillman's gym...

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w4wSvphrwRE


lots more videos from him on this page...

https://www.facebook.com/classicboxingsociety/posts/445167882294897

dougm1970

1941. NBA Middleweight Champion, Tony Zale, wins The Ring Middleweight Championship and unifies the Middleweight title after beating Georgie Abrams.

It was a sensational fight. Abrams was the outstanding challenger courtesy of three wins over former NY champ Billy Soose. Zale was knocked down in the 1st round for a "9" count. Judge George LeCron scored it 8-7 on rounds for Zale, and so far the other two votes have not been located. According to Jack Kincaid, all the newspaper reporters whose opinions he read thought that Zale won decisively, despite the knockdown, giving Abrams a bad beating to the body.

"Tony Zale of Gary, Ind., became undisputed middleweight champion of the world tonight by blasting out a 15 round decision over Georgie Abrams of the Naval Air Corps before 12,000 fans at MSG. Zale, already recognized as 160 pound king by the NBA, gained recognition also by the NY commission through tonight's unanimous decision - a verdict which he won after rising from the floor in the 1st round and fighting back from groggyland in the 8th. Zale treated the fans to one of the finest exhibitions of right hand punching to body and chin that any middleweight ever turned in, as he provided the division with its first universally recognized ruler since Mickey Walker relinquished the title in 1931." -United Press

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A knock on the Broztell Hotel door. Les opens it. It is the young hotel porter, a painfully thin Negro, and he is deeply sorry suh, but there is someone downstairs who is insisting on seeing Mistuh Darcy. Sez he is an Oss-tralian, too. And he used to be a boxer. The thing is, Mistuh Darcy, it is difficult to know much of him, ‘cos he might be drunk, but he sez his name is ‘Griff’, ‘Griffa’, sum’n like that? Young Griffo? The boxing hero of Australia, who had left home shores in 1893 never to return? Great! Show him up! But Mistuh Darcy, he very drunk, not too good dressed, terrible, rotten, black teeth, and thuh hotel probably wouldn’t want likes of him in the building… Fine, but please get him!

And so the young porter does, returning shortly afterwards and furtively pushing a fat old drunk man into Mistuh Darcy’s room before skedaddling. He is going to catch hell from management, if they find out.

And so there they are, Les Darcy and Young Griffo—each a hero before heading to America to seek their international fame and fortune—meeting in a New York hotel room in the early days of 1917.

They talk… The fact that ‘Young Griffo’ is no longer young is obvious, as is the fact that the young porter hadn’t been exaggerating in his description. Griffo’s teeth are terrible, he reeks of alcohol, and is evidently doing it very tough indeed. These days one of his tricks to get more alcohol is to take a handkerchief into a bar, stand on it and bet someone that they can’t lay a single punch on him for a whole minute while he doesn’t take a step off the hankie, but simply dodges and ducks all their blows! No, he couldn’t win a real fight in the ring these days, but by God he can still keep himself in grog.

They laugh and talk. Les is delighted to meet this Australian legend, and later tips the porter a quarter, telling the disbelieving young man that the ‘fat old alko’—as the porter would later describe Griffo, whom he brought up to Les’s room—was once one of the greatest featherweight boxers of them all.

(by Peter Fitzsimons)

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Feb 26, 1925.
The night that Jack Delaney beat Tiger Flowers....twice....in the same fight!!...

"Delaney was also involved in a bizarre match with future middleweight champion Tiger Flowers. After a round had passed, Delaney floored Flowers with a straight right hand. The referee counted Flowers out, but his corner protested that he had received a "fast count". The Flowers faction became unruly and a riot seemed imminent. Flowers demanded that the match resume, and Delaney amazingly agreed. The two fought until the fourth round, when Delaney again fired an irresistible right hand that knocked Flowers senseless. This time there was no controversy, as Flowers did not come close to arising in time. When Flowers did come to, he went to Delaney's dressing room and said "Ah want to thank you, Mr. Delaney, and tell you that Ah is convinced." "

http://news.google.com/newspapers?nid=1368&dat=19250227&id=pX9RAAAAIBAJ&sjid=UA8EAAAAIBAJ&pg=6975%2C4975175

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A Muhammad Ali (as Cassius Clay) fight poster from 1959 !! - (amateur event from Oct 28 at Louisville, Kentucky.)

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May 12, 1923. Former heavyweight champ Jess Willard vs. Floyd Johnson - main event of the first ever boxing promotion in Yankee Stadium.

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"Bringing Willard to Yankee Stadium was like bringing Goliath back from the dead for a rematch with David.

After shuffling some names around, Tex Rickard matched Willard with Floyd Johnson, an aggressive, young fighter who had lost only twice in 40 bouts. Dempsey's manager, Jack "Doc" Kearns, told the New York Times that Johnson was already penciled in as Dempsey's next challenger. Kearns even wagered $1,000 that Johnson would topple Willard.

No one took Willard seriously -- except Willard. He set up camp in Excelsior Springs, Mo., and pushed his 41-year-old body to the limit. When he arrived in Yonkers a few weeks before the bout, he had dropped 20 pounds and looked chipper. But when the press observed his sparring sessions, the 6-foot-6 Willard looked terrible. "It seemed as if it was an effort for the big Kansan to move his arms and legs," reported the Times.

The story on Willard, that he was just an overfed Kansas rancher with no taste for fighting, was only partly true. He didn't take up boxing until he was 29, when he became part of the "Great White Hope" search that swept America during Jack Johnson's reign. Willard was less concerned with white America than he was with making money to support his young family.

Despite his lack of polish, Willard was a good fighter that afternoon in Havana when he won the championship. Jack Johnson's claim years later that he "threw" the fight was to cover his embarrassment at losing to the raw Willard: Films of that bout show Willard landing a monstrous overhand right that would've stopped any opponent cold.
Johnson even swallowed a couple of teeth during the fight, being too proud to spit them out.

But if Willard answered America's cry for a white heavyweight champion, he was surprisingly an unpopular one. He made two dull defenses of the title and spent most of his reign performing rope tricks in circuses and western shows.

By the time Rickard brought Willard to Yankee Stadium in 1923, Willard was still attracting bad press. Except for some unimpressive exhibitions in 1921, he'd been largely inactive, focusing on business interests in California.

"What people forget about Willard, is that he can punch," Rickard said before the bout.

One of Willard's early opponents, "Bull" Young, died from injuries received in their bout. Indeed, Dempsey wrote in his 1977 autobiography that Willard hurt him badly in the second round of their tussle, and that was after Willard had been all but destroyed in the first round. But even if he was as strong as legend would have it, the mountainous Willard was ancient by the standards of the day.

Rickard outdid himself on the promotional end, hiring nearly 700 New York police officers and 370 ushers for what he called his "new outdoor boxing club."

And what a club it was -- 16,000 square feet of sod, 35,000 cubic yards of concrete, plus 135,000 steel castings and a million brass screws for the grandstand. To ballyhoo the event, Rickard added an additional 10,000 seats on the field. He even hired a band to play between fights.

Rickard's hard work paid off on the balmy afternoon of May 12, 1923, when nearly 63,000 patrons turned out, almost as many as had come a few weeks earlier for the Yankees' home opener.
By the time Willard and Floyd Johnson came to the ring at approximately 5 p.m. ET, the skies had gone from cloudy to clear. It was "a setting that could scarcely have been more picturesque had it been painted by a master's brush," noted the Times. But when Willard's weight was announced at 248, the customers burst into laughter.

The laughter would soon stop, for old Jess was about to put on a command performance.

Time and again Willard caught the incoming Johnson with right uppercuts. Willard's style was to keep his guard low, inviting opponents to come at him, and nail them with blows to the heart or chin. The strategy worked for a few rounds -- until Willard began blowing like a tired horse.

By the eighth round, Johnson had taken over, banging Willard on the head with roundhouse shots. "Willard was showing symptoms of an old man," reported The Associated Press. "The steam was gone out of his punches, and the flesh on his legs was throbbing."

Willard had to be lifted from his stool by his handlers to begin the ninth. Then, after taking a beating for most of the round, Willard threw a desperation haymaker, dropping Johnson just before the bell. There was still some grit in the old horse trader, even if he looked like he might collapse from exhaustion.

At the end of the 11th, using what one reporter called "the brute strength of primitive man," Willard socked Johnson to the canvas again. The younger fighter, by now groggy and bloody, had to be carried back to his corner, where the fight was immediately stopped.
"Youth, take off your hat and bow low and respectfully to Age," Damon Runyon wrote for the New York American. "For days and days, the sole topic of conversation in the world of sport will be Willard's astonishing comeback."

Willard made news again that summer during the Chickasaw River flood in Ponca City, Okla. As massive rains caused $5 million worth of damage, Willard rescued several women and children, carrying them on his back to safety. The United Press headline roared, "Big Jess Willard -- Hero of High Water!"

But Willard's new celebrity status was short-lived. When Rickard proposed the next Yankee Stadium show would feature a main event pitting Willard against Firpo, Willard was refused a boxing license because of his age. The bout was moved to New Jersey, where nearly 90,000 people witnessed Firpo club Willard down in eight rounds. "Willard, never a favorite with the mob when he held the championship, appeared to have captured their affections fully, as he made his final, unsuccessful bid for victory," The Ring's George Tickell wrote 10 years later.

Willard's metamorphosis from disgraced ex-champion to sentimental favorite began the day he beat Floyd Johnson at Yankee Stadium. Not only did he help launch the Bronx edifice as a boxing venue, he turned it into his own house of redemption.

And if you were wondering, a ringside seat for Willard's miraculous transformation cost only 20 bucks.

(by Don Stradley)

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“I could see he was upset in the ring and that is when I said to him, ‘I will give you a rematch. Wherever you want the fight to take place, I will be there. If you want the fight to take place in Australia, I will be there. Your mother can be the referee; your father can be the judge; and your friends can be the supporters. I will knock you out.’” - Azumah Nelson speaking after his draw with Jeff Fenech in Las Vegas, June 1991.

WBC president Jose Sulaiman was keen for a rematch and was concerned that Fenech would opt to take on WBA champion Hector Lopez, as they had installed him as their number-one contender. Eventually, an agreement was reached. Fenech signed a new contract with Don King for one fight only; the Australian would receive a percentage of the television rights and $2 million. Azumah would receive the same pay prior to paying expenses to his management support staff. The fight was scheduled for March 1, 1992, and would be staged in Melbourne. The rematch was good news for Azumah, as it finally guaranteed him a substantial payday to match his glittering career. He had only suffered one defeat in the past nine years, and that was to Pernell Whitaker on the eve of his wife’s passing away.

Azumah had headed to Spain for an operation on his elbow, which had troubled him in the first fight. He had the operation in Zaragoza and based himself there for his recuperation and training with Buffalo before heading to Melbourne.

Fenech was quoted in Fist magazine as saying, “I’ve really lived for this moment, when I can get Nelson into the ring again. Now that we’ve signed and got a date and a venue, I’m a very relieved and happy man. There have been some great sporting events in Australia, and this will be as big as any.” He went on to “guarantee” there would be no draw in the rematch. Probably his most shocking statement was when he was quoted in the media as saying, “The only way they’re going to take him home to Ghana is in a body bag.”

Azumah’s reported response was, “Tell Fenech he is playing with fire, and it will burn him.”

Finally, the day of the most anticipated sporting event in Australia arrived. The fight was to take place on a Sunday to tie in with television in the U.S. On the undercard that night was another boxer with a bright future from the Johnny Lewis stable making his professional debut, Kostya Tszyu, who knocked out Australian Darrell Hiles in just seventy seconds.

The rain started to fall in Melbourne, which reduced the crowd from an expected sell-out to close to thirty-seven thousand. However, many Australian highfliers were ringside, including media tycoon Kerry Packer, Olympian Dawn Fraser, iconic Aussie actor Paul Hogan, and former WBC featherweight world champion Johnny Famechon, who arrived in a wheelchair after having been hit by a car while jogging outside Sydney’s Warwick Farm racecourse the previous year.

This was Azumah’s seventeenth world title fight in almost ten years. He was thirty-three years of age; he had fought in seven different countries; and he had been a world champion for eight years. Yet few gave him any chance of victory against a younger fighter in his own backyard.

Azumah was incredibly confident going into this rematch and, as he had done previously, had ensured that the fight would be aired live on television back home in Ghana. Knowing that there would be plenty of excitement back home, he contacted his good friend, Obi Oblitey. Obi recalls, “He sent a message to me and one of our friends, who has now died, as he knew the Ghana Broadcasting Corporation would come and interview us. He said they will ask us how we see the fight and told us to tell them he would stop Fenech in round seven. So we did.”

In his corner, Azumah had his brother, and he had told him to tell him when round six had finished so that he could be true to that prediction.

It took Azumah one minute and forty-five seconds of the first round to have Fenech on the canvas. “Before the fight, I hear his coach telling him—he is a good coach—he is telling him, ‘Be careful. Azumah’s left hook is dangerous. Watch out.’ So from the first round, the guy was watching my left hook. All of a sudden in the first round, I just jab, one, two, three, four, and then boom—I landed a right and he went down. The left hook didn’t come because I knew he was looking for the left hook. I changed the style and I put him down. I knocked him down again in the second and almost in the third,” Azumah remembers with a trademark smile.

Round two saw Fenech come back well from the knockdown, but Azumah was still the aggressor and benefitted when what appeared to be a slip by Fenech was ruled a knockdown by Mercante. This was a very different fight from the one in Las Vegas. Azumah looked stronger, fitter, and much sharper than his opponent, and went forward more often than he had in the first encounter. Round three saw the two toe-to-toe, as they had been in Las Vegas, and Fenech landed some telling blows. The bell sounded and Mercante struggled to separate the two, and words were exchanged. Azumah, despite his prediction, failed to knock out Fenech in round seven, and he explains why this was the case. “I told my brother, ‘Listen, I will knock this guy out in the seventh round. I will set him up, and after the sixth round I will knock him out in the seventh, so when we get to the sixth round let me know.’ But in between the rounds, my brother was enjoying watching the fight so much and he was so happy. At the seventh round, he came to me and said, ‘Brother, sorry I forgot to tell you it was the sixth round. It’s the seventh round.’ I said, ‘I told you to tell me the sixth round, so I could knock him out in the seventh. Now I cannot knock him out in the seventh. I will have to do it in the eighth and set him up this round.’ The bell went for the seventh round, and I start setting him up. At the end of the round, I looked at my brother, and I said to him, ‘Now I am going to knock him out this round'.

“In the seventh and eighth rounds, I give myself to him and he just starts punching. When I set him up, I went to the corner. He is throwing the punches and I am blocking, but I slow my punches down, so I am just touching him. I am hardly hitting him, just touching him. Then he realises the punches are slow and there is no power. He could lose himself and start throwing punches, trying to knock me out. As soon as he did that, his guard came down and I went boom, boom, and landed the punches and he went down.”

Ever the warrior, Fenech quickly leapt to his feet, but that could have been his mistake. His trainer, Johnny Lewis, climbed the steps to the ring, towel in hand, desperately trying to see how his fighter was, but Mercante, who waved the fight on, obstructed his view. Azumah turned Fenech back onto the ropes and fired off six unanswered blows to the head before Mercante stepped in and stopped the fight at the same moment that Lewis’s towel hit the canvas behind him.

Two minutes and twenty seconds into round eight, Jeff Fenech had lost his first professional fight, and Azumah had recorded a victory that was named the “Upset of the Year for 1992” by The Ring magazine. The disappointed Australian crowd that had booed Azumah when his name was announced at the start of the bout showed great sportsmanship at the end of the bout, acknowledging a great champion. Many realised that they had just witnessed two great champions go head-to-head in their own backyard.

It was after this fight with Jeff Fenech that Azumah went from being “The Terrible Warrior” in the ring to being known as “The Professor,” a moniker that certainly suited his age far better. There has been conjecture over who gave the champ his new ring name, but it would appear that it was in fact Azumah himself. At the press conference after the fight, where both fighters complimented each other, Azumah said, “I am a professor of boxing. Fenech is a great fighter, but today I proved that I’m better.” The media around the world appeared to love the description, as the title “Professor” was linked to his name by more than one media outlet in their post-fight write-ups. Ultimately, the origin matters not, but from that day forward Azumah Nelson became known as “The Professor.”

(by Ashley Morrison)

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Promotional poster for Mike Tyson's professional debut in Alabany, NY vs. Hector Mercedes on March 6, 1985

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Finsbury Park Cinema, London - 1923

(now a Lidl supermarket)

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1972


During and well after Joey Giardello's days in the ring, he used his celebrity for the benefit of children with disabilities. Not only did he fight exhibitions but he staged two events that brought the best fighters of the 50's and 60's together for these children. Joey collected boxing greats: Carmen Basillio, Tippy Larkin, Chuck Davey, Willie Pep, Charlie Fusari, Billy Graham, Rocky Graziano, Chico Vejar, Jake LaMotta, Paul Pender, Ernie Durando, Sandy Saddler, Billy Conn and others. Many would attend the "Carnival of Champions" just to see the referees: Heavyweight champions, "The Manassa Mauler," Jack Dempsey; Jersey Joe Walcott; and "Cinderella Man," James Braddock. He gathered these fighters twice (1969 and 1972) and donated all the proceeds to charity.

(by Charlie Redner)



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March 31, 1944.

Jake LaMotta beat "Sergeant" Lou Woods by SD over 10 rounds as they battle it out to a state of utter exhaustion.

"Woods used a left jab to hold the bull-like rushes of his Italian foe at bay....
During the eighth round the Sarge barely missed dropping Joltin' Jake. Woods took the offensive at the outset and opened Jake's left eye with right-hand smashes. Midway during ths round, the Detroiter jolted LaMotta with a succession of rights and the Easterner held on. However, just before the bell ended the round, a barrage delivered by Jake floored Woods for a two-count.
In the ninth Woods went down again for a nine-count. These two knockdowns apparently were the deciding factors in the officials' tabulations in awarding LaMotta the laurels."

(by Chicago reporter Gene Engel)

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"Never have I witnessed such delirious scenes as those which occurred when Boon’s gloves were raised in victory. Scores of his Fenland supporters jumped wildly into the ring and roared their delight while the Lonsdale belt was handed to the youngest champion Britain has ever had."

- John Thompson, writing in the Daily Mirror after Eric Boon beat Dave Crowley in December, 1938.

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Lloyd 'Silent' Escobar was born in 1922, in the town of Pacific Grove, and lived in Salinas, California. At the age of four, he suffered spinal meningitis, completely lost his hearing, and was crippled for nearly three years. An Indian woman showed his mother how to massage his spindly legs with warm olive oil. Soon he became well enough to attend a School for the Deaf and he began to thrive. By the mid-1940's, he was known as a middleweight, knockout boxer. "Silent Escobar" had 44 wins, and only three losses during his entire career. After one his opponents died in a coma, from a punch during that fight, he gave up boxing.






^^
"For the first time in the history of Oakland boxing, probably settig a national precedent, two deaf mutes will fight here tomorrow night--not each other. Harold Siegel (extreme left), local clothier and fight filbert, sponsors both. They are Silent Escobar (second from left) and Leroy Pate, listening to Pete Tripodes, their trainer, who though not a mute speaks the sign language fluently. Pate fights Bill McGee, a light-heavy." Images depicts Tripodes "speaking" to Escobar and Pate while Siegel watches. (from the Oakland Tribune)

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Graziano, so nervous he twice had to be told to relax, then told how the man approached him in the dressing room and made the $100,000 proposition...




(feb 1947)



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He came out for the 15th round and he was crying...the ringsiders could hear his sobs as he battled those final three minutes...

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Dec. 1942

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Sept 28, 1907.

Bill Squires, champion heavyweight boxer of Australia, who recently was beaten by Tommy Burns in one round for the heavyweight championship of the world, suffered a second reverse at the hands of Jack Sullivan, an American "light heavyweight" who is in the first ranks of American boxers. The contest took place at Colma, a suburb of San Francisco, in the large arena erected for the previous contest between Burns and Squires. Squires defended himself for nineteen rounds, Sullivan punishing him badly. In the nineteenth round Sullivan knocked Squires out.

(Auckland Star)

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"Gene Tunney is sitting in the back row" he whispered.."he's got a cap pulled down over his eyes and is wearing smoked glasses"...

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August 17, 1938

It was a split decision win for Henry Armstrong over Lou Ambers at Madison Square Garden. Henry had made history. The magnificent little titan was the simultaneous holder of three world championships. But he had needed to summon up all his phenomenal energy and determination to dethrone the fiery Ambers in a bloody and spectacular fight for Lou’s lightweight belt.

Such was the intensity of Henry’s effort, he finished the fight with leaden arms and close to exhaustion. He looked terrible in his dressing room, with cut and bruised eyes and a damaged lip that required stitches. It was some time before he could haul himself off the rubbing table and walk to the shower.

Armstrong lost three rounds for low blows and then had to contend with a mighty rally from Ambers down the stretch. Henry benefited from a barnstorming start, in which he compiled a significant points lead. Few writers disputed that he was a deserving winner, even though Ambers survived near disaster to charge back and whittle down Henry’s points advantage.

Lou was nearly bowled out of the fight near the close of the fifth round, when he was saved by the bell after being hammered to the canvas by an explosive right to the jaw. Things scarcely improved for Ambers in the sixth, when he was cut down again for a count of eight. Both knockdowns occurred as Lou was trying to escape from close quarters, where Armstrong was in his element as he dug away with his favoured combination of a left to the body and a right to the jaw.

But Ambers was a tough and clever man, a great champion in his own right, who could tilt with the best of them. The so-called Herkimer Hurricane from upstate New York never did know how to blow out gently.

Henry kept punching. He always did. Failure to finish an opponent after an early success never dispirited Armstrong. He believed that if you chop at a tree for long enough, it will eventually fall. In a ferocious eleventh round, he tossed everything he had at Ambers, but Lou would not go and was still full of fight. He fought back to take the next three rounds, two of them due to Armstrong’s infractions. But then Lou faced another major onslaught in the fourteenth as Henry raced for the wire. A right hand catapulted Ambers into the ropes, which saved him from his third trip to the canvas.

In the fifteenth and final frame, Armstrong butted and pounded Ambers into the ropes as blood ran down Lou’s right leg from Henry’s cut mouth. The crowd of 18,240 was roaring as a right to the jaw shook Ambers, but it was Lou who came on strong in the final seconds as the two great warriors traded punches beyond the bell in the bedlam.

Ambers, once again, had shown himself to be a remarkably durable and determined man with excellent recuperative powers. But his brave resistance and spirited counter offence were not enough to save his championship. Most people in the pro-Ambers crowd booed the decision. They had been particularly swayed by Lou’s stirring comeback from adversity, which had resulted in Armstrong walking groggily to the wrong corner at the final bell. Lou said that he had suffered no damage from Henry’s low blows, though manager Al Weill was sufficiently riled to complain to referee Billy Kavanagh at the end of the tenth.

The Associated Press awarded Armstrong a decisive victory.

(By Mike Casey)

dougm1970

dougm1970

And now was the hour, on this bitterly freezing July night. Entering the arena proper, there was a massive roar from the crowd at the first sight of Fritz Holland and, in fact, for the man shambling along behind him, Tommy Burns. Oh, yes, they remembered Tommy all right, at least plenty of them did—Tommy, who, in the most humiliating fight any of them had ever seen, had been the great white Receiver-General for black anger…Helloooo, Tommy! Burns, in response, gave what seemed to some to be a slightly sheepish wave of acknowledgement, but no more than that. His focus was on his charge, Fritz, and getting him ready for this fight, not that he expected it would be too much trouble, despite the enormous crowd that this kid Darcy had pulled and the passion they had for him. For, as the battle knell sounded, all other thoughts were drowned as Darcy himself emerged into the light with a posse of three men behind him. At the sight of him, the fight fans, almost as one, were on their feet and cheering wildly. Les! Darcy! Les Darcy!

Some boxers, to be sure, could wither under such adulation, such pressure to perform, but not Les Darcy, never Les Darcy. For now in response to the roar Les waved cheerily, flashed a broad smile—much as he did to anyone who recognised him on the streets of Maitland—and made his way into the ring, attended closely by Hawkins, Fletcher and Newton. Of course there wasn’t really a need for all three of them to attend as his ‘seconds’, but Les just wanted them there, so that was that.

Same thing with Father Coady, who sat in the front row. It was not a part of Father Joe’s pastoral duties to be there, and he had not attended as a fight fan pure. Rather, he had become extremely close to Les over previous years, and it was unthinkable for him not to be there.

From his own corner, Fritz Holland surveyed the scene with an experienced and therefore entirely untroubled eye. There was no way this unmarked fellow opposite smiling at him could beat him, but he, too, had been interested that such a young man could have generated a following enough to fill a stadium this size, and apparently have 3,000 or so more outside trying to get in! How could this be? How could a man of so few years have already developed a following so strong? Such musings were interrupted, as young Darcy’s seconds unfurled a large Australian flag…and now the crowd roared even more!

From the opening bell, Les did what he had always done in boxing matches, which was to charge at his opponent like a bull at a gate, throwing lefts and rights, uppercuts and crosses, in furious flurries that would have completely overwhelmed a lesser opponent. And indeed, Fritz Holland was surprised at the extraordinary intensity of the young man. Nevertheless, by simply covering up, he was able to absorb and parry the worst of the blows, smother the charges, and come back with a few hard punches of his own. The key, the American knew, was to weather the storm. There was no way the kid could keep up this pace for long. But why did he keep smiling? It near put a bloke off to have to punch such a pleasant, friendly countenance, but Fritz did the best he could as Les continued to charge in…obviously enjoying it hugely!

Down in the crowd, Father Coady and not so far along from him, the Australian heavyweight champion Gentleman Dave Smith were watching the clash closely—the latter, as always, analysing every punch, every feint, every move. It was obvious that Les was giving a very good account of himself against this veteran boxer of vast experience, but equally apparent that much of young Darcy’s energy was being wasted against Holland’s bristling defensive shield.

Though the 27-year-old American really had seemed shocked early at the unexpected thunder and lightning emanating from the youngster’s fists, he was nothing if not wily, and bit by bit was able to adjust and make his way back into a fight that in the first rounds seemed to have escaped him.

The spectators, sitting in near-darkness as the two figures went at it beneath the harsh electrical light bulbs suspended above the ring, roared themselves hoarse, trying to will Darcy to a great win, but it was always going to be a nail-biter…No matter how hard Les bored in, the American always seemed to have an answer, a parry, a block, a sharp jab, to momentarily rock him backwards. In the thirteenth round the younger man did seem to get on top but, no, Holland held on and came out almost as strongly in the fourteenth round. True, by the end it was clear that the American was completely exhausted, while Darcy appeared comparatively fresh, but even then Holland was managing to counter most of what his young opponent threw at him and still give back some of his own. No matter, with just a few rounds left in the bout, Les said to Mick Hawkins during the break, ‘Gee this is great! I hope it keeps going.’

After twenty rounds of the finest fighting many in the crowd had ever seen, it seemed to most of the spectators that Les was the victor, but the referee and sole judge of the fight—Harald Baker, the brother of the manager of the stadium, Snowy—was not of the same opinion. And the winner is…Fritz…Holland!
Fritz Holland!?!?!
Never mind that Les himself smiled gracefully, and warmly shook the hand of the man who had bested him. All around, the stadium went crazy. Boos, hisses, chairs thrown, fists flying, the lot. The men of the coalfield did not take lightly one of their own being called a loser when he had bloody well won fair and square, and they made their feelings known in no uncertain terms. Order could only finally be restored by directing fire hoses at the brutes who simply wouldn’t quit…and those who were trying to set fire to the stadium besides. Even after the police arrived in force, there were still an estimated 8,000 men in the environs of the stadium an hour after the match was over. Back in the dressing room it was all quiet and Les, for his part, was not at all upset.

The smile he had displayed throughout the fight was genuine; he really had enjoyed going up against such an experienced campaigner as Fritz and, again, felt he had learned a lot. For now the most important thing was to gather himself together and get to Sussex Street in time to catch the 11.30 pm steamer to Newcastle, which would allow both him and Father Coady to make 6 am Sunday morning Mass. And though, because it was a Saturday and Les didn’t have to work on the morrow, he nevertheless wanted to get straight home so he could have the early pleasure of giving his prize money—no less than £500!—to his mother.

On the steamer, Father Joe was impressed by the young man’s upbeat mood. He had been afraid that Les would be downcast and need reassuring. Instead, Les was thrilled at having fought at the stadium, against such a veteran as Holland, and having acquitted himself well, without yet attaining victory. ‘It’s a step in the right direction,’ Les told Father Joe, as the throbbing of the small ship’s motors propelled them north along the sleeping Australian coastline.

(by Peter Fitzsimons)