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The Biographies Newsletter Volume 7 No 6 – 14th June , 2011 www.boxingbiographies.com

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Lloyds Weekly News 3 may, 1914

STORIES OF MEMORABLE FIGHTS.

By R.P.Watson

IN my opening article I told how as a boy, making my way to school in Manchester, I was attracted by the crowds of betting men in Thomas-street, and how I saw and admired Sam Hurst, the "Stalybridge Infant," a well-known pugilist of those days. The love of sport must have been in my blood, and great was my delight when, not long after this experience, Tom Sayers and John Camel Heenan came to Manchester and I saw them box at a local circus. It was the first time I had seen anything of the kind in my life, and a long time was to elapse before anything in this nature came my way again.

After a chequered career Sayers had a rather sad end, and was buried from a Bootmaker's shop in High-street, Camden Town. At that time I had been entered as student of the Royal Veterinary College, and, living in the neighbourhood, curiosity took me to the funeral. It was a regrettable scene. The procession was attended by a coarse, brutal and blasphemous mob, who struggled, fought, and fell over each other, cursing and swearing, for no apparent reason, except to get as near to the funeral hearse as possible.

There was an abundance of flowers, and behind the hearse came the open carriage in which Sayers used to drive about, and in which there now sat, bolt upright and looking very melancholy indeed has favourite dog. At Highgate Cemetery the behaviour of the crowd was simply disgraceful, but I am glad to say that such incidents could not be witnessed nowadays.

The " On the Knee " Decision.

As an official referee at boxing matches, I graduated in a hard, stern, and dangerous school, but of the many fights at which I acted there is only one that need be mentioned, because it was the one at which, as already stated, I gave the momentous decision that a man on one knee is considered down, and if struck in this position, is entitled to the stakes. This particular fight took place at the Three Colts Music Hall, Broadway, Victoria Park, and was a ludicrous, absurd, and miserable fiasco, lasting less than one round. The combatants were known as Dutchey and Raphael, and when Raphael was on one knee Dutchey struck him, and I disqualified Dutchey. There was a good deal of objection to this verdict, but it holds good to this day.

Of these early contests two of the most remarkable took place at Sadler's Wells Theater . One was between Jem Goode and Mickey Rees, when Goode broke his right arm the first round, but pluckily fought on with his left for no fewer than twenty rounds. The police were called, but nothing more serious happened than the driving of the people from the building and stopping of the fight. An amusing Contest, took place at the " Wells " between two boxers named Tom Allen and Tompkin Gilbert. It was brief and decisive. Allen hit Gilbert flush on the nose a terrible smash, and Gilbert actually ran out of the ring. Everyone laughed, and, after a consultation, I was commissioned to see Gilbert and induce him to return. I found him in a sparsely furnished room above the theatre, his gloved hands reclining on his knees. 3

―Mr. Gilbert," I said, "Allen does not claim the fight and wishes you to continue the contest‖. ―I’ve had enough of Tom Allen," said Gilbert applying his right hand to his bruised and flattened nose. "Go and tell him to give the rest to someone else‖. You can have it if you like, I've done with him." And that was the end of the fight.

One other fight that took place about this time serves to recall the difference in the attitude of the authorities now and thirty five or forty years ago. In August, 1878, Joe Fowler and Tommy Hawkins fought at St Helens Gardens, Rotherhithe, for the feather-weight championship. There were no "gardens" of any sort there; only a dismantled, sorry-looking interior and a meager pitiful plot of grass. A stage had been erected near the entrance to the "gardens," and roped for the reception of the boxers. A noisy, boisterous crowd had assembled, many of them the worse for drink, and others childishly affected by the excitement of the occasion. On went the fight, and, by way of introducing a little variety into the proceedings, the spectators got up several fights on their own account.

One spectator, recognised as an old fighter, climbed on to the ring, but was seized by Ted Napper, an exceptionally fine pugilist, and one of the best men of his weight in , turned upside-down, and gently dropped on his head, several yards below the arena. The ground was soft, and the man's bead exceedingly hard so no harm resulted When darkness fell the contest was adjourned, after two hours and four minutes boxing. Later an attempt was made to complete the contract in the neighbourhood of Spitalfields. The meeting place was a carpenter's shop, but the police were on our track, and by the time half the party had climbed a ladder into a secret chamber the remainder had been dispersed in the street below

Dodging the Police.

Ah! those old days. The fight was fought out in spite of the police. This time the meeting place was called the " Assembly Room — as a " blind "—but in reality it was Brennan's Yard, Bull lane, Stepney Green. It was a wretched old shanty, big enough to hold 1000 people. Upwards of 800 paid for admission. It was one of the humorous incidents of boxing in those days that hundreds of people, unable to pay, mounted the roof of the building, tore off the slates, and in this way obtained an uninterrupted view of the proceedings. The contest lasted for three hours and twenty -three minutes, and, as a seat was an impossible luxury, the spectators, tired of standing, were delighted when the men agreed to a draw, especially as the floor was threatening to break through.

It would not be possible nowadays for anyone to see men boxing by matchlight. Yet that is what actually occurred at a fight between Chesterfield Goode and Dick Roberts. When Frank Slavin came to this country Goode was the only man with the courage to face him in a fight. The Goode-Robert fight took place in a building in the Hackney-road, about a quarter of a mile from Kingsland Church, on the left hand side walking from Shoreditch. It was not a publicly advertised event, but a sufficiently large company patronised the event. A few rounds only were fought, when a certain gentleman, who shall be nameless, found an opportunity to turn off the gas.

The spectators rushed out of the room, some escaping by the stairs into the street and others dropping out of the window into a yard beneath.

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Fighting by Matchlight.

By the light of matches the men fought on, but the supply becoming, exhausted. Tommy Trew who was the referee, ordered an adjournment. Just before this a messenger arrived and informed us that the street was full of police. There were not a dozen of us all told, but we resolved to rush the police. We could see them clustered around the door, and beyond them a densely-packed crowd, eagerly waiting to witness wholesale arrests. Creeping stealthily along a dark passage, myself in front, we drew near the door, and then the frantic rush of the rear- guard hurled me and those immediately behind me past the astonished policemen, and into the thick of the watching crowd, where we became lost.

4 few days later Goode and Roberts brought their engagement to a successful issue at the Rodney Arms, Walworth. and Goode won.

Other incidents of the same kind occur to When Harrington and Greenfield fought at the old" Lambeth Baths, in West- Bridge-road, on Nor 27, 1879. There was tremendous excitement within the building, but that was trifling compared with the tumult that raged outside. It was danger on all sides. Alf Greenfield was disqualified, and his disqualification provoked a panic inside the building. Outside the streets were packed, and Westminster Bridge road was so densely crowded and the people so riotous and so dangerously mischievous that the shopkeepers closed and barricaded their premises.

They had previous experience of the looting habits of a certain class when the opportunity offered.

Bare Fist Fighting.

Fighting with The ―Raw Uns." Otherwise the bare fists, has never been a sport I fancied, and it was a "lost art"— if art it could be called — before I became a sporting journalist. One such fight I did attend as referee by special invitation. It took place near Birmingham under the patronage of Lord Ayleaford, and two pugilists named Fowler and Griffiths were the men engaged. It was a " game fight " — to use the common expression— and had amusing as well as serious, issues.

Fowler was very jocular, but after a severe and exciting contest he won. The last I saw of Griffiths was that sorrowful gentleman being driven from the field of battle, with a short clay pipe between the teeth of a face that had no earthly resemblance to that of a human being. In the, year 1882 Billy Madden came to England. His mission was to find and take back with him to America a man big enough, if not to fight John L. Sullivan.

Jack Knifton and a human monster, by name R. Wallis, otherwise " Keenan's big 'un," were introduced to the Anglo- American, and after a little persuasion a trial was arranged, to take place at " Colonel " Keenan's Hotel at the top of a court leading from Catherine-street, Strand. Knifton and Wallis were men over six feet in height and they boxed in a room not more than ten feet by eight. The trial came to an abrupt end —it was a farce from the beginning— and Madden decided to promote a championship tournament. Beginning at the Chelsea Bathe, the tournament was completed in St. George's Hall, Langham place, on, Dec. 5

23, 1882. It was a sweeping invitation to all countries, no one " barred," and I acted as referee.

Charlie Mitchell's Rise to Fame.

Charlie Mitchell and Dick Roberts were the two youngest and lightest men in the competition. Mitchell easily defeated G. Cox, W. Springhall, Joe Stubbins, and W.Heal; and meeting Dick Roberts in the Final became champion of England by constitutional right and publicly proved ability. After touring the country Charley Mitchell sailed for America, where, pioneered by Billy Madden, he rose to the highest point of boxing fame when he knocked John L. Sullivan down in Maddison Square, New York.

In 1888 John L, Sullivan came to this country on a combined, pleasure and business tour, and while fulfilling an engagement at the Westminster Aquarium, a match was arranged with Mitchell. It was decided to fight in France, and I was deputed to select the battleground. In the neighbourhood of Orleans, the city of Joan of Arc, a suitable tract of land was found, but alas, for the best laid schemes of mice and men "! The fight actually took place at Apremont, on Baron Rothschild's estate, in a ring pitched by the side of a barn. Around the arena were desperate men, equal to any desperate expedient, and capable of taking life on very slight provocation.

There have been many version of that actual finish, and to these I should like to add my account. The principals, after many rounds, were drawing dangerously close, and Mitchell made signs of impatience. Jack Ashton, Sullivan's, trainer and second, said to Mitchell, " Why don't you make it a draw?". Mitchell answered, as he squared up to Sullivan, all the time well on his guard, "I’ll make it a draw if John likes. Shall it be a draw?" to which Sullivan replied, "I don't mind." At this paint Jack Baldock, who was Mitchell's principal 6

second, jumped over the ropes, joined the men's hands, and before the spectators could well realise what had happened.

The fight was over. The last round occupied 34 minutes 49 seconds. The two principals were arrested by the French police, but were soon afterwards released, and that is all I have to record at the present moment in connection with this Championship International Fight.

The mention of this contest leads to a reference to other international fights, the greatest of which in those days, or since, was fought between (America) and Jem Smith (England) on the banks of the Seine for Mr. Richard K. Fox's " New York Police Gazette " Champion Belt. It was an old-time prize fight, fought with bare fists under Prize Ring rules, and was organised by the old Pelican Club. A word or two about the famous club will not be out of place hero. It was established by Mr. Ernest Wells—" Swears and Swells " as he was affectionately called by the members — and was frequented by gentlemen of birth and high social position. It was conveniently small and cosily compact; a Bohemian club, in fact of the best type, and one that had not before been known in London. The Pelican is now no more, but Mr. Wells has still a high-class club in the West End named after himself, of which Lord Lonsdale is the president.

The Kilrain - Smith Fight.

Returning to the Kilrain-Smith fight, a considerable sum of money was at stake, and never in the history of prize-fighting has a more distinguished crowd assembled around a prize ring. With one or two exceptions, they were all members of the " Pelican," or their friends. I travelled to the seat of war in the company of Kilrain, Mitchell, and "Pony" Moore, of Moore and Burgess Minstrels fame. Soon after the fight started Jem Smith was knocked down and fell senseless at my feet A second time he fell, and it was only by clever, expeditious seconding, and the best possible treatment, that he was able to resume the contest. He never fought so well in his life, and he never fought so well afterwards. His courage was the theme of general admiration, and everyone proclaimed him a plucky fellow.

In my opinion he was quite as strong on his legs as Kilrain, and it is impossible to say what might have been the result of the fight had it been fought out instead of ending in a draw. The honour of refereeing the fight was offered to me.

It is impossible in the space at my disposal to go into details of all the contests I have witnessed, or have refereed, and so I pass to an incident which in the light of recent events must now be regarded as having had a wonderful effect on the prestige of boxing in this country. Before the late King Edward, when he was Prince of Wales, Sullivan, opposed by Jack Ashton, and Jem Smith, opposed by Alf Greenfield, gave an exhibition of boxing, which was organized by the Pelican Club, although the entertainment did not take place on the club premises.

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The incident is worth recalling, in view of the fact that, for the first time in his reign, King George recently gave his patronage to an entertainment in which boxing played a prominent part. The entertainment in question took place on March 16 last at Albany street Barracks, and professional and amateur champions appeared on the occasion. The professional boxers were Bombardier Wells, champion of England, and Pat O’Keeffe, middle- weight champion. The amateurs were Sergeant McEnroy, champion of Army and Navy, and E. V. Chandler, middle-weight amateur champion of 1912. In a boxing contest of six rounds Corporal Pay and Trooper Bradshaw, of the 2nd Life Guards, took part.

Peter Jackson as Champion.

This is a digression, and I return to another great pugilistic encounter, which took place at the New Pelican Club between Peter Jackson, the coloured boxer brought to this country by the Earl of Lonsdale to compete for the heavy-weight championship and Jem Smith. Before the contest Smith was the idol of the Pelicans, and the boots he wore when he fought Jake Kilrain, in the match just described, were exhibited under a glass case at the club.

And now as to the contest. Sir John D. Astley, that fine old sportsman, now, alas dead, made a preliminary speech, which he finished with: "May the best man win.". After the first round Jem Smith was practically a beaten man. He gave only one really good blow, and that was his favourite stomach with the left hand, which evidently rather impressed Jackson. In the second bout the coloured man fought splendidly, and Smith, catching hold of the rope.with his right hand, tried to stave off his opponent with the left. Failing in this, he rushed at Jackson, closed and "backheeled " him. He was, of course, disqualified, and from that moment he fell from the high position he had held in the estimation of the Pelicans.

Reference has already keen made to Frank Slavin's fight with Chesterfield Goode, and undoubtedly the Australian's best fight in this country was with Peter Jackson. at the on May 30. 1892. It has been described as one of the fiercest fights ever seen in this or any other country with gloves between big men.

A Fight In an Old Mansion.

National feeling towards sport differs in every country, and is liable to change in our own. Our forefathers considered prize-fighting-, that is fighting with the bare fists, a thing to be encouraged. They thought men should be taught endurance and how to defend themselves 8

when attacked. It is often asked how boxers of our days would fare with bare fists instead of with gloves. Opinions are divided, but this may be accepted as a truism — half the men now posing as boxers have no earthly right to the name, and would be more legitimately employed as labourers. They are a drug in the market, maintained by those, who are satisfied with a little, no matter how indifferent if may be.

Fighting with the bare fists has never had any great attraction for me, yet I have been obliged to witness many. On Oct 16, 1888, in a disused mansion occupying the centre of Cromwell Gardens, Nune Wallace and William Willis fought with bare fists and on bare boards, sixty- eight rounds in 1h. 32min, 3sec. High-class society assembled to witness the proceedings. In the fourth round Willis's right hand was rendered useless, and a little later a cry of "Police" was raised. Lord de Clifford, who was officiating, said: "Never mind them. Go on, boys; if they come, I’ll go to prison with you‖. At last the gentleman who rented the house, a well- known knight, became uneasy and persuaded Willis to give up the contest, Willis saying, when he consented, "I give in, but not of my own free will."

A "Champion Fight

Memories of many stirring fights crowd upon me, and some incidents that are not without their ludicrous side. Have the readers of "Lloyd's News" ever heard the story of Jem McCormack, one of the oldtime pugilists, and Mrs. Jem ? This is how it goes. The bold Jem had taken it into his head to go on tour as one of the noble army of "scrappers/' and made his appearance in a booth out Hendon way. Ranged in a row with others outside the booth stood Jem, waiting his turn to be introduced to the gaping audience. The Master of Ceremonies approached the valiant fighter, who stood with arms folded, glowering down upon the crowd. Touching him on the shoulder, the M.C. said, "This, ladies and gentlemen, is the hero of a hundred battles. The game, the unbought the seldom defeated Jem McCormack.‖ And I'm Mrs Jem McComack," shouted a woman in the crowd, as she elbowed her way towards the boxing booth.

That was enough for the hero of a hundred battles. Jem turned upon his Heels and beat a quick retreat towards home and beauty. He was the first to arrive at Drury Lane, but what he said to Mrs. Jem is not recorded in history.

To turn to more serious matter — and it must be understood that these " Memories" are not arranged in the order of dates — there was the fight between "Punch" Dowsett and Tommy Hawkins for the bantam-weight championship of England, The fight lasted far into the night and the proprietors of the Cambridge, Heath Skating Rink, where it took place, intervened to stop it. But I would not consent to a draw, and ordered the men to meet me next day. They declined, however, to fight again, and, as it was impossible to compel them, each man drew his stake.

One of the most remarkable fights I ever refereed took place at Wonderland. " Kid " McCoy, one of the greatest fighters America ever produced undertook to box three men in the same ring one immediately after the other. Two of the men were Jack Scales and " Sandy‖ Ferguson, and a Woolwich boxer whose name I have forgotten. Scales and the Woolwich man were knocked out, and Ferguson was disqualified in the third round,

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How Burns Met Johnson.

Among recent contests there is non that has been more misrepresented than that fight in February, 1912 between and Tommy Burns. The misrepresentation arose from the fact that the secret of the negotiations was known to three people only. In a letter to the " Times " of Feb. 17 last Johnson asserted that he made all his own matches. There was one, however, that he did not make, and was more anxious to ratify than any other in which he had ever taken part. Here is the story, told for the first time.

I was the first man in this country to meet Johnson and his trainer, Sam Fitzpatrick, when they arrived here for the purpose of making a match with Tommy Burns, and, to cut a long story short, I was deputed to submit to Johnson through Fitzpatrick the following terms. Johnson to receive £1,000 and his and Fitzpatrick's expenses to Australia provided he would enter the ring against Burns. It was only with great difficulty that Johnson could be persuaded that Burns would fight him, and the argument that finally convinced him was that Burns was to receive £6.000 win, lose, or a draw. Johnson laughed at these terms, but said he did not care so long as Burns fought him. He agreed to the terms, both men sailed for Australia, and Johnson won the fight, receiving .£1,000, while Burns got .£6,000 and equal shares with Mr. McIntosh. the Australian, who managed the contest in £43.000. This was a wonderfully good stroke on the part of Burns, who is a very shrewd business man.

The Church and the .

_In a preceding part of this article mention has been made of the interest of Royalty in boxing, and it will not be out of place to add that the patronage of the Church, as represented by a few of its clergy, has also been extended to the " noble art‖ The Rev. Freeman Wills, brother of Henry Wills, the dramatist, may be remembered in connection with the Finsbury Polytechnic. At Chingford he organised a two days fete and lost a considerable sum of money over it. Jem Smith and "Toff" Wall boxed three rounds each day, and I never remember seeing a better exhibition.

Father Jay, an Anglican priest, patronized boxing in the East End of London, and that once famous fighter, Dan Thomas, hale and hearty, preached the Gospel until his death, in the neighbourhood of Pontypridd. The Rev. Everard Digby, of St. Agatha's, Finsbury, who takes a prominent part in the Boy Scout movement, is also an ardent supporter of boxing, and seldom absent from the ring-side of the National Sporting Club, of which he is the chaplain.

It has often occurred to me in reviewing the past that a universal court of appeal, other than a court of law, would help the interests of professional sport. What I mean is a court with full administrative power to try all cases, and pronounce a verdict which it would be impossible to reverse. Professional referees need something of this sort very badly. A man has worked many years honestly and fiercely, jealously guards his reputation, yet it may be wrecked in less than thirty seconds. Pretty nearly every sport has its governing body, but the governing body in each case is not comprehensive enough.

A censor is also very much needed. In the days of prize fights there was the Pugilists' Benevolent Association, which protected, administered to, and censured fighters, seconds, and all concerned according to their deserts. An Association for the Betterment of Boxers and Boxing would be of great to the noble art 10

My Only Draw.

Several experiences that have come my have confirmed me in the opinion the governing body is not sufficiently comprehensive. It is not necessary to mention more than one. When Ben Seth fought George Wilson at Leicester fresh articles had been drawn, up, without my knowledge, making the fight for the gate money instead of for the stakes, and I declined at first to act as referee under the new contract.

Finally I consented and as it was a very even fight I gave a draw, the only draw I have ever given as a referee. A little of this sort of unpleasantness, of which I have had a good deal of experience in the old days, has since been avoided by a legal addition to the articles. More protection, is now guaranteed to stakeholders, and the position of the referee is better understood and appreciated. The personal risk is not one hundredth part so serious as in days gone by. The responsibility, however, is quite as great, though the remuneration, compared with that of thirty years ago, figures out in shillings instead of pounds.

A referee often site in his armchair, smokes a cigar, nod familiarly to all around him, and exists in an atmosphere of perfect bliss and content. I remember the time, not so long ago, when he would have been found wedged between a crowd of men, wicked and treacherous, swayed to and fro like a puppet, and emerging at last limp and useless. I have gone through this sort of experience, yet I am pleased to say that I have never left a ring-side, or a running ground, without giving a decision, and never turned my back upon danger.

A point with regard to training might well be made here. Often my opinion has been, asked with regard to the respective merits of the English, American, and Australian system or training, fighting, and seconding. My answer has always been in favour of "foreign" methods. Who I wonder, first conceived the silly idea of men crossing from one side of the ring to the other upon time being called, wheeling about in pantomime fashion, and then face to face? It is so useless and so very ludicrous that I am surprised it has not become obsolete lone ago.

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The Montana Standard 4 November 1928 Champions I Have Known.

By Robert Edgren

It gives a writer on sports a little perspective when he can look back to such champions an John L. Sullivan, Jim Corbett and Bob Fitzsimmons. These three were prize fighters. The term "prize fighters" has practically gone out of use, except by reformers, trying to give the gentle art of boxing a severe verbal jolt. It has gone out of use because there are no prize fighters now, and here haven't been any for many years.

John L. Sullivan, Corbett and Fitz all started as prize fighters. Sullivan indeed as a prize fighter. All began with bare fist fights, to a finish, winner take all. They fought in me woods, the sand dunes, on barges, under cover of barns or out in rain or snow or sleet. Mostly they fought because they were filled with an ambition to prove that they were better men than the other fellows who liked fighting. They didn't say that the winner was the better boxer; they just said "the best man won." It was supposed to be a great test of manhood, to go out and fight until the loser was counted out.

Winner Take All.

Up to the time of the Fitzsimmons-Corbett championship fight at Carson, Nevada, in 1897, champions practically always fought winner take all. That made it a prize fight. Usually here wasn't much money at stake. Sullivan and Corbett fought for a purse of $25.000, winner take all, and or a side stake put up by their backers. 12

Corbett and Fitzsimmons fought or a purse of $15.000. Imagine any modern fighter "risking his championship" for small change like that. But fighters weren't afraid to risk something in the old days. They weren't business men. They were just fighters and proud of it. I knew John L. Sullivan for many years, and often talked over his famous fights with him, saw him in many exhibitions, but never saw him in a real fight. John's active fighting days were before my time, but remember vividly the early evening in Red Bluff, a small town in , when I first heard of the sport of prize fighting and awakened an interest that has never waned.

With several other small boys I joined a crowd standing outside the telegraph office. There was an electric tension in the air. Men were talking about the great fight between Sullivan and Kilrain, somewhere in the woods down in . A couple of hours passed. Then the telegraph operator suddenly raised his window, stuck his head out and yelled; "Sullivan wins." Men threw their hats into the air" and yelled for Sullivan, and all the small boys ran around yelling, "Sullivan wins." It seemed something very glorious and important.

And Sullivan was a great champion. If a Sullivan appeared today he'd go through our heavies like a brick through a showcase. John L. first became famous as the Strong Boy. He wanted to become a baseball player and did play on a local team, but Professor Mike Donovan, middleweight champion, came along and challenged any young fellow in Boston to set-to with him at a benefit. fighters in those days made so little money that they had to give themselves benefits now and then. Sullivan set-to with Mike,who was a great boxer and an experienced fighter. Mike told John he'd go easy, so John needn't be afraid of being hurt.

John L. Gets Start.

Sullivan had the deepest voice I ever heard. When he was annoyed he fairly roared. He roared at Donovan: "You'll be lucky if I don't break your neck." So Donovan thought he'd better give the rough youngster a lesson in politeness. He punched John, and John swung his right arm like a ball bat, hit Mike on the shoulder blades as he ducked and knocked Mike down so hard Mike's nose was broken by impact with the floor. Mike told John he'd better quit baseball and become a fighter, told him he would lick any man in the world and become champion. Sullivan took the advice. He won fights and made a local reputation, then went to New York and knocked out John Flood, "the Bulls Head Terror", In eight rounds, at midnight on a barge in the Hudson river. Sullivan went up fast after that. He knocked out for the world's championship and a $5,000 side stake, , bare knuckles to a finish. He knocked out Jake Kilrain for $10.000, a side, in 75 rounds, London Prize Ring 13

style when only a knockdown or a fall terminated a round. Sullivan beat a lot of other men, and John's backers took him on a tour of America, meeting all comers with a forfeit of $400 to any man he failed to knock out in four rounds. He didn't have to pay anyone but Tug Wilson, who stayed four and was still fighting.

Sullivan was a heavy drinker. He made money fast and threw it over a thousand bars. He never trained. You'll notice in all the old photos of John L. that he was pretty fat around the waist for a fighter. But he didn't need much condition. He had all other fighters buffaloed, the way Bobby Jones has the golfers now.

Billy Muldoon, now boxing commissioner in New York, was the only man Sullivan respected; the only man who could make John train. Billy drove him to it with a baseball bat. Wild Living Beat Him. ' Sullivan's crash came through years of reckless living. Nine years after he won the championship, grown fat and careless of condition, he boxed a four-round exhibition with a young Olympic club boxing Instructor in , Jim Corbett. He didn't lay a glove on Jim. A little over a year later Sullivan let Corbett have a match, at . He was so disdainful of the "dancing master" that he didn't train at all—just went out into the woods and sat on a log when he was supposed to be doing roadwork. And Corbett leaped and ran and kept Sullivan plunging until old John lost his wind and his legs gave out, after which Jim punched him groggy. Then Corbett knocked Sullivan flat in the twenty-first round, and John was too tired to get up.

Corbett was a fighter of an entirely different type. He began fighting bare fist finish fights in the sand hills around San Francisco. March 17th. 1897, Corbett fought Bob Fitzsimmons, the middleweight champion, at Carson, for a $15,000 purse, put up by Dan Stuart, and the world's championship. It was a finish fight, winner take all, the last finish fight for a world's heavyweight title. There was romance in those days. Sent to cover the event for my paper, I joined Corbett's camp and boxed with him for five weeks during the training, turn and turn about with Jim Jeffries and Jim's brother Joe and Billy Woods. I think I landed one solid punch on Jim in that five weeks. I thought then, that he was a boxing marvel, and although I've watched thousands of fighters since then I still rate Corbett as the neatest, although not the most dangerous, of them all.

Knocked out by Bob Fitzsimmons in the fourteenth round, Corbett made his one really great fight when he was no longer champion. That was when he fought Jim Jeffries for the title at Coney Island, training ten months with grim determination; and danced and jabbed and shot over jarring rights until he was knocked cold by the very much annoyed Jeffries in the 23rd round.

Fitz Was Greatest.

Bob Fitzsimmons was the greatest fighter I've ever seen, I think he was the best for his weight in all ring history. Bob was a physical freak. Six feet tall, with broad shoulders and large chest, long arms, a blacksmith's forearm and hands, narrow hips and skinny legs, he weighed only 147 ½ pounds when he knocked out , the Nonpareil, for the world's middleweight championship.

Fitz weighed only 156 ½ when he knocked out. Jim Corbett for the heavyweight championship. Corbett weighed 183. He won the title from George 14

Gardner at 175 pounds, and that was when he had been fighting 23 years. He fought his last fight, after a glorious career including hundreds of battles, against Sweeney in 1914 making a record of 34 years in the ring. Bob was then 51 .

Fitzsimmons had amazing physical power and combined with it a cunning and resourceful mind and endless courage. In later fights, when he broke his hands on Jeffries and Gardner, he fought with the broken hands, concealing the Injury until the fights were over. He lost the heavyweight title to Jim Jeffries, in a furious 11 rounds at Coney Island. Fitz was dropped flat on his back a in the second round. Realizing the young giant's power then, Fitz attacked with relentless fury until he was finally beaten down. He tried to beat Jeffries three years later, hammered the giant to a pulp in eight rounds, but was knocked out again.

When I asked Bob about the fight afterward he said: "I 'ad im torn to pieces" when my 'ands broke up, but inside 'e was as good as ever. I was trying to use the two knuckles I 'ad left on 'is body, when 'e started a straight left for my chin and dropped it with a stiff arm into my stomach. Only Jeffries could use a punch like Ant. He's the strongest man I ever saw, 'is arm is like an iron beam.

That punch paralyzed me. My arms dropped and I tried to fall down, but my legs were paralyzed and I couldn't move. So I knew it was over. I got a little breath and I said to 'im: You've got me, Jim. Finish it.' So 'e 'it me on the chin and dropped me. Jeff is the finest man I ever saw in my life. I know now I never could beat 'im. Too big and strong."

That was Bob Fitzsimmons, a great fighter and a sportsman. He became Jeffries' closest friend after that second fight. He held no grudge because he'd been beaten- he lived near Fitz at Bensonhurst and for a couple of years boxed with him very often. We were close friends, too. That didn't save me from stopping many a punch that Fitz might have used to win a fight. He was a rough bird with the gloves on. Stalling along and in a neat little unexpected punch was a great joke. The only joke he enjoyed more was when I happened to slip a fast one over on him.

Talking about Bob's , here's a funny one: Bob clipped me neatly on the chin one day while training for the second Jeffries' fight. The jar of that little went right down from my jaw through neck and spine and leg, and sprained my right ankle.

I've only seen that effect twice in fights. Jim Barry swung on Sam Langford's jaw and sprained' Sam's right ankle, and Jack Dempsey hit Bill Brennan on the jaw and broke Bill's right leg. But that last was a little different. Bill broke his leg by twisting it under him as he fell

15

Jim Donavon By Robert Edgren 11 November 1917 "JIM" DONOVAN A CHAMP AS BOCHE BOXER.

We used to sit at the ringside in New York clubs and listen while the announcer introduced him. There would be a hush after the ending of the semi-final bout, and then the principals in the main event would take their corners and stare across at each other while awaiting the completion of the customary formalities. The announcer would clear his throat and, 1 holding up one hand in a plea for silence, would shout in that singsong voice of his;

"Gentleman – a little order - On my right, Jim Donovan; on my Left - " . Usually It was just "Jim Donovan," but sometimes the announcer added a line or two. It became "Jim Donovan, the Champion of the British Army," or "Jim Donovan of Ireland.". Whatever the announcement, Jim Donovan always sat smiling in his corner, apparently pleased with being there, calmly confident in his skill, regarding the whole thing with a Celtic love of battle.

He was a middleweight, symmetrical, smoothly muscled, and as smooth as oil in action. He had fine features and black, curly hair. In fact, he made a very pretty picture in the ring, and he wasn't afraid to fight.

Along about the beginning of the great war Jim Donovan, pugilist disappeared. It was rumored that he had gone to Canada to do some boxing, but his name never showed in the sporting columns.

Jim Donovan was nearly forgotten. Boxers come and go swiftly. Then one night a week or two ago an English officer in full uniform, wearing a curling black mustache and carrying himself with the of a born fighting man, came walking swiftly down along the ringside 16

at a New York boxing show, slapping some of the sporting writers on the back. When they looked up inquiringly the officer showed a white row of teeth in a wide smile and chuckled:

"You don't know me, do you?"

It was Jim Donovan. No, to be more exact, It was no longer Jim Donovan, but Lieut. Commander James P. Donovan of the Royal Canadian Dragoons, back from the front on leave after nearly two years of constant fighting "somewhere in France‖. Lieut. Commander Donovan, only professional boxer to become a commissioned officer in the king's army.

In the beginning, Jim Donovan was Irish The name was O'Donovan originally, but was slightly abbreviated in America. They did intend to make a priest of Jim, and he received a college education; but the love of adventure was in him and he went into the British army and served through the Boer war. He served in a campaign or two in India and then returned to Ireland. He was a sergeant major, a very skilful boxer and because of his athletic ability an all round fighting man with the weapons of war.

Donovan won some British army boxing championships, and then, the thirst for adventure growing, left when his term of enlistment ran out and came to America. Here he began boxing professionally and was soon in demand because of his skill. He never became a champion in this country – a little to reckless perhaps. He could never content himself with fighting cautiously and waiting for an opening. When he found the championship title out of reach he quickly turned to another branch of his profession, opened a "health farm" in the Jersey hills and became boxing instructor at the City Athletic club. And then along came the war.

A Fighter—Not a Talker.

I have found more difficulty in digging out Jim Donovan's history after that. Bare facts and figures he is willing to give, and he takes some pride in showing a number of letters and official papers connected with his experience at the front. I know that Jim Donovan won his commission by a feat of daring on the battle field—a feat rare enough to be remembered and chronicled among the brave deeds of a war that has produced a host of known heroes and millions who are and always will-.be unknown. But there the information stops. I asked him for details, and he almost ran away.

"That's one thing a British army officer never does," he said emphatically. "It is against every tradition of the service—even against the regulations – for an army officer to talk of his own exploits. It’s absolutely impossible. I can tell you of some things, but not a single thing that could possibly be construed as a boast or an effort to gain credit for myself‖. ―not even how you won your commission?" Lieutenant Donovan smiled. "After the war," he said, "perhaps I'll tell you all about that."

Briefly, and as he told It, this Is the progress of Donovan, the fighting man: He went into the British army as a boy, served in South Africa and India, and received his service medals, retired after ten years of service and went to America. When the present war broke out Donovan went to Toronto and enlisted as a private, making no claim because of his previous experience In six weeks he was made a sergeant and went to England with his regiment. He was at the mobilization center only 5 days when he was sent to France. 17

Twenty two months of hard fighting at the front with the Irish brigade followed. It was twenty two months of trench warfare, going ―over the top‖ frequently, of night raids and hand to hand fighting in shell holes and among barbed wire entanglements. Jim Donavon could tell some tales of his experiences there – If he only would – I asked him if he found boxing useful.

Where Fist Beat Gun

―I can tell you one incident‖ said Lieutenant Donavon . ―There was an Irish lad with us who was a pretty fair boxer. He was a sergeant . One afternoon he was ordered to select six men and go out in front of the trenches that night and repair the barbed wire entanglements which had been destroyed. That was almost equivalent to a death sentence.

"The German trenches were only 150 yards away, and they sent up star shells every few moments and opened up with machine guns on everything that they saw moving out in front. After dark the sergeant and his men crawled out and began putting down the posts. Every time there was flare they lay flat on their faces and didn’t move until it was dark again. Then they’d renew the work. After a time they noticed that it was long time between the German flares. It was a pitch black night, but the Germans seemed to be relaxing their vigilance.

The sergeant was standing up when he felt somebody move right at his elbow and stand up beside him in the darkness. He thought it was one of his men. " 'How would you like to put some of those posts up for us?" whispered the man at his elbow, in perfect English.

"The sergeant thought then that the man beside him in the darkness was a patrol from further along the line of English trenches. He turned, and just then a flare went off and he saw the man was a German officer in full uniform.

"Men putting up wire wear heavy leather gloves, covered with iron studs to keep the wire from tearing their hands. The sergeant didn’t have time to reach for a weapon. He swung his right and the iron studded glove caught the German officer on the jaw and smashed him down. The sergeant dragged him back into the trench as a prisoner. At the same time his six men saw a bunch of Germans in a shell hole and were gathering there. They jumped in and killed them all.Star shells went up and the front was swept with bullets. The Germans had run 18

a lead out to the shell hole and were gathering for a raid on the English trench when their officer bumped into a fist and spoiled it.

―have you ever been hit yourself‖ I asked. ―Twice‖ said Donavon. ―Once by a machine gun bullet and once by shrapnel from a shell that burst right over me when I was in a trench. The bullet wound became infected. I can thank my athletic training and clean life for coming out of that.If I had been a drinking man I would have died.

However Donavon earned his own chance for promotion, he was sent from a hospital to an officers training camp in England, where after a three months course he passed examinations with a high mark and was commissioned second lieutenant. Back at the front and in the thick of fighting again he was promoted to adjutant and Lieutenant commander. He obtained leave to come home to America to see if Uncle Sam needs him but with British troops or American he intends to get back into the big war. Love of fighting runs strong in the Donavon’s .

http://www.ironmenofmerthyr.org/gallery-media/famous-welsh-boxers

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