classic boxing bits and pieces scrapbook

dougm1970

Prison inmate No. 57735, accused of murder and serving a 30-40 year stretch inside Rahway State Prison for armed robbery, introduced himself in a letter to reporter Beth Schenerman at The New York Times on Dec. 17, 1978, writing, in a rare moment of understatement, "This is a unique story." After returning to prison three years earlier, the former professional boxer had long since been recognized as one of the most feared and dangerous of the 1,150 inmates then living behind the walls of New Jersey's most notorious maximum-security prison, a place journalist Ralph Wiley described "as if the world had dropped the sum of its sores into one of New Jersey's gritty smokestacks, then chose not to watch as the results of the experiment filtered down into place."

Scott was one result of that experiment. But he had even bigger plans for his legacy. The message in a bottle Scott wished to wash ashore to everyone living outside those walls was simple: wearing leather gloves over the hands he'd been accused of using to murder someone, he just might be the most dangerous man everywhere else on earth, too. "The rise of a champion from prison house to the light heavyweight championship of the world. Has it ever been done before? No. I'll die if I don't get that title shot," he wrote. "I'm pregnant. I've got to deliver this child."

The Times and everybody else immediately recognized the story. This savvy, self-educated, self-described career criminal found an audience eager to believe him. Only two years before, a little Cinderella-story film about the American Dream, shot over 28 days with a budget of little more than $1 million, "Rocky," had won three Academy Awards and made $225 million at the box office. An unknown actor named Sylvester Stallone, with a pregnant wife and $106 in the bank, had written the script in three-and-a-half days about an over-the-hill Philadelphia club fighter who got a title shot.

But "Rocky" was just a movie. Scott was real, and his far more improbable story, of the American Dream turned into a fantastic fairytale, was already being written. All he needed was the happy ending. In only a few short years, Scott, who had spent over half his 30-year-life behind bars, had already parlayed his story into a career. A week before he wrote The Times, it had already started to come true when he had successfully challenged Eddie Gregory (later known today as Eddie Mustafa Muhammad) from inside Rahway's walls.

The notion was so obscenely preposterous that the feisty new network on the block, HBO Sports, eager to stand out, bought the whole thing. They sent film crews and announcers (including hiring the legendary "voice of boxing" Don Dunphy) to Woodbridge, N.J., and broadcast the fight live before a select crowd of civilians from the prison's auditorium. They touted the fight as "Boxing Behind Bars."

Outside Rahway, the betting line was 4-1 on Gregory, who had a record of 29-3-1 and was coming off two straight first round KOs. The bout was considered a tune-up, a colorful sideshow in Gregory's own march to the title, and in his own story of the ex-con-turned-champion. Boxing a lightly regarded inmate hailed as the New Jersey prison system light heavyweight champion made good copy and attracted curious viewers, but no one thought it would be much of a fight. Even inside Rahway, Scott was an underdog, Gregory the favorite at three cartons of cigarettes to one.

"They say Scott is tough," Gregory told Sports Illustrated before the fight, "but how tough can he be? So he fought a couple of stiffs inside the walls and he knocked them out. He hasn't had a real pro fight in almost four years. And now he wants to fight the top contender. You know he's got to be crazy. He's been in here too long. It happens when you stay in these places too long. I'll carry him for 11 rounds and knock him out in the twelfth. It'll be a good work out."

Gregory was in the best shape of his life, already looking forward to the biggest payday of his career against the newly crowned World Boxing Association champion, Mike Rossman. Fighting a delusional convict with a hopelessly misplaced pipe dream in prison was just a way to pocket an easy $15,000...

(by Brin-Jonathan Butler)





https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3y5qZUSF244


"James Scott was in the same lockup as the “Hurricane”, Rubin Carter. Carter was said to have sparred and worked with Scott some, but he was less interested in showcasing boxing skill than he was in being released from prison, which he was in 1985, after serving over 20 years.

In 1988, Rahway State Prison was renamed East Jersey State Prison, and Scott was finally released from there in 2005. It was reported that Scott pursued a comeback to boxing shortly after his release - at almost 60 years old!"


"In 2012, Scott was inducted into the New Jersey Boxing Hall of Fame. He currently resides in a New Jersey nursing home, suffering from dementia, with less and less awareness of his surroundings."

dougm1970

September 7, 1960

Sonny Liston scored a unanimous decision over Eddie Machen in a 12-round nationally televised match and continued his cry for a title match with heavyweight champion Floyd Patterson. Machen, who weighed 196, was interested only in a re-match with Liston. "Liston is a good fighter," Machen said, "but he won't knock down any walls. I don't like to alibi, but I hurt my shoulder six days ago in training and couldn't use my right too well. I want very much to fight him again when I have two hands." Liston, the number one contender for the crown, was equally unimpressed with second-rated Eddie. "All Machen wanted to do was go 12 rounds," he said. "He didn't want to fight. I had a bad night." Liston, who at 211 had a 15-pound weight advantage over Machen, went on to say that Patterson "wouldn't last that long with me. He would get in there and fight and I'd get him out." The bout itself was a dandy, with Liston, the plodding aggressor and Machen playing the part of the darting thief, stealing the show occasionally with sizzling left hooks and jabs. There was no doubt about the decision, however. Judges Ely Caston and Sam Haller favored Liston 118-114 and 118-116, respectively. Referee Whitey Domstad scored it 119-112 for the winner and UPI agreed 115-113. The victory for Liston, who was penalized twice for low blows was his 31st in 32 professional fights. For Machen, the loss was his third in 38 trips to the post.

(United Press International)

Machen later said he believed that Liston's handlers made deliberate use of illegal medication in an attempt to temporarily blind him during the fight. He theorized that Liston's handlers rubbed medication on their fighter's shoulders, which was transferred to Machen's forehead during clinches and dripped into his eyes. "I thought my eyes would burn out of my head, and Liston seemed to know it would happen," Machen said. When Liston fought Muhammad Ali—then Cassius Clay—in 1964, Ali returned to his corner after the fourth round and complained that there was something burning in his eyes and he could not see. "The same thing happened to me when I fought Liston in 1960," Machen said two days after Ali upset Liston. "Clay did the worst thing when he started screaming and let Liston know it had worked," Machen added. "Clay panicked. I didn't do that. I'm more of a seasoned pro, and I hid it from Liston."

dougm1970

April 26, 1949

Middleweight Steve Belloise of New York displayed a strong two-fisted attack as he pounded Jean Stock of France into an eight-round technical knockout last night at the Palais des Sport.

Stock tumbled to the canvas early in the fatal eight after catching a powerful right hook. When the balding american sent Stock flying with another right to the jaw seconds later, referee Rene Scheman stopped the fight.

It was the opener of a series of bouts on French soil for Belloise, who is aiming at a title fight with frenchman Marcel Cerdan.

(The Pittsburgh Press)





https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f2CX1KXy5Dg

dougm1970

November 11, 1935 - Berlin, Germany.

In the 'Sportpalast' in front of an audience of 10.000 people, Gustav Eder wins over his challenger, the Belgian Felix Wouters, in the 9th round with a K.O.
The European welterweight Champion was defending the title for the 6th time. Eder stands in the corner while Woulter lies on his back and gets counted out by referee Henry Patris.

dougm1970

Mike Jacobs 1937 telegram to Max Schmeling

efb

http://youtu.be/yxZYIuk0Omk?a

Naz v Pocket Rocket Doc

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dougm1970

January 1986.

Muhammad Ali shuffles back into a ring at aged near 44, testing himself by sparring with Tony Tubbs and Tim Witherspoon.

"I told him that if he looked good, I'd put him in there for an exhibition" - Don King.


....................................................

Muhammad Ali's fists and feet picked up speed when Jimmy Ellis called ''time" on the former champion's eighth and final round of sparring.

Ali heard him and knew his time was up. But he needed to end this sparring session, his seventh in as many days, with his own personal punctuation point.

So he advanced on Tony Tubbs, the World Boxing Association heavyweight champion, behind a flicking jab as the crowd began to chant "Ali, Ali." And he threw a three-punch combination.

Then, he brought the cheering to a crescendo with a slow-motion version of the old Ali shuffle and walked away.

The End.

Or was it the beginning ? Was it just good, clean fun? A way to lose weight? Or is there something more that has prompted this return to center stage for boxing's most beloved figure?

"I'm coming back . . . ," Ali said teasingly one day last week to a crowd that strained to hear his barely audible voice, "to my senses."

The sparring sessions started a week ago when Ali, dressed in his street clothes, walked up to Slim Jim Robinson, Tim Witherspoon's trainer, and asked for a protective cup.

"He said he wanted to go three rounds with Tim," Robinson said. "I gave him a headgear and he slid a cup on over his pants and went three rounds in his street shoes.

"The next day he came in with a sweat suit and a pair of sneakers and we've been sparring ever since, sometimes six rounds, sometimes eight. He's been as many as 10 with Tim.

"I don't know what it's all about, really. But I know the last time this happened, he walked into one of my training sessions when I had Eddie Mustafa Muhammad.

"He went in in his street clothes just like this time and boxed a few rounds. Then he said we're going to box until one of us drops. They went 30 minutes before I made them stop.

"When he came out of the ring, he said. 'I'm going to make a comeback'.

"That was in 1980, about a year after he had won his title back from Leon Spinks. About nine months later, he fought Larry Holmes."

In an interview after his final session with Witherspoon Monday, Ali, who will turn 44 Friday, delighted in tantalizing a reporter by raising the possibility of a comeback and then stepping back from it.

"I came in to lose some weight and feel better," he said. "I lost about 15 pounds. Look at this."

He stood and pulled the top of the sweat suit out of his waist band. The liquified excesses of years of inactivity rolled in rivulets from beneath the suit.

"I feel surprisingly good," Ali said. "I feel like I'm in my prime. I'm working with the top contender for the first time in five years. My punches are landing, body punches landing.

''I asked Don King if he would get me an exhibition fight if I looked good against the top contender. I said I want a 10-round exhibition, five rounds apiece with two top contenders in Madison Square Garden.

"And I said if I look good against them, would he get me a title shot. He said, 'Yes' ".

King's version differed slightly. "I told him that if he looked good, I'd put him in there for an exhibition," King said. "He's bringing himself back.

"I'd be willing to get some other retired fighter. I'd get Joe Frazier or somebody like that and let them make a little money for charity."

Witherspoon had some reservations about the comeback possibility.

"I don't know about a comeback," Witherspoon said. "But he might be able to fight a few exhibitions. He amazes me. He's still got the timing. He still throws the jab pretty good.

"He can take a punch to the body, too. I hit him to the body for real. But I can't bring myself to hit him hard in the head.

"He tells me to hit him in the head hard. But I can't. I don't want the whole world mad at me."

(by Elmer Smith)

dougm1970

The first incarnation of George Foreman - a scowling menace booed from most every seat in the arenas he toiled in - never fought a heavyweight championship round in the United States. Don King his promoter (and Ali's and Frazier's) had found that foreign investors - often governments - were willing to bankroll a heavyweight championship fight just for the tourism, continental bragging rights, PR exposure and international prestige associated with being a recognized spot on the map of current affairs. And King was never one to look a gift demigod in the mouth, so much the better if it happened to be from an African dictator.


The fact that Ken Norton, 30-2 (23), had broken Ali's jaw and looked like the son of Zeus was supposed to mean a real challenge had to be coming George's way. Fledgling promoter King, hungry to keep the Foreman global express rolling along as he had an agreement in principle with Foreman and Ali inked just a week before, brazenly set the Foreman-Norton showdown in, of all places, Caracas, Venezuela. Remote but beautiful setting, well known but dangerous opponent, next fight signed up with a monster, hype making guarantee for both fighters, it was pure early Kings-man-ship.

Checking over the two gladiators and their respective styles most analysts felt that Norton's jabbing, flinching awkwardness which mixed in decent power might - if extended over some rounds - force Foreman into a real, athletic engagement. That at least was the hope. But the memory, still fresh, of the great Joe Frazier being dribbled like a basketball off the canvas until cradled in his manager's arms Yank Durham back to his corner was the newest abiding memory in boxing's long line of championship annihilations. Of course, that's why you fight the big fights.

Besides, if the ex-sailor from San Diego, California could fight competitively with Muhammad Ali for 24 rounds surely he could make the champion break a serious sweat, for his guaranteed $700,000 and ancillary change. And this entire Venezuela thing was not going according to anyone's script. If Foreman was as confident as Saddler and cornerman Archie Moore said to one and all, then why had they tried to have their own hand picked man Jimmy Rondeau flown in from Washington to referee?

Rondeau would indeed referee, miserably, but only after the Foreman camp allowed the entire judging core to be home picked. Better the referee in your pocket than the judges, when your guy is George Foreman that is! Also, why did the champ suddenly come up with a knee malady the morning of the fight after training had ceased? Foreman was injured climbing stairs? The story unravelled from that single assertion ending up to no ones satisfaction. Was the champ able to fight? He sat in his dressing room not committing one way or the other.

In the stadium, Ali was holding court at ringside mouthing to Bob Sheridan "doing the colour commentary" for the telecast of the fight. When Ali and Oscar Bonavena started into a mock stare-down and sparring session during the preliminaries all that was left was for the circus to show up. When the introductions ended and the bell rang Foreman was there in symbolic red trunks and Norton outfitted in blue met him at ring centre to remind everyone there was a championship to be decided.

The fight itself was a study in raw heavyweight power hitting, an exhibition of Foreman's prime uppercuts and inside left hooks locked in for explosion on the head of Kenny Norton. Just over 200 closed circuit audiences in Canada and the US saw the live and living ritual sacrificing of Norton inside of 2 rounds. Never would Norton collect a more deserved 200,000 if only measured as mercy pay. El Poliedro Stadium, barely half full, barely had time to see its dignitaries seated before Bill Slayton halted the fight. No, not Eddie Futch who had been dismissed by Norton's management Art Rivkin and Bob Biron over Futch's new working relationship with Joe Frazier as a conflict of interest. Norton stumbled back to his corner to a stranger, Bill Slayton, who barely reacted outwardly to Norton's having been bludgeoned by Big George for the worst defeat of his young career.

(by Patrick Kehoe)

dougm1970

"..the fun I am going to have fighting my way back to the top again" - Beau Jack (July 1943)

dougm1970

In 1926, 19-year old Teddy Baldock was forced to move up to bantamweight, and he had the urge to try his luck in America. His father was against the idea, but after several rows, it was arranged for him to accompany Ted Broadribb and a party including Jack Hood and Alf Mancini. Ironically, it was on the eve of his departure for the United States that Teddy suffered his first defeat. In what was his 42nd paid fight, he faced Kid Nicholson from Leeds, against the wishes of Joe Morris, but did so because he wanted some money for the American trip. Baldock had trouble making the weight, and his only success during the fight was with shots to the body. After several warnings, however, he strayed low once too often, and was disqualified in the ninth round.

The American trip was a tremendous success, and during his four-month stay Teddy had twelve contests, winning eleven and drawing the other. His greatest success was a first-round knockout of the bant¬amweight champion of Canada, Arthur de Champlaine. The fans raved over the lad from Poplar, and top promoter Tex Rickard admitted that had Baldock been old enough he would have given him the chance to fight for the vacant world bantamweight title. Baldock, Hood, and Mancini were paid good money in the States, and clubbed together to buy a car for $95. They were anxious to see the big names in action, and even drove to Philadelphia to watch Jack Dempsey training for his heavyweight title defence against Gene Tunney. They stayed there for several days, and managed to get tickets to see the fight.

When he returned to England, Teddy received a tremendous welcome, and was honoured at a dinner at a Holborn rest¬aurant by 250 admirers. While he was away, the International Sports Syndicate was formed, and took over from Harry Jacobs in promoting at the Albert Hall An offer of £1,000 had been made for Baldock to have three fights, one of which would be for the world bantamweight title, Teddy accepted the offer, and in his first contest for the new promoters he knocked out Young Johnny Brown of St. George's in three rounds. After the fight, he was asked to return to the ringside because the Prince of Wales wanted to shake his hand. Teddy was terrified, and he refused, and literally had to be dragged from the dressing-room to meet his royal admirer.

After Baldock knocked out the German Felix Friedmann, the promoters cabled American Archie Bell with an offer of £1,000 for him to meet the Londoner for the vacant world bantamweight title. Bell, a veteran of over 60 fights agreed. He travelled to London, and trained at "The Black Bull" at Whetstone. Baldock set up his training camp at Hurstpierpoint, with former British featherweight champion Johnny Curley as his chief sparring-partner Baldock had a tremendous following, and on the evening of the fight 52 charabancs, crammed with enthusiastic fans, set off from Poplar for the Royal Albert Hall. The great arena was packed to capacity, and the atmosphere was electric. The American was by far the best man Baldock had faced, and the contest was fought at a terrific pace from start to finish. It was a toe-to-toe battle, and one of the greatest ever seen in a London ring. Teddy boxed brilliantly, and with just two rounds to go he was well ahead. Suddenly, Bell launched a whirlwind attack in an effort to turn the fight around. It was at this stage that the East Ender's speed, skill, and ability to absorb a punch were decisive, and he weathered the storm to take the decision. The crowd were delirious, and at the end the organist played "For He's a Jolly Good Fellow".

The whole of Poplar celebrated, and at a civic reception a few days later, Teddy was presented with an illuminated address signed by the Mayor of Poplar, and was awarded the Freedom of the Borough.

(Martin Sax)

.....................

Teddy Baldock was one of Britain's finest boxers of the 1920's and one of its most loved sportsmen. Teddy won the World Bantamweight title* on May 5th 1927 at the Royal Albert Hall in London beating America's Archie Bell on points over fifteen rounds.

World title victory propelled him to stardom in Britain, as his grandson Martin Sax attests: "There was a report about my grandmother and how she had gone to watch him fight at Premierland without him knowing because he didn’t agree with women watching boxing, and I think his parents had a bad car crash, and that made the Daily Express news because of who their son was".

His world title shot didn't come easy. By the time he fought Bell, he had been a professional boxer for six years and had competed in fifty-seven contests, compiling a record of 54-1-2. Another four years passed with some further success, but by 1930 Teddy's best days were behind him. He retired in 1931 aged 24 with a final professional record of 73-5-3.

....................

*At 19 years 347 days old Teddy would win the Bantamweight Title beating Archie Bell in 1927. Though there is some confusion regarding his title win. Three months before, Charley "Phil" Rosenberg had forfeited the Undisputed World Title by appearing in a title bout overweight. By virtue of this bout with Bell, Baldock was declared the World Champ by the British boxing authorities. (Bell would later face Pete Sanstol for another version of the bantam crown).
But on record it is regarded as a Bantamweight Title fight which would make him the youngest World Champion out of Great Britian.

...................

Photo Caption reads -
"24th August 1929 English boxer Teddy Baldock, centre, surrounded by well-wishers including his mother and finance at Waterloo Station, London, bound for the USA."





https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QIw4hQKkoFw

dougm1970

Oct 1962 - Madison Square Garden, New York

Rubin 'Hurricane' Carter vs. Florentino Fernandez

"Carter scored two knockdowns. Carter floored Fernandez for the first time with a short right. Fernandez got up at the count of two and took the mandatory eight-count from referee Johnny LoBianco. Seconds later, Carter connected with a right-left-right that sent Fernandez through the ropes and onto the ring apron. He was counted out at 1:09 of the first round."

[IMG]http://fbcdn-sphotos-d-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-xfa1/v/t1.0-9/1505079_530370007108017_3934891495447961821_n.jpg? oh=0800e374221496d9187ee880f659ab5b&oe=54E7A317&__gda__=1424400199_bd4dc1907a4e9bff9765c6ee916cdfc e[/IMG]


https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k0LQ5EXSNXI

dougm1970

"I should have known the first day I went in the gym and sparred with some kid that I really didn’t have it. But I had waited 11 years for a shot and I didn’t want it to pass me by. I somehow managed to go 15 rounds but after the first round I just knew. I’ve lived that fight 35 years ago over in my head a thousand times, over and over again. I remember it punch for punch and it drives me crazy. I remember when I came back to my corner after the first I said, “We’re in for a long night.” ‘I thought, “Oh man, 14 more.” It felt like I had done 15 rounds already. I was just counting them down, “I’ve got 12 more, I’ve got ten more rounds.” ‘In the seventh I hit him with a right hand and knocked him down and should have finished him. He was hurt but I didn’t realise and he got up. I was so tired I don’t think I realised how tired he really was. I let him off the hook. If I’d went in there and tried to bang with him I’m sure I could have knocked him out. I’ve got the film and I look at it every once in a while and it makes me sick,’ he smiled regretfully. ‘There’s no doubt in my mind I could have knocked him out. He was a tough kid but he never hurt me. ‘In my career I definitely see a few things I would have liked to have done differently and beating Benvenuti would have been one of them. I go to bed now and every night when I run that fight through my head it still drives me crazy."

(Don Fullmer)


.................................................................................



Instead of being listed as one of Nino Benvenuti's conquests, maybe the man who fought nine world champions in his 79 fights would have been inducted into the International Boxing Hall of Fame himself. In the seventh round of the 15-round title fight, Fullmer, who was weak from weeks of fighting the flu, landed a punch that sent Benvenuti to the canvas. But it wasn't enough, and in the end he lost that fight by decision.

"About 10 years ago, he told me that a day never goes by that he hasn't thought about that fight," said one of Fullmer's five sons, Hud Fullmer. Adds his youngest son, Kade, "He told me he dreams about it every night."

On the 43rd anniversary of that fight, the Fullmer boys gathered at the South Jordan home of their dad and mom, Nedra, to talk about their father, his life and his legacy — inside and outside the ring. They discussed Fullmer's second fight against Benvenuti, an Olympic gold medalist and Italian superstar, on Dec. 14, 1968, which was for the world middleweight title.

Brad Fullmer quietly voiced the sentiment that has haunted his father. "Maybe our lives would have been a lot different from one punch," he said. And then Don Fullmer, who sat in a recliner to ease the constant pain in his back, responded with his simple, dry humor for which he is so well-known and loved: "Mine would have been. I don't know about yours, but mine would have been." The reaction sparked an eruption of laughter, followed by a lot of ribbing.

(Desert News)







*The first quote is from the superb new book from Boxing News editor Tris Dixon...

http://www.amazon.com/The-Road-Nowhere-Journey-Wastelands/dp/190962652X

dougm1970

"I’ll be forty-one in a few months and have had more than eighty fights, most against fine opponents, and I’m feeling rather old. My new job as a security guard at a Museum shouldn’t be so painful. I go to the doctor, and he tells me I have liver cancer and not long to live.

Please, I ask the Nigerian government victorious since early 1970 over a Biafra that exists only as rotting flesh and shattered buildings, let me come home. You can come home, they say, but better not cause trouble. In the summer of 1971 I return, skinny in the way of the very ill, and am ordered to turn over my passport while they blister me with three hours of questions. I cooperate. I’m so happy to again be with my wife and children. I won’t leave again, I promise. I won’t except to get this extraordinary new treatment of liver cancer. Please let me leave just a little while, I ask the government. They say no and keep my passport. I’m disappointed but not bitter. I know. I’m not going to get better. I’m being carried through the streets."

(Dick Tiger Stands Up by George Thomas Clark)


https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9myLWi2B8Z0

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dougm1970

Well matched.

The third fight was so close (a split decision win for Montgomery), they had to have a fourth fight (a points win for Beau Jack, which one judge had a draw).

dougm1970

"I knew he was a good fighter and I’d heard that he was a good, scientific boxer but I was young, too, and at the time pretty good also. We went to Copenhagen three days before the fight and we were jet-lagged. I’d left my training stuff at home and George Francis [Conteh’s manager] had booked us a route to Copenhagen that took us 19 hours. We went everywhere but Copenhagen. It was a hard fight but he didn’t hurt me. If we’d gone over there 15 days earlier things would have been different but I learned a lot from fighting Conteh." - Yaqui Lopez

.....................................................

"He was harder than I thought he would be. I felt I dictated the whole fight. He hurt me once, in the 6th round I think it was, but I was pleased that my right hand held up well. I hardly threw it but when I did it stood up." -John Conteh

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"John Conteh of Britain retained his WBC version of the world light heavyweight title Saturday after an absence from the ring of 15 months by outpointing Alvaro Lopez, a Mexican-born American, at the Forum. After four solid opening rounds, Conteh found the challenger swarming over him in the 5th while in the 6th, one of the toughest in the fight, Conteh produced some superb left hooks to the head and then the body, but Lopez was back as strong as ever in the 7th trying to find a way to victory with his left jabbing. Most of the rounds were won or lost narrowly, usually in a burst of jabs by Conteh which tipped the balance against the indecisive shots of the challenger. In the 11th round Lopez suffered a cut over his left eye and the sight of blood only added to Conteh's incentive. Conteh, though, was running out of energy and he cleverly spun out his resources over the remaining rounds picking off his challenger with those left jabs, emphasizing again his class." - United Press International (Oct 1976)


https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4LOccMoft1Y

dougm1970

July 1964

"Floyd Patterson decisively outpointed Eddie Machen in their 12 round bout here last night before 40,000 at the Raasunda outdoor stadium. Except for the 7th round, which Machen won with a stinging right to the jaw, Patterson dominated the fight with his familiar peekaboo guard and lightning fast series of kangaroo rushes. Machen was down in the 10th and 11th from slips for no counts. Blood stains showed on his white trunks and he nursed a closed left eye at the end. Machen confused Patterson at times by keeping his head low at close quarters, but only his defensive skill - and maybe Floyd's lack of a takeout punch - kept him on his feet for the distance. Teddy Waltham, the British referee and sole arbiter, raised Patterson's hand as soon as the final gong sounded. He gave Patterson nine rounds, Machen one round and called two even, the same as the AP scorecard. In points, Waltham scored it, 59-49." - Associated Press




a bit harsh this following critique of patterson....but anyway...

......

In 1958, the super-cautious Cus D’Amato, the proprietor of Patterson, kept ducking Machen just as he ducked most of the top heavyweights, charging they were all under the sinister control of the forces of evil.” While D’Amato seethed against the wickedness of man from rickety soapboxes, the heavyweight championship went through the ignominy of having Pete Rademacher and Tom McNeely contest it in spectacles closer to pratfall conventions than prizefights. In his never-ending jihad against unholy forces in boxing, D’Amato frothed over Sid Flaherty, who, like 98.5% of fight managers, maintained a working relationship with Jim Norris and the IBC. This flaw, one that brings to mind the poor crones in medieval Europe accused of witchcraft due to an unsightly mole or an affinity for cats, was enough to demonize Machen. Behind all of his righteous bluster, D’Amato was merely trying to protect his fragile champion, whose chin made tin resemble titanium. In eleven Patterson title fights from 1956 to 1963, over 40 knockdowns were scored, with Patterson suffering 15 of them. Years later, Patterson, the most dignified of fighters, was embarrassed at being protected, and when the world demanded that he face Sonny Liston, Patterson insisted that the fight be made. Public demand, unfortunately, never reached those heights for Machen. In 1964 Machen finally got to meet Patterson.

(Arthur Daley)

dougm1970

He is visiting his mother's small clapboard house in the depressed Hilltop section of Tacoma, Washington. He is in the tiny living room, struggling with the long sheet of clear plastic draped, as a sort of dust guard, across the front of the cabinet that his mother has set up as a shrine to his career as a boxer. Finally, he gets his hand up under the sheet and directs it, by memory, to a six-inch winged figurine of Victory. "This here was my first trophy," he says, smiling behind tinted glasses. Then, rummaging once more, he locates the object of his heart's frustration and desire: the gold medal from the 1972 Olympic Games. "This," he says wistfully, "should have propelled me into something good."

Instead, it propelled him into seasons of futility and self-delusion. And finally, tragically, into delusion's physical counterpart: blindness itself.

After more than 400 amateur and professional fights, after seven eye operations and years of kidding himself that he was only a fight or two away from the world middleweight championship and that his surgically restored retinas would hold up until he got there, Sugar Ray Seales, 31, is all but in the dark. He has no vision in his left eye and only 10 percent in the right. "I can't read," he says. "I can't drive. Most I can do is walk with this cane." And gingerly, at that. A novice at not seeing, he steps too soon going up the stairs, he walks into glass doors, he has burn scars on his forehead from trying to put logs in the wood-burning stove in the rented house he shares with girlfriend Mae Howard and her four kids.

What's more, he is penniless. "He owns only what I give him," says Ed Garner, his equally destitute manager, who professes a lifetime commitment to the blind fighter. Worse still, Seales is $100,000 in debt to assorted doctors and hospitals. Even efforts to extract him from the abyss seem doomed—scuttled by the Fates, or maybe just by the ineptitude of the people who have surrounded him throughout his once-promising career. Hearing of Seales' plight, Sammy Davis Jr. brought his Las Vegas show to the Tacoma Dome last month for a benefit performance. "He's got all three Bs," said Davis. "He's black, blind and broke. I got two of them myself." Somehow, the benefit managed to lose $25,000.

Withal, Seales is unbowed. "We're waiting to see what we can do for our-self," he says, lapsing, as he often does, into the royal "we." The only thing, in this Olympic year, that seems to give him pause is the announcement that a younger and more famous Sugar Ray, former welterweight champion Ray Leonard, is returning to the hunt after his own retinal surgery. Together, Leonard and Seales offer an instructive tale of two Sugars, of to-have and have-not, of two careers as different as the two Olympics in which they were forged. Yet Ray Seales' story—one of naïveté, botched opportunity, exploitation and, especially, reckless ambition—should be required reading for Ray Leonard.

Growing up in St. Croix, Virgin Islands, Ray Seales was quiet, even reticent as a child. "I believe when my mother was carrying me she was working in a mortuary," he says. "I don't know, but I think it made me come out a little slim, a little fearful." The legacy of his father, however, offset his timidity. The latter was a soldier in the American Army who earned his stripes as a boxer. He didn't actually teach Ray how to box during his 15-day furloughs. His influence was more subtle. "We felt for each other," says Seales. "And what I felt in him was fighting."

It wasn't until 1964, when he moved to Tacoma with his mother after his parents' divorce, that Ray made good on his patrimony. He was 12 years old, and his newfound peers were merciless in taunting him about his island English. "I joined the Boys Club and learned to fight," he says. "They stopped picking on me."

On the verge of his teens, Ray stood 5'7" and weighed but 78 pounds. He was all arms and legs, and he had processed hair, which made him a dead ringer for the sweetest fighter of them all: Sugar Ray Robinson. As an amateur Seales lived up to his moniker, winning all but 12 of his 350 fights. In the 1972 Olympics he was a polished stone in a diadem that included such prized talents as Duane Bobick and James "Bubba" Busceme. Yet he was the only one to sparkle. "The Olympics," he likes to say, "was the greatest thing ever to happen to Sugar Ray Seales." Perhaps. But he was not able to convert Olympic gold into more negotiable currency. In 1973 he made less than $1,000 for his first professional fight; four years later Sugar Ray Leonard banked $40,000 for his pro debut—it was more than Seales would ever make for any fight in his entire 11-year career. The matter was beyond his control. Leonard came out of the '76 Olympics as the headliner of a boxing squad that captured the public's imagination, whereas Seales emerged from the sorry '72 affair, best remembered for the bloody massacre of Israeli athletes by Palestinian terrorists. "I saved America by winning the only gold medal in boxing in 1972," says Seales, who to this day fails to understand why America never took him to its heart the way it did Leonard.

"His whole mistake," says Cus D'Amato, the fight manager who turned Olympians Floyd Patterson and Jose Torres into world champions, "was when he turned pro he remained with the fellows he was with in the amateurs." Seales' manager-of-choice was one George Yelton, who'd been good for an occasional five-spot when the Boys Club boxing team was on the road and who owned several taco stands in Washington state. Perhaps even more naive than his fighter, Yelton's idea of a major promotion was a banner strung across one of his Tex-Mex establishments: "Come See Sugar Ray Seales at Taco Time." Worse, he did not even know enough to protect his fighter. In 1974, after Seales had gained 20 wins against less-than-stellar opposition, Yelton agreed to come east to Boston for what was billed as a benefit for the United Way. "I thought it would be like an exhibition, where I could dance, get a chance to perform," says Seales. He remembers freezing at the weigh-in, then looking over to see a short, heavily muscled, shaven-headed warrior sweating with intensity. His opponent was the young Marvin Hagler, one of the most devastating punchers of our day, already 14-0 with 12 knockouts—and neither Seales nor Yelton were ready for him. They didn't even know who he was.

After this first loss, by decision, Seales fought Hagler twice more. Indeed, Hagler would become a sort of touchstone for his career, a measure of how much ground he had lost. Ray fought to a draw with him in a return war in Tacoma. Then in 1979, under new management, Seales fought Hagler again in Boston. Ray's corner was a circus. Two days before the fight, his new manager decided to entertain lady friends in his hotel room, which provoked Ray's trainer, George Wright, to threaten to leave for Tacoma. The next day somebody called from Alaska, claiming he owned a piece of Sugar Ray Seales and demanding to know what his purse was. Ray was hauled into the office of the Massachusetts boxing commissioner for an accounting. Finally, on fight day, it was discovered that Seales and Hagler were wearing the same color trunks, and Ray was hassled into changing his. Already beaten, the Sugar Man was knocked out by Marvelous Marvin before the first round was half over.

Shortly thereafter Seales hooked up with Ed Garner, yet another local businessman without clout or boxing credentials. By this time he was regarded by promoters as an "opponent," a stepping stone for some less tarnished prospect. Yet Ray was as game as ever. In early 1980 he eclipsed the hopes of Arthur "Tap" Harris, a 31-0 fighter scheduled for bigger things, with a sixth-round knockout. Then suddenly, in August, Ray was thumbed in his right eye, which filled up with blood. Two operations performed a couple of days later in Tacoma by Dr. Hsushi Yeh were deemed successful. For his part, Seales remembers Dr. Yeh telling him, "You could get hit in that eye twice as hard as before and nothing would happen." Says Dr. Yeh, "You want the true story? I told him, 'Personally, I think you should quit boxing right at this moment.' " Yeh remembers Seales replying, "Doctor, this is my life. I got only two or three fights before I can gain my championship!"

Seales, however, was deceiving himself. By this time Marvin Hagler bestrode the world. Undaunted, Seales and Garner plunged back into the heartland, starting a new round of one-night stands with local club fighters for as little as $4,000 a go. Then, late in 1981, says Ray, "We experienced something in our left eye. We experienced the ring getting farther away." Seales came home and had two more operations, which had to be performed by two new doctors, since Ray hadn't been able to pay Dr. Yeh and couldn't pay this time either. According to Dr. Yeh, a charitable man who would later resume care of the blighted fighter, this was a turning point. "It's my understanding," he says, "that the fighter still had 20/40 vision in his right eye."

It is remarkable that Seales fought thereafter in six different states—California, New York, New Mexico, Nevada, New Jersey and Colorado—and that he passed each prefight physical with ease. According to boxing commission physicians, Ray deceived his examiners by keeping his surgical history a secret and memorizing the eye charts. On the one hand, Seales denies that he was trying to fool the commission doctors and blames them for conspiring with promoters to use him as meat. On the other, he intimates that he was hoping to get caught. "I wanted someone to tell me," he says, " 'Hey, man. It's over for you. I can't let you fight in my state.' "

The end came quietly last March. Trainer George Wright kept changing the bulbs in the gym, but Seales could not shake the feeling he was in the dark. A few days later in Portland, Oreg., retinal specialist Dr. Richard Chenoweth took one look at the benighted fighter and said, "This kid has been blind for 18 months!"

Back in the days when the world was green and his career was in its first flower, Ray Seales had thought to win the world middleweight title, then return in glory to St. Croix and become governor. The dream seems remote now. But Seales is an incorrigible optimist, and he insists that his ambition has been merely deferred. "It's the strength, the power and the will that I have inside," he says, "that makes me project more light than there really is. Someday my eyes are going to be restored." He pauses and makes a gesture of dismissal with a long sleek hand that bears his ruby Olympic ring. "You know, we don't think of ourself as blind. We are going to stretch and become a champion at something else."

(by William Plummer - 1984)

.................

Years later, doctors operated and Seales regained the vision in his right eye, though he wears glasses. Seales later worked as a schoolteacher of autistic students at Lincoln High School in Tacoma for 17 years until 2004 before retiring. In 2006, he moved to Indianapolis with his wife, where he currently resides. Seales currently works as a boxing coach, working with talented amateurs in the Indianapolis area.




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

dougm1970

ali v foreman - look at the seats

dougm1970

At the beginning of the combat, Sam McVea looked in marvelous form due to a severe drive in training and strongly attacked Joe Jennnette, and he seemed to worry very little about the blows that his adversary threw at him. During a certain number of rounds, the two men made a good match and looked the equal of one another. Then Sam, by use of terrible blows projected at his adversary, knocked him to the ground several times. Then next, with extraordinary courage, Jeannette raised himself and little by little found the means to put the hurt on Sam. The combat was superb, and all at the same time violent and scientific. Sam landed terrible direct blows to the jaw of Jeannette who also dodged many and counterpunched well with his own powerful blows that landed admirably. Sam no longer looked human, as his eye was completely closed and his mouth bloodied.
We arrive thus at the fortieth round. Joe Jeannette, very fresh, rains a hail of blows on Sam, who is completely disabled, but thanks to his incomparable force and courage, always resists. The bell saved him several times from defeat. The uppercuts of Jeannette are no longer avoided anymore by Sam who is well finished.
With the forty-ninth round, a record! Sam shakes the hand of Jeannette and states he has given up. Science, speed and flexibility have just triumphed over brute force. Sam MacVea, crowned by Parisians as the king of boxing, falls from his pedestal. Joe Jeannette will replace him. Poor Sam!

(La Presse - French Newspaper - April 24, 1909)

...........................

By virtue of oxygen pumped into them by their seconds, Jeannette and MacVey reeled and staggered through forty-eight rounds of a brutal and plucky fight here tonight. At the opening of the forty-ninth round MacVey, his face utterly dehumanized save for an expression of helpless agony that distorted what remained of his features, signified that he was unable to continue, whereupon the referee declared Jeannette the winner.

(New York Sun)

..........................

dougm1970

1960

dougm1970

“Between the rounds Jerry the Greek pushed smelling salts under my nose. I felt as though I had been fighting for hours. I thought I had struck thousands of blows and been hit as many times. I asked Doc what round it was. When he said it was the first round, I couldn’t believe him.” .....

http://classicboxingsociety.blogspot.ie/2014/11/from-july-4-1919-to-september-23.html

dougm1970

“What do you like to eat?”

“Steak, when I can get it. But that’s not often,”

“Married’?”

“No. But I expect to be”

“What’s her name?”

“Nora Speight. She wants me to take back some nylons and a swim suit such as they wear in Hollywood.”

“How much money have you made fighting?”

He looked steadily at his questioner. The others squirmed at the crudeness of the question.

“I beg your pardon?” he said.

The reporter said:

“Have you any money’?”

Woodcock’s eyebrows went up. His voice, which had been warm and friendly, was cold.

“I have a pound or two,” he said.

He turned to another reporter.

“What did you say?” he asked, his voice friendly again.

“What do you know about Mauriello. Bruce?”

“Not much. I’ll know more after the fight.”

“How about Joe Louis?”

Tom Hurst (Woodcock's manager) had remained silent during the interview. Now he beat the fighter to the answer.

“We’re here to fight Mauriello,” he said. “Louie can wait.”


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

dougm1970

Two of the great voices of british boxing - Reg Gutteridge and Harry Carpenter - narrate a replay of Rocky Graziano v Tony Zale and Zale v Marcel Cerdan...

"It might be show-business with blood...but it's not scripted"


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

dougm1970

It was time for him to enter the ring in New Orleans for his rematch with Ali, but Leon had disappeared, and neither his camp nor his bodyguard—Mr. T., the future Clubber Lang—could find him. He was finally located in a hotel room, drunk.

As Ali stood in his corner calmly waiting for the fight to begin, Leon reached for his brother and held him in a tight, lingering embrace. He might have been voicing some version of the old spiritual’s lament: Nobody Knows the Trouble I’ve Seen. But Michael knew.

Somehow Leon managed to fight on relatively even terms with Ali for five rounds before Ali took command. It wasn’t much of a fight. Ali danced for the first time in years, but he landed mostly one- and two-punch combinations while holding Leon ceaselessly over 15 rounds and winning a lopsided decision. Leon went back out partying and kept the party going for years, though his career quickly became a sideshow. He lost about as often as he won, drank up his paydays in single sittings, and generally lived the life of a wild, not terribly bright dude. Years later, training Leon for one last shot at remaking his career, Emanuel Steward went looking for the fighter and found him in the usual place—a hotel—and in the usual state—drunk, naked, and with a woman. “Coach, it ain’t like it look,” he said.

Leon wound up broke.

Where Leon was madcap, Michael was reserved and enigmatic, only slightly off-kilter and in none of the ways that make headlines. “Michael always seemed so logical compared to Leon,” promoter Bob Arum said. “It seemed to me that Michael had some sense. Leon never had any sense.” Michael turned out to be a better fighter than his older brother, too, largely because of his personal stability and discipline. But in 1983, his life was upended when his common-law wife, the mother of his two-year old daughter, was killed in a car accident weeks before he was to fight Dwight Muhammad Qawi to unify the light heavyweight title. Just as he was preparing to enter the ring, someone brought the little girl into Michael’s dressing room. She promptly asked him where her mother was. Michael almost went to pieces, but he went out and beat Qawi.

Michael had a curious ability to inspire disdain in his opponents, perhaps because of his unusual style, if it was a style. He’d start out orthodox, but in the heat of battle punches would start flying in from all angles. In 1985, when Michael beat Holmes — then 48-0 and one win away from equaling Rocky Marciano’s perfect record — Holmes complained about the decision. The following year, Holmes had a legitimate gripe about their rematch, which Michael also won by decision: most observers thought Holmes deserved the nod. Even in 1987, when Michael knocked out the much bigger Gerry Cooney, whom he feared, he couldn’t seem to convince his opponent. The usually gracious Cooney said that Michael didn’t belong in the same ring with him.

Where Leon endured a sustained descent, Michael’s downfall was mercifully brief: in June 1988, he faced off against Mike Tyson in the bout that would unify (for a few years at least) the heavyweight title. Tyson was at his peak, a terrifying force combining speed and power. Emanuel Steward told how before the Tyson fight, Michael was afraid to leave his dressing room. He entered the Atlantic City ring, as the authors put it, wearing “the look of a rabbit that had just spotted a hunter’s rifle.” Michael’s trainer, Eddie Futch, wanted him to box Tyson, to stay away for four or five rounds—easier said than done in those days. “Take him out in deep water and then we can drown him,” he said. Tyson never gave them a chance, annihilating Spinks in 91 seconds. It was Michael’s only loss as a professional and his last fight.

Michael lives on a generous spread outside Wilmington, Delaware, and mostly keeps a low profile.

(by John Florio and Ouisie Shapiro)






Some recent Leon news (Nov 2014)...

..................................

Boxing legend Leon Spinks is finally walking, talking and smiling again ... after a medical scare stemming from a chicken bone accident.

As recently reported, Spinks was hospitalized -- and was in pretty bad shape -- after swallowing a chicken bone ... which got lodged in his intestine.

Leon's attorney Steve Pacitti said the former champ is still in the hospital -- but he's making tremendous progress.

"He's healing. He's on the road to recovery," Pacitti said "I went to see him the other night and when I walked in he flashed a huge smile. He's in great spirits."

Pacitti says he's unsure when "Neon Leon" will be discharged from the hospital -- but says things are looking good. "He's up and walking ... he's talking."

dougm1970

June 19, 1936

Max Schmeling gets interviewed by NBC shortly after his victory over Joe Louis in their first fight.

dougm1970

Dec 11, 1942

Charley Burley vs. Lloyd Marshall

"Middleweight Lloyd Marshall of Sacramento last night won a decision from favored (10-7 odds) Minneapolis battler Charley Burley in the 10-round main event at Legion Stadium. Marshall floored Burley for "three" in round one and a no-count in round four. The referee gave Marshall six rounds, Burley one and the rest even."

*enhanced photos courtesy of regular CBS contributor JTheron.

.

dougm1970

June 25, 1902 - National Sporting Club, Covent Garden, London.

Tom Sharkey vs. Gus Ruhlin

After a slight spar in round one, Ruhlin led with his left but was met with an effective counter to the body from Sharkey. The Irishman clinched and held, and was quickly in trouble with the referee. Ruhlin slipped down and his adversary became too impetuous, and was nearly disqualified through striking his man before he had gained his feet. Sharkey was very busy when the round ended.

When the fight resumed Sharkey was again cautioned for holding and Ruhlin took control of the centre of the ring. Three times he jabbed the sailor on the face and got nothing back. Sharkey then missed a wild uppercut with his left and before he could recover, his opponent drove a left and then a right home to the head just as the bell rang.

In the third, both men boxed for the head with little success although Sharkey landed one left jab to Ruhlin’s face.

Both men were guilty of holding in the fourth but a clean jab to Sharkey’s face left him looking “flushed” and “distressed” and he “appeared pleased” when the round ended. Tom came out to take more punishment, but tried everything to disguise the fact that the fight was slipping away from him. “This is not so easy for you as in New York,” he told Ruhlin. The bravado fooled no-one at ringside.

In the sixth, Sharkey looked “used up”, a nasty cut now worrying him over his eye. “With his usual gameness however he kept going after his big rival in determined style.” Sharkey was running on instinct.

When Ruhlin backed him into a corner in the seventh, Sharkey showed excellent footwork and got out of danger.

In the eighth, he took further punishment and in the ninth, he was forced back onto the ropes and was hit hard with both fists in the ribs.

All the same, in the tenth, Sharkey goaded Ruhlin again: “You could not beat me with a hammer!”
“However, for once,” noted an onlooker sadly, “the sailor boy’s ideas were wrong.”
Sharkey tried to rush Ruhlin but took a hefty punch on the draw, staggered and reeled back his corner.

Sharkey was out on his feet now and when he stood up for the eleventh he clutched Ruhlin around the neck and dragged him around the ring. Eventually they broke and every time Ruhlin struck Sharkey went down. Four times in all. Sharkey got up each time but the last time, he struggled to his feet, he really did not know where he was. As the round ended, Sharkey’s corner went to his aid and tried to get him ready for another push. But Tommy Ryan, one of his seconds, knew the game was up. He walked over to Ruhlin’s corner and gave in on Sharkey’s behalf.

Ruhlin walked across the ring to shake his opponent by the hand and left the ring, some onlookers said, without a scratch on him.

Sharkey remained where he was, tears rolling down his cheeks. “It was somewhat pathetic to see such a game boxer in tears,” decided a reporter with the Sporting Chronicle. A reporter filing for American newspapers said the fight had been “one of the most determined and desperate struggles ever witnessed in the National Sporting Club”.

Some observers said Sharkey, reduced almost to insensibility, then raged against his seconds for their intervention. All agree he was cut, beaten and angry.

Back in Ireland, Tom’s family and the old fans who had followed his fistic adventures closely through the pages of the Dundalk Democrat read what appeared to be an obituary for that career. The sports columnist known as ‘Philistine’ wrote that not even “Herculean” Sharkey could continue to take such “thumpings” as that handed out by Ruhlin. “While it is generally thought that Ruhlin must have come on immensely in his form,” he concluded sadly, “the usual opinion is that the sailor has gone back very much, and now has not much else but his undauntable pluck to recommend him.”

Losing the £2,000 purse and getting beaten by Ruhlin would have been only part of the disappointment; realising he was no longer the fighter he once was would have poured salt on the stinging wounds, wounds laid open by the realisation he would never have the chance to fight for the world title again.

But perhaps on that special night there was a wound that went deeper still. For, there in the crowd, was Tom’s father James Sharkey who had come to watch his son in a big fight for the first time. James Sharkey, now 78, had travelled to London to celebrate his son’s successes on the world stage, but instead he was watching the sun setting on his career.

(by Greg Lewis)

dougm1970

July 4, 1912 - Vernon, California
Lightweight World Title
Ad Wolgast vs. 'Mexican' Joe Rivers

It was a fierce battle between the two determined men, each doing damage in the brutal give-and-take manner that characterized the ring wars of that blood-and-guts era.

Wolgast, making the fifth defense of the title he won in the 40th round of a savage war of attrition with Battling Nelson two-and-a-half years before, started strong but was fading under the continued assault of the younger challenger. The champ had been more on the receiving end than the giving end through the first 12 frames of the scheduled 20-rounder and was behind in the scoring.

Rivers had the edge going into the fateful 13th round but both battlers showed the effects of the fierce trading. “Both boys, gory from head to belt, their faces puffed and cut …” is how the ringside reporter described Wolgast and Rivers just prior to the double knockout.

There has been some dispute through the years as to whether the blow that felled Rivers landed low, but the newspaper account said clearly that Wolgast struck below the belt.

“Rivers suddenly collapsed,” the ringside reporter wrote, and there were immediate shouts of “foul” among the spectators. “Wolgast previously in the same round and in several other rounds had struck Rivers rather low and when Rivers went down there was a sudden shout of ‘Foul.’”

Rivers went down in a heap but a moment later Wolgast was down also, falling over top of Rivers’ legs. Just as he was being hit severely in the groin area, Rivers had landed a solid right to the champion’s jaw and Wolgast staggered momentarily before falling.

“Wolgast suddenly crouched and sent a terrific left directly over Rivers’s groin,” it said in the next day’s newspapers. “At the same instant Rivers put his right to Wolgast’s jaw and the champion went down and was practically out. Rivers fell, writhing in pain, and referee Welch began to count.”

Welch later explained that he started counting over Rivers because Rivers went down first. Welch ignored the claims of foul, saying emphatically that Wolgast landed a clean blow. As Welch was counting over Rivers, who was conscious but in terrible pain, he actually helped Wolgast up from the canvas.

“Wolgast rolled off Rivers, his features convulsed. Welch immediately began counting and was still counting when he reached down and helped Wolgast to his feet. There were shouts that the bell had ended the round while Welch was counting. By this time the whole arena was in an uproar.”

The bell rang at the count of 4 and the timekeeper, Al Holder of the Pacific Athletic Club, kept shouting at Welch that the gong had sounded. Welch either didn’t hear him or chose to ignore him. That only added to the outrage of Rivers’ supporters.

“The claims on behalf of Rivers were not heeded by Welch. He picked Wolgast up off the floor and declared him the winner. His seconds had to carry him from the ring. Rivers was lying on the floor but in a moment arose unaided.”

Rivers was prepared to continue fighting but Welch “waved him back.” Welch’s actions ignited a near riot in the arena. Several people came through the ropes, including Rivers’ manager Joe Levy, and confronted Welch.

The referee told the protesters that his actions were fair and then quickly fled the ring. The protests continued for nearly an hour after the fight ended but to no avail. Later that night, Welch stated that Wolgast had struck a legal blow to the stomach that caused Rivers to fall. Shockingly, Welch also said he didn’t see Rivers land the punch that knocked Wolgast senseless.

In a remarkable contortion of logic, this is how Welch responded: “Wolgast was clearly the winner. Just before Rivers went down, Wolgast had landed a heavy left to the body just below the pit of the stomach and followed it with another right smash almost to the same place. Neither blow was low. I did not see what happened to Wolgast.”

So Welch saw two legal blows when others saw a left thrown by the champion that was clearly low. The ref saw Wolgast strike Rivers but he somehow missed the right that Rivers threw to knock Wolgast out! Welch would have made a grand politician.

Rivers later displayed “a dented aluminum protector” in the dressing room to validate his claim of a foul. Levy, Rivers’ manager, called Welch’s actions “the worst case of robbery in the history of the American ring.”

“Never before have I seen a referee pick up a man and then give him the decision,” Levy added. “The foul blow struck by Wolgast was seen by everyone near the ringside. It was the fourth or fifth foul the champion had landed on Rivers. The sum total of it all is that Wolgast knew he was whipped and resorted to his foul tactics to save himself.”

The final paragraph of the newspaper article implies that even Wolgast’s people recognized the injustice of Welch’s actions, though they weren’t about to say so. “No one connected with Wolgast’s camp would say a word and all of them quickly jumped in an automobile and left the pavilion.”

(by Mike Dunn)