newsletter vol 2 n0 7

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The Boxing Biographies Newsletter

Volume 2- No 7 4th March , 2008

http://www.boxingbiographies.com

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The Battling Nelson Story

BAT BECOMES A COWBOY.

Here I met up with a cowboy and he took me out to one of the big ranches close by, where I became a regular cowboy. Another wild ambition of mine had been gratified. I had read novels of Buffalo Bill and other famous men of the plains, and greatly admired their personalities and records. So here I was astride a horse now and actually herding cattle. When winter set in I jumped the "chaps" and tossed the lariat aside and hiked over to Miller, S. Dak. Here I secured a job as waiter in the Vanderbilt hotel owned by B. F. Torrey. There was a pretty nice boxing club at Sioux Falls, S. Dak., at the time and fights were being held over there weekly. That clinging ambition to become a great boxer wouldn't down in me and early in
May I jumped over to the Falls.

Despite the many hardships encountered since leaving home I was determined to become "A Boxer of World Renown."

I called on the manager of the club and asked him to be good enough to bill me for a bout. He looked me over Critically, felt my arms, looked into my eyes, and then said. "Well, Kid, I'll take a chance with you. Be around here next Saturday night and I'll put you on with the famous lightweight, Freddie Green. If you manage to make good, why, I'll give you a chance the next day (Sunday) to fight Soldier Williams. This latter battle to take place at our annual picnic and field day."

WINS FIGHT IN SIOUX FALLS.

I was Johnny on the spot Saturday evening, all beaming with smiles over my good fortune and serenely confident. I wore, for the first time in my life, regulation fighting shoes and had purchased a pair of pretty green trunks. (I have worn that lucky color ever since.) In fact, I was togged up like a real fighter, even though I was an unknown and from a place called Hegewisch. "Hegewisch, Illinois !" exclaimed the Master of Ceremonies. "Where in the world is that located?" "Battling Nelson ! Whew! what a good fighting name! A regular Admiral Nelson, eh?" "I'm just starting out, sir," I answered in all humility. "I have fought two battles to date and win both that's all." It's a funny thing, indeed, about this Hegewisch business.

I made up my mind when I left home that if ever I should be fortunate enough to become famous as a boxer I would certainly not go back on my old town, Hegewisch.

The wheel of fortune turned in my favor, and of course, as the entire world knows, wherever you see the name of Battling Nelson so you will see the name Hegewisch, Illinois.

Bat's Third Battle, Fought May 10, 1898,
at Sioux Falls, S. D.

IN WHICH HE DEFEATED FREDDIE GREEN,
KNOCKING HIM OUT IN 7 ROUNDS.
PURSE, $7.50.

I was up against a real classy fighter in Freddie Green. He had been bucking the padded arena for several years and was then known as "the Champion of the Dakotas." He was a shifty, clever fellow, raw of bone and had a reach like a gorilla. I entered the arena, unknown and unannounced, as it were. I didn't even have a trainer.

From the tap of the gong in the first round to its finish Green danced around me like a grasshopper, pecking bad jabs into my face repeatedly, and then dancing out of harm's way. My style then was slow and awkward, but I felt from the start that he couldn't knock me out, so as the fight progressed I became confident. He drew first blood in the fourth round. It was the first time in my short career that I had suffered such humiliation and you can bet I was angry. I grew a bit wild and commenced to carry the fight to him. I worked him into a clinch and almost put him out. This round he was overly cautious and kept away from me.

CLEVERNESS A NOVELTY TO BAT.

It was a new experience for me, this slapping and getting away business of Green. I was really tiring, as I could not catch up with him at all. I changed my tactics then and laid back a while. The crowd, under the impression that I was giving in, began to cry frantically to Green to rush in and finish me.

This was in the sixth round of the battle. Green was a game sort of a fellow and right there I didn't doubt the stories told about his many successful battles and many knockouts. He tried to exchange blows with me. and there's where he made the same mistake as did Wallace's Terrible Unknown, as well as Ole Olson. Ah! how I did tickle his ribs and crack my left into his jaw during that round.

I was warming up to the real fighter's work then. At the end of the round I had the champion hanging on to me, tired and badly battered, though still in the ring. He came up at the call of time in the seventh round in an extremely cautious manner, not making the slightest move to follow up his rushing tactics of the early rounds.

WINS CHAMPIONSHIP OF DAKOTAS.

On the other hand, I assumed the aggressive, and when the old bell tapped I was out of my corner in a jiffy and was on him like a tiger cat. I cut out a dizzy pace for Freddie, which I don't think he will ever forget, if he is still on earth and I hope he is.

I boxed and cuffed him all about the ring until he was groggy. Then I stepped back and handed him a left hook full on the jaw. They carried him out of the ring unconscious. I was thereupon proclaimed the Champion of the Dakotas before I had shed my boxing gloves. My titles so far acquired were: Champion of Hegewisch, Champion of Wallace's Circus and Champion of the Dakotas.

Pretty good, boys, for a kid who had only fought three battles. The purse for the fight amounted to $7.50, which was collected from the ringside in hats. As I had been doing all along, I sent half of the purse back to mother at Hegewisch.

FIGHTS SOLDIER WILLIAMS.

I was, of course, the town topic of Sioux Falls that evening and the next morning. The manager of the club came around to see me early and made good his promise to fight me against the noted Soldier Williams that afternoon. He raised the purse to $10, which I readily accepted. Soldier Williams was no spring chicken at the game. He was a successful fighter and had a string of victories to his credit up to the time he met me.

We met in the open ring which was pitched on the picnic grounds of the fight club. You can bet I was a bit stiff and tired after my night's battle, but was out to win myself some reputation and as a result was chuck full of ginger. Williams was not a fancy boxer, but a rough, determined strong fellow like myself.

Gee ! but we certainly busted the atmosphere with wild punches right from the jump. He came at me in the first round determined to finish me right then and there and, of course, knock my reputation and ambition as a kid champion into smithereens. I, of course, loved just that sort of game. He was there with the aggressiveness and stamina, and in him I found the toughest fellow whom I had met to date.

He really had the edge on me up to the sixth round of the battle, just as Green had had the night before. His condition, however, was beginning to tell on him, and I was watching for just such signs of weariness.

THE SOLDIER IS BEATEN.

In the seventh round I reached out and planted my right deep into his wind in order to see how he would stand the gaff. Then I broke ground to discover if he was game enough to come back again and counter. Instead he retreated, muttering something under his breath. "Ha ! ha !" said I, handing over a left hook on the jaw. "So you're quitting, are you?" Biff! came another from my right, and then I set sail and fairly smothered him with uppercuts, full swings and body blows.

The gong in this round saved him. He came back all out in the eighth, which proved to be the final round. I again carried the fight to him, and in a few seconds had him stretched out on the floor, more dead than alive. He did manage to get to his feet, but I wheeled and then planted my right hard on his wind, and over he went for the count.

Down went Soldier Williams, the champion of the army.

RETURNS HOME AND FIGHTS DRAW.

After defeating several Northern champions I decided to return home and secure, if possible, a few good bouts in the neighborhood of Chicago. Eddie Herman, another Hegewisch product, had been cleaning up every fighter in the vicinity when I arrived and my admirers in Chicago and at home prevailed upon me to go after him. My great success in the North had reached home before me, and I was greeted as the coming champion.

I was received at home with open arms by father and mother and settled down studying faithfully and "training secretly at night or whenever the opportunity presented itself. I could see nothing then but a ring career for the Battler.

On New Year's Day, Jan 1st, 1899, I began my professional career as a boxer in earnest. On this date I tied up with Eddie Herman at Hegewisch, going to a six round draw with him. My battle had caused so much talk at home and school that I immediately decided to cease my studies, and go after a reputation as a boxer. I continued to battle around Chicago with varying success until May I7th, 1902. Then I made my historic march into the hilly state of Arkansas where I gained my first real reputation as a coming fighter.

It is unnecessary for me to go into further details as to what happened after as it is contained in detail in other chapters of the book.

Many persons and critics are of the opinion that the name BATTLING is a nickname of mine. Such is not the case. It was handed me when I was born, the selection of the splendid name falling to my Daddy. I was such a scrappy, lusty lunged, busy child that he decided that there was but one name for me "De Battler" or Battling. I have used the name to good advantage ever since, of course. Matthew was tacked on by my mother. She probably named me after the famous Father Matthew founder of the well known temperance order. True to this good name I have followed the principles of this man all my life. I don't drink intoxicants, don't chew tobacco, nor do I smoke. The possessing of these virtues is not much to brag about because they were no doubt born and bred in me, that's all. After that it required but a good strong will power to offset these temptations. I have six brothers and one sister. Albert is a
machinist ; Henry is a blacksmith ; Johnny is a moulder ; Charlie a Junior at the University of California, and is studying to became an M. D., but I wouldn't be surprised if he should turn out to be a preacher. Arthur is a motorcycle racer and once rode a mile and a quarter in a minute. My younger brother Harry is the smartest kid of them all, at present he is going to the Boys School at Quincy. Ill. He is inclined to be scrappy, and is already exhibiting signs of following my footsteps. My only sister Ida is living with the folks at home, Hegewisch. My father's name is Nels Nelson, and my mother's name is Mary Nelson.

THE CHAMPION RETURNS TO HEGEWISCH.

Upon my arrival I lost no time in getting a match with Herman who agreed to fight me on my own doormat. Yes, and he certainly made me go some during the six rounds fought. He was fast on his feet, shifty on the order of Abe Attell, and for the first three rounds I could not get inside his guard. He refused to mix things with me, and as the scrap was for points the fourth round opened with his having the edge because of his cleverness. He tired in the fourth after I had reached him a few times, and then the fun began. I forced the fighting, and at the conclusion of this round poor Eddie was a sight. He stalled during the first half of the fifth, but I got him and broke down his defense prettily. In the final round I beat him badly. The referee, however, gave him a shade when he held up both our hands for a draw decision. I had done well, his friends said, even to stand him off that long. I say to this day that I defeated
him in this bout. The purse in this fight was $10.h.

Defeats The Noted Eddie Penny in One
Round in Chicago, April 6, 1899.

FIGHT WAS RESULT OF AN OLD GRUDGE.

Eddie Penny was doing an all star stunt about Chicago, and he was not slow to challenge me for battle. We fought on the South Side on April 6, 1899. Penny had defeated a number of shifty fellows, and was, as was usually the case in those days, a top-heavy favorite over me ii/the betting. I fixed Penny's championship aspirations in just one round, which was perioded with great slugging on my part mostly.

In fact, Penny hardly touched me with one good punch during the short mix-up, from the call of time up to the point where I reached out and cracked him into unconsciousness.
After this clean cut victory over such a big Chicago favorite things began to break a bit better for me and the managers of the various clubs were hot on my trail.

THE CHAMPION HANDS BULL WINTERS THE SLEEP
PRODUCER.

Bull Winters wanted some of my game after I had bested his chum Penny. I obliged him on May 3, in Chicago. Bull came at me in the opening round like an uncaged wild cat and endeavored to smother me with wild swings and fierce rushes. I don't usually do much ground breaking in my fights, but the Bull would certainly have pushed me off the stage but for my alertness in side stepping him and backing up. He handed me just about 12 seconds of wild work and then stopped short He was tired and winded. He stood panting in the middle of the ring inviting a lead from me. Here I got busy. I walked up with both hands down, shifted a bit, and batted the Bull doubly hard on the chin with my right : then came back with a left hook which went hard into his wind.

Down he went "THEY CARRIED HIM OUT A BELLOWING." The club members there assembled evidently favored Winters, and when the hat was passed around they only
handed me a paltry $2.50. However, since that evening things have changed. I have met a dozen or more of this same crowd, and all have informed me that they have paid as high as $25.00 a seat to see me fight.

EVERYTHING COMES TO HIM WHO WAITS.

After defeating Eddie Penny and Bull Winters they tried to stack me up against a ringer in Chicago, who will be found in my "morgue" of knockouts under the name of John Smith, the Unknown. This man Smith was a strong, well built, tough looking customer. He looked the part of a ringer all over, but I feared him not. I was out to fight my way up to the top, and didn't care who he was, or what he had done previously. Well, anyway, the plans of Smith and his followers went sadly astray, as I handed the fellow the neatest trimming of his life. The bout went only two rounds.

This victory marked the ending of my schedule for the season. I returned to Hegewisch, and took up my training in our White House Club.

LICKS NEGRO IN PICNIC FIGHT.

Now here's what I call a funny one. After I had taken a long rest in which I learned how to shoot big game on a Western hunting trip, I decided to fight a negro. His name was Feathers Vernon, and I met him at a picnic which was held in Dalton, 111., on July 4, 1900. I did not knock him out for the reason that he never would get close enough to me so I could land "my sleep producer." I batted him all around the ring, however, and but for the "no decision" clause would have won easily.

We fought for the sum of $10, which of course, was easily divided. When the president of the club was in the act of paying us off a fight was started and the money was knocked out of his hand. I managed to save a dollar and a half of it. I have the torn dollar still in my possession. I tried to pass it, but it was too badly torn, so I kept it as a memento of my first mixup with a "cullud person."

I have fought close to one hundred battles so far, but I had more fun during that scrap than I have ever had since. I licked a dozen negroes during the melee.

HIS FIRST BIG FIGHT.

You readers can easily imagine how tickled and proud I was when the manager of the old Star Theatre Club in Chicago offered me the chance to fight before a regular club and the big sports. This first big battle was with Charles Dougherty. This being the first time that I had appeared before thousands of people, many of whom were regular fight fans, cheering and rooting for their favorites, one would imagine that I would have been nervous, but not so with yours truly.

I naturally was worked up to a high pitch of excitement at times, but I never lost my head. As soon as the fight was started I went after Dougherty in such vicious style he imagined a Kansas cyclone had broken into the building and taken my place in the ring.

I fought more determined than ever, as I knew if I was lucky enough to score a knockout it would be the means of securing good engagements and large purses. I knocked him out in the first round, exact time being one minute and ten seconds. From this time on I got offers galore, a whole bundle of press advertising and was kept busy. I received $15 for putting out the lights on Dougherty, which was handed to me in nickels and dimes.

BATTLER GETS GOOD BEATING.

Luck was not so good, however, for it was right after this that I lost my first battle.

Joe Hedmark is a name I shall never forget. We fought at the Star Theatre, in Chicago, on Sept. 14. He licked me good and clean. Hedmark was a combination of Terry McGovern and Dal Hawkins. He was fast as a bullet, strong, shifty, and could hand out a punch like Jeffries. He had it on me in weight, height and experience. I did my utmost to hold my unbroken string of victories. I fought harder that night than in all my previous battles put together. Poor Joe, I wonder where he is now? I'd like to see him and shake his hand.

In the opening round of the fight he stalled me into leading at him. I fell for it, and as I came in he hung a full swing under my chin, which boosted me off my feet and sent me sprawling to the floor. That was something new to me, and you should have seen me fight back. I went after him, and we mixed it up hard for the balance of the round. It was a dandy round, and I think I had the better of it. However, he had a shade in the second, third and fourth. In the fifth I went out and tried to finish him.

HIS RIBS WERE PELTED.

I carried the scrap to him, but as he had it on me in reach he simply pelted my ribs with rights and lefts. I gave him a "good mill here, but he had me very tired when the bell rang. In the sixth he tried his utmost to put me out, but could not. We finished in the centre of the ring, battling like demons. The referee gave him the fight amid great cheering. I was licked thoroughly, fairly and squarely, and readily admitted it.

I received $15 for my end of the purse. I consider this one of my hardest battles experienced during my entire fighting career.

This was one of the real fights that each and every spectator who attended will never forget. It was very spectacular in many respects. I was floored by actual count seventeen times in the six rounds. I was not to be denied altogether, as I put Hedmark down five times for the count as well.

The entire audience was in a continual uproar from start to finish, first cheering for Hedmark, and then for me. This was due to our continual slugging and our earnest efforts to knock each other out. The people all over the city of Chicago will talk about this great battle even to this day. As you can see, fights were coming pretty regular now for the boy
from Hegewisch, and I was losing no opportunity to make a little coin.

After my go with Hedmark I signed up to meet Harry Griffin, in Chicago, on Sept. 21. My opponent gave me a pretty stiff argument of it ,up to the forepart of the third round, when I got to him hard and forced him to break ground like a race horse. We boxed before a splendid crowd, due probably to the fact that Griffin had been putting away a number of good
men, and the fight fans naturally expected him to beat me as well. I fooled them, however, and won the decision easily at the end of the sixth round.

During this engagement I had the pleasure of knocking Griffin off his feet just thirteen times by actual count- This battle was almost a repetition of the battle I had the week previous only I was on the winning side. I drew down thirty five dollars in cash, and you can just bet I was the most pleased kid in Chicago that night. It was the biggest purse received by me up to that time.On October 8th I was asked to meet Young Bay, another shifty 135 pounder, at Billy Gain's Logan Square Club. I went the six rounds with him, and at its conclusion the referee awarded me the decision.

Young Bay was at that time unquestionably one of the best of all lightweights, he having won 20 straight battles up to our go, mostly by the knock-out route. Clarence Class was anxious to try conclusions with me after I had defeated Young Bay, and I obliged him on November 2. Class was fast on his feet, and throughout the fight forced me to chase him around the ring like a six day pedestrian. As a result he managed to stay the full six rounds, getting a draw because of his clever footwork and scientific blocking. I did however, punish him severely, whenever he got into close quarters. We split the pot, each receiving $7.50.

was a pretty busy sort of a kid just then, and the day following I was booked to box Joe Curtain, and Jack Readle, exhibition bouts in the same ring at Eddie Santry's benefit. I was there all right and I went the double bill of 3 rounds each at a merry clip. Of course neither of the boys were in my class and I had little trouble in outboxing them.

In Chicago Nov. 22, Ed. Burley, another member of the "Ham What Am" brand, was selected by the Chicago fight promoters to try his hand and break, if possible, my winning streak. Their selection again proved a poor one. As was the case with Griffo, I treated Burlev rather roughly, and for five rounds I hammered him about the ring as though he was a punching bag. I finished him in the fifth round with a series of right and left swings to the jaw.

His picture can be viewed in another section of the book in my "Colored Morgue." I received $10.00 for the finished job.

LOST FIGHT ON A FOUL.

It is not up to me to begin to knock but, strange as it may seem, the only two fights in which I lost on a foul the referee was George Siler, the well known referee and pugilistic expert of the Chicago Tribune. The first was to Pete Boyle in Chicago, Dec. 1, 1900, and the second was to Gans in Goldfield. Incidentally I fought two fights on the day I lost to Boyle, and you can bet I was a very busy person.

The battle with Boyle was a slashing one from the jump, with me doing all the punishing, leading and real scrapping. I was a mile in front in the fourth round and had Boyle hanging on the ropes and all but out, when Mr. Siler sprang forward and stopped the fight. His contention was that I had fouled Boyle. He thereupon, with the assistance of Boyle's seconds, helped him to his corner and gave him the battle. When Siler interfered and declared my opponent the victor there was quite a demonstration in the club in my favor, mind you, the members being of the unanimous opinion that I had done nothing during the round which warranted my being disqualified. I was paid $25 for my participation in the "fiasco."

TWO BATTLES IN ONE DAY.

Not satisfied with the ending of the Boyle go, and remembering that I had dated up with Danny McMahon to meet him in a four-round go at the Hibernian Society entertainment, booked to take place at their hall, I instantly donned my street clothes, grabbed a rattler and in a few moments I was on the spot ready to proceed with my second fight of the day. Danny and I mixed things up rather lively for four full rounds, and at its conclusion the referee decided that we had both fought a valiant scrap and he held up both our hands, signaling a draw.
When the friendly Irish handed me a crisp $5 note for my workout I was tickled; and I rolled home fairly well pleased with the busy day's doings. To make $30 in one day was not so bad, eh?

LAST FIGHT IN 1900

MY FINAL GO of the season was with Jack Martin at Chicago.

It was a warm mix-up of six rounds. We went the route all right and Martin gave me quite a tussle of it, although I put him down six times during the fight. I tried hard to add his name to my already long list of knock-outs but to no avail. I won the decision, receiving $25.00 for my end of the purse. During the latter part of the second round while going in Martin caught me on the jaw and dropped me to the mat for the count of 8. I got up, cut in and almost knocked him out. He lost heart and another round would have finished him. Louis Zimmerman acted as referee.


CHAPTER V.

The Battler Gets $2 a Word for Making a
Speech, Later Fights Battle in Snow.

While I am a great admirer of President Roosevelt, I think he is laying claim to a record that I held eight years ago. I notice from the papers that he is to receive $1 a word for writing stories about shooting lions, and some of the magazines say that that is the record price. But it isn't. Right after my fight with Mickey Riley inMilwaukee, in 1901. I made a speech for which I was paid at the rate of $2 a word. It happened like this : Riley danced around me and would not give me a. chance to land on him hard enough for a knockout. As a result the referee gave him the decision on points. My friends in the crowd thought that I got a little the worst of it, however, and they began to yell for me. "Speech! Speech!" was yelled from every side of the ring, and me a poor little lad, had to try and say something.I would rather have taken a whipping, as I had never said a word in public in my life.

"Go on and say something, kid," said Tom Andrews."Pull something, boy!" urged my second. "You might get a piece of money."

Everybody in the crowd began to yell again, and with a sickly grin, on my face I stood up in the middle of the ring and looked around. You would have thought that I was deaf and dumb. To save my life I couldn't think of a word to say. "Hurry up," said Teddy Murphy "Pull it."


HIT IN MOUTH WITH DOLLAR.

A great big lump rose in my throat, but finally I managed to start a word around it. "Gentl" and before I could get the word out of my throat on account of that lump - zip - some fellow hit me squarely in the mouth with a silver dollar. I came near swallowing the dollar, lump and all. That ended that speech. As I had only said half a word and got a dollar for it that was at the rate of $2 a word, and I claim the record even over Mr. Roosevelt.

As I was about to duck under the ropes money came raining from every part of the house, dollars, halves, quarters, dimes, nickels and pennies. A lot of it rolled off the sides of the ring, and right then I got the idea of being a business man. 'I’ll give you fellows 10 per cent, of all you find," I said to my seconds, and there was a wild scramble to pick up the scattered money. Finally they got together $109.23. Having paid the 10 per cent, this left me $98.31, in addition to which I got $35 from the club management. I nearly broke my neck getting to the
post office the next morning so that I could send my mother $100. That was by far the largest amount of money I had ever made up to that time.

BAT BUYS SOME SWELL CLOTHES.

The next day I made a tour of the gent’s furnishing stores and finally landed at Messrs, Sisson and Selwel’s and attired myself in a swell-looking outfit, made up of a $7 suit of clothes, a $1 derby hat, a $1.50 pair of kicks and the prettiest green necktie you ever saw in your life. I am not Irish, but I certainly do love the green.

You can imagine how tickled I was over this enormous amount of money, as a little while before that I had been robbed out of $2.50, which I needed badly, in my first fight with Joe Percente, the Italian. I was to have received $17.50 win, lose or draw. I won the fight on a foul, but instead of giving me $17.50 they gave me $15. "If you had lost the manager said to me
when I kicked, "I would have given you but $10." I didn't understand how men could be dishonest up to that time, and it was a pretty bitter lesson. Talking about fouls, though, that fellow Percente fouled me and knocked me down and then jumped on top of me. I fought Percente four times altogether. I beat him twice, fought to a draw once and lost one on points. I
never was knocked out by anybody.

MILWAUKEE STILL A HOODOO.

As I have said before, Milwaukee was always my hoodoo, but I decided to make one more try, anyway. On May 3, I danced into the ring for the third time in the old hard-luck town. On this occasion I hooked up with Charlie Berry in our first meeting. He didn't make much of a showing at that, being content with standing off and boxing a la Attell. He refused to come
in and fight, and as a result the best the referee could do was to declare the engagement a draw. I received $50 for my end of the pot.

I moved up the State a bit here, and on the evening of May 18 I found myself ready for action at Omro,Wis. Harry Fails was my opponent. He was a hefty sort of a scrapper and he went one of the warmest old six-round battles seen there in many days. It was one of those "no decision" affairs and both were dissatisfied with the affair. The' ending of this battle was so unsatisfactory to both of us and there was so much talk among the fans, that it was decided to match us again.

GOES IN BATTLE IN SNOW.

To have a second match sounded all right, but I am here to tell you that we had our troubles right then and there. The sheriff of the county came over and told us that if we attempted to fight at Omro that he would arrest the whole bunch, and that a few of us might get in the pen. That gave us a scare, because that penitentiary thing didn't make much of a hit with me. The sheriff said the authorities higher up had notified him that if he didn’t prevent the fight his job would go to some other man.

The fight "bugs" wouldn't have any delay, however, and they got busy. Being a mere kid and searching for adventure this idea of doing something on the sly got next to me and I was right in for it. Fails was also willing to take a chance. So, the sports went to work and hired all the rigs in town and early in the morning we set out for Rheinlander, Wis., which was just across the county line.

Our troubles were not over yet, for, just as we started there came up a heavy snow. That was the first time I had ever seen it snow in May, but it was bitterly cold. We two fighters didn't have any way to ride, and while some of the fellows offered to let us sit in their laps we decided to hoof it, as it would be good training, anyway. The snow came down in great sheets. In fact, it snowed so hard that we couldn't see 100 yards ahead of us, and we were afraid all the time of being stopped by some constable who was just as liable to let his gun go off as not. I had on my little $7 suit, but before I had gone two miles the wind had blown it out of shape and I almost cried.

FOUGHT IN AN OLD BARN.

The whole gang of country sports finally landed safely across the line and, frozen nearly stiff, we fighters were taken into a big barn that had formerly been used by goats. We had to jump up and down to keep warm, and when I donned the fighting togs the goose pimples broke out on me as big as small peas.

After everybody had got their bets down a long, lank country "sport" was selected as referee. The influence that caused him to be selected was the fact that his daddv owned the barn.

Well, we finally went at it hammer and tongs. It was ten rounds and every minute was filled with tough fighting. The crowd was howling all the time and urging each of us to knock the other out, 'but we couldn't. At the end both of us were fresh and ready to go on, but the "sport" who had been refereeing grabbed both our right hands, and holding them aloft, exclaimed :"Even up, boys, hang-fiddled if she wasn't." Of course, he meant by that peculiar decision that we had fought a draw bout.

MONEY ROLLED THROUGH CRACKS.

There was no purse to fight for, but the generous sports began showering us with coin. We immediately decided to divide evenly all that was picked up. There were some tall pickings, too. The cracks in the floor were very large and a lot of the money rolled through. Not to be done out of anything we got a hammer and a crowbar and pried up the floor planks. When we
had gotten all the coin together we each had $150. That was enough to make up for the hardships we had suffered, and having learned something about $7 clothes I went right back to town and planked down $12.50 like a real "sport" and told the clerk to give me the best in the house.

ANOTHER TILT IN A BARN.

AFTER MY GO with Fails at Rhinelander, I hit the road for a tour of the northern resorts, intent on resting up a bit. I did not even view a fight until November 10th, when I tied up with Bill Heck, at West Pullman, Ill. This was not much of a battle, as we fought but fourrounds, it being one of those "no decisions" affairs. My end of the purse amounted to $5.00. We fought in Pete Kelley's barn.


COMPLETE TABLE OF BOXERS WHO SECURED THE
VERDICT OVER THE CHAMPION.

OPPONENT ROUNDS DECISION
Berry, Charles 6 Won
Berry, Charles 6 Won
Boyle, Pete 4 Won on foul
Britt, Jimmie 20 Won
Britt, Jimmie 20 Won
Gans, Joe 42 Won on foul ?
Hedmark, Joe 6 Won
Neary, Charles 6 Won
Percente, Joe 6 Won
Riley, Mickey 6 Won
Santry, Eddie 6 Won
Stearns, Eddie 9 Won
Total Fights Decided Against Me... Twelve

Unlike most fighters who reach the top and then immediately take steps to cover up their old records, I am herewith giving out for the very first time, a correct table of record showing in
detail just how many boxers defeated me. The battles with Berry, Boyle, Hedmark, Riley, Percente, et al, were, as will be observed, all limited goes, and were fought when I was a "green kid." You will observe the names of the two BIG ones GANS and BRITT, above. Well, on another page among my list of Knock-outs you will also find their names boldly inscribed. It is from this pair that I won the WORLD'S CHAMPIONSHIP.

PRES. THEODORE ROOSEVELT AND BATTLING NELSON
AT WHITE HOUSE, WASHINGTON, D. C.

On February 14, 1909, I paid a short visit to the White House to call on President Roosevelt and was received royally and had the honor of spending about an hour in his company, Theodore Roosevelt's name is one that will be associated in the minds of the American people with that of George Washington and Abraham Lincoln.

CHAPTER VI.

Nelson Learns of Dishonesty for First
Time. Was " robbed" in Fight With Eddie Santry.

The worst evil that a young pugilist has to encounter is the tendency on the part of certain men connected with the game to make him dishonest. These smooth talking fellows who are not game enough to take an even chance and bet their money on the man they think will win, hang around a fighter's training quarters like wolves. They are continually making propositions to the coming champions to sell out. These offers of large amounts of money sometimes turn the head of the boy whose will isn't too strong at best, and they
frequently become dishonest.

I shall never forget how one of these human wolves came to me before my fight with Aurelia Herrera and offered me $10,000 and half of the money he won on bets if I would lose. "You had better go and bet that $10,000 on me and pay nothing," I told him, "for I am going to win anyway." He went away saying he was afraid to take the chance. After that I would not let him near my training quarters.

But that is getting a little ahead of my story. The young fellow just starting out is often trapped into things which hurt his record, even though he is perfectly honest. This is one of the pitfalls that all pugilists encounter at the start. They are so ignorant of the ways of the world that they think everybody connected with the game honest.

BAT'S FIRST RAW DEAL.

The first raw deal that I got was in my fight with Eddie Santry at Chicago Nov. 29, 1901. It was for six rounds. Immediately after my mill with Percente, Santry’s manager challenged me for a go. I, of course, accepted, but wanted a longer fight. He refused to go over six rounds, so I had to accept, being glad at the time to get a chance to box him at any distance.

The fight was pulled off at the famous old Pyramid Athletic Club. From the very tap of the gong in the opening round clear down to the conclusion of the sixth I battered Santry all over the ring. I made him break ground every inch of the way, carried the fight to him and did 75 per cent, of the leading. In the final round I clipped Santry on the jaw and he went to the mat. He was all but out. I was dancing around in glee, waiting for him to get up, and the crowd was yelling like mad men. I noticed Santry say something as he was falling, but I could not make out the words.

GIVES DECISION TO FALLEN MAN.

Imagine my surprise when a minute later Referee Jimmy Bardell grabbed the fallen Santry by the right hand and held it aloft. That meant that Santry had won the fight. I was almost knocked dumb with surprise.I had been winning all the way and saw a chance for new honors. As I afterward found out, Santry old fox that he was got the ear of Bardell before he
went on and said: "Bardell, everything is all fixed. I am going to allow Nelson to stay the limit so he can win a reputation by going this far with ME. I am, of course, to receive the decision on points."

It was a beautiful frame up indeed from Santry's end. At the time I was an unsophisticated kid and little suspected that I was being robbed. That's why they put one over on me. After Bardell had given Santry the decision I was very angry. I stepped up to him and asked an explanation. Here's what he said:

"Why, Nelson, Santry told me everything was fixed for him to win."

Evidently Bardell and the club managers at that time imagined I should be willing to stand for such a game. They were badly mistaken, I'll tell you. It was my policy to fight on the square at all times.After the Santry robbery I went over to Milwaukee and fought another draw with Joe Percente, the Italian. I didn't stay there long, however, as I wanted to be in
Chicago the following day.

THE FRESH KID MAKES GOOD.

The second day after I arrived in Chicago I was playing pool with a pal of mine on Wabash avenue. The boys standing around got to talking about prize fighting and I cut in as if I knew something. "I can fight some myself," I remarked to a fellow who had started up an argument. "So you can fight, can you," he replied in a sarcastic way, and everybody laughed. He was a kind of a bully around there, and everybody always laughed when he said anything. They had to.

"Yes, I can fight," was the way I came back at him. "And more'n that, I'll bet money on it." I was kind of cut up over being shown up and I dug my little bankroll of $6 up and offered to bet it. About that time Johnny Hertz, manager of a fight club, dropped in and he began to listen to my talk. He seemed to take a liking to me right away and came over and bought me a soda .water."Kid," he said, "do you really want to fight?" I told him that I sure did. "Well, I'll tell you, I've got a fellow over here named Mike Walsh, and he was to go on to-night, but the other man has failed to show up. If you want to fight you can have the chance. He is a much bigger fellow than you, however. He is a middleweight. If you can make any kind of a showing I will give you $75."

That made my eyes open and I jumped at it. "I don't care how big he is," I said, and with the crowd following me I went over to the American Athletic Club at Thirty-first street and Wabash avenue. ,

WALSH SNEERED AT HIM.

When Walsh saw me he sneered and told the manager that he had better get a man. "I'm not here to lick kids," he said, as he looked me over. After some talk we finally got into our fighting togs and into the ring we went. The first crack out of the box I shot one into his bread basket that doubled him up in a knot. It had him going, but he was so big that he
quickly got over it. He was six feet tall and I was only five feet six then. Though he outweighed me by pounds, was taller, more experienced and tougher, I lambasted his slats for fair.
In the sixth round I stung Mike in the stomach again and he appeared to get very angry.

"Why, you fresh little runt," he snapped at me, "I'll take you up and swallow you whole." The crowd laughed at this, but I was just as fresh as he was, and I came right back at him.
"Well," I replied, "if you do you'll have more fighting sense in your belly than you've got in your head." This brought a big laugh from the fellows who hear it, and Walsh was so surprised that he dropped his hands to his side to glare at me. Just as he did I let one fly from my hip that caught him squarely on the jaw and he hit the mat with a jolt. He was out for fair. When he fell his neck hit the ropes, he was so tall. I got my $75, and that night was hero at the poolroom where the fellow had tried to make fun of me. Nobody around that place ever took me for a mark after that.

[granberry]

Thanks for the additional Bat Nelson.

[granberry]

"Well, Kid, I'll take a chance with you. Be around here next Saturday night and I'll put you on with the famous lightweight, Freddie Green. If you manage to make good, why, I'll give you a chance the next day (Sunday) to fight Soldier Williams. This latter battle to take place at our annual picnic and field day."

[granberry]

Bat Nelson autogiography excerpts;

Nelson Learns of Dishonesty for First Time.

The worst evil that a young pugilist has to encounter is the tendency on the part of certain men connected with the game to make him dishonest. These smooth talking fellows who are not game enough to take an even chance and bet their money on the man they think will win, hang around a fighter's training quarters like wolves. They are continually making propositions to the coming champions to sell out. These offers of large amounts of money sometimes turn the head of the boy whose will isn't too strong at best, and they frequently become dishonest.

I shall never forget how one of these human wolves came to me before my fight with Aurelia Herrera and offered me $10,000 and half of the money he won on bets if I would lose. "You had better go and bet that $10,000 on me and pay nothing," I told him, "for I am going to win anyway." He went away saying he was afraid to take the chance. After that I would not let him near my training quarters.

But that is getting a little ahead of my story. The young fellow just starting out is often trapped into things which hurt his record, even though he is perfectly honest. This is one of the pitfalls that all pugilists encounter at the start. They are so ignorant of the ways of the world that they think everybody connected with the game honest.

[Seamus]

Hegewisch is actually not a town but an area of Chicago that was annexed way back in 1889, so technically it was Chicago when Battling Nelson fought there. It's an interesting area at the extreme South East end of the city, and to this day, because it's so cut off (by Wolf Lake, swamps and the Calumet River) from the rest of the city, it has a real small town atmosphere. Back as late as the 1930's it had dikes to keep out the waters of Wolf Lake to the east, which in those days was connected to Lake Michigan. The body of Bobby Franks, murdered by Leopold and Loeb, nearby in 1924, was also brought to a Hegewisch funeral home, which is still in business almost 84 yrs later. And at the SW corner of Hegewisch is the massive Ford Motor Plant.

I'd be interested to know exactly where in Hegewisch that Battling Nelson fought, especially since one bout was held on New Year's Day which obviously means an indoor venue.

The town of Dalton is actually Dolton, but countless locals pronounce it as Dalton for some reason.

Eddie Santry lived on the Near West Side of Chicago somewhere around Jackson-Ashland. I used to drink with one of his descendants.

GREAT ARTICLE !!!

[Robinson]

Thank you for that guys !

[robert.snell1]

sorry for my late reply guys. I will be posting a lot more this coming weekend in the newsletter and add the Nelson material to this thread.

[granberry]

sorry for my late reply guys. I will be posting a lot more this coming weekend in the newsletter and add the Nelson material to this thread.

Please do.

I am interested in his comments on his fights with Gans (and with Britt, Wolgast, Attell, and others).

I have been looking for this book for years

and thought I would never see it.

[robert.snell1]

sorry mate i forgot about adding more of the nelson stuff to this thread but I will do so in the morning. By the way when i have finished the whole thing i would be happy to send you the complete word doc. make a note though to remind me !!!!

[Robinson]

Robert

Would it be possible if I could grab one as well ?

That would be greatly appreciated.

thank you

[robert.snell1]

no problem mate pleased to help out, and there is no point in me keeping it to myself eh

done about half so far complete with all the illustrations etc.

[robert.snell1]

ENDS SEASON WITH A DEFEAT.

I concluded the siege of 1901 in old "Jonahville," Milwaukee, tying up with Charley Berry again. We -met the night after I had cleaned up big middleweight Walsh, and I felt as though I was due to close up the final chapter of the reason by licking Berry. He pursued his same old tactics of stalling, holding on in clinches and dancing around the ring, keeping out of
harm's way, and as a result I hardly got a chance to hand over my sleep pills during the fight. I just couldn't shake the hoodoo, and though I was giving him the worst of it whenever I got near him, and at the finish was smothering him with blows, he was awarded the decision on "points." So ended the hardest and unluckiest year of fighting experienced by me during my entire career - 1901.

SYNOPSIS OF TAD'S LIFE.
(BY BAT.)

T. A. Dorgan (the cartoonist, who has several illustrations of my career in this book), known the world over as TAD is a very unique person, indeed. He was born amidst flowers and sunshine. He first saw the light of day in San Francisco, Cal., Sunday, April 29, 1877. He was reared in the same neighborhood as Jimmy Britt, Frankie Neal and Joe Kennedy, which is known as South of Market.

When Tad was still a good sized kid his folks moved over to the Hayes Valley district .Incidentally he was compelled to move along with his folks. He was still in a neighborhood of such noted mitt pushers as James J. Corbett, Joe Choynski and others of note, and consequently got interested in sports such as boxing, foot racing and, in fact, every sport known to
the kids.

As a mere stripling he befell an accident to his right arm, rendering that wing paralyzed. He has been compelled to earn a living with his one remaining mitt his left, or south paw which, by the way, is a sure enough ''bread winner."

TAD A 'REAL SCRAPPER

He went through grammar school and graduated at the head of his class. While attending school he was a frequent visitor to the fighters training camps and drew many cartoons of the fighters doing their training stunts. He also got so that he could use his mitts or rather his remaining mitt, and had all the boys of his size buffaloed with his skill as a glove wielder.
Graduating from grammar school he went to the Polytechnic High School, where Miss Van Vleck gave him his first real lessons. After graduating from the Polytechnic High School he secured a job from the San Francisco Bulletin, drawing fashion plates for no salary. After six years of working on that paper he had worked his way up to being a "Sporting Cartoonist," and was receiving the largest salary ever paid a man in that department on that paper. The last year's work was of such rare quality that all the leading papers in the United States were bidding for his services.

ARTHUR BRISBANE LANDS TAD

Arthur Brisbane, one of the cleverest editorial writers, and, without a doubt, the highest salaried newspaper man in the world, sought his services. After out bidding all others he secured Tad's "John Hancock" to an agreement to work as sporting cartoonist of the New York Journal, where he has been dropping them ever since with "one punch." Tad, in my estimation, as a cartoonist, is in a class all by himself.

CHAPTER VII.

Bat Nelson's Father Makes Him Fight
for Honor of Hegewisch,
and He Wins.

In 1902 the Battler engaged in eleven fights, and received $873.50 in purses. I got an early start of it in 1902, beginning early in January and continuing uninterruptedly up to almost the
close of the year. I faced the referee just eleven times. I fought 78 rounds all told. I managed to win eight of my eleven starts. I knocked out four of my opponents, and won the decision over four others. When I had finished my fight with Charley Berry, in December, 1901, it was getting close on to Christmas, and it was up to me to hike back to Hegewisch. I am
awful strong for Christmas at home and that hanging up the stocking thing still has a hold on me. Every Christmas as regular as a clock I hang up my sock, and my good old mother never fails to see that Santa Claus puts something in it.

With $50 in my pocket I reached Hegewisch two days before Christmas Eve, and I had to get very busy, as all the kids were writing letters to Santa Claus and giving them to me to "mail." The little rascals were wise about Santa Claus, but they tried to make me believe that they were not, and, of course, I "fell." I couldn't buy everything they wanted, because one of
them wanted a big balloon with a parachute so that they could go up and make parachute leaps! Can you beat that?

On Christmas Day my father called me into the little parlor and said he wanted to have a talk. "Now, Bat," he began, and then he told me that he wanted me to stop the fighting business. "Before you leave home," he said, "you must promise."

WOULD NOT PROMISE TO QUIT THE RING.

I wouldn't exactly promise, but told him I would think it over. So we all went downtown. The crowd in Hegewisch usually hangs out at Dad Knight's bar. Just as we went in the door two fellows were having an argument.One of them was from Pullman, where they make the sleeping cars. In Hegewisch we have the largest car works in the world, but we only make working
cars, such as flat cars, freight cars, etc.

The Pullman fellows think they have something on us because they make fancy cars, and there is always an argument about which is the better town. "Maybe you do make the best cars/' said the fellow from Hegewisch, "but you can't fight over there." "Can't fight?" snapped the other fellow. "What's tearing at you? Why we've got the greatest fighter in
the world at Pullman, and he can lick anything that ever growed in Hegewisch. I'd like to see you show some guy who could face Frankie Colifer. Why, he's a whirlwind."

"Get out!" cried the Hegewisch man. "Hegewisch can beat anybody in Pullman at anything, and I'll bet you on it." Just then he spied me and the old man as we came in the door.
"Say, kid," he said, "can't you lick any body your weight in Pullman?" I said "I was willing to try, and would take a chance at it anyway."

"You tink dey got boy over dere vot can beat my boy vot?" my father flared up in his funny Danish dialect. "Veil, ve'd lack to see him. My boy bane a vender;" and the old man was getting all worked up. He had forgotten all about my promising not to fight any more.

HIS DANISH FATHER GETS ANGRY.

"I bet I bet I bet you von tousand dollars," the old man said excitedly, as he kept getting redder in the face. "Leek my boy vot?" "Bat," he said turning to me, "you go an' leek dis
Pullman boy, and eef you dake a leekin veil, I leek some myself, huh? vot ?"

There was nothing to it now. I had to fight for the honor of Hegewisch, and the fellow who was boosting me patted me on the shoulder and said : "Now bring on your fancy Pullman fighter !"

For the next few days the town was wild with the talk of the coming fight and they were betting their shoes. The same thing was going on in Pullman, which was just six miles away. We boys had two weeks in which to get ready, and on Jan. 13, 1902, everybody in Hegewisch went over to West Pullman to see the go. The town was closed up. It was a general holiday.
We fought in an empty barn adjoining Pete Kelley's saloon, and the bout was to have gone six rounds.

This fellow Colifer was a pretty good fighter at that, but I remembered that I was battling for the honor of my home town, and I tore at him like a demon. The building was packed so that it bulged out at the sides. On one side the Pullman employees were pulling for their man, and on the other it seemed to me like all the Danes and Swedes in the world were pulling for me.
You know I had made peace with the Swedes by this time, and they were working in perfect harmony with us Danes. This time we were all together. Everybody in the town had made a little bet.

HAMMERED AT THE RIBS.

The first few rounds went along pretty even, but I was hammering away at Colifer's wind, and it was beginning to tell. In the fifth round while the Danes and Swedes were talking
all sorts of languages and yelling for me to go on I cracked Colifer in the stomach. He doubled over and as his head came down I hung a beaut squarely on his chin and he flopped over
on the mat. By this time the Hegewisch crowd was crazy with joy. Colifer was very limp and took the full count of nine, and then to everybody's surprise, he got up. He was certainly game to the core. As he got to his feet I set myself and got a clean right-handed swing on his jaw. This put him out for good, and we had a hard time bringing him back to consciousness.
The last word I heard as I started to jump out of the ring was, "An' dey dink dey can leek my boy, vot !" followed by a familiar chuckle. The old man was still on the job.

I was handed fifty one dollar bills' for my victory, and I won that much more in bets that I had made with the Pullman employees. My success in saving the fighting honor of Hegewisch
appeared to take all of the talk out of the old man about making me quit the game. From this time on he was a dyed-in-the-wool fight fan. To this day he thinks there is nobody in the world who "can leek his boy, vot!" and, between you and me, his son Battling has got somewhat of the same notion.

HIS TERRIBLE EXPERIENCE IN RING.

Anyway the change in my dear old father was enough to warrant me in starting out again. Having had good luck in Wisconsin I journeyed that way again, and it was at Fond du Lac, two weeks later, that I met Charley Berry for the third and last time.

I had lost, as stated, a close decision to Berry the December previous, and he challenged me again. This time we had eight rounds, though I held out for twelve or fifteen rounds. Like our previous battle the affair went the full eight rounds. He fought a pretty stiff sort of a battle throughout, but although at no time did he have the best of the fighting, Referee Tom Ryan
of Oshkosh awarded the plum to him. In the final rounds I forced Berry through the ropes in my anxiety to put him out. Fearing he would be killed, as the drop to the floor was about eight feet, I tried to catch him as, he was falling. I did this because I figured I had gained a big lead and thought that I had the battle wrapped up. Therefore I grabbed him to check the fall, in order to give his fat manager Paddy Dorrell a chance to protect his man. Paddy during the excitement made a misstep in his corner and fell, and Berry tumbled over him, thus saving himself from a hard fall. I was in the wreck and tumbled headlong over a chair, my head striking a post, almost knocking- me out as well.

The gong sounded and Referee Ryan held up Berry's hand as the winner. I received $75 for my end, though I lost out.

FINALLY BEAT JOE PERCENTE.

Joe Percente and I met for the fourth and last time at Oshkosh, Wis., on March 13, 1902. I had caught a bad cold after the Berry affair, and when I weighed in, clothes and all mind you, the beam scarcely tipped 130 pounds. I was game, however, and went in to hand Sir Joseph a good beating. I carried the fight to him and won the bout in handy fashion.

RETURNS TO WINDY CITY AND KNOCKS OUT KID RYAN.

I RETURNED TO CHICAGO after the win over Percente, and was matched with Kid Ryan in the feature bout, on a lovely St. Patrick's Day evening, March 17, of course. Strange to relate, I had previously fought on each Irish day of celebration, and had managed to win each time with a knockout. Ryan, will be remembered by the fight fans of Chicago and vicinity as a slashing sort of a boxer. He tried his rushing tactics on me early in the fight, but after I had met his fierce rushes with a series of telling uppercuts and left hooks, he backed up a bit and allowed me to do the leading. The bout, according to the announcer, was to go six rounds. It didn't, however, as in the fifth round I sailed in and hooked Ryan "crooly" on the jaw
several times, also using my left half-scissors hook on the liver, and down he went for the fatal ten seconds. I was handed $75 for the job. Besides I won a nice little side bet.

WINS DECISION OVER CYCLONE JOHNNY THOMPSON.

THE WEEK FOLLOWING the knocking out of Ryan found me matched with the then coming Cyclone Johnny Thompson. We tied up on the night of March 21, and there was surely a cyclone all right that struck the place but it was not of the Thompson variety. No, it was another of those Nelsonian whirlwinds which even at that date was scouting about knocking aspiring young pugilists into oblivion and other places. The Cyclone was prettily dusted out of wind in the early rounds of the battle, and his famous "funnel" shaped cloudy rushes wouldn't work at all. I beat him into submission in the final rounds of the fight, though did not knock him completely out. I won the decision easily ; also the snug sum of $100 purse money. Going up a bit in the financial world ?

SYNOPSIS OF EDGREN.
(BY BAT.)
BAT.

Robert Edgren, sporting editor and cartoonist of New York Evening World, commonly known as Bob Edgren, has donated several cartoons, illustrating my life, etc., and, of course, the book would be incomplete without his invaluable pen and ink drawings. Bob first saw the light of day in good old Chicago town. He graduated from the primary grades and then moved his bag and baggage to California, the land of climates and apricots (and some lemons). While on the Pacific Coast he put on weight rapidly until he weighed over 200 pounds, giant. His stature was 6 feet 2

USED WEIGHT FOR MORE THAN BALLAST.

While attending the University of California Bob, with his 225 pounds of human avoirdupois, figured to use it for more than ballast. He took up hammer throwing and won every contest he entered for two or three years, breaking J. Sarsfield Mitchell's record by two feet and became a champion. For a year Bob threw out his chest as "King Pin of Hammer Throwers." John Flanagan came to this country and beat Edgren's record by about three feet. Flanagan afterward put the record on the shelf beyond the reach of Edgren.

SPARRING PARTNER FOR JIM CORBETT.

About the time Jim Corbett went into training for his championship fight at Carson City with Bob Fitzsimmons,he was looking for big men to spar with. As Edgren had showed great skill with the mitts he was invited to join the Corbett training staff, which .position he filled like a veteran.

STARTS NEWSPAPER WORK IN NEW YORK CITY.

Following the Corbett-Fitzsimmons fight he started work on a New York paper doing some cartoon work as well as writing some articles on sporting events. One day he drew a freckle and outlined the form of Fitzsimmons around it. Next day his boss gave him a raise in salary. Ever since Fitz has been pictured as a "Human Freckle."

PUTS SHIP ON SHARKEY'S BREAST.

Encouraged by the success of the freckle and the boost on the payroll Bob drew a picture of Tom Sharkey, and pictured the battleship Maine on his massive breast. This caused Edgren to "leap to fame," as the biographers say, and he was given another raise in salary. By this time his wages were large enough to allow pie in the bill of fare at least once a day.

Bob has also pictured me up into distinct caricatures "The Wiskers Punch" and "The Wire Hair." Bob Edgren is, at the time this is going to press, holding the position of sporting editor and cartoonist on the New York Evening World at a fat salary. He is now able to add, not only pie, but all the delicacies to the bill of fare from soup to nuts.

CHAPTER VIII.

Champion Knocks Out William Rosser
in Two Seconds, the Shortest
Fight on Record.

As a rule, I do not gamble on fights, but occasionally I make exceptions, and I have always been exceedingly fortunate in picking winners. This is due largely to the fact that in the fights in which Battling Nelson has participated I have always bet on myself. As a beginner, however, I didn't have enough money to risk on the result of my ring battles, and I was very
well satisfied to get the purse. The greater part of my earnings was sent to my mother, and I had very little pocket money that I could afford to lose. Shortly after I had licked Cyclone Johnny Thompson, in March, 1902, I began to take on a lot of confidence, and I made up my mind that I would put down a bet on myself the next time I started, if a good chance was
offered and I could keep my mother from finding it out. It came quicker than I expected. William Rosser, a lightning fast young lightweight, and at that time the pride of West Pullman, and a boy who had been defeating every Chicago fighter who dared to come into his bailiwick, sent me a challenge after I had stopped the Cyclone. With a large party of my
Hegewisch friends and backers we journeyed over to Harvey by buses, buggies, automobiles and in every manner imaginable. We were about 250 strong.

MAKES A WILD BET.

About a week previous to the fight while training at my White House Club at home, Frank Reiger, one of those talkative fellows, dropped into the club rooms and asked me what I thought of my chances in the coming fight. I jokingly said, "Why, I'll knock him out in a round." Reiger, who had been continually belittling my ability as a fighter, at once offered to bet me $40, to $4, or $10 to $1, that I wouldn't knock him out in a round. I, thinking it was only a bunch of hot air, dug down in my jeans and took up the bet. Reiger immediately appointed
George Wickham as stakeholder and handed him the $40. Of course, I put up my four, thinking he would try and crawl out of the bet any moment. But the stakeholder forced him to keep his coin up.

Now that the bet was made and the money posted it was up to me to figure out ways and means to win that fight in a gallop. I immediately made up my mind to get that one round
money if I never fought again. I notified my backers that I would show the Harvey sports three minutes of the fastest fighting they ever saw in their lives, if Rosser lasted that long.
Having that forty dollars in view all the while, I made up my mind that I wouldn't allow him to get a start. When we were called to the centre of the ring for instructions I had the scheme figured out. Instead of retiring to my corner, as is customary, I decided to take a step toward his corner.

WORKED LIKE A CHARM.

The trick worked like a charm. As the timekeeper rang the bell Rosser raised out of his chair, and he was just within nice hitting distance. The bell had not ceased ringing before I shot a terrific right-hand swing flush on his jaw. He tottered a step forward and fell in the centre of the ring. Rosser tried hard to get up and made two futile efforts to rise, but only got to arm's
length, and by the time the referee had tolled off seven seconds he dropped on his face and turned over on his back and remained for the full count, only to be carried to his dressing room by his handlers.

My only punch was so well directed that it was hours before he regained consciousness. This is the shortest fight on record. Malachy Hogan, who officiated as referee in the
famous Martin Flaherty-Dai Hawkins fight at Carson City, Nev., March 17, 1897, which lasted four seconds, also officiated in our fight. He makes affidavit to the effect that our contest was the shorter of the two. I received for the job $50, or an average of $25 a
second.

PRESENTED WITH GOLD WATCH.

The following day I was presented with a nice solid gold stop-watch by Billy McLatchey for my two-second knockout of Rosser. My brother "Art" was a spectator, although a mere
kid. It being very late in the evening when the fight took place he fell asleep on the benches and some of the crowd suggested to him that he stand up so he could see the
fight. "No," he said sleepily, "I had better sit down so that I can't fall off the bench in case Bat gets hurt." "Art" to-day is not sure that he saw the punch that put Rosser out, although he saw him fall to the floor. The following day I collected my bet of $44 won from "Noisy Reiger." He is to this day being chided by the bunch around Hegewisch because of the bet he
made when he thought he had a cinch. That was by far the most satisfactory bet that I ever won.

PULLMAN AGAIN GETS AMBITIOUS.

At this time it began to look as if those Pullman fellows were never going to get enough. I had hardly got through talking about the quick victory over Rosser when a young fellow named Danny McMahon, of Philadelphia, whom I had fought before, wanted to take up Pullman's fight, and I had to hustle over there and meet him. The fight ended in a draw and that was the closest I came to losing a decision in the town which loves my native Hegewisch like Battling Nelson loves the smallpox. This was giving me good experience, however, and as
long as I kept winning I was perfectly willing to take a chance.

A few days thereafter I was sitting on the front steps of our home in Hegewisch when a fellow came along and asked me if I was "Kid" Nelson. "Some call me 'Kid' and some call me 'Battling.'" J replied, "I guess either one will do." "And you think you are some fighter, eh?" he asked in a sneering way. "That's just about the size of it," I came back at him. "Well," he answered. "You don't look so good to me. I think I can lick you myself." "Vot, you dink you kin leek my boy, vot!" My old man was just sticking his head out of the door to get in
the argument.

CHALLENGED ON MY DOORSTEP.

The fellow said his name was Pudden Burns, and I found that he was a citizen of Hegewisch and worked at the car shops. "Go and get some money," I told him, "and then we'll
talk." He reached right down in his pocket and came out with a roll. There was nothing to it. I had another fight on my hands. In two hours the whole town was talking about the
coming bout, and we arranged to have the mill in the Hegewisch Opera House, a block from my home. This fellow Pudden Burns wanted to show me up right in my home town, and I always have had a sneaking idea that the Swedes put him up to it. They didn't want to see a Dane winning all the glory.

That fellow gave me a tough fight of it, however, and stayed the full six rounds, though I mauled him all over the ring. At the end of the last round the referee gave me the decision and Pudden didn't kick. He said he thought that I had won. I got $75 for turning, this trick, and that entitled me to stay a few more days at home. By this time my father had given up all idea of making me stop the fighting game and very privately one day he said: "Go ahead, veen de champeenship!" With that to urge me on I finally made good.

As a matter of fact I think my start for the championship began that week. I went over into Indiana again and was jobbed out of a decision when I met Billy Hurley at Hammond. The referee called the bout a draw, and the affair came near winding up in a free for all fight.

LOST CONFIDENCE IN OFFICIALS.

I was losing confidence in the honesty of officials and I decided to quit that part of the country entirely and seek a new field. It was during the early part of July, 1902, when I
packed up my fighting togs, bundled up my Spalding fighting shoes, and, after bidding the folks good-bye at home, I hiked over to the freight yards and a few minutes was cozily settled beneath the body of a big freight car which was tagged for the South. I had heard many yarns about the hot sports of Hot Springs, and thought there was a good chance for me to get on in a few bouts during the big season. Then, the curative properties of the water, I figured, would do much to build me up and make me strong.

After several days of hunger and other hardships I found myself rudely thrown out from under the car, and there I was at last, safe and sound, in the Springs of good old Arkansaw.

FAMOUS EXPERT EXAMINES FIGHTER FOR
THE TRAVELER.
BY JOHN R. ROBINSON.

Wallop Battling Nelson in the stomach, hard and swift. Then follow it by another wallop in the same place. And according to the dope, you're lightweight champion of the world.
You can hit Nelson on the jaw as long as you want, and the only thing that you'll hurt is your hands. You can hit him over the kidneys, on the ears, on the nose, blacken both eyes and pound his chest to a frazzle, and he'll still grin through the blood and come back for more.

This is no opinion of mine. I've boxed and wrestled with the wonderful Danish fighting machine, have pulled him to the floor and jumped on him, have battered his head against the walls of the gymnasium until my arms were sore, and the only thing I ever found out was that I got tired quicker than he did, and wanted to rest after the exercises and watch Nelson go through the same course with another willing man.

"Some people say I'm not human," said Nelson recently in Boston. "Joe Gans and Jack London have called me funny names, but still that real estate of mine keeps on increasing in value. And now I want to find out if I really am like other people, both in mind and body. I want you to take me to Dr. Sargent at Harvard, and have him settle the question."

DR. SARGENT WELL QUALIFIED FOR WORK.

This was ten days ago, and in the meantime Dr. Sargent has prepared charts and made his deductions. And The Traveler is fortunate enough to be able to present exclusively to its readers the opinions of the greatest physical culture expert in the world.

Just a few words about Dr. Sargent. He is so well known that the average reader does not need this information, but for those who are not acquainted with him, it may be well to say that he has examined some of the greatest pugilists of modern times, and has spent a lifetime in the study of the human body. Starting with his medical degree, he had the real foundation upon which to work to advise others their weak and strong physical points, and his many years' experience with his own physical culture institution at Cambridge and in the
Hemimingway gymnasium have fitted him to talk expertly on Nelson as a fighter and a man.

We were sent to the Hemenway gymnasium by Dr.Sargent, and Nelson was ordered to undress. First his lungs were tested, then his grip, then his lifting, pulling and pushing power. Then the doctor took hold of him and started him through a course of exercises, stopping him every few moments to examine his heart, lungs and other portion of his anatomy.

"Nelson has the best heart and lungs I have ever examined," said the doctor. "Take the same care of yourself in the future as you have in the past, and you'll be champion for many years to come."

NELSON'S BRAIN is OF NORMAL SIZE.

Here is what Dr. Sargent said of the fighter after his examination. It shows wherein the Dane excels all other men for his own profession :"I find that Nelson is a very intelligent man," said
Dr. Sargent. "His brain is of normal size there is nothing extraordinary about it, except that he can think quicker and act faster than most persons. "His heart, a most essential organ to be in perfect condition for a professional athlete, is a most extraordinary organ. It is about normal in size and beats very regularly. I find that it beats perfectly before exercise and during exertion increases a very little. After exertion it returns very quickly to its regular beat again. "This is very uncommon. A man who takes the exercise that all professional boxers should and do take regularly has, as a rule, a very irregular heart. But Nelson's heart does not show this weakness. He can go into the ring with his regular heart beat, fight a hard three minute
round and his heart will beat faster. But when he takes his corner and rests for a minute he is in the same condition as before he started.

"Nelson is a chap who is not easily excited. It takes more than a good strong blow to make him mad. I believe he could do almost anything, under almost any circumstances, and still keep his head. This may be attributed to his heart and also to the fact that he has trained his mind to obey the orders of his brain. "His lungs are normal and perfect. He is a man who
breathes with the long, deep breath which I advise all persons to use. His lungs are just right for a man of his weight, age and build, and capable of taking a good hard punch. This is a very good point in a fighter you could strike him in the chest and knock out part of his wind, and he could come back in a few seconds after recovering from the shock with the remaining wind in his lungs, and keep on fighting until the lungs were well filled again.

"His chest is good. He has a fine expansion far greater than many heavyweights I have examined. This alone is due to constant exercise and the fact that Nelson never used tobacco or liquor in any form. He has a thick, strong set of ribs, and I find they are abnormally wide, thus forming almost an armor plate around his body.

JAW IMPERVIOUS TO PUNISHMENT.

"Nelson's jaw puzzled me more than any other part of his anatomy. You can catch him a good hard uppercut on the point of the jaw, and you get no response. I do not think any man of Nelson's weight and inches could hit the young Dane hard enough on the jaw to even make him feel dazed.

Nelson is a well developed man, and keeps himself in constant training, whether he is preparing for a battle or resting between his engagements. He breathes deeply, takes a good long walk and uses every muscle in his body when he gets to work. It is not a case of strength with him, but of endurance, and I think he could last for any length of time in a battle regardless of how strong or fast his opponent was.

"Nelson recuperates very quickly. This is because he is not easily excited. A man might send him to the floor for the count of six or seven, but he would still realize his position, and he would be ready to continue the fight far within the time limit of ten seconds. He acts very quickly both during exercise and when talking with a person. If he were in the corner of the
room and you would mention his name he would jump. He is exceptionally quick moving on his feet, and with his hands. He has smaller hands and feet than the average person, but that is no odd characteristic. His hands, I find, are very strong and well rounded. He can double his fist quicker than any man I ever saw, and this should enable him to do better execution in hitting than the ordinary pugilist can do.

SHOULD MAKE A GREAT RUNNER.

"His endurance is wonderful. He would make a good long-distance runner, as he can last a long time through the hardest ordeal. He should be able to run for hours and still be fresh, just as he is able to fight for forty two rounds and be strong at the finish. He swings his arms at all times and keeps moving his body, so that the average person might think him nervous. This is not so Nelson methodically goes through these motions to aid in his plan of perfect health. His body is hard, his skin is thick, and his neck able to stand almost any kind
of a blow.

"If he continues to live as he has during the past five or six years, he should reach a remarkable age. I would not dare to say how long he would live, but he should still be a vigorous man at the age of three score years and ten.

"Nelson worries but little. Worrying has killed many a good man, but this young fighter takes things as they come, and does not look into the future with any degree of doubt. He is generally happy and smiles a great dealindeed, during the examination he was very much in earnest, but still he kept chaffing his companion and telling me funny stories.

On the eve of a battle I do not think he likes to talk of what is coming, but prefers to sit by himself and wait, Talking of what is to come might get him excited a little, but it would not worry him in the least. He simply awaits the day of the fight and goes into the ring without a single thing on his mind. He fights better as a result. The man who goes into the ring worrying does not have his mind on the fight, and he gets scared when his opponent makes a pass. But Nelson waits for something to happen, and then he acts accordingly. Then he maps out his own campaign in his calm, methodical way.

ALL IN ALL, A WONDERFUL MAN.

"Taking him all in all, he is a wonderfully built man. His hips are small, and his legs are also small. His chest and arms are those of a man of 150 pounds, and his legs, hips and stomach those of a man of 130. He is not perfectly ; built, according to our modern statue, but nevertheless many of his measurements correspond proportionately to those which the early Greeks decided were the perfect model of symmetry. He is built just right for his profession, and any years that he spent outside of the prize ring were wasted."

This ended Dr. Sargent's interview, and I do not see where anything can be added to it. Nelson is human that is a certainty I never saw him refuse a man a dollar when the asker was in need. He supports his family and lives well himself, and keeps his friends who are true to him. That's human, and if he looks like a fiend to Joe Gans in the ring I can excuse Joe. Imagine how you'd like to be in Joe's place yourself. From Boston Traveler, Nov. 13, 1908.

CHAPTER IX.

Bat Takes $3 Job as Waiter and Whips Six Foot Manager.

After I had been kicked off the train at Hot Springs the first thing I had to think about was something to eat. I didn't have a cent, and the best I could do in the way of clothes was one tattered suit - the old $12.50 boy - that I had bought up in Wisconsin. It was up to me to get busy, so I went out looking for a job. In front of a restaurant I saw a "Waiter Wanted" sign and I went in and applied for the job. The manager offered me $3 a week and my board. It was a good chance to get fed, so I accepted on the spot and went downstairs to wash up.

This restaurant was called the "Ironside," and I afterward learned that it got the name from the tough steaks which were served at 15 cents a throw. It was a regular hash-slinging joint and I knew there was no chance for tips. The fellows who ate there were lucky to have the 15 cents which was the price of a regular meal.

ACCUSED OF STEALING FIFTEEN CENTS.

It was in this restaurant while working as a waiter that I had one of the liveliest fights in my career, and it wasn't in the ring either. On the fourth day I was accused -of stealing 15
cents, and it made me awful sore, for I was innocent. I had a lot of harsh words with my accuser, who it seems was a deputy sheriff as well as owner of the restaurant. He went away, but came back in a few minutes and told me that he had found out that I was innocent and he apologized.

I was just getting ready to leave the place, and he asked me what was the trouble. "Why, the manager refuses to give me my $3 pay that he promised," I replied. "He thinks that my
board is enough." The sheriff told me to go back to work and he would see that I got paid. So I went back on the job.

On the next day the manager had told me to put some ice in the cellar, but just as the ice man came in two customers dropped in, and I had to wait on them. The manager, whose name was Bill Ashton, was in a rage when he came back, and he began to abuse me about the ice. I explained that I had to wait on the only two customers of the day, and, incidentally,
I said something about the business being bad. This made him worse, and he began to curse me awfully. Finally I told him to stop, as I wouldn't stand for being called all those names.

WHIPS RESTAURANT MANAGER.

Ashton was over six feet tall, and he made a furious lunge at me with his fist. I stepped aside, and peeled him a beaut on the jaw. The blow knocked him flat, but he came up with a catsup bottle in his hand and made for me. I caught the bottle and took it away from him, and walloped him in the jaw. He tried more bottles, but he couldn't get a chance to use them. Finally he picked up a four gallon milk pitcher, which he slung at me. I ducked it nicely, and it hit the table where two customers sat, and gave them the first bath they had had in a week.
When it comes to the milk bath thing Anna Held never had anything on them.

Again Ashton tried to kill me with a bottle, and this time I decided to get busy myself. I jerked the bottle out of his hand and tapped him on his bald head.

"I hate to do this, old fellow," 1 said, as we were both panting. "But I need the money." Down he went in a heap.

I was getting on my coat, preparing to leave, when the owner came in and had us both arrested. He told me to go back to work and he would pay me my $3. I did so. The next morning in court the judge wouldn't believe that I had licked that big six-foot man. After hearing the evidence, however, he turned me loose and fined the manager $5.

GETS INTO GYMNASIUM.

I continued to work as waiter at the springs for the reason that if I didn't I would have starved to death. I put in my spare time around the several gymnasiums located in the bathhouses and was in pretty nice shape when things got going. I wanted to give the visitors a line on my ability, and many a hard bout did I box around the baths just to keep me in shape. I didn't care how big the fellow was, I was there with the gloves ready at all times.

After knocking out a couple of real fresh scrappers who thought they were the whole works, I got to be the talk of the town. The knockout of one of these fresh young fellows,
by the way, was really responsible for my giving up my $3 job as a waiter. Billy Maurice, of the Maurice bath, had kindly consented to let me train in the gymnasium connected with his place, and I was working hard to get in shape. One day a big fellow named Wagner came in and began punching at a bag. He was a middleweight in size. Quite a crowd of rich
sports came in with him, and began talking about his ability as a boxer.

"Say, Kid," he said to me, "how would you like to box a little while for exercise?" I looked up at him, and he saw that I was sizing him up. I shook my head a little as if thinking him too big. "Oh, I won't hurt you," he said. "I will only spar. Come on and let's have some fun." "All right," I finally said, and the rich fellows gathered around to have some fun at my expense.
We had boxed along nicely for a couple of rounds and the big man, who I afterward learned was a rich young amateur, was getting the best of it. "You are doing fine," the crowd said to him. He made a couple of light passes at me and one of them landed.

"Now watch me hand this fellow something,"' he whispered to his friends and winked. I didn't hear the words, but I knew what he meant by his actions. All of a sudden he made a wild swing at me. If it had landed it would have taken off the top of my head. I ducked it, however, as he lunged forward with the force of his blow I drove a right-hand swing plump on his jaw with all the force I could put into it. He almost turned a flip-flop, and it was ten minutes before they could bring him around.

I didn't know then that he was a swell guy, but I went right up to him and told him something.

RICH MAN APOLOGIZES.

"I didn't want to do that,"I said, "but you thought you had a little kid to deal with, and you tried to knock his head off just to show him up before your friends. I simply gave you a little of your own medicine, that's all." "You are all right, kid," he replied. "I did try to do you a mean trick, and I want to apologize."

The sports gathered around and made up a little purse for me. They told me that I could give up my job as waiter, and that they would stake me to a good fight later on. Thereupon, I resigned as waiter at the Old Ironside restaurant.

COLONEL ANDY MULLIGAN TO HIS AID.

Col. Andy Mulligan heard of me through those gentlemen, and seemed much taken up with my style and grit. He was running the Vapor City Athletic Club then, which was located at Whittington Park. His friend, Jack Frisby, had a fighter working for him as head waiter, and the latter thought he could stop me without much trouble. A few days after meeting Mulligan and Frisby, his head waiter, Elmer Mayfield, hurled a challenge at me. I jumped at the proposition and accepted on a second's notice. I wanted him to go twenty or twenty-five rounds, but he positively refused to box unless I agreed to ten rounds.

It was indeed a lucky thing for him that he had stipulated the ten-round go, as I was getting to him hard during the last three rounds of the battle. We fought at catchweights, Mayfield weighing 142 while I weighed but 130. However, the aggressive, game, slugging fight which I put up immediately won for me hundreds of friends at the Springs.

The sports wanted to see more of me, and ever since that day the residents of the Garden City have claimed Battling Nelson as their own product. My next opponent in the South was a negro, Christy Williams. His engagement with me is mentioned under a special chapter which is devoted exclusively to the members of the colored race whom I defeated mostly by the knock-out route. No black man ever defeated me.

In a few words, however, I might add that I knocked Negro Williams cold in the seventeenth round. This splendid victory concluded my busy season of 1902.