newsletter vol2 no11

[robert.snell1]

The Boxing Biographies Newsletter
Volume 2- No 11 13th May , 2008
http://www.boxingbiographies.com

If you wish to receive future newsletters ( which includes the images ) please email the message “NEWS LETTERâ€

he Boxing Biographies Newsletter
Volume 2- No 11 13th May , 2008
www.boxingbiographies.com

If you wish to receive future newsletters ( which includes the images ) please email the message “NEWS LETTER”
[email protected]
The newsletter is also available as a word doc on request
As always the full versions of these articles are on the website

WHY BATTLING NELSON FIGHTS.

The following letter was written by Prof. Mike Donovan and sent to George Siler and re-mailed to the Battler at Hegewisch, Illinois.

NEW YORK CITY, Dec. 3rd, 1904, Geo. Siler, Chicago Tribune. Friend George: Battling Nelson's brilliant victory over William Rothwell, "YOUNG CORBETT," at San Francisco, California, Thursday night, revealed a domestic drama which at one time threatened to be a tragedy. The story of the boy's struggles against great odds and his rapid ascent as a pugilist, conceals behind it the fact that for years Nelson has fought with two objects. His objects were outside the prize ring. He fought his way towards the championship with but two ideas to pay the mortgage on his mother's home on Superior avenue, Hegewisch, and to win back the love and admiration of his father, brothers and sister. His mother's love
and tenderness he has had all the time. Practically driven away from home because his family objected to his chosen profession, forbidden scores of times by his father to enter the ring, pleaded with by his mother who feared he would get hurt, Nelson insisted. The boy had fought, and fought desperately, in order that the debt might not worry his father in order that his brothers and sister might go to school and get better educations ; and he has steadily urged the other boys not to follow in his footsteps to keep out of the fighting game.


CHAPTER XVIII.

Nelson Describes His First Fight with
Jimmy Britt for the Championship.

Aside of my natural ambition to win the lightweight championship, one of the strongest reasons I had for my desire to lick Sir James Edward Britt was because he wore a high hat and a Prince Albert coat. It may sound like a ''kid," but, on the level, it made me awful sore to see a prizefighter going around in those swell togs, and I made up my mind that some day I would bring him down to the class where he belonged. In those days it was somewhat of a job for a fighter to lick Britt because he always fought on the coast, and to get a decision over him on points out there was like trying to slip the Washington- monument through the eye of a needle.

After I had licked Corbett, however, there was nothing for Britt to do but to meet me as he had promised. I was doomed to a bitter disappointment, however, before I finally won the championship.

BRITT HAD ONE GOOD PUNCH.

Britt is a strong, game, clever fighter. The only man that ever made Britt show the white feather was Joe Gans. I gave him a much worse beating than Gans did, but the minute he saw the black fellow in the ring he practically threw up his hands and admitted defeat. In his fight with all the other lightweights Britt was game to the core. I never could exactly understand why he let Gans get his goat.

While Britt was a very clever boxer he was lacking in a hard punch. He hit me numerous times on the jaw, but could not even jostle me. He had one punch, though, that was a wonder. It was a low left-hand swing that was a half uppercut and half hook. He would rip this into a fellow's stomach, and as a rule it was a winner. It was one of the best punches that has ever been used in the ring.

Though I had been clamoring for a fight for a long time, this was my first meeting with the pride of the Golden West, and I certainly had my troubles all the way through. Britt did not stand up and fight me, but danced around the ring from the very start to the finish of the fight. As a result, I hardly got a chance to knock him out, although in the thirteenth I laid him flat on his back for the count of nine.

REFEREE WAS HARD ON BAT.

I did get a hold on him several times and came very close to putting the hooks on him, but Referee Roach, who, it seemed, was fighting Britt's battle, roughly pulled me away or stepped in front of me, blocking my punches aimed at his pet James Edward. In the sixteenth round I finally kidded Mr. Britt into a slugging match, a thing which I had been trying all during the fight, but without avail. I had been walking into Sir James without ever guarding a blow, trying to get him to swap punches, and. this was my first opportunity to get him.

Mr. "Wise" Spider Kelly, falling for the act, yelled to Britt to Knock 'im out !" and, of course, Jimmy tried to do everything his seconds told him.

I took all his punches for about forty-five seconds and backed up a step to lead him on. I didn't try to hit back at all, when suddenly I noticed Jimmy step back. Then I knew he was tired, and I thought it was time to set sail and deliver.

TORE INTO THE CHAMPION.

I jumped out of my supposed trance like a flash of electricity and tore after Sir James, determined to do or die, and I knocked him practically out and over the ropes when his seconds grabbed him in order to save him from falling from the ring; at the same time the timekeeper rang the bell to save the Pride of the Golden West. My timekeeper who held the watch protested, claiming that there had been just two minutes of fighting during this round, but it was not allowed.

The story of the battle is too well known and is probably fresh on the minds of the public, so I see no need of going into lengthy details in describing it. To this day I contend that Britt had no business accepting the decision. I have since demonstrated that I was his master. I was his master then, though the battle did terminate in a very unsatisfactory, manner for me. My wounded feelings, however, were somewhat healed when the officials handed Manager Murphy a real package of greenbacks containing $5,600. This was the most money I had received for one fight up to that date.

BAT'S MANAGER IS MISSING.

The day following when I looked for Teddy Murphy, the forty-two-year-old boy manager, as Wally Young, one of the sporting writers on the coast had dubbed him, he was impossible to locate.

Up to date he had not been prompt in settling, and I was anxious to do business in a business-like manner. Hence my anxiety to find him. When I did meet him he made an excuse of business engagements and promised to meet me the next day. I went to the appointed spot, but failed to find Murphy and, of course, became very much worried.

As Eddie Santry, my former sparring partner, was to depart for Chicago, I figured Murphy most likely would be at the ferry to see him off. I hurried to the ferry and found Murphy and Santry checking their trunks. When I accosted Murphy for an explanation he informed me that he was merely there to see Santry off. I had a dinner appointment and therefore couldn't cross the bay with them. On my way back I dropped into Harry Corbett's for my mail. On top of the cash register lay the secret enclosed in an envelope it was from the "boy" manager. I recognized the handwriting as being from Teddy and immediately became very suspicious.

I opened it and there found a note with a hundred dollar bill enclosed. The letter stated that he had been called home on account of sickness in the family and a lot of "bull," etc. I felt positive then that it was his intention to run off with my bankroll, and I immediately got busy.

The police chief and Captain Burnett instantly wired instructions to Stockton, advising the authorities there to arrest Murphy and Santry. Next day Detective Taylor was sent to Stockton and brought Murphy and Santry back to San Francisco, where we settled our difficulties. After that Murphy and I severed connections for good.

AFTER BRITT AGAIN.

I have already told how I defeated Corbett a second time. I now felt as if I was entitled to a return match with Britt, so I got hot on his trail. As I had knocked Corbett out twice the San Francisco press and the public at large demanded of Britt to show his colors and fight me. He finally agreed to sign a temporary set of articles and posted a $2,500 forfeit with Harry Corbett for a fight to take place some time in July. This was done.

Two clauses were inserted in the articles one that I was not allowed to engage in any fight that went over six rounds, the other that I must be on San Francisco soil not later than July I for signing of final articles.

FIGHTS ABE ATTELL.

As I was under the care of Dr. Charles A. Clinton because of my broken rib gotten during the Corbett fight, I found it impossible to fight for a few weeks. I went to the mountains hunting for a month on the doctor's advice.

In the meantime San Francisco sport writers had chronicled the story of my gallant victory over Young Corbett through the East, and as a result I was very much in demand thereabouts. I received offers from the Philadelphia Club to fight three battles, at $1,500 per fight, to go six rounds, no decision they to name my opponents.

It was here that I met Abe Attell. We fought six slashing rounds with the usual "no decision" result. I received $1,500 for my end.

MY RING EXPERIENCES WITH THE NEGRO POPULATION.



During my twelve busy years of fighting I have met just five different negroes out of a string of nearly 100 battles. I feel proud of stating "No Colored Man Ever Conquered Me." Many of my readers may take exception to this statement, but it is nevertheless true. I was not defeated by Joe Gans at Goldfield, Nevada The referee sure enough did decide that I hit the negro foul. His opinion should not be taken as absolutely the whole truth against mine the man whom he accused of striking the alleged foul blow.

This fight is now a matter of history. I demonstrated fully to the public on July 4 and September 9 of this year ( 1908 ) that I was this same negro's master by licking, trouncing, beating and battering him into a mass of "black Jung," if such a slang phrase may be used. My success in boxing him clear off the pugilistic map twice within eight weeks should go far in clearing me of the "foul claim" charged against me at Goldfield, Nevada, in 1906. Shouldn't it?

If Joe Gans wants to make the hit of his life and win the friendship of "The Battler," as I am called, he will come out and tell the exact conditions of that alleged foul yes, tell how he worked upon the poor eyesight of old George Siler. In the year of 1900, when a mere kid, I was knocking around Chicago and vicinity making heroic efforts to become recognized as a fighter. Naturally I was compelled to take on any fighter the club officials saw fit to match me with, and as a result had to tie up with several tough Negro scrappers.

It was in July of that season that I met the first Negro boxer one Feathers Vernon, a man who was at that time looked upon as a pretty tough coon in and around Englewood, "one of Chicago's beautiful suburbs." The story in detail of this great scrap is given in another chapter of the book and needs no recounting here. We fought six rounds and was one of those no decision affairs. I received a five dollar note for the job.

In the following November I met Black No. 2 Black Griffo, also one of the best of his class and color fighting around Chicago. He had been dubbed "Black Griffo," because of his style of fighting and general actions in the ring it much resembled that of the noted Australian fighter Young Griffo.

We fought before the old Twelfth street Turner Hall, corner of Twelfth and Halsted streets, Chicago, run by Silvie Ferreti. Black Griffo lasted but three rounds, being cracked into dreamland with my favorite punch, a "left half scissors hook" on the liver, where I usually have been getting them all ever since, particularly the negro boxing population.

Mistah Edward Jackson Burley was the way they announced the arrival of my third colored opponent at Billy Gain's Club at Logan Square, Chicago, on that quiet cool evening of November 22, 1900. Fifteen minutes later Mr. Edward Jackson Burley was carried out of the ring on a wheelbarrow with his "burlaps" very much disturbed. Oh ! it was a shame to do it, but I was fighting on an empty stomach and needed the money badly for coffee and sinkers. Five rounds was all he lasted, and $5.00 was what I got. "A dollar a round." I dined at Flynn Bros, on State street after the bout and must say I felt better indeed after winning from Burley and eating a good meal.

MY PRIDE HURT.

The Danes, as Burke's Irish history tells us so plainly, were the boys who populated and set at rest all war and strife in Old Ireland many, many "rounds" ago. Well, I'm a Dane all right, and as most of the Irish are no doubt related to me in one way or the other, through ancient descent, I have a feeling for most of them that is, the good ones. So when on St. Patrick's Day, March 17, 1901, when the Chicago papers announced the fact that Bat Nelson was going to meet Black Griffo again at the Sheridan Club, I had a spasm. The idea of me fighting a negro on St. Patrick's Day? What would my Irish friends say?" Sur'n," said "Big Jack" Powell, pitcher for the St. Louis American League, "Bat don't hav' any broachins about Oireland an' yer bein' our cousins, an' not wantin' t' foight on Paddy's birthday, but go in me Batthler an' knock th' devil's head off th' coon. Ye' don't hate thim anny more thin Oi do."

I followed Jack's instructions to the letter and it required but three rounds to accomplish the task. I received $15.00 for my work, and again celebrated at my old standbys Flynn Bros, restaurant and treated myself and friends to the proper feed on such a night "corn beef and cabbage"

All the training I got for this fight was at the Hawley Down Draught Furnish Co. (on the north side of Chicago), swinging a sledge through the day. On the eve of battle I got off early so as to get a bath, hair cut and a shave, and' then I was in condition for the fight.

The Negro who gave me the hardest battle of all the coons was one Mistah Christopher Columbus Williams. This coon had a jaw like the hull of the battleship Ohio, and it required seventeen gruelling, slashing rounds to shove him gently into "slumberland." It is a little out of the ordinary, but a regular occurrence at Hot Springs to have the brass band at the ringside. I will never forget when in the seventeenth round I put "Christy," .as he was called over the ropes, down and out. The band set up the tune, "All Coons Look Alike to Me" "I Don't Care If You Never Come Back," and wound up with "Home, Sweet Home." The crowd filed out.

All this time Williams' handlers were trying to revive him. All my seconds, my brother Johnnie and Charlie Peterson and myself were dancing with glee over winning. In the seventeen rounds I fought with Williams I was punished more than I was in all the three long .fights I had with Gans.

I received for this one off the hardest fights of my life $39.50 for my end. Negro Gans was the last of my colored victims. There are detailed accounts of all his fights in other chapters of my book, so I won't go into detail here. I might mention that at Goldfield, Nevada, Sept. 3, 1906, I made him quit under punishment in the forty-second round, although he was awarded the decision on an alleged foul. On July 4 and Sept. 9, 1908, I knocked Gans out twice 17 and 21 rounds, respectively, before Coffroth's Mission Street Arena, both times at
Colma, Cat.

CHAPTER XIX.

Nelson Survived Trick That Might
Have Ruined His Career.



This chapter brings me up to 1905 the year I won the championship. I was touring around the country engaging in short fights before going to California on July I, when I was to sign up the final articles of agreement for my second fight with Britt. While engaging in one of these six-round affairs I became the unsuspecting victim of a prize-ring trick that might have ended all my championship ambitions. As a rule, the public knows very little about the underhand methods that are sometimes resorted to in pugilism, and a little expose right here might be interesting. At that time Al Herford was running a club at Baltimore and at the same time managing Kid Sullivan. He matched Sullivan and me at his club and agreed to pay me $1,500, guaranteed, win, lose or draw.Herford, thinking he could put one over and gain fame for one Kid Sullivan felt very much enthused over the match.

BAT, VICTIM OF TRICK.

We met on June 2, and were to go six rounds to a decision, but on the eve of battle Herford demanded that we fight six rounds and the match be called a draw if both were on their feet at the finish. He refused to give up more than $1,000 for my end. This sum I demanded be handed me before I entered the ring. Later this proved to be a very successful move on my part.

I started off in the first three rounds apparently winning easy. Herford, Joe Cans and Young Peter Jackson, by the way, all of whom were handling Sullivan, became uneasy, fearing I would knock Sullivan out. They then began to use tricks and unfair methods. When Sullivan went to his corner at the end of the third round some of his handlers smeared belladonna or some drug on his gloves. Their purpose was to have Sullivan smear them over my eyes and blind me.

Sullivan during the entire round resorted to such sprinting tactics that he hardly succeeded in getting his gloves to my face.

Again at the minute's rest between the fourth and fifth rounds, his seconds, thinking they hadn't applied sufficient medicine on his gloves, smeared on an extra heavy dose, which almost blinded me during that round.In the sixth and last round we both stepped to the centre, and, as is customary, shook hands. This time the dope had been applied heavily and he succeeded in rubbing the besmeared gloves to my face. In a moment I was almost totally blind.

ALMOST TOTALLY BLIND.

In fact, I could hardly tell Sullivan from the referee and stood in the centre of the ring with hands extended. No one knew my condition but myself, and I tried to hide it. Sullivan rushed into me, but I got close and, relying on my fighting instinct, kept following him all over the ring until the finish. On one occasion I hit the referee, thinking he was Sullivan.

The decision, of course, had to be a draw, as Herford had refused to allow his man to fight until we had agreed on the draw, clause if both men were on their feet at the end of the sixth round.

Billy Rocap, the referee, failed to notice that Sullivan's gloves had been doped until the finish of the fight. I was then totally blind and had to be led to my corner. Rocap asked what was the matter, and when I told him he immediately went to Sullivan's corner to try and get the gloves, but Herford, fox that he is, hustled Sullivan away and refused to give up the mitts.

FIRST APPEARANCE ON STAGE.

My appearance in the East had created quite a lot of attention, thanks to the sporting writers and the fight fans, and I was a little bit surprised one night in Philadelphia when it was suggested to me that I go on the stage. I had just licked Jack O'Neill in a six-round fight and was feeling pretty good. The stage thing kinder got my goat, however, for I couldn't help thinking about the time when I tried to make a speech after my fight with "Cross-eyed" Mickey Riley. That was the time the fellow hit me in the mouth with a silver dollar and cut off my further conversation. I saw a chance to make some money out of it, though, and after thinking it over I decided to take a chance. It was less than twenty-four hours from that time that I got a telegram from Harry Farren, manager of the Columbia Theatre, in Boston, offering me $700 for a four nights' engagement, in addition to two round-trip tickets from Philadelphia, to Boston. I accepted immediately and started for Boston.

COULDN'T MAKE A SPEECH.

All the way up there I was trying to think what kind of a speech I would make. I knew I would have to say something in addition to boxing a few rounds. You ought to have heard me when I got on the stage and saw all those people looking at me. I made two stabs at the speech and then quit cold. Never again for mine!

Anyway, I drew packed houses and felt that I had given the theatre people their money's worth. On my way to the coast I showed a week at the Trocadero Theatre, in Chicago, and got $1,000 for it. But there was nothing doing in the speech line. Now that it was getting close to July 1 and as the special clause in the temporary agreement in the Nelson- Britt articles stated that I must be on California soil by July I. I hustled back to San Francisco, arriving June 30. On July I my manager and I went to Harry Corbett's place, where the forfeits had been posted, to meet Britt and his manager, where we were to sign the final articles.

I was amazed to find that Britt was matched to fight Kid Sullivan instead of me, and that he had pulled down his forfeit. I was again sidetracked for more easy game by the elusive native son, Sir James Edward.

BRITT FORCED TO SIGN UP.

Later on public sentiment forced Mr. Britt to get out and do something to show that he was capable of defending his title against me. Early in August my manager and Britt's brother, Willus, got together in Coffroth's Belvidere and discussed the details of a match. Jimmy and I were not present and the managers wrangled for three days before a final agreement had been reached. The Britts tried every means imaginable to lock the match, but were unsuccessful. They held the trump card and dictated almost every phrase. The Britt brothers, thinking I would balk at the long route, stipulated that the battle go forty-five rounds, that we weigh in at 133, ringside, also that we must bet $10,000 on the side and fight, winner take all.

Evidently the Britts didn't figure that they were playing right into my hands when they named the forty-five round route, which the San Franciscans have since named the "Battler's route," because I can go over the long course like a Derby horse over a Derby route. I conceded him each and every point and would have agreed to a thousand rounds just to get him inside the 24-foot ring.

After agreeing to all the conditions named, even to a percentage of the gate, the Britts balked, demanding a $20,000 guaranteed purse, with the privilege of 65 per cent, of the gross gate receipts.

James W. Coffroth, who was to promote the match, readily agreed to either one of the conditions a $20,000 flat guarantee or 65 per cent, of the gross gate receipts. Just as negotiations were apparently all off and things became darker than ever and the parties concerned started to adjourn, we took the last resort. My backers guaranteed Jimmy Britt the $20,000 purse for me and posted $10,000 to make it good, and were willing to gamble on a percentage basis for my end.

CHAPTER XX.

Battling Nelson Becomes "White Lightweight
Champion of the World
by Knocking Out Britt.

On Sept. 9, 1905, I finally achieved the ambition of my life. On that day I defeated James Edward Britt by a knockout at Colma, Cal., near 'Frisco, and became the white lightweight champion of the world. That may not sound as big to you who read it as it does to me, but to have that title in front of a fighter's name means both fame and fortune, as well as the satisfaction of having conquered them all.

From the night of our unsatisfactory affair of Dec. 20, the preceding year I had my mind set on meeting the champion again. I knew full well that I could beat him. He had point blank refused to meet' me until I had gone out and whipped the men that he had selected. I did all this and finally got him backed in a corner from which he could not escape and he had to agree to fight me for the championship. The articles of agreement had finally been signed up after nine months of wrangling in which I had taken what was offered me.

Being assured that everything was all right, I went to Joe Millett's training quarters at Colma and began preparing for what I figured the fight of my life. Everything went along nicely for about a week when the Britts balked on posting the $10,000 side bet, also refusing to fight "winner take all." I, of course, balked wanting the side bet as well as the "winner take all" clause but sooner than lose the match agreed to their terms. But when I conceded to their demands I refused to guarantee the $20,000 purse. Thus it was that we fought for a straight 65 per cent, of the house, with a cut of 60 and 40, winner and loser, respectively.

SQUABBLE OVER REFEREE.

Everything went lovely until the selecting of a referee came up, and this almost caused the disruption of what looked like the fight of the century. We agreed on James J. Jeffries to officiate, but at the last minute Nolan heard of a few things that were to come off, and being determined to take no chances, we point blank refused to stand for the big boiler maker to act as the third man in the ring. The battle was delayed some two hours while we argued over this matter.

Finally, we agreed to accept Eddie Graney. Jeffries stepped down and out and Graney took possession of the bout. Graney, it will be remembered, promptly declared all bets off when he entered the ring. The battle went seventeen and a fraction rounds. In this bout, as the pictures showed, I never gave an inch of ground to my opponent. I forced him round and round the ring from start to finish. He put up a game gruelling fight, but finally caved in.

I had been chasing Britt all over the ring for seventeen rounds, but could not induce him to stand up and fight. I knew that if I ever coaxed him into swapping blows with me that I would get him. I had not yet had a chance to land on his liver with that left half scissors hook which had crumpled up so many of my opponents. But I was waiting.

When the gong tapped for the beginning of the eighteenth round I rushed at him like a tiger and began pounding him in the wind for all I was worth. He broke away and ran. Britt then turned and came towards me as if to rush me off my feet. I knew now that I had his goat. I met his rush with a jab in the nose that staggered him. He then tried to break ground again in the hopes of getting away from me. I kept punching him in the wind as fast as I could and I saw that he was weakening. I felt that the championship was almost within my grasp. Nothing could stop me now.

LIKE CAT AND MOUSE.

I determined to finish him in that round if I had to use up every ounce of my strength. It was no time for stalling or attempting to box. The thing left for me was to wear him down while he was weak. Again I punched the champion on the liver with a quick jolt and he began to swing with arms wildly. He threw all of his science to the wind and came at me with his arms going like a windmill. I do not like to appear cruel, but as I looked at him I thought of that big hat and Prince Albert coat, and I imagine I felt very much as a cat does that has a mouse in a corner. I was waiting for a chance to get another stiff punch to his wind.

Britt made the mistake of his life when he tried to mix it with me at close range. Some fellow has said that I am the "king of the infighters," and I certainly felt like it that day. "Chug, chug, chug," I would crack him in the stomach. In two more seconds he was hanging on my neck. I believe he would have fallen then but I held him because I wanted to knock him out with one blow. Referee Graney ordered us to break, and I leaped right at him again. I was almost wild with enthusiasm now, for I felt that I had the champion's measure.

"Knock him out, Jimmy!" came in a roar from the 10,000 fans. Everybody was standing up and yelling their heads off. They were all Britt's friends. I was out there all alone, but I knew that far away in little Hegewisch I had a mother who is my friend. Instead of stopping me the noise made me work all the harder.

BRITT GROWS WILD.

As a last resort Britt abandoned his opening tactics and started to swap blows with me. It was "slug, slug, slug." We were chasing all around the ring. Towards the middle of the round Jimmy made one of those terrible half-hooks body punches which landed flush on my wind. It was an awful blow, but I managed to shake it off and went right back at him. Britt thought that his blow had weakened me and he made a .wild lunge as if to finish me. Instead of backing away, as he expected, I put all the strength I had in my right arm and let fly a punch which caught the champion squarely over the heart, followed by a left, right and another quick left while he was falling. I shall never forget that moment. Britt's face crumpled up with pain, and throwing his hands up over his head he toppled over and fell on all fours, but immediately turned over flat on his back. He was knocked out as cold as a wedge.

At that I couldn't help feeling sorry for him as I saw him twisting and squirming in an effort to get up long after the count was over. He showed an example of gameness that I didn't know he possessed. I was the champion!

For winning this great battle, as well as the white lightweight championship of the world, I received the tidy sum of $18,841. In addition to this I sold my interest in the fight pictures to the manager of the club for $5,000. I never received a cent of this picture money. Total gate receipts were $48,306.15. Later I was presented with one set of films of this fight. The final round (18) of this battle as published by the Associated Press follows in detail :

"Round 18 When the gong tapped Nelson sprang out of his corner like a tiger and beat Britt to the center of the ring by seconds. He received Jimmy with a straight left which landed on Britt's nose. The latter was staggered by the blow and immediately resumed his tactics of breaking ground in a wild endeavor to get away from the now infuriated Dane's terrible rushes. Britt began to swing wildly with both hands, casting all science to the winds. With the Battler close upon him now, the Pride of the Coast, closed into a clinch. He hung on in sheer desperation, working both arms furiously. Nelson, the King of infighters, battered the 'Frisco lad with deadening body blows, and when Referee Eddie Graney parted them, Britt was hanging on the Dane's shoulders all in. He would have fallen to the floor then, but for his opponent's kindness in holding him up. They had hardly been separated when Britt again rushed into a safety clinch. Again the terrific infighting went on with the Battler doing most of the punishing.

"The 10,000 fight fans there assembled were on their feet cheering, and howling frantically for their "pride" Sir James to knock his man out. Poor Jimmy, he was thanking his stars the rules of the game here permitted his running "into harbor" at every opportunity in order to save himself. Around the ring battled the two wonderful little athletes, punching and clinching, and it was slug, slug, slug! At times they stood head to head and biffed and banged each other to what seemed the very limit of human endurance. The pace set by the wonderful Dane in this now historical round, was, so all the experts who were gathered about the ring, agreed the hardest fought and most terrible one round ever fought in the history of the ring.

"There was the little youth from Hegewisch, thousands of miles from home fighting before thousands of frantic fight fans, only a few of whom were friendly disposed towards him. Previously he had defeated Canole, Hanlon, Herrera and Young Corbett, four of the most popular and toughest fighters on the coast. Besides he had on December 20, 1904, given this same champion, Britt, a most beautiful twenty round beating, but was robbed of the decision by Billy Roach.

"No wonder the 'native sons' were frantic during this great round of fighting. The Battler did not want any hairline decisions here. He went in to knock Britt out, or get his own "cotton top" badly singed. "The round was scarcely half over when Britt cut lose a wild swing which struck the Battler flush on the wind. It was a mean blow and would have probably finished any ordinary fighter. Not so with the Battler. The blow served to incite him to a higher pitch and he let fly a right hook which caught the incoming Britt hard on the solar plexus.

"There was a sudden cessation of wild yelling from the mob. Britt was seen to straighten up momentarily, throw up both arms AND HE TOPPLED OVER PRONE UPON HIS BACK. KNOCKED OUT COLD AND UNCONSCIOUS, in which condition he remained for several minutes.

"Frantically did his loving seconds endeavor to arouse Jimmy from his slumbers but 'twas all unavailing the Pride of the Coast had fallen before his MASTER, and with the fall went the WHITE LIGHTWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP OF THE WORLD.

"The finish of this memorable Admission Day fight at Colma was truly a spectacular one, indeed. The thousands of fight fans who were there will not, for some time, forget the woebegone expression which overspreads Britt's features as he lay struggling on the canvas in a semi-unconscious condition trying his utmost to recover and drag himself to his feet. Though hammered into complete helplessness, Britt, in his vain attempts to arise, exhibited a spirit of gameness which won the admiration of everyone there assembled

How Different People View Fighters.
Brain Beaten by Brute Force.

From San Francisco Kxamlner, September 10.
DANE'S PERPETUAL MOTION MORE EFFECTIVE THAN
BRITT'S MENTAL SUPERIORITY, SAYS JACK LONDON.
BY JACK LONDON.

In the first round Britt hit Nelson half a dozen blows. At each blow Nelson was coming in. The blows did not stop him. He kept coming on. Then Nelson hit Britt, and Britt was staggered by the blow. The whole story of the fight was told right there. Blows did not stop Nelson from coming on. Blows did stop Britt; also they staggered him. Nelson is a fighting animal. Britt is an intelligent animal with fighting proclivities. This is another way of telling the story.

It was the abysmal brute against a more highly organized, intelligent creature. Now, do not misunderstand me. I do not wish to call Nelson a brute but what I wish to say is that Nelson possesses to an unusual degree the brute that you and I and all of us possess in varying degree.

Let me explain. By abysmal brute I mean the basic life that resides deeper than the brain and the intellect in living things. It is itself the very staff of life movement; and it is saturated with a blind and illimitable desire to exist. This desire it expresses by movement. No matter what comes it will move. It came into the world first. It is lower down on the ladder of evolution than is intelligence. It comes first, before the intellect. The intellect rests before it; and when the intellect goes it still remains the abysmal brute. Let me explain a step farther, if you are to understand this fight between Britt and Nelson as I saw it.

Here are you and I, average creatures, fairly normal and fairly rational. Our minds are clear. We reason. We conduct ourselves with the intelligent poise of mind. But a sharp word is spoken, a sneer is made, an insult is given. At once our poise of mind is gone. We are angry. The mind no longer dominates us. The abysmal brute rushes up in us, muddles out clear brain, takes charge of us.

This is a moment of anger. We are temporarily insane. Reason is gone. The brute has charge of us. The difference between us and the man in the insane asylum is that the brute always has charge of him. It is this abysmal brute that we see in a man in a Berserker rage or in a jealous spell of anger. We see it in a horse, tied by too short a rope, frantic, dragging backward and hanging itself. We see it in the bull, bellowing and blindly charging a red shirtwaist; in the strange cat, restrained in our hands, curving its hindquarters in and with its hind legs scratching long, ripping slashes.

And now to return, Nelson is the lower type. Britt is the higher type. Nelson is more callous to pain and shock, has less sensibility. At the same time the abysmal brute in him gives him a tremendous capacity to move and to keep on moving. Britt is more delicately organized. He is more easily put out of gear. At the same time he possesses less capacity to move and to keep on ceaselessly moving. Had he Nelson's capacity to move, plus his own intelligence, he would have whipped Nelson. But Britt did not have this power of movement; was too far removed from the brute, and was himself whipped. The best man won according to the rules of the game.

All the preliminary fuss of the battle showed that bullheaded stubbornness and balkiness were on the Nelson side, and that intelligence was on the Britt side. "No Jeffries!" was the stubborn Nelson (Nolan) cry. The Nelson side had balked like any fool horse, and was hurting itself all the time. The Britt side, being intelligent, gave in. It gave in intelligently, at the eleventh hour, spectacularly, throwing all the odium upon the Nelson side, winning all the sympathy for itself. Nelson was hooted; Britt was cheered. Intelligence won hands down, but it was only in the preliminary. Britt stripped and showed himself deep chested and shouldered. His lines were soft and rounded. He was beautiful as a man goes, and his condition was perfect; while his eyes were clear and bright.

When Nelson stripped he looked like a proletarian that had known lean and hungry years of childhood. His face was weazened, his eyes were small, his hair was colorless, his neck was thin, his naked body was not beautiful as Britt's was beautiful.

As they faced each other, one or the other seemed to belie his weight, for Britt looked much the larger. The contrast was striking. If Nelson looked the lean and hungry proletarian, Britt looked the well-fed and prosperous bourgeoisie. It was like a scrub and underfed creature facing a thoroughbred. Nelson's eyes and face were vicious. Britt's face was inexpressive. His mind was in control. Whatever feelings stirred within him, they were well hidden.

The first round has been told. Nelson forced the fighting. He moved. He moved always. And he always moved forward. When Britt backed away, Nelson moved forward. When Britt hit him, he moved forward more swiftly. That was all It was the whole fight. From start to finish, for eighteen savage rounds, Nelson kept boring in. Britt could not keep him back. No matter how often and how hard Britt punched him, he bored in just the same. Always Britt backed away from him, smashing him cruel blows from a distance; and always he kept advancing after
Britt.

And when Nelson got inside Britt's arms he went to work. Punch, punch, punch, right and left on stomach and kidney, and uppercuts to the face. It was here that the force of Nelson's blows was demonstrated. When he shot in an uppercut Britt was appreciably lifted by it. In the clinches Nelson did practically all the punching, while Britt strove to protect himself. Nelson had little success in reaching Britt from a distance. It was at close quarters that he got in his work. He punched through the beginning of a clinch. He punched through the clinch. He punched in 'the breakaway. And the next moment he was moving forward again upon Britt in order to get at close quarters and deliver himself of some more punches.

On the other hand, Britt was not idle. He landed six blows to the Dane's one. Had Britt received the blows he gave Nelson, Britt would have been out long before the eighteenth round. But Nelson scarcely seemed bothered by the punishment. One thing was strikingly noticeable. His blows, when they did land, jarred and often staggered Britt, while Britt's blows did not seem to jar nor stagger Nelson. He met these blows as he came on, and he kept on coming just the same. In the sixth round came the test of the two men. Nelson punched Britt groggy. This is another way of saying that Britt was dazed and weak. His clear reason was reeling because his body was going back on him. It could not move, and move, and continue to move. He was too highly developed, too finely organized. There was not enough of the brute in him to save him. But the gong saved him. Another minute and he would have been out.

Britt recuperated wonderfully, but in the next round could do nothing with the Dane. A blow, two blows, a dozen the Dane received them all, but they did not deter him from keeping right on and boring in. From the standpoint of blows landed, it was Britt's round. But from the standpoint of winning the fight by a knockout, it was no more Britt's round than was any other round of the fight. Victory was hopeless for him from the first round. And so the battle went until the fourteenth. In this round Britt went groggy and for a while was all but out. Then it was that he made a terrific rally. He did not fight with his head. It was his own share of the abysmal brute that rose up and fought. He fought like a madman. Blows were exchanged frankly without attempts to protect. Boxing ceased. It was punch, punch, slug, slug , Britt was not fighting with his mind, for he was fighting himself out, exhausting all his reserves of strength.

In the fifteenth round Britt's mind resumed its sway. A minute of rest had brought it back. He was intent on resting his tired body. But the Dane never ceased from pursuing, from boring in and fighting at close quarters. The life that was in him moved, moved, ceaselessly moved.

DANE HAS STATIONARY HEAD.

When Nelson was hit on the nose or chin or jaw his head came forward in advance of his advancing body. No blow of Britt's seemed capable of sending that head back. But Nelson's blows when they landed sent Britt's head back with a snap. The fifteenth, sixteenth and seventeenth rounds might be all called Britt's rounds. By appearance they seemed so. In reality they were the Dane's for Nelson never ceased from boring in and forcing the fighting. He was wearing Britt out, punching him out; while Britt, even if he did give many more blows than he received, was not wearing the Dane out, nor was he punching the Dane out.

Nelson did not knock Britt out with a blow, nor with a series of blows, in the eighteenth round. Britt was knocked out by the whole fight he had fought from the beginning of the first round. His multitude of punches on the Dane had not counted. The far smaller number of blows landed by the Dane had counted. It was the sum of the blows struck by the Dane, plus the exertions of Britt, that put Britt out. He had consumed all his strength, all his vitality.

INTELLECT LOST THE DAY.

Fighting with his intellect, and with his body as well, Britt was knocked out because his body was not strong enough to keep his mind poised in control and directing his body. When the body was weakened the mind was overthrown, and his cleverness and his intelligence counted for nothing. Not so much with the Dane. The abysmal brute in him fought on. It was the will of life itself, the fleshly life as a thing apart from the mind and the spirit that moved on in him and that outmoved the same kind of life that was in Britt. Britt is the finer human. Nelson is the finer fighting animal.

Nevertheless all hail to both of them ! They play the clean game of life. And I, for one, would rather be either of them this day at Colma than a man who took no exercise with his body to-day but instead waxed physically gross in the course of gathering to himself a few dollars in the commercial game.

JACK LONDON.



Carmen Basilio [/b]was born on 2 April 1927 in Canasota, New York, one of 4 boys and 6 daughters raised by Italian immigrant parents. His parents both found low paid and back breaking work on a local onion farm and the Basilio children would also work in the fields when they became old enough. Years later Basilio claimed that the toughness which characterized him in the ring was moulded there in the onion fields of Canasota. However, his father Joseph’s idea of buying a few sets of boxing gloves as a way of settling family squabbles may have contributed.

Despite his early introduction to the noble art Basilio took little interest in the sport. Even when he served in the Marines, spending 26 months in the Pacific, he had only three fights all of which he won. When he was discharged in 1948 Basilio went to work in a factory, but the wages were so low that the idea of a career in the ring took root. After a short spell in the Golden Gloves and AAU championships he turned professional and in November as a stocky 5ft 6 ½ inch welterweight. Boxing as a converted southpaw – which explained the power in his left hook - Basilio had a lot to learn but he did get off to a winning start by knocking out Jimmy Evans in three rounds in Birmingham, New York.

The Head Hunter

His early career was littered with defeats against ordinary performers but it should be stated that with virtually no amateur experience behind him Basilio was having to learn as he went along. “For years I was discouraged and thought about quitting the ring” he later admitted. “I used to be a head hunter. I Didn’t know fighters had bodies and stomachs and ribs”.

Many of his early fights were in Syracuse, the nearest major town and were usually on the undercards of shows featuring local stars Joey De John and Nick Barone. It was during this period Basilio met his future wife, Kay Simpkins, who he married in May 1950.At the time he was in training for an upcoming contest with Gaby Ferland which he was to win inside one round. However the marriage was to cost Kay her job as a waitress when she was sacked for taking time off without permission for the wedding. Soon afterwards she became ill and Basilio had to keep fighting – despite developing an inflammation in his left elbow and shoulder – in order to pay her medical bills. The injuries became so bad that he had to take a five month lay off from September 1951 to February 1952.

Basilio’s biggest win in that first part of his career had been a ten round decision over former lightweight champion Lew Jenkins, in Syracuse, in

March 1950. Jenkins was nearing the end of his career, but it was the first time Basilio had been ten rounds and the ex champ was still a good name to have on your record. Yet as he entered 1952 Basilio’s record stood at 25 wins, tree draws and eight defeats, suggesting that his fighting destiny was to a respected journeyman; hard to subdue, but lacking the qualities of a contender.

Prior to his enforced lay off Basilio had lost five of his last eight, and even when he came back with three consecutive points wins, nobody got too excited. But his next fight, in May 1952, proved them all wrong.

Basilio’s big breakthrough came when he was matched with the unbeaten southpaw Chuck Davey in Syracuse. Basilio attacked throughout and his constant pounding of Davey’s ribs had the favourite looking anxious and unsettled. Davey’s jab, usually his most effective tool, could never subdue the aggressive new Yorker and at the bell Carmen celebrated his biggest win. That, at least, was how it was announced – as a split decision in Basilio’s favor – but four days later the New York Commission found an error in the Referee’s scorecard and the verdict was altered to a draw.

Either way it was enough to launch Basilio into the big time. Davey him in a rematch and veteran contender Billy Graham easily outscored him in his next fight, but the former onion farmer improved his ranking with a win over ex lightweight champion Ike Williams and two wars with Graham for the New York state title. Basilio won the first, in June 1953, but Graham held him to a disputed draw in the second, a fight so exciting that Ring magazine reported that “The fans were in a frenzy all the way”.

Basilio had a lot of respect for Graham saying “the first time he knew far too much for me. He had a chin like iron – he couldn’t hurt me, but boy I couldn’t hurt him either. I hit him with everything I’d got and he just grinned at me as if to say “right it’s my turn now”.

[granberry]

Thanks again, Robert.

I am waiting for Nelson to get to the Gans fights in detail.

There is a film of Nelson's 18 round KO of Britt.

Nelson was in bed and treated by a doctor for several days after his 42 round loss to Gans. He forgot to mention that.

He also forgot to mention than Gans died of tb 2 years after Nelson managed to beat him.

[robert.snell1]

its gone ????

was it something I said

[granberry]

its gone ????

was it something I said

Robert,

Can you put it back?

This new format is a loser.

[robert.snell1]

yes I will in the morning. should have the next finished tommorow and get to the Gans part which you are wanting

[Robinson]

I am looking forward to printing this one off as well, if you do not mind.

Thanks again.

I really enjoy them

[robert.snell1]

fixed it