Name: Battling Siki Career Record: click Alias: Singular Senegalese Birth Name: Amadou M?Barick Fall Nationality: Senegalese Birthplace: Saint Louis, Born: 1897-09-16 Died: 1925-12-15 Age at Death: 28 Height: 5′ 10½″ Managers: Paul Latil (1911-1912); Honore Bruyere (1912); Gedeon Gastaud (1912-1913); M. LaPart (1913-1914); M. Descombes (1919-1921); Charlie Hellers (1921-1922); M. Brouilhet (1923); "Papa" Bob Levy (1923-1925) Trainer: Pierre Nicoll

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http://boxrec.com/boxer_display.php?boxer_id=032085

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http://www.cyberboxingzone.com/boxing/sikibio.htm

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Battling_Siki

http://www.answers.com/topic/battling-siki

http://www.amazon.com/Battling-Siki-Fixes-Murder-1920s/dp/155728816X

http://www.epidemic.net/geo/art/jmb/prjt/boxe_opera/siki5.html

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Battling Siki

The 1920’s saw some great characters in the World and few come better than Battling Siki when it comes to eccentric behaviour. I have been lucky to find some great news articles about him and a few written by him about his “Rise as Fighting Champion”. Some of the comments written about him are by any standard beyond belief in the use of language to describe him and racist is putting it mildly. I mention this, as I would not like anyone to think any of the following remarks are other than direct quotes.

He was born in 1897 in St.Louis the capital of the French colony of Senegal and his name was Baye Phal. Baye is a Senegalese name corresponding to Louis. He chose the fight name of Battling Siki as it is a Senegalese word parents apply to their children “darling” in English or “cherie” in French. He adopted is as he thought, “White men could easily remember such a name”

A professor of languages in wrote in one of the papers that Siki was a title of nobility in Senegalese and Phal was the name of the former Kings.

Another report was

“What kind of creature is Battling Siki. . Nothing was known of the black Senegalese who leaped into world fame overnight until after his fight with Carpentier, and then came amazing stories. Correspondents cabled over stories that he was intellectually little more than a beast, unable to read or write, conversing mainly in grunts and fighting in a primitive aboriginal style that smacked of wild tribal life in the jungles”

Another called him the “ Fighting Chimpanzee”

In fact Siki fought all during the First World War, was wounded and awarded medals. He spoke, wrote and read French quite well. His English was not as good and spoke enough Dutch to make himself understood. How he ended up in is a remarkable and sad story told in his own words.

“I used to go to the docks and watch the ships. One day a big ship came in en route to Marseilles and as it was to remain some days the passengers came ashore. Among there was a German woman who called herself Mme Farquenberg, a dancer who had lots of money. She saw me a kid of eight and had me show her the city. She asked me if I wanted to go on the ship and sail to France, see other lands and have a good time. I didn’t have time to tell my family goodbye for I feared the dancer would change her mind. In France the dancer got me nice clothes, and daily taught me to read and write. She danced in many European cities and I would go on the stage as her little servant, dressed in red velvet.

The dancer went to Germany, but couldn’t take me without a passport. She left me in Marseilles with money to care for me. I never heard from her again. I tried repeatedly to get in touch with her, and have written since the war, but to no avail. She was kind to a black boy. Only for her I would be slogging away in Senegal’s hot climate.”

His arrival in the US well reported not least due to the stories of his crazy – some may say brilliant – antics at gaining publicity for himself. The turning point was his win over Carpentier in 1922 who it is said did very little training for the fight – Siki was viewed as a set-up. Siki was in the best of condition and found in the first few rounds that Carpentier couldn’t hurt him. Siki said of the fight that Carpentier would say to him all through the fight to lie down but Siki would only laugh and say “wait”. As light champion of the world he attracted more attention for what he did outside the ring.

He was often reported for being thrown out of some boulevard café or lugging a pet leopard around on a leash and firing a gun in the air if for some strange reason people didn’t take any notice. He was quite partial to the infamous drink absinthe – the stuff Van Gogh drank and we all know about the ear.

In 1923 he was seen as the supreme optimist when he went up against Mike McTighue of Ireland in Dublin on St Patrick’s Day – he lost. He apparently turned up some time after the fight dressed in a full dress suit, tall plug hat, opera cape monocle and tan shoes.

On arrival in the US one report was as follows

“Though he has appeared on the streets of New York, a subdued vision in pearl grey, he hasn’t attracted the slightest notice. New York is surfeited with freaks and it would not pay undue heed to an ordained bishop in a Navajo blanket”

However Siki soon solved that little problem. He started giving exhibitions in an obscure theatre “The LaFayette. He neglected to obtain permission for this and was summoned before the magistrate and thus broke into print for the first time in weeks.

To say Siki’s path to the US was an easy affair would be quite an understatement. The carpentier fiasco made sure of that. Siki admitted later the fight was fixed but he didn’t keep his end of the deal. Not only did he win – after being reminded by his corner and Carpentier he was to lie down – he went on to thump Carpentiers manager in the ring. So the decision – already reversed once on the night was later changed again after they decided to ban him for 9 months. They wanted 2 yrs to start with but relented. He was non-to popular with the French authorities , he was arrested for appearing in uniform of the Algerian Rifles – he served with them for 4 yrs- on Armistice Day.

Carpentier’s manager (who was the guy Siki Thumped) actually appealed for clemency, which was given, for Siki. However this may well have been in the vain hope that Siki would keep silent about the fix they had all arranged. Siki said about the fix that when Carpentier hurt him he forgot about the agreement.

Well Siki had no intention of being silent and soon after told the world that the fight had been fixed The French had a big investigation and said it was all false. A remarkable example of saving national pride would be hard to equal.

In Sept Siki was besieged with offers from the US to match him up with any prominent light heavyweight including , and Tom Gibbons.

The McTigue fight was another classic as far as publicity goes. Ireland was having a civil war and the Republicans threatened to kidnap the fighters or throw bombs. Spectators walked to the theatre between rows of guards, armoured cars where on the corner and machine guns by the plenty. The spectators had their attention a bit divided by the fight indoors and rumours of a battle outside. A landmine had already exploded near the venue beforehand.

His first important fight shortly after arriving in the US was with Kid Norfolk and put up a good fight, losing the decision in 15 rounds. His manager at this time was Papa Bob” Levy who had taken him to Jersey for several weeks to train for the bout. He apparently trained hard until the night before the fight drank several bottles of beer. His overnight weight gain required him to do some road work on the day of the fight to make the required weight.

The fact the fight ever took place must have come as a great surprise to those involved not least the State Athletic Commission. They had delayed in granting him a licence because they were not convinced he would be in physical condition. Siki was with his 3rd manager since arrival and the fight had been cancelled twice on short notice due to requests made by Siki.

On a trip to Cuba he was taken ill with pneumonia and promptly escaped from the hospital. He would ride round in a taxi for hrs – with no money – and end up in a police station waiting for “Papa Bob”. When he returned to the US he was broke and held on Ellis Island pending deportation. Papa Bob levy turned up and showed them a bankbook, which he had kept away from Siki, and they let him go. To keep in training he had several brawls with some of the local dockworkers.

He lost as many as he won in the US and his most important was with Paul Berlenbach who knocked him out. This was a brutal fight with Siki admitting defeat only after terrible punishment.

1925

Siki was in hospital getting stitched up after what the reporter described as “in the course of some social misunderstanding in the region known as hell’s kitchen, he had chinned himself on somebody’s razor”. His wife “a buxom belle, about the colour of a well used cavalry saddle “ went to the hospital to see whether she was about to be a widow and Siki “jumped from his bed, slid down the banisters and attired only in his night-shirt, raced along the street until he found a friendly taxi driver”. Shortly after he was killed in the same area, where he lived, after being shot.

I finish this account of his oddball life with the following story, which is a classic, and tragic, example of the way in which he lived his short life and the way fame and money did no favours to the young man from Senegal. Maybe that encounter with the women at the dockyard was not the wonderful thing he once said it was.

December 1st 1923

Battling Siki Climbing Trees and giving his money away chases manager off street

Siki is loose on the countryside somewhere near Summit N.J terrorising the inhabitants. His manager Robert Moe Levy has abandoned hope of recapturing him until he can organise a hunt with some trained Senegalese hounds. He was last seen hopping from tree to tree, chattering in a weird fashion near the health farm.

It seems Siki had demanded custody, on Sunday night, of some of the money from the Kid Norfolk fight. “Sucker that I am I gave him a whole thousand dollars” saying “now. Siki don’t do anything foolish with that money. Better you should put it in the bank, or maybe I could invest it for you”.

“ As soon as I had given him the mazuma he was gone” his parting words to Siki being he shouldn’t drink any of the local gin as it would give you splinters in your insides. He later found that Siki was giving imitations of a Dark Coal Oil Johnny in Harlem and giving away money. On hearing this Mr Levy got a taxi and went to the rescue only to find his worst fears had been justified when he found Siki fraternizing with the local talent and giving money away. Siki turned on him, with the backing of the local beneficiaries. Levy fled, with the pack after him, and after eight blocks Siki and the pack gave up.

Levy obtained reinforcements and eventually overcame Siki and got him back to the Health Farm Levey had to pay the taxi as Siki was broke. As soon as the taxi door opened Siki was of into the woods.

Only one wire has been received in answer to the general alarm sent out. A local farmer said, “ Large animal chattering viciously fatally bit my prize Great Dane. Tried to seize it by the tail, but it had none. Is it yours? “

Mr Levy is said to be bewildered by the entire proceedings. “It is the first time I tried to keep a Senagalese”. “First I won’t find him, then I am afraid I will.Maybe if he had trees of his own to play in he wouldn’t run away like he done. wish I could train him so he could chase Billy Gibson and he wouldn’t chase me. If you should see him tell him if he would come back everything is forgiven”

Links

Autobiography Battling Siki’s Autobiography, as told to Milton Bronner, NEA Staff Correspondent (as published in the Bellingham American, Bellingham, WA, USA, starting November 10, 1922):

CHAPTER ONE

I was born in St. Louis, capital of the French colony of Senegal, 25 years ago. My true name is Baye Phal. Baye is a Senegalese name corresponding to Louis, so I am Louis Phal. ntering the ring, I called myself Battling Siki. Siki is a Senegalese word parents apply to their children—a “love word” like “darling” in English, or “cherie” in French. I adopted it because I thought white men could easily remember such a name.

I make this clear because recently a professor of languages, living in Paris, wrote one of the papers saying Siki was a title of nobility in Senegalese, and Phal was the name of the former kings of a province of Senegal. If I am descended from kings, I never knew it before.

My parents were poor working people. They didn’t have time to think about educating me and my four brothers. We just grew up. I wrote the following description of my early life for a Paris paper: Senegal is a city of 23,000. We wear clothes like you. We are French citizens and elect a member of the French parliament. We are either Christians or Mohammedans. Me, I am a Mohammedan.

I used to go to the docks and watch the ships. One day a big ship came in, en route to Marseilles, and as it was to remain some days, the passengers came ashore. Among these was a German woman who called herself Mme. Fauquenberg, a dancer, who had lots of money.

She saw me, a kid of eight, looking up at the ship. She took my hand, and had me show her about the city. Then she asked me if I wanted to go on the ship and sail to France and see other lands and have a good time. I didn’t take time to tell my family goodby, for I feared the dancer would change her mind.

In France the dancer got me nice clothes, and daily taught me to read and write. She danced in many European cities, and I would go on the stage as her little servant, dressed in red velvet. The dancer went to Germany, but couldn’t take me without a passport. She left me in Marseilles with money to care for me. I never heard from her again.

I tried repeatedly to get in touch with her, and have written since the war, but to no avail. She was kind to a black boy. Only for her I would be slogging away in Senegal’s hot climate.

CHAPTER TWO

I saw hard times in Marseilles when the money the German dancer left me gave out. Often I was cold and hungry. I worked long hours washing dishes and drying them and getting little pay and not much to eat. Some of these Marseilles restaurant and hotel bosses knew how to get the work out of you. then I had a piece of luck which was afterward to change my life, as the German dancer did. I met Paul Latil, a boxing instructor at Marseilles. He showed me how to build up strength, how to box and duck and crouch. A lot of newspaper fellows have written that I have a jungle style of fighting, and that I am a sort of chimpanzee who has been taught to wear gloves. I was never in the jungle in my life. I haven’t seen many chimpanzees and never saw any fight.

Every fighting man builds up his own way of hitting the other fellow and of trying to keep from getting hit. Call it by what name you will, the whole game is to hit the other fellow and keep from getting badly hurt yourself. If I can bend and stoop in such manner that all the other fellow can hit is my elbow or the top of my head, that’s my game. He can’t hurt my elbow, and I have a black man’s head. It can stand a lot of bumping.

Latil used to get sore because my crouch was not very elegant. I told him it made no difference if it got there. Soon, as I got bigger and stronger, I used to help with his gymnasium classes and kept on washing dishes. I got my first chance as a fighter in 1913, when I was 16—I knocked out Jules Perroud at Toulouse in eight rounds. I was a kid in years but manly in build and heft.

I wasn’t a bit scared. I may have been nervous. You know, the crowd and noise. But Siki has never been scared. He’s a Senegalese, and they are fighters, as the Germans found out.

Later that year in Toulouse I knocked out B. Nicolas in two rounds and beat Frank Roose on points. I was beginning to get a rep. But it didn’t bring much money. I used to fight for 50 or 60 francs. It seemed an awful lot of money for beating a man. Early in 1914 I had bad luck. I lost to Jean Audony in ten rounds on points. I beat Frank Roose again on points in July. That was my last public fight for some years.

Things looked good. I was getting offers to fight other good men for better purses. I was getting stronger right along and learning from each man I fought. or one thing, I learned that the crouch Latil hated was very useful. I would go in the ring, act nervous, shuffle, crouch and my arms wildly. People laughed and the other fellow would think he had a frightened easy mark before him. Sometimes he would pull his best and land it. I would go down for a count of six or seven. It was only a rest for me, time to think. I wanted to puzzle how the other fellow had landed that blow, how I left myself open. I rarely did it a second time. Once I learned his style, I made my .... (article cropped)

CHAPTER THREE

When the war broke out, I felt it up to me to do my duty as a French citizen. We of St. Louis, yes, we are citizens. We have the vote. We also have the duties. I joined the Eighth Colonials at Toulouse. It was a regiment mainly made up of white men. I perhaps was the only Senegalese.

My father did his duty. My four brothers also served and three were killed. I was in all the big early campaigns. I got my only serious wound in the battles around the Somme in the summer of 1916. Bomb fragments went through both legs in the middle of the calf. From the hospital, I went to Toulon for training and wound up as a corporal in the 73rd regiment of heavy artillery. I was the champion hand grenade thrower of our corps while with the colonials. I could throw them 75 meters. It was exciting.

I stopped and used what the sporting writers now call my jungle crouch went that way some distance toward the German line, then let them have the grenades. For some of that I got the Croix-de-Guerre and Military Medal. But French service wasn’t all fighting and danger. There was an English corps near ours in the Somme district. Those English always have sports when they do not work at war.

One day I got leave, went over to the English and asked to box one of their men. They got up a contest and we had a merry go. Then they asked me to stay to lunch. We French has simplest food and not much of that. But the English—ah, such meat and butter and good things.

Those Tommies said it was as funny to see me at as fight. They stuffed my pockets with things to eat, so when I returned to my own lines, my comrades said I had grown fat, fighting the English. But me, I say: “Mais non, mes comrades—it is the English, they have given good things to eat. See, we will have a picnic.” Then I take those foods from my pocket and we have a grand picnic.

It was fun, I tell you, and I learned a lot. Those English boxers were not stylish but they could take a lot of punching and give a lot of it. I learned how to stand up to hard blows. And from those British, I learned another thing. They don’t get mad. They box for fun. They try to win, but they try fairly. When it’s all over they are friends with you, win or lose. They don’t remember you busted them in the eye and keep on being mad. So now after a fight is over, I don’t keep on being mad either. I am sorry for the fellow I have beaten. But—there are only two things in the ring, the other fellow and me. And I don’t want Siki to be licked. So I have to try to lick the other fellow.

CHAPTER FOUR

When the war was over, my artillery regiment was sent to Versailles near Paris. I was demobilized shortly afterward. I was Corporal Louis Phal, with two decoration and honorable wounds. Also I had no job and only 200 francs. But I wanted to be through dish washing. I asked for a job as a waiter in a little restaurant. The owner was a good fellow. He saw my medals and gave me a chance, even if I did break plates occasionally. His was a plain little place where you didn’t have to put on a lot of style. No, the work was much nicer than dish washing. I had a couple of fights in 1920.I went to Toulouse and beat Henrys in 10 rounds on points, and knocked out J. Andony in four rounds, after losing to him on points six years before.

One day I had my arm full of dishes and a man came to me and said: “Are you Siki?” I told him I was. He said he wanted me to fight in Paris, against Derenzi, champion of the French army. The boss let me off to train, as he thought it would help his eating place if I won or put up a good losing fight. The patrons would know Siki, the fighter, was waiting on them. Maybe he was a sly dog.

I knocked out Derenzi in three rounds.

I may be a fair fighter, but I am a rotten business man. I am almost ashamed to tell you how little I got for licking the army champion—300 francs, which was only about $25 in American money then. I don’t think I only got a little money because I am colored. No, I think it is because until I met Charley Hellers, my present manager, I never had anybody to advise me what I ought to get. Why, even in my biggest fights with men like Journee and Carpentier, I drew down small sums.

After beating Derenzi I could get other fights to carry me along until the next one. In the spring of 1920 I knocked out V. Marchand and Westbrook and won from LeFevre, J. Depaus, Rene Devos and J. Liggett. But I wasn’t getting anywhere. I was only considered a fourth rater, fighting fourth raters. Nobody believed in me, and I wasn’t ambitious. I liked eating and fighting and fought to eat.

I would fight anybody if a price was put up, not a fancy price either, but one meaning food and drink for a month. I eat lots of fish. I eat meat that sticks to the ribs. I like to gnaw the bones. It keeps your teeth white and strong. I don’t drink tea, or coffee or milk. In France I drink wine like a Frenchman, in Holland I drink beer like a Dutchman. Also, I smoke a good deal. When not training I like to be out with men smoking and talking and drinking. When I train I take lots of sleep. Sleep is good for a fighter. It helps build up his body and quiets his nerves.

CHAPTER FIVE

In 1920 life played another queer trick on me. It was a German dancer who took me from Senegal to France, and so to war and the .

It was a French boxing teacher who took me from Paris to Rotterdam. This led to marriage with a Dutch woman, battles in Holland and Germany, and finally, a chance at the big men in Europe. Prof. Mionnet, a French boxing instructor, had heard of me in Paris and saw me beat Dorenzy. He was called to Rotterdam to instruct Dutch youths. Also, he got up boxing contests. He thought I would be useful, as the Dutch were willing to pay to see fights.

I got board with the Van Appelterre family, Dutch farmer folks who came to town to live. He was a wine dealer in a small way. They were nice to me and did not charge a large sum.

That’s how I met my future wife—their daughter, Lyntje. I don’t suppose her parents were anxious for her marrying me. But I found she cared for me as I cared for her, and we skipped over to Paris and were married by a magistrate. We’ve got a baby that we named Louis. He is neither black like me nor white like his mamma. He’s café au-lait—coffee with milk in it. I don’t know whether to make Louis a fighter, but if he has a punch later like he has lungs now he will be a champion.

The Dutch have been very good to me. They have been as friendly as the French. I have fought a lot of fights in Holland and the crowd always seems glad I won. They consider I belong to them since I married a Dutch girl. When I won my fight with Carpentier, lots of Dutch sent me messages. After the fight, to get away from Paris and rest, I came to Rotterdam.

There was a big crowd at the station to cheer me. Afterward, some of the sports lovers gave a big dinner for me. They had a procession. They had me in a carriage drawn by four horses, and drove me all over the city like a regular negro king and people threw flowers into the carriage and cheered. “Hurrah for France and Siki!” they cried.

After I had won a lot of fights in Holland, I went to Germany. In January, 1921, I beat Breitenstrater on points in 15 rounds. A month later, I beat Spalia. I wasn’t sure how I’d be treated in Germany. They remembered what fighters the Senegalese were, and there are a lot of colored troops with the French on the Rhine now. But I can’t kick. They gave me a square deal. I couldn’t ask better of a French or Dutch crowd.

And by the way, that’s why I would prefer to meet your big American boxers over here. I understand American crowds are not friendly to colored boxers. I don’t want the best of it, but I don’t want to box before a crowd which would be yelling at me and showing they didn’t like me.

CHAPTER SIX

The long road to boxing glory and some money, too, came to a turning in December, 1921. I finally got into the ring with one of the big fighters of France. It was Paul Journee. Sports writers came to see him “kill the black.” But I won on points in 13 rounds. Then, I had three fights which gave me the chance to force Carpentier to fight me. In January, I beat Rogiers in 12 rounds, winning on points. I outpointed Journee again in March. Finally, on June 23, I beat Marcel Nilles, the real heavyweight champion of France, winning on points in 15 rounds.

Nilles was my most important opponent. He often tried to meet Carpentier, but Descamps always dodged him. They said after I beat him that Nilles broke both wrists punching my head. All I know is he is a game fighter and I learned a lot by fighting him.

That takes us up to the meeting with Georges. The Paris crowd laughed at me in the first two rounds. Sporting writers said I was afraid, and that is why I crouched. They had said the fight would end in the first round. I made up my mind, no matter what happened, it wouldn’t end in the first round nor the second.

I knew when it came to experience [substance?] Georges had me beat. I knew all about his swiftness. And they said he could punch awfully hard. I tried to square off in such a way that he would not hit me at all, and if he did he would hit my head in places where a would not follow.

Well, Georges punched me a number of times when I thought he couldn’t, and gave me all he had, but I saw it wasn’t enough. His punch wasn’t going to knock me out. I had him sized up, saw what he had and believed my strength superior, my punch at least equal.

I sailed in, and the rest you know. He was courageous, very courageous. He took an awful beating without a whimper, and kept coming in for more until he didn’t know where he was at.

Beating him made me champion heavyweight of Europe and the champion of the world. That talk about the fighting chimpanzee is crazy. The point is not the beauty or ugliness of my manner in the ring. The point is I won fairly by taking the best Georges could give and returning blow for blow when I saw the chance. I want to meet more big men. I make no predictions. I simply fight my best. Who and where I fight next, that is up to Charlie Hellers, and when he says fight, I fight.

If he says: “Siki, you must get ready to fight .” I would get ready. Dempsey may be a mountain of a man and a wonderful boxer and a great puncher and quick as a cat and all the rest of it, but I would take a chance. I would try to make it lively for Monsieur Dempsey. I would do more. I would try to bring the world’s championship to France, for me—I am a French citizen.

I want to go on fighting and make money and save it. The, some day, when I am beaten, as all fighters are, I plan to settle down in the country in France with my wife and be a farmer. I like to see things growing—calves, babies, chickens and trees.

THE END

APPLETON POST-CRESCENT, MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 25, 1922

Idol of France Defeated in 6th Round of Twenty Rounds Scheduled With Battling Siki New Champ

Georges Carpentier, the heavyweight champion- boxer of Europe and idol of France, was defeated on Sunday by Battling Siki, the Senegalese fighter, in the sixth round of what was to have been a 20 round bout.

Carpentier never had a chance after the third round. He was barely able to respond to the bell at the beginning of the sixth. With his right eye completely closed and his nose broken, he was unable to put up a guard.

In the sixth the negro fighter planted a series of terrific rights to Carpentier's head and the French idol crumpled to the floor. One of his legs caught between the legs of the Senegalese while he was falling.

The crowd, the largest that ever witnessed a boxing contest in France, was in an uproar. Many persons jumped into the ring and carried the Senegalese on their shoulders to his corner.

DECISION HIGHLY CHEERED

The referee, Harry Bertstein, at first ruled that Siki had been disqualified for "tripping," but the throng, which considered that Carpentier had been beaten squarely by a better man, received the decision with a great chorus of hoots and jeers and even threatened the referee with bodily harm. The three judges of the fight, Victor Breyer, Jean Pujol, Frenchmen, and Mr. Dennison of , went in to consultation. An hour later they declared the negro the winner. Their verdict was received with terrific cheering from the spectators who had remained in the arena for it, many of them in an ugly mood. Carpentier had been hooted by large numbers of the crowd as he was taken from the ring o his dressing room.

CARPENTIER TRIED HARD

Carpentier tried every trick of his ring knowledge to stave off defeat twice he was warned for butting during the fifth round. It seemed evident that he was anxious to be disqualified by the referee rather than to suffer the ignominy of a knockout. When his subterfuges became apparent, the crowd which previously had been pulling for him, jeered and hooted, and cheered the negro.

So confident was Carpentier of ultimate victory, however, that he was smiling as he went to his corner when the gong ended the first round. "I'll get him whenever I want to," he said to Francois Deschamps, his manager and trainer.

The crowd evidently was of the same opinion as Carpentier, for it lustily cheered Georges, the Senegalese not having landed a solid blow up to this time. "Georges is letting him stay for the moving pictures," was an expression heard from various spectators.

In the first round Siki rushed out of his corner and met Carpentier before the Frenchman was fairly out of his chair, Carpentier, however, caught the black man with two straight rights. Siki covered up, and then went down to one knee from a light left. The referee ordered him up.

SWINGS TWO HARD PUNCHES

Carpentier then swung two hard rights to the jaw. Siki took them merely shaking his head, and bored in. Carpentier's face wore a puzzled expression, although plainly he was holding back. Siki did not land a clean blow.

In the second round, Carpentier, with a look of disdain in his face, repeatedly jabbed Siki with his left without a return. Then, as Siki was rushing he caught the Negro flush on the jaw with a terrific right Carpentier drew back, expecting. Siki to drop under the blow. Siki however, instead rushed in and shot two hooks to the body. This surprised Carpentier.

Just before the bell Carpentier again caught Siki flush on the chin, but the Negro merely grinned at him and said: "You don't hit very hard, Mr. Georges." The round was Carpentier's by a wide margin, but the Frenchman was puffing hard as he wandered to his corner. Also he had lost his confident smile.

RUSHES TOWARD CARPENTIER

In the third round Siki rushed from his corner toward Carpentier. Carpentier backed away and sparred cautiously. Then he feinted with his left, and obtaining an opening, a hard right to Siki’s jaw. The Negro dropped to one knee and took a count of seven. Then he Jumped up and caught Carpentier with left and right swings to the stomach. Carpentier went down and took a count of four.

When the Frenchman arose he plainly was groggy. Siki, seeing his advantages, showered rights find lefts upon him, always playing for the stomach. He had Carpentier gasping for breath and staggering at the end of the round.

In the fourth round Siki pummeled Carpentier all over the ring. The Frenchman was barely able to withstand the punishment. He was bleeding, his right eye was closed, his nose was flattened and his mouth was wide open.

NO MARKS OF PUNISHMENT

In the fifth round Siki again sprang to the offensive from his corner, in tending quickly to polish off the .Frenchman.. Carpentier met the attack with a low blow and was warned by Referee Bernstein. The low blow seemed to enrage Siki, who went furiously at Carpentier, missing .numerous swings. Finally, however he caught Carpentier with a short and the Frenchman went down.

BUTTED SIKI IN STOMACH

Carpentier, who was near the ropes, gripped them in rising and butted Siki in the stomach. The Frenchman was helpless. Again he was warned by the referee for butting. Meanwhile, the crowd was yelling to the referee to stop the encounter. When the bell rang Carpentier groggily staggered to his corner. When the gong rang for the sixth round Carpentier came out hardly able to stand. A majority of the spectators expected his second. Descamps, to throw in the sponge, as the Frenchman was unable to put up his hands.

A short from Siki sent Carpentier reeling backwards and then the Negro drove hard rights and lefts to the body. Carpentier crumpled to the floor half way through the ropes, completely out, after one minute and ten seconds of fighting.

The Ogden Standard Examiner 19 November 1922

When black Siki, with one -well-placed blow f r o m his powerful fist, knocked out Georges Carpentier a few weeks ago, he gave the French public the excuse for as silly an exhibition of hero worship as the world has ever seen. Carpentier was .long the great popular idol of France. Even after his crushing defeat by Jack Dempsey he still continued to be hailed as a national .hero.. But Carpentier at the height of his fame never stirred his admirers to such ridiculous lengths as the man who wrested the championship from him the gorilla-faced black man from Senegal. . Travellers returning from France confirm the news the cable dispatches have already brought— that a large section of the public has gone wild over Siki and is showing, its admiration for him in the most ridiculous ways. The color line, never drawn very tightly by the French, is being - completely forgotten. And what is most amazing, and to American eyes, disgusting, about the whole thing is the part women are playing in it. Many of them are outdoing the men in their maudlin idolization of this uneducated and not at all attractive fighting man.

They dress their hair to imitate the kinkiness of his; they paint silhouettes of him on their skins; they wear black in his honor; they smoke cigarettes and drink drinks named after, him; they strew roses in his path and. crown him with garlands.

Not content with these silly but comparatively inoffensive demonstrations of their admiring regard for the new champion, some of the bolder feminine spirits do not hesitate to fling their arms about his neck and cover his ebony cheeks with their kisses.

Americans who have been in Paris lately say that one could hardly ask a more interesting study in psychology than is to be had by watching the progress of Siki along the boulevards. Wherever he goes there are crowds to fawn at his feet and shout at the top of their voices: "Vive Siki!"

The champion dresses in the most expensive fashion. He almost invariably carries an ornate gold-mounted walking stick and his shirt front and fingers are ablaze with great diamonds.

Since coming to. France .Siki has acquired a white wife and baby, but they are seldom seen with him in public. Instead, he is surrounded by a. little coterie in which blacks and whites, men and women are mingled in about equal proportions. No sooner does the champion set foot out of doors than the' cry "Siki is coming!" spreads in every direction. Soon the little group, of devoted followers that is always hovering about him is swelled by thousands of men, women and children, all pressing eagerly for a close-up of the man with the punch that beat Carpentier.

Traffic' is completely blocked and extra police have to be summoned to clear a pathway through the mob. On several occasions . Siki has had to take refuge in some near-by building to escape the importunities of his admirers. Even then the crowds do not scatter, but fill the street outside, hoping that their idol will appear at a window to bow and smile his acknowledgments.

And the conspicuous feature of all the crowds that pursue Siki wherever he goes is their large number of women. They are as eager as the men to get near enough to the pugilist to shake his hand and hear his voice. A fashionably dressed woman will-lean from the window of a passing taxicab and heap a great armful of flowers on his head. A gray-haired old housewife presses into his brawny hand a-bag of cakes she has baked especially for: him. Others do not hesitate to throw their arms about him and smack him with hysterical kisses.

And at all these extraordinary- demonstrations for the Senegalese fighter the watching crowds show no signs of being abashed. They only cheer his name all the louder.The whole atmosphere of Paris is permeated with Siki. His name is on every lip, his pictures on every hand— and on not a few legs, arms and backs. The stores are filled with articles named for him and the restaurants, music-halls and other public places show the most bizarre fashions created in his honor.

Countless women are showing their enthusiasm for the colored fighter by putting life-like images of him on their flesh and wearing them continually. These images are called "Siki.spots." They are silhouettes of the pugilist as he looks in the ring naked above the waist and with-his fists upraised in the approved fighting position. They are either cut out of black court plaster and pasted on the skin or painted there with water colors.

The "Siki spots" may be placed on the arm, the chest or the back, the position depending on the sort of gown a woman is wearing. With a-very low-cut evening dress the favorite position is about the center of the expanse of flesh that is bared in the back.

A few actresses and other women who like to be more daring in everything than their sisters affix the "Siki-1.spots" ;just below or above their knees: But this position is generally regarded, as not giving the hero the publicity that is his due.It is rather like hiding one's light under a bushel.

Wherever the "Siki spots" are placed they produce a striking the fighter's black flesh standing out with great distinctness against the women wearers white.

Since Siki's victory over Carpentier black has returned to favor in woman's dress and is beg inning to push the red, b l u e ,brown and other brighter coloured gowns from the center of fashion stages. Even black stockings, absent for three years from the fashionable woman's wardrobe, are coming into vogue again, to remind the world, of the color of the man who packs such a powerful punch in his two fists.

Strangest of all the fads for which Siki, is indirectly responsible is that of dressing women's hair to imitate the kinkiness of his. The new coiffure is known as the "Siki fluff:" To attain what is considered the most appropriate effect the wearer of this new coiffure should have raven black hair. If it happens that her hair is brown or auburn, red or yellow she should not hesitate to have it dyed an inky black.

Then she is ready for the hairdresser's shears to clip the locks to a convenient length for kinking. The strands are closely braided and the kink is produced by applying a very hot iron. The effect is surprising, although hardly beautiful But at is thought to do honor to Siki, so why complain?.

Since the day he left Carpentier prostrate in the ring Siki has posed for countless pictures and statues. Walk into a Parisian department store and you can hardly escape being asked ""Have you a Siki in your home" .Whatever your answer the salesman is sure to call your attention to A wide assortment of framed photographs, statuettes and even oil paintings of the fighter.

Cigarettes are named after him, the strongest tobacco being used as a tribute to Siki's strength. The manufacturer who conceived this idea is said to be coining a fortune. Parisian flappers will smoke nothing but "Sikis;" no matter how much they may choke and cough before they reach the corked ends. In most of the bars and cafes special dark drinks are concocted, Each guaranteed to contain a distinctive Siki punch.

An interesting and probably praiseworthy phase of the French enthusiasm for Siki is seen in the unprecedented number of women who are taking up boxing lessons. Thousands are anxious to make self-defense a womanly art and special classes are being 6rganized for their benefit in the public gymnasiums and private athletic clubs.

There are not enough boxing instructors in France to meet demand from women who want to learn how to handle their fists with something like Siki's deadly efficiency, and more are being imported from the United States, Canada and England.. If this craze continues long the hat pin and finger nail may soon lose the place they have so long held as woman's favorite weapons in personal combat.

An amusing side of the craze over Siki: that has seized Paris is the way other men with dark skins are being continually mistaken for him. Admiring crowds surround them and refuse to believe their frantic protests that there has been a mistake in identity. Often the poor fellows have to call the police to help them make their escape to home or place of employment.

Such mistakes as these must be made only by people who have never seen, Siki, for.his.appearance is said to be quite unforgettable .His nose has been described as being so wide that it almost interferes with his ears, and, his skin so jet black that a lump of coal would make a white mark on him.

What will be the effect on Siki of all this hero worship ?

That is also an interesting study for the psychologists particularly in view of the picture his manager has given the world of .him.

Siki has something in him which is not human" says his manager. "A long time ago I used to think that if one could find an intelligent gorilla and teach him to box one would have the world's champion. Well that’s what I found in Siki “.

"There's much of the monkey about him. He has the gorilla's tricks, the gorillas skill and manners: He is a man who is like no other man we have ever had. Not only does he resemble a highly trained gorilla, but he is just a little bit crazy judged by human standards. He is never where you wait for him; he fools you every second . He is a living illusion.

Yet in face of this estimate of him by A man who probably knows him better than anyone else.Siki is reported to have been offered 1000 francs a night to dance with a well known woman.dancer who is appearing at a fashionable Parisian cafe. And a leading motion picture company has offered him a years contract .at an enormous salary to take the star part in a. film version of Rene Marans “Batouala” the novel of African jungle life which was recently awarded the Goncourt prize.

Oerhaps it is greatly to Siki’s credit that he promptly refused both these offers, as well as many others, which would have netted him large sums of money. He says that he has won his fame with his fists and that he intends to continue concentrating on them.

Siki’s determination to stick to the prize ring would seem to indicate that in spite of the gorilla like qualities his manager ascribes to him he has a far better conception of the eternal fitness of things than his silly women admirers.

Only Paris could be the scene of such a ridiculous exhibition of hero worship, and soon the fickle city, always eager for a new sensation, will probably be looking for some other hero to take the tributes now loaded on Siki.