Part 17
The first fighter to arrive in this country from England who was a truly clever boxer 'was Charlie Mitchell. By "clever boxer" I mean a man who was fast on his feet and knew how to handle
his fists with-great rapidity. To many of our old-school fighters this man Mitchell was a marvel. He fooled several of them by his quick shifts and won many fights without getting over a
heavy punch. Some maintain that he never had a punch. I was sitting at the ringside one night when he was fighting Cleary, and Dick Malloy tells me that I turned to him and said. “That’s a job for me.”
Mitchell won his first fights by shiftiness and because many of the old timers who met him had a bad habit of holding their hands very high. He would feint so as to make them guard their heads and then he would nail them in the stomach. Under the management of Jim Wakeley of New York I made arrangements to meet Mitchell at Madison square Gardens, May 14, 1883, in a three round bout. Mitchell, you understand, had been imported from England especially to "knock out the Boston giant.”
Knocked Down for First Time
In that fight I was knocked down for the first time in my life! As that knockdown brought out columns of comment in the papers throughout the country I think it would be an excellent idea to explain it right here. As I was turning away from him I decided to step to one side. As I did so one of my feet crossed over the other one, and while I was in that position Mitchell 'struck, me and I fell. It was as easy as knocking over a chair.
A noted sporting man was twitting me about this one day in the Palmer House in Chicago. I explained it several times, but the gentleman laughed at me, and my anger was aroused. "I'll tell you what I'll do," I said to the man. "I will bet you $1000 that I can stand in my usual position in the ring with my hands tied behind me and let Mitchell hit me 12 times without knocking me out of my position."
Although the gentleman did not believe I could do this, he was afraid to bet. I would have put up the money at least. I believe it would have been impossible for Mitchell to have knocked me down by hitting me a clean blow when I had my feet braced. When I fell to the floor in that round and the crowd began to cheer, I was decidedly worked up and went at him like a bull at a red flag. In the third I had him on the ropes helpless at my mercy.
Police Stopped It
Inspector Thorne and Capt Williams, who afterward became an inspector, jumped into the ring and stopped the proceedings. "Let me have one more crack at him," I begged of the captain. "John, do you want to kill him?" he replied. "No," added Inspector Thorne, "I am not going to give you a chance to commit murder." When Mitchell recovered he made all kinds of bluffs and began to bluster around the ring. "You had no business interfering," he said to the police. I was all right." "You go to your dressing room”, said the captain. "You are a lucky individual that I stepped in and prevented Sullivan from killing you."
That fight with Mitchell was the biggest event of its kind that had ever been held in New York. The doorkeepers had an awful night of it. For blocks around the people jammed and bolstered one another along as though their hopes of happiness depended on an early glance of these two "fist slingers."
At 8:20 the exhibition began. Madison Square Garden was then a sight. There was no semblance of a seat, of a bench or of a box, but every stretch of flooring and every foot of board presented a continuous moving sea of human heads.
Noted Men at Ringside
Just beside the platform sat. Ex-United States Senator Roscoe Conkling. At the end of the reporter's table was Mr. Charles A. Dana. Mr Lawrence Jerome and a cluster of clubmen were beyond the platform, while fistiana was represented by her other subjects in swarms. "That fight was a good one," said Billy Edwards after the battle was over. ' "Only one thing can be said about it. Mitchell is a very good man, but he met another who is his superior all the way round."
''The contest," said Jim Cusick, "only proves the old saying that a good little man cannot whip a good big man."
Following my victory over Mitchell the crowd of fellows who were always hunting for somebody to lick me went all the way to New Zealand to find a champion. Jem Mace, the one-time famous fighter, was sent to find him. The man's name was Slade, but he was generally known as "Mace's Maori." Jem Mace spent a long time training this man Slade and they figured that he was just about right to win the championship when they landed in Frisco in December, 1882. The papers were filled with talk about this new man who was coming for the express purpose of "winning the championship from the Boston giant."
"Maori" a Big Fellow
Mace and his protégé finally arrived in New York and I had a chance to look "the Maori" over. He was certainly a strapping young fellow. He was over 6 feet tall and built in proportion. He was a larger man than I. The fight was finally arranged for Aug 6, 1883, which gave the importation from the Antipodes six months in which to get ready. We fought at Madison Square Garden and the crowd was larger, if that be possible, than one that witnessed the fights with Charley Mitchell and "Tug" Wilson.
Richard K. Fox put up the money to get Slade here, I was told, and he was instrumental in having Jem Mace train him. They were determined to have me defeated, but the public knows how well they succeeded.
The announcer that night introduced the combatants and the event as follows:
"This is to be a combat in the latter day pugilistic fashion between John L. Sullivan and the importation from far distant New Zealand, Herbert A. Slade. a Maori half-breed." We had not been in the ring 10 seconds when I aimed one straight at Slade's nose and it landed. I followed it with another on the neck and the Maori fell back into his corner.
For the rest of the round I kept at him, and I could see that the New Zealander was out of wind. In the third round I knocked Slade down repeatedly, and the last time he appeared so dazed and bewildered that the police jumped in and stopped the fight. The New Zealander appeared quite willing that such a course be adopted. He went over and took off his gloves and I shook hands with him.
End
John L Sullivan - his story
-
robert.snell1
- Heavyweight
- Posts: 1141
- Joined: 16 Oct 2003, 07:56
Re: John L Sullivan - his story
Wonderful, thanks very much for posting.
I just ordered the Isenberg book too.
I just ordered the Isenberg book too.
Re: John L Sullivan - his story
thanks that's good.
-
robert.snell1
- Heavyweight
- Posts: 1141
- Joined: 16 Oct 2003, 07:56
Re: John L Sullivan - his story
Part 18
What is generally known as the greatest "knockout tour" in the history "of pugilism began on Sept 27, 1883, following my victory over Slade, the halfbreed Maori from New Zealand. On that spectacular tour, which was arranged by Al Smith, one of the squarest sporting men that the world ever knew, I fought in 154 cities throughout the United States and British Columbia. I knocked out 160 men. I have their names at hand, but for lack of space will omit them here. Mr Smith offered on my behalf the sum of $1000 for any man that would stand before me for four rounds.
Nobody ever won it.
That tour netted us the immense sum of $180,000. Unlike the champions of today I barred nobody, but issued a sweeping challenge that could be accepted by any man who felt so disposed. I have always believed that what popularity I have today is due to that triumphal tour.
My company was made up of Herbert Slade, the Maori, Steve Taylor, Pete McCoy and Mike Gillespie . The occasion often arose when some fellow wanted to fight me, but was lacking in physical build. If he would consent I would let him fight McCoy or one of the smaller men of my party first.
If he succeeded in making a showing I would give him a chance. I did not wish to kill anybody, and took every precaution to prevent such an unfortunate accident.
Challenged By Mace
I was frequently challenged by Jem Mace, the one time great fighter, but all of his propositions were side-tracked for reasons that I will explain. I will do so in the words of Al Smith. The following statement by Smith will throw considerable light on the early methods of faking fights so as to fool the public.
We were in Cincinnati when a reporter came to Mr. Smith and asked why he had not accepted the challenge of Mace, which looked very good on paper.
“here is the truth of the matter” said Mr. smith. “When Mace was here before I was his firm fast friend, and was his umpire when he face Coburn in Canada. Until I saw Sullivan I thought he was the best man in the world. When mace first talked of meeting Sullivan, which was before the Maori went against him, he came to me and said;
I want to meet this young fellow, Sullivan, but I don’t want to be knocked out. It would break my heart if I was. Now, I want you to fix it up so I won’t.”
I told him it was no use to talk to Sullivan on this subject, but he urged me saying;
“Won’t you see him and tell him that after four rounds are over I will get up and say he is the best man I ever met and the coming champion.”
I replied “Jem, why not go against him on the dead square ?, we can pack Madison Square Garden at $2 a ticket for common seats. It will hold $20,000 and suppose you do get knocked out, we will split the receipts in two and you will have $10,000 for the trouble.”
"He asked me to give him until next day to think it over, and he did so. The next night he met me and urged me to see Sullivan about his proposition, as it would break his heart to be knocked out. To oblige him, I went to Boston, where Sullivan was training for his fight with the Maori, and delivered Mace's message, saying as I did so:
“Now, do as you please about it.” " There is only one thing I will do about it,” answered Sullivan, “and that is I will do my best; and let him do the same. All I have ever made has been by doing this, and I won't quit to oblige Mr Mace.”
"When asked if he would meet Sullivan then, he said: 'Not for the bloody Bank of England."
More Challenges Came
After Sullivan beat the Maori, Mace resumed his challenges. One day I met him and said: “Jem, you had better accept our proposition. You are getting to be an old man, and in a year or two no one will believe that you will have better make this $10,000 while you-can.
He refused again to meet Sullivan on the square, saying that he was the wonder of the world and it would break his heart to be knocked out by him When he issued the challenge to meet Sullivan In three matches, he said to " 'Don't mind what I say or do; I have to make some money, and this is the best way to do it.”
"John would be only too happy to meet him with the gloves, but it would have to be on the square." I never had any objection to meeting with gloves any strong, healthy young men who wanted to contest for boxing honors, for I appreciated their position as one in which I found myself on starting out. I knew full well that reputation does not make the man.
There is another side to this idea however, that is at times humorous, shall never forget the time I arrived at Davenport, la, and found a giant blacksmith named Mike Sheehan waiting to annihilate me. He was noted as "the strongest man in town”. Just before the exhibition at the theatre his wife called on me at the hotel and with tears in her eves begged of me not to meet her husband. She said she was the mother of five children and it was on their account that she did not want the fight to come off.
“Well isn’t your husband a great fighter ?” I asked.
“O, yes indeed” she said. “He can whip anybody”.
“Then why is it you do not wish me to meet him?" I asked in surprise. .
"Why," she said, as if astonished at my question. "Why, Mr Sullivan, I am afraid he will kill you, and I do not want my children to grow up and know their father was a murderer."' This was a new one on me.
That night I put the blacksmith out in two rounds. He was intensely game and wanted to come back, but he couldn’t. I made him a present of $100. I believe that if he had been trained he would have been a good fighter.
How a "K. O." Feels
"What are the sensations of a man being knocked out?" That is a question that has been asked me since I first entered the prize ring. Just why this question was always directed at me I have always failed to understand. I was never knocked out in my life. In my fight with James Corbett I was not knocked out. I knew everything that was going on, but the machinery within me refused to respond to my call, and I could not rise from my knees.
I have taken occasion to give this subject considerable study, however, and I will undertake to answer the question as best I can. Notwithstanding the various opinions to the contrary, I still believe that the most vulnerable part of a man's body is the point of the jaw. A hard blow on the point of the jaw will render a man unconscious, and at the same time will not effectually weaken him otherwise, I have consulted many physicians on this subject, and they tell me that the point of the jaw is connected with the spinal column, and the effect of a heavy blow at that point is to temporarily paralyse the brain.
The sensation, as it has been described to me by fighters whom I have knocked out, is the same as that felt by a person who has been under the influence of ether and is coming out of it. The man's mind, they tell me, seems confused, sick and giddy. He has no real feeling of pain, but simply a sense of numbness or deadness which renders him non compos mentis for the time being.
To verify that I can mention several instances where men have regained consciousness after being knocked out, and, instead of complaining of pain, asked various questions showing an absolute, lack of acquaintance with their surroundings. For instance, one fellow at Nashville, Tenn, that I knocked out, came to in about 20 minutes. The first thing he asked me was:
“Did I win?"
Another man that I knocked out in California came to me and asked
When do I go on?"
Booze Hardest Hitter
The after effect of a man being knocked out is not at all serious. It leaves no mark or lasting damage. There is another knockout, however, that puts a man out for good, and right here is about as good a place to discuss it as any other. The real knockout punch is carried by old King Booze, and nobody who ever went against him ever recovered enough to be a good fighter.
A great many persons have said that I should be an authority on what is commonly called the curse of liquor. I am. I make the statement openly, though I am ashamed of it. But I am going to be straightforward. I hope, and in making this acknowledgement of a fitful past, I want to put myself on an equal footing with some of the men who may heed my talk and certainly need something of the kind. I fought the booze, but I wasn't the man with the punch. No man carries a
swing or a hook or a cross or an uppercut that can make an impression on Old Red Eye.
They used to say that I won most of my fights by scaring my men into a fit before getting into the ring with them. But Old Red Eye never gave me a serious thought when I threw down the gantlet to him. I was just as easy as any of the rest of them. You have heard before, I guess, that no man can beat the booze game. It's a fact, established as early as the hills from which the booze is supposed to come. Nobody can beat it by fighting it.
Perhaps in my time, and I do not mean to say this boastfully, I have turned more young men into a straighter path than any other man outside of those occupying temperance lecture platforms. You ask me how I do it. Simply by being forceful. I used the argument that if a champion of the world, and the man who really discovered the original punch, couldn't negotiate a victory over King Cornjuice , what chance had anybody else? Pretty strong talk that, but absolutely right.
End
What is generally known as the greatest "knockout tour" in the history "of pugilism began on Sept 27, 1883, following my victory over Slade, the halfbreed Maori from New Zealand. On that spectacular tour, which was arranged by Al Smith, one of the squarest sporting men that the world ever knew, I fought in 154 cities throughout the United States and British Columbia. I knocked out 160 men. I have their names at hand, but for lack of space will omit them here. Mr Smith offered on my behalf the sum of $1000 for any man that would stand before me for four rounds.
Nobody ever won it.
That tour netted us the immense sum of $180,000. Unlike the champions of today I barred nobody, but issued a sweeping challenge that could be accepted by any man who felt so disposed. I have always believed that what popularity I have today is due to that triumphal tour.
My company was made up of Herbert Slade, the Maori, Steve Taylor, Pete McCoy and Mike Gillespie . The occasion often arose when some fellow wanted to fight me, but was lacking in physical build. If he would consent I would let him fight McCoy or one of the smaller men of my party first.
If he succeeded in making a showing I would give him a chance. I did not wish to kill anybody, and took every precaution to prevent such an unfortunate accident.
Challenged By Mace
I was frequently challenged by Jem Mace, the one time great fighter, but all of his propositions were side-tracked for reasons that I will explain. I will do so in the words of Al Smith. The following statement by Smith will throw considerable light on the early methods of faking fights so as to fool the public.
We were in Cincinnati when a reporter came to Mr. Smith and asked why he had not accepted the challenge of Mace, which looked very good on paper.
“here is the truth of the matter” said Mr. smith. “When Mace was here before I was his firm fast friend, and was his umpire when he face Coburn in Canada. Until I saw Sullivan I thought he was the best man in the world. When mace first talked of meeting Sullivan, which was before the Maori went against him, he came to me and said;
I want to meet this young fellow, Sullivan, but I don’t want to be knocked out. It would break my heart if I was. Now, I want you to fix it up so I won’t.”
I told him it was no use to talk to Sullivan on this subject, but he urged me saying;
“Won’t you see him and tell him that after four rounds are over I will get up and say he is the best man I ever met and the coming champion.”
I replied “Jem, why not go against him on the dead square ?, we can pack Madison Square Garden at $2 a ticket for common seats. It will hold $20,000 and suppose you do get knocked out, we will split the receipts in two and you will have $10,000 for the trouble.”
"He asked me to give him until next day to think it over, and he did so. The next night he met me and urged me to see Sullivan about his proposition, as it would break his heart to be knocked out. To oblige him, I went to Boston, where Sullivan was training for his fight with the Maori, and delivered Mace's message, saying as I did so:
“Now, do as you please about it.” " There is only one thing I will do about it,” answered Sullivan, “and that is I will do my best; and let him do the same. All I have ever made has been by doing this, and I won't quit to oblige Mr Mace.”
"When asked if he would meet Sullivan then, he said: 'Not for the bloody Bank of England."
More Challenges Came
After Sullivan beat the Maori, Mace resumed his challenges. One day I met him and said: “Jem, you had better accept our proposition. You are getting to be an old man, and in a year or two no one will believe that you will have better make this $10,000 while you-can.
He refused again to meet Sullivan on the square, saying that he was the wonder of the world and it would break his heart to be knocked out by him When he issued the challenge to meet Sullivan In three matches, he said to " 'Don't mind what I say or do; I have to make some money, and this is the best way to do it.”
"John would be only too happy to meet him with the gloves, but it would have to be on the square." I never had any objection to meeting with gloves any strong, healthy young men who wanted to contest for boxing honors, for I appreciated their position as one in which I found myself on starting out. I knew full well that reputation does not make the man.
There is another side to this idea however, that is at times humorous, shall never forget the time I arrived at Davenport, la, and found a giant blacksmith named Mike Sheehan waiting to annihilate me. He was noted as "the strongest man in town”. Just before the exhibition at the theatre his wife called on me at the hotel and with tears in her eves begged of me not to meet her husband. She said she was the mother of five children and it was on their account that she did not want the fight to come off.
“Well isn’t your husband a great fighter ?” I asked.
“O, yes indeed” she said. “He can whip anybody”.
“Then why is it you do not wish me to meet him?" I asked in surprise. .
"Why," she said, as if astonished at my question. "Why, Mr Sullivan, I am afraid he will kill you, and I do not want my children to grow up and know their father was a murderer."' This was a new one on me.
That night I put the blacksmith out in two rounds. He was intensely game and wanted to come back, but he couldn’t. I made him a present of $100. I believe that if he had been trained he would have been a good fighter.
How a "K. O." Feels
"What are the sensations of a man being knocked out?" That is a question that has been asked me since I first entered the prize ring. Just why this question was always directed at me I have always failed to understand. I was never knocked out in my life. In my fight with James Corbett I was not knocked out. I knew everything that was going on, but the machinery within me refused to respond to my call, and I could not rise from my knees.
I have taken occasion to give this subject considerable study, however, and I will undertake to answer the question as best I can. Notwithstanding the various opinions to the contrary, I still believe that the most vulnerable part of a man's body is the point of the jaw. A hard blow on the point of the jaw will render a man unconscious, and at the same time will not effectually weaken him otherwise, I have consulted many physicians on this subject, and they tell me that the point of the jaw is connected with the spinal column, and the effect of a heavy blow at that point is to temporarily paralyse the brain.
The sensation, as it has been described to me by fighters whom I have knocked out, is the same as that felt by a person who has been under the influence of ether and is coming out of it. The man's mind, they tell me, seems confused, sick and giddy. He has no real feeling of pain, but simply a sense of numbness or deadness which renders him non compos mentis for the time being.
To verify that I can mention several instances where men have regained consciousness after being knocked out, and, instead of complaining of pain, asked various questions showing an absolute, lack of acquaintance with their surroundings. For instance, one fellow at Nashville, Tenn, that I knocked out, came to in about 20 minutes. The first thing he asked me was:
“Did I win?"
Another man that I knocked out in California came to me and asked
When do I go on?"
Booze Hardest Hitter
The after effect of a man being knocked out is not at all serious. It leaves no mark or lasting damage. There is another knockout, however, that puts a man out for good, and right here is about as good a place to discuss it as any other. The real knockout punch is carried by old King Booze, and nobody who ever went against him ever recovered enough to be a good fighter.
A great many persons have said that I should be an authority on what is commonly called the curse of liquor. I am. I make the statement openly, though I am ashamed of it. But I am going to be straightforward. I hope, and in making this acknowledgement of a fitful past, I want to put myself on an equal footing with some of the men who may heed my talk and certainly need something of the kind. I fought the booze, but I wasn't the man with the punch. No man carries a
swing or a hook or a cross or an uppercut that can make an impression on Old Red Eye.
They used to say that I won most of my fights by scaring my men into a fit before getting into the ring with them. But Old Red Eye never gave me a serious thought when I threw down the gantlet to him. I was just as easy as any of the rest of them. You have heard before, I guess, that no man can beat the booze game. It's a fact, established as early as the hills from which the booze is supposed to come. Nobody can beat it by fighting it.
Perhaps in my time, and I do not mean to say this boastfully, I have turned more young men into a straighter path than any other man outside of those occupying temperance lecture platforms. You ask me how I do it. Simply by being forceful. I used the argument that if a champion of the world, and the man who really discovered the original punch, couldn't negotiate a victory over King Cornjuice , what chance had anybody else? Pretty strong talk that, but absolutely right.
End
Re: John L Sullivan - his story
Thanks Robert - will you be posting a PDF for the remaining? can send you my e-mail if need be.
-
robert.snell1
- Heavyweight
- Posts: 1141
- Joined: 16 Oct 2003, 07:56
Re: John L Sullivan - his story
yes I will be doing so fairly soon I hope.I have been collecting another set of articles about him and want to do those also. These are the next 2 in this series.
If you pm your email address i can send you the word doc as it currently stands.
Part 19
I have found since the beginning of my career as a fighter that the big men of the country are always interested in fistic sport. By "big men" I mean men who have amounted to something in the affairs of the Nation. Ex-President Roosevelt is a great fight fan and half of the members of the United States Congress are close readers of the events of the ring. If a man has red blood in his veins there is something about a fair fist fight that appeals to him.
A noted preacher of Boston once told me that if he could make his congregation understand things as he did he would attend all the fights. I have counted among my friends some of the most prominent men in the world, and they can tell better reminiscences of my career than I can myself.
I suppose a great many of you know Bill Sterrett of Washington and sometimes Texas. If you don't, you ought to. Aside from being a man of considerable influence in politics, he is one of the best political correspondents for the newspapers in this country. Col Sterrett was always interested in prize fighting and at one time, when I appeared in Texas on my famous tour, he had discovered a champion whom he expected to take my title. Perhaps I had better let Col Sterrett tell the story himself, which he often does at public gatherings.
How He "Whipped" Sullivan
"When I see a plain, ordinary Senator or Representative, go on the rampage trying to do up the press gallery," said Col Sterrett, "I am reminded of the manner in which the champion of mine in Texas whipped John L. Sullivan. His name was Marks – Al Marks – a cotton screwer in Galveston, and one of the strongest and gamest fighters in Texas. Sullivan came down there on a tour and offered $500 to any man who would stand in front of the gloves three ( four ) rounds. Marks accepted the challenge. After the contest I asked marks for particulars, and this is the way he told the story.
“As I walked to the stage people cheered me, and I felt pretty proud. I was going to put my hands up against the great Sullivan. I felt sure I could whip him, but when I got into the ring John L. stood in front of me. He appeared to be a heap bigger than he looked from my seat. I determined to astonish him right from the jump. So after we had shaken hands I let him have a good one right in the jaw. Sullivan looked at me in a surprised sort of way.
I said to myself: "This man has his match at last, and he knows it. He is afraid of me. So I gave him some more knocks. John L. looked at me almost appealingly. He tried to stop my blows, but he was slow and clumsy.
In the second round I gave him several more hard ones, and continued to look scared. I said to myself it was ridiculous for this man to be posing as the champion of the world, and determined to put an end to his pretention.
Then The Change Came
About the middle of the third round, just as I was getting ready to do Sullivan up, I saw another sort of look coming to his eyes. He looked like some wild animal. In the next second he caught me under the left jaw with his right and lifted me up from the floor till my toes barely touched. At this his terrible left caught me on the other side of my face, and….
“I’ll have to finish the story” said Sterrett “for marks didn’t know much about the subsequent proceedings. When he had raised his man clear off the floor, just as a football player lifts the ball preparing for a kick, he hit poor Marks a crack which knocked him over the ropes and down into the orchestra. Two chairs and three violins were broken and where Marks was picked up unconscious. Sullivan thought he had killed the man and hid himself in the wings of the theatre .
Unexpected Experience
Just a few days after that I had the most unexpected experience of my career. We were to appear in Chattanooga and before our arrival someone had started a report that the man who was to appear as John L Sullivan was an imposter. This report had gained such widespread circulation that it would not be stopped.
When I appeared on the stage that night the chief of police and one of his officers jumped on the rostrum and demanded that I establish my identity. I had no way to prove it, except for the men travelling with me, and the cops would not take their word. It was said I raved like a bull at what I called an outrage. Finally I thought myself of a scheme.
“Chief” I said to the officer “If you or anybody in this town have any doubt as to my identity I’ll tell you what I’ll do. You just send any man in this house on the stage, and if he faces me five minutes I’ll give him $1000. There is but one Sullivan, and I'm the man," That argument carried some force with it, and one man ,who they had been asking to meet me, threw the crowd into laughter by yelling: ' "I'll take his word for it, all right; I'm sure he is John L”
One Punch for Fleming
"We went from Chattanooga to Memphis, and there a young doctor called on me. He wanted to know if I really offered $1000 to any man that would stand before me four rounds. I assured him that I did. He then told me of a man named Fleming, and he wanted to fight me. Late during the day Fleming came around, and the $1000 was put into the hands of a responsible man.
On the stage Fleming appeared to be a strong, healthy fellow. I was a little disturbed for fear that he might stick. My fear was groundless, however, for I aimed the hard one straight, at his face right from the jump, and he went out. Fleming was knocked out for 20 minutes and had not entirely recovered when the show closed.
The first word he spoke after coming around was to his "When am I to meet Sullivan?" he asked. He was informed that such an event had already happened. "Did I win, all right'."' asked poor Fleming. That was perhaps the shortest glove tight on , record. It lasted only two seconds.
TO BE CONTINUED
Part 20
You may talk all you please to the boys of America about the great deeds of: George Washington, Daniel Boone, Mad Anthony Wayne and other figures prominent in history, but to them the two real heroes of this country are the prize fighter and the ball player. A man who can put another out of business by a punch on the jaw appeals much more strongly to the average American youth than does the hero of history, who could outgeneral the British.
The same is true of ball players. The man they worship is the fellow who can hit for two bases with the bags all full, or a pitcher who can strike out the side. I always take a lot of pleasure in teasing the little fellows who follow at my heels when walk along the streets, and on several occasions I have, unintentionally put some very mischievous notions into their heads.
I was walking along Grand St, in New York, one day, when several little fellows, discovering my identity, began to follow me. One audacious little rascal yelled at me:
"Hey, John L., what do you eat to be so strong?"
"Nothing but gunpowder," I replied; "it makes me fierce,"
"What do you drink?" asked another, as he came close to me.
"Blood, my son," I answered. "Nothing but blood. It takes two or three little fellows like you to feed me every day."
What He Taught"
I thought no more of the incident until I returned to that neighborhood a week or so later. Then I had it forcibly brought to my attention. A party of ladies called on me one day and when I went down to see them I had considerable curiosity as to what they wanted.
"Mr Sulllivan," said a little woman, whose name was Mrs Maloney, "you have taught our boys some very bad tricks, and we know that you will be willing to straighten it out if you have the chance."
"Why, what in the world have I been doing?" I asked.
Well, I'll tell you," replied the little woman. "Do you remember walking down Grand at in New York one day and telling a lot of little boys that you ate gunpowder and drank blood to make
you fierce?'
I laughed uproariously at this, for I did remember this incident.
“It’s not as funny as you might think” said the little woman. “Those boy’s of ours thought you meant that and they are taking every cent of money they can get to buy gunpowder. Why, my little son has actually been feeding our bulldog on milk and gunpowder to make him fierce."
"Yes," spoke up one of the others. "My boy went over to the slaughterhouse and bought a quart of beef blood. He drank it all before he came home. He came in with the information that he was so fierce and full of fight that he wanted to whip his sister. That night he was very sick and we had to send for the doctor."
Took It Seriously
From the evidence of these good women I ascertained that the little boys along Grand St had been flocking to the slaughter houses over near the river every day begging for beef blood so that they could be great fighters like John L. I knew no way out of the difficulty except to go down there and make a talk, which I did. I told the little fellows that the beans I ate in Boston would make them just as vicious as the gunpowder and the blood, and for another week they had their mothers baking beans every day.
I have often laughed over that incident, and you readers who have been boys that were full of life can understand just how those kids felt.
It was on this visit to New York that I had considerable trouble with the police over allowing the fight between Alf Greenfield of England and myself to proceed at Madison Square Garden. Just as a matter of comparison, I will give you an idea at how they evaded the law in those days, so as to hold boxing matches. Pat Sheedy was my backer at that time, and Richard K. Fox was backing Greenfield.
How It Was Done
On the strength of an affidavit by Inspector Thorne, to the effect that he had reason to believe that a prize fight was to take place, at Madison Square Garden Greenfield and I were hauled before Judge Patterson. Col Spencer appeared for the defense and the proceeding was like this:
"Are you the man mentioned in this affidavit as Sullivan?" the Judge asked "I am, sir," I replied. "Yours truly, John L."
"Have you made some sort of an arrangement to box or something like that in Madison Square Garden Monday evening with a person known as Greenfield?"
"Simply a scientific exhibition of the manly art of self defense” I answered, just as I had been instructed to do.
“Have you any animosity against Greenfield “ asked the court. “none at all – in fact I rather like him.”
"Do you intend, during that exhibition to inflict upon Mr Greenfield any damage?"
(Laughingly) "Pshaw, no; we were merely to spar scientifically, not hurt each other."
"Is there any prize put up beyond what people are willing to pay to come'
"No, sir." ."Is there such a thing as a science of self-defense treated off in books?"
"Yes, sir. You can learn a lot of it that way"
"Sign your statement," said Clerk Sellman, as I concluded, and as I hesitated, the clerk said, with a smile: "You can write, can't you?" "I can," said I, laboriously putting my signature to the paper.
Then Greenfield came up smiling.
Greenfield's Turn
"Hi was born in England," he said, "hand know Mr Sullivan slightly. Hi've made harrangements with 'im to give, you know, what you call a scientific exhibition."
"Have you any enmity toward Mr Sullivan?" asked the lawyer.
"Lord bless you, no!" said Greenfield, closing his eyes and shaking his Head;
"hi don't hintend him any arm."
At this everybody grinned, and Greenfield continued.
"We would use the hordinary gloves, which, you know, his very soft."
"Sign your name, please," said Clerk Sellman.
"Beg your pardon," said Greenfield, "but you know in hour country we don't ave a chance to leam, but Hi can make my mark," and he put a big X at the bottom of the sheet.
That explained the matter thoroughly, and we were allowed to go on with the fight. At that they stopped it in the second round, when I had Greenfield at my mercy. I later licked him in
four rounds at the New England Institute in Boston.
End
If you pm your email address i can send you the word doc as it currently stands.
Part 19
I have found since the beginning of my career as a fighter that the big men of the country are always interested in fistic sport. By "big men" I mean men who have amounted to something in the affairs of the Nation. Ex-President Roosevelt is a great fight fan and half of the members of the United States Congress are close readers of the events of the ring. If a man has red blood in his veins there is something about a fair fist fight that appeals to him.
A noted preacher of Boston once told me that if he could make his congregation understand things as he did he would attend all the fights. I have counted among my friends some of the most prominent men in the world, and they can tell better reminiscences of my career than I can myself.
I suppose a great many of you know Bill Sterrett of Washington and sometimes Texas. If you don't, you ought to. Aside from being a man of considerable influence in politics, he is one of the best political correspondents for the newspapers in this country. Col Sterrett was always interested in prize fighting and at one time, when I appeared in Texas on my famous tour, he had discovered a champion whom he expected to take my title. Perhaps I had better let Col Sterrett tell the story himself, which he often does at public gatherings.
How He "Whipped" Sullivan
"When I see a plain, ordinary Senator or Representative, go on the rampage trying to do up the press gallery," said Col Sterrett, "I am reminded of the manner in which the champion of mine in Texas whipped John L. Sullivan. His name was Marks – Al Marks – a cotton screwer in Galveston, and one of the strongest and gamest fighters in Texas. Sullivan came down there on a tour and offered $500 to any man who would stand in front of the gloves three ( four ) rounds. Marks accepted the challenge. After the contest I asked marks for particulars, and this is the way he told the story.
“As I walked to the stage people cheered me, and I felt pretty proud. I was going to put my hands up against the great Sullivan. I felt sure I could whip him, but when I got into the ring John L. stood in front of me. He appeared to be a heap bigger than he looked from my seat. I determined to astonish him right from the jump. So after we had shaken hands I let him have a good one right in the jaw. Sullivan looked at me in a surprised sort of way.
I said to myself: "This man has his match at last, and he knows it. He is afraid of me. So I gave him some more knocks. John L. looked at me almost appealingly. He tried to stop my blows, but he was slow and clumsy.
In the second round I gave him several more hard ones, and continued to look scared. I said to myself it was ridiculous for this man to be posing as the champion of the world, and determined to put an end to his pretention.
Then The Change Came
About the middle of the third round, just as I was getting ready to do Sullivan up, I saw another sort of look coming to his eyes. He looked like some wild animal. In the next second he caught me under the left jaw with his right and lifted me up from the floor till my toes barely touched. At this his terrible left caught me on the other side of my face, and….
“I’ll have to finish the story” said Sterrett “for marks didn’t know much about the subsequent proceedings. When he had raised his man clear off the floor, just as a football player lifts the ball preparing for a kick, he hit poor Marks a crack which knocked him over the ropes and down into the orchestra. Two chairs and three violins were broken and where Marks was picked up unconscious. Sullivan thought he had killed the man and hid himself in the wings of the theatre .
Unexpected Experience
Just a few days after that I had the most unexpected experience of my career. We were to appear in Chattanooga and before our arrival someone had started a report that the man who was to appear as John L Sullivan was an imposter. This report had gained such widespread circulation that it would not be stopped.
When I appeared on the stage that night the chief of police and one of his officers jumped on the rostrum and demanded that I establish my identity. I had no way to prove it, except for the men travelling with me, and the cops would not take their word. It was said I raved like a bull at what I called an outrage. Finally I thought myself of a scheme.
“Chief” I said to the officer “If you or anybody in this town have any doubt as to my identity I’ll tell you what I’ll do. You just send any man in this house on the stage, and if he faces me five minutes I’ll give him $1000. There is but one Sullivan, and I'm the man," That argument carried some force with it, and one man ,who they had been asking to meet me, threw the crowd into laughter by yelling: ' "I'll take his word for it, all right; I'm sure he is John L”
One Punch for Fleming
"We went from Chattanooga to Memphis, and there a young doctor called on me. He wanted to know if I really offered $1000 to any man that would stand before me four rounds. I assured him that I did. He then told me of a man named Fleming, and he wanted to fight me. Late during the day Fleming came around, and the $1000 was put into the hands of a responsible man.
On the stage Fleming appeared to be a strong, healthy fellow. I was a little disturbed for fear that he might stick. My fear was groundless, however, for I aimed the hard one straight, at his face right from the jump, and he went out. Fleming was knocked out for 20 minutes and had not entirely recovered when the show closed.
The first word he spoke after coming around was to his "When am I to meet Sullivan?" he asked. He was informed that such an event had already happened. "Did I win, all right'."' asked poor Fleming. That was perhaps the shortest glove tight on , record. It lasted only two seconds.
TO BE CONTINUED
Part 20
You may talk all you please to the boys of America about the great deeds of: George Washington, Daniel Boone, Mad Anthony Wayne and other figures prominent in history, but to them the two real heroes of this country are the prize fighter and the ball player. A man who can put another out of business by a punch on the jaw appeals much more strongly to the average American youth than does the hero of history, who could outgeneral the British.
The same is true of ball players. The man they worship is the fellow who can hit for two bases with the bags all full, or a pitcher who can strike out the side. I always take a lot of pleasure in teasing the little fellows who follow at my heels when walk along the streets, and on several occasions I have, unintentionally put some very mischievous notions into their heads.
I was walking along Grand St, in New York, one day, when several little fellows, discovering my identity, began to follow me. One audacious little rascal yelled at me:
"Hey, John L., what do you eat to be so strong?"
"Nothing but gunpowder," I replied; "it makes me fierce,"
"What do you drink?" asked another, as he came close to me.
"Blood, my son," I answered. "Nothing but blood. It takes two or three little fellows like you to feed me every day."
What He Taught"
I thought no more of the incident until I returned to that neighborhood a week or so later. Then I had it forcibly brought to my attention. A party of ladies called on me one day and when I went down to see them I had considerable curiosity as to what they wanted.
"Mr Sulllivan," said a little woman, whose name was Mrs Maloney, "you have taught our boys some very bad tricks, and we know that you will be willing to straighten it out if you have the chance."
"Why, what in the world have I been doing?" I asked.
Well, I'll tell you," replied the little woman. "Do you remember walking down Grand at in New York one day and telling a lot of little boys that you ate gunpowder and drank blood to make
you fierce?'
I laughed uproariously at this, for I did remember this incident.
“It’s not as funny as you might think” said the little woman. “Those boy’s of ours thought you meant that and they are taking every cent of money they can get to buy gunpowder. Why, my little son has actually been feeding our bulldog on milk and gunpowder to make him fierce."
"Yes," spoke up one of the others. "My boy went over to the slaughterhouse and bought a quart of beef blood. He drank it all before he came home. He came in with the information that he was so fierce and full of fight that he wanted to whip his sister. That night he was very sick and we had to send for the doctor."
Took It Seriously
From the evidence of these good women I ascertained that the little boys along Grand St had been flocking to the slaughter houses over near the river every day begging for beef blood so that they could be great fighters like John L. I knew no way out of the difficulty except to go down there and make a talk, which I did. I told the little fellows that the beans I ate in Boston would make them just as vicious as the gunpowder and the blood, and for another week they had their mothers baking beans every day.
I have often laughed over that incident, and you readers who have been boys that were full of life can understand just how those kids felt.
It was on this visit to New York that I had considerable trouble with the police over allowing the fight between Alf Greenfield of England and myself to proceed at Madison Square Garden. Just as a matter of comparison, I will give you an idea at how they evaded the law in those days, so as to hold boxing matches. Pat Sheedy was my backer at that time, and Richard K. Fox was backing Greenfield.
How It Was Done
On the strength of an affidavit by Inspector Thorne, to the effect that he had reason to believe that a prize fight was to take place, at Madison Square Garden Greenfield and I were hauled before Judge Patterson. Col Spencer appeared for the defense and the proceeding was like this:
"Are you the man mentioned in this affidavit as Sullivan?" the Judge asked "I am, sir," I replied. "Yours truly, John L."
"Have you made some sort of an arrangement to box or something like that in Madison Square Garden Monday evening with a person known as Greenfield?"
"Simply a scientific exhibition of the manly art of self defense” I answered, just as I had been instructed to do.
“Have you any animosity against Greenfield “ asked the court. “none at all – in fact I rather like him.”
"Do you intend, during that exhibition to inflict upon Mr Greenfield any damage?"
(Laughingly) "Pshaw, no; we were merely to spar scientifically, not hurt each other."
"Is there any prize put up beyond what people are willing to pay to come'
"No, sir." ."Is there such a thing as a science of self-defense treated off in books?"
"Yes, sir. You can learn a lot of it that way"
"Sign your statement," said Clerk Sellman, as I concluded, and as I hesitated, the clerk said, with a smile: "You can write, can't you?" "I can," said I, laboriously putting my signature to the paper.
Then Greenfield came up smiling.
Greenfield's Turn
"Hi was born in England," he said, "hand know Mr Sullivan slightly. Hi've made harrangements with 'im to give, you know, what you call a scientific exhibition."
"Have you any enmity toward Mr Sullivan?" asked the lawyer.
"Lord bless you, no!" said Greenfield, closing his eyes and shaking his Head;
"hi don't hintend him any arm."
At this everybody grinned, and Greenfield continued.
"We would use the hordinary gloves, which, you know, his very soft."
"Sign your name, please," said Clerk Sellman.
"Beg your pardon," said Greenfield, "but you know in hour country we don't ave a chance to leam, but Hi can make my mark," and he put a big X at the bottom of the sheet.
That explained the matter thoroughly, and we were allowed to go on with the fight. At that they stopped it in the second round, when I had Greenfield at my mercy. I later licked him in
four rounds at the New England Institute in Boston.
End
-
robert.snell1
- Heavyweight
- Posts: 1141
- Joined: 16 Oct 2003, 07:56
Re: John L Sullivan - his story
Part 21
After my fight with McCaffrey there was nothing doing in the way of matchmaking, and I turned my mind toward making money. I went back to Boston and signed a contract to travel with Allen's Minstrels at a salary of $500 a week. My job was to pose as statues of ancient and modern gladiators. I can assure you that that was much easier money than knocking some poor fellow out for it every night.
In the meantime I had put myself under the management of Pat Sheedy, and we started on a trip to the Coast with Steve Taylor, George La Blanche, Jimmy Carroll and Patsy Kerrigan. In Frisco I finally got another chance to meet Paddy Ryan, the man from whom I had won the championship in 1882.
I knocked him out in three rounds and received something like $7600 for the trouble, After leaving Frisco I received an injury that came near putting me out of the fighting game for good. In fact, it was the first serious hurt I ever had.
Why Cardiff Lasted
During an exhibition bout in Minneapolis, Jan 18, 1887, I met Patsy Cardiff. We were to go six rounds. In the opening minute I let drive my left, but found that I had gauged my man wrongly. The blow struck him in the middle of the forehead just as he was ducking. I felt a sharp twinge in my arm, but I kept on going. In a few minutes I discovered that I had broken one of the bones in my arm, and it was already beginning to swell. Despite this injury I fought out the other five
rounds, and was given the decision.
"Why didn't you knock him out?" yelled some fellow derisively from the crowd.
I hurried to the Hotel Nicolet and sent for two surgeons to look at my arm. I was suffering the most excruciating pain and my arm had swollen until It was almost double its natural size. By the time the doctors decided What to do it was 3 o'clock in the morning. They finally sent for some splints and decided to set the arm, as they had found where the bone was broken. The radius bone, I believe, they called it .
Things got to such a pass that I began to be alarmed for fear that I might lose the arm. They wanted me to see a surgeon in Chicago, but I made up my mind to come straight to New York and see Dr Louis Sayers, whom I regarded as one of the greatest surgeons in the world. Dr Sayers immediately called his two sons. He told them to hold the muscle of the bicep as well as the forearm.
He then took hold of my hand as if to shake hands with me. In a flash he broke the arm, and for a minute he had me scared stiff. After resetting it he locked the arm in a plaster cast. I carried it in that position for five weeks. At the end of that time it was well and I could go back to fighting.
When my arm was well enough to resume sparring exhibitions I went back to my old home in Boston. On Aug 8 a grand testimonial benefit was given me at the Boston Theatre. It was on that occasion that I was presented with the diamond belt which came to be known all over the world. The one I got from the Police Gazette and sent back was like a. dog collar alongside this one.
Proud of His Belt
The belt given me at Boston was of solid gold and set with 397 diamonds. This belt was made In Maiden Lane, New York, and is said to be the greatest and nicest piece of workmanship of its kind that was ever presented to a champion. The belt is my own personal property. It is 48 inches in length and 12 inches in width and is the largest piece of flat gold ever seen in this
country.
It was about 12 Inches square when started, and weighed about 2800 (?) penny-Weights. It took about three months to complete It. It contains a center plate, two boxing panels, an eagle panel and a harp panel. These panels are studded with diamonds. My name on the belt is composed of 250 stones. There are enough of us Sullivan’s to repel an army, and we're always ready.
There are Sullivan’s enough to fill every position you may name. Do you want brawn ? Look at the Sullivan in Boston, who is 6 feet 8 ½ inches tall, working as a longshoreman for $1.80 a day.
Do you want brain? Look at another Sullivan in Boston, 5 feet 6 inches short, working as president of a railroad at a salary of $25,000. There are Sullivan’s of all grades in between these two samples, and I hope someday to see the family reunited — if there is any place big enough to hold us all. Let all the Sullivan’s take hold and help this thing along. I propose that a society be formed under the name of the Amalgamated Sullivan’s, If this is done we can control everything in the land. We are certainly the balance of power. I'd love to join such a family reunion, and I'll make a side bet that when It is pulled off the whole country will sit up and take notice. As for the Sullivan women they are the prettiest, the wittiest of any, and they raise families large enough, too.
End
After my fight with McCaffrey there was nothing doing in the way of matchmaking, and I turned my mind toward making money. I went back to Boston and signed a contract to travel with Allen's Minstrels at a salary of $500 a week. My job was to pose as statues of ancient and modern gladiators. I can assure you that that was much easier money than knocking some poor fellow out for it every night.
In the meantime I had put myself under the management of Pat Sheedy, and we started on a trip to the Coast with Steve Taylor, George La Blanche, Jimmy Carroll and Patsy Kerrigan. In Frisco I finally got another chance to meet Paddy Ryan, the man from whom I had won the championship in 1882.
I knocked him out in three rounds and received something like $7600 for the trouble, After leaving Frisco I received an injury that came near putting me out of the fighting game for good. In fact, it was the first serious hurt I ever had.
Why Cardiff Lasted
During an exhibition bout in Minneapolis, Jan 18, 1887, I met Patsy Cardiff. We were to go six rounds. In the opening minute I let drive my left, but found that I had gauged my man wrongly. The blow struck him in the middle of the forehead just as he was ducking. I felt a sharp twinge in my arm, but I kept on going. In a few minutes I discovered that I had broken one of the bones in my arm, and it was already beginning to swell. Despite this injury I fought out the other five
rounds, and was given the decision.
"Why didn't you knock him out?" yelled some fellow derisively from the crowd.
I hurried to the Hotel Nicolet and sent for two surgeons to look at my arm. I was suffering the most excruciating pain and my arm had swollen until It was almost double its natural size. By the time the doctors decided What to do it was 3 o'clock in the morning. They finally sent for some splints and decided to set the arm, as they had found where the bone was broken. The radius bone, I believe, they called it .
Things got to such a pass that I began to be alarmed for fear that I might lose the arm. They wanted me to see a surgeon in Chicago, but I made up my mind to come straight to New York and see Dr Louis Sayers, whom I regarded as one of the greatest surgeons in the world. Dr Sayers immediately called his two sons. He told them to hold the muscle of the bicep as well as the forearm.
He then took hold of my hand as if to shake hands with me. In a flash he broke the arm, and for a minute he had me scared stiff. After resetting it he locked the arm in a plaster cast. I carried it in that position for five weeks. At the end of that time it was well and I could go back to fighting.
When my arm was well enough to resume sparring exhibitions I went back to my old home in Boston. On Aug 8 a grand testimonial benefit was given me at the Boston Theatre. It was on that occasion that I was presented with the diamond belt which came to be known all over the world. The one I got from the Police Gazette and sent back was like a. dog collar alongside this one.
Proud of His Belt
The belt given me at Boston was of solid gold and set with 397 diamonds. This belt was made In Maiden Lane, New York, and is said to be the greatest and nicest piece of workmanship of its kind that was ever presented to a champion. The belt is my own personal property. It is 48 inches in length and 12 inches in width and is the largest piece of flat gold ever seen in this
country.
It was about 12 Inches square when started, and weighed about 2800 (?) penny-Weights. It took about three months to complete It. It contains a center plate, two boxing panels, an eagle panel and a harp panel. These panels are studded with diamonds. My name on the belt is composed of 250 stones. There are enough of us Sullivan’s to repel an army, and we're always ready.
There are Sullivan’s enough to fill every position you may name. Do you want brawn ? Look at the Sullivan in Boston, who is 6 feet 8 ½ inches tall, working as a longshoreman for $1.80 a day.
Do you want brain? Look at another Sullivan in Boston, 5 feet 6 inches short, working as president of a railroad at a salary of $25,000. There are Sullivan’s of all grades in between these two samples, and I hope someday to see the family reunited — if there is any place big enough to hold us all. Let all the Sullivan’s take hold and help this thing along. I propose that a society be formed under the name of the Amalgamated Sullivan’s, If this is done we can control everything in the land. We are certainly the balance of power. I'd love to join such a family reunion, and I'll make a side bet that when It is pulled off the whole country will sit up and take notice. As for the Sullivan women they are the prettiest, the wittiest of any, and they raise families large enough, too.
End
-
robert.snell1
- Heavyweight
- Posts: 1141
- Joined: 16 Oct 2003, 07:56
Re: John L Sullivan - his story
Part 22
Since I began the preparation of this book I have been asked to explain in detail several incidents in my checkered career which have for years afforded fight fans material for argument. It would be impossible for me to give the facts about all of my deeds and misdeeds, as in many cases I did not remember having done such things and had to rely on my friends for news of
my own doings. But there is one question that I can answer and will.
"Mr Sullivan, why did you refuse to fight Mitchell in New York on March 30, 1884?" That is the question that was sent me.
I will admit that for one time I failed to fight when called upon. I was caught napping, as it were, and if I had gone in the ring that night I might have come out without honors being heaped upon my shoulders.
The truth of the matter is that I did not prepare for the contest, because I had been led to believe the Capt. Williams of the police would refuse to allow the fight to take place. I was notified of this while in Boston. I immediately quite taking care of myself and ddrank more than I pleased at times. To be plain about it I “Cut Loose”.
When the day of the fight arrived I was suddenly notified that Capt. Williams would allow the match to go on, and I was caught in the middle of a bad fix.
Refused The money
I knew that I had to make good with the public in some manner, so I appeared at an exhibition. As soon as I got in the ring the crowd knew that I was in no condition to fight, and my explanation was entirely unnecessary. I made a short talk however in which I excused myself to the public. I immediately left the hall and went to my room.
A little later Al Smith sent me over my share of the gate receipts which amounted to around $1000. I refused to take the money on the grounds that I was not entitled to it. Smith refused to take it back, and we settled it by giving the money to charity.
This drinking question is one for profound consideration. Sometimes I contend that no man can be successful and drink, and then suddenly wake up and discover that I am mistaken.
On the other hand, if we look over the pages of history we find that many of our greatest men liked drink now and then. Daniel Webster liked his tipple. Henry Clay was always ready to take just one more. Calhoun was fond of his old fashioned toddy. George Washington took his straight, without water on the side, and regular too. Thomas Jefferson would not run away from a drink . King Edward of England has played the drink thing across the boards. He knows how to do it too.
Trip To England
While I never expect to take another drink as long as I live, I have none of those hard feelings against a man who does. If a man can take a drink and get away with it, so much the better, but yours truly has found long since that whiskey is not for him. I am against prohibition though. I think it an abridgement of personal liberty.
On the morning of Oct 27, 1887, I boarded the Cunard liner Cephalonia and set sail for England. I was going abroad on a mission of money, glory and revenge. I wanted to get Charley Mitchell and Tug Wilson, and in addition to that I was going after Jeff Smith, who was then posing as the Champion of England.
Harry S. Phillips, a well known sporting man of Montreal was my manager. Accompanying us was Jack Ashton, the Providence fighter, and Mr. John Barnett, a personal friend, who acted somewhat in the capacity of travelling companion, adviser and secretary.
We arrived in Liverpool on Nov. 6 at 2 o’clock. It was Sunday afternoon and there was an immense crowd on hand to greet me. I was a little bit shy about entering this foreign country, but when I saw all these friendly faces I knew that somebody would be on hand to help me out of difficulties. Among those who greeted me at the pier were Arthur Magnus, Alf Greenfield and Johnny Curran.
As I stepped from the tender the crush was so great I had difficulty in reaching a carriage. The crowd finally got so enthusiastic over the “American Champion” that they started to take the horses from the carriage and pull me to the hotel themselves. The police interfered and stopped that and after considerable waiting I finally reached the hotel in safety.
Made Speech From Window
I made a speech from the window of a newspaper office in which I thanked the people and promised them that I would show them what I could do as a “Knock Out” before the end of the week. I gave an exhibition on the Wednesday night following and was introduced with Jem Smith the champion of England.
The place was packed and the crowd immediately began to yell “Speech, Speech”. “I thank you” I said. “And all I’ve got to say is that here is one fellow I came over to lick” pointing to Jem Smith. They looked at me rather strangely as I said that, but I added;
“I want to lick him just as much as he wants to lick me”. My manager later told me that I should have said “ I want to best this man”, they didn’t appear to get the word “lick” at first.
We started on a trip around the country, and one of the most interesting places I visited was Cardiff, Wales. There my reception was one of the most enthusiastic ever tendered a visitor.
Called It A Dog Collar
“You don’t attach much importance to the diamond belt in the possession of Jake Kilrain ? “ was asked of men in Cardiff. “No” I replied.”It is only a dog collar given by the Police Gazette. It’s real value is about £30 ( $150), and if I win it I intend to offer it for competition among the New York bootblacks”.
I had a little opportunity to meet all comers in Wales and England, because they wouldn’t fight. I repeatedly issued the challenge, but the people over there are not as quick to take a chance as they had been in America. I did meet one fellow in Cardiff – Samuels , I think his name was, - but he didn’t know much about the fighting game.
We sparred for a second and I unbelted one that caught him on the jaw and he went down for what looked like the count. He was not out however for he raised up and said “Quits,quits”.
End
Since I began the preparation of this book I have been asked to explain in detail several incidents in my checkered career which have for years afforded fight fans material for argument. It would be impossible for me to give the facts about all of my deeds and misdeeds, as in many cases I did not remember having done such things and had to rely on my friends for news of
my own doings. But there is one question that I can answer and will.
"Mr Sullivan, why did you refuse to fight Mitchell in New York on March 30, 1884?" That is the question that was sent me.
I will admit that for one time I failed to fight when called upon. I was caught napping, as it were, and if I had gone in the ring that night I might have come out without honors being heaped upon my shoulders.
The truth of the matter is that I did not prepare for the contest, because I had been led to believe the Capt. Williams of the police would refuse to allow the fight to take place. I was notified of this while in Boston. I immediately quite taking care of myself and ddrank more than I pleased at times. To be plain about it I “Cut Loose”.
When the day of the fight arrived I was suddenly notified that Capt. Williams would allow the match to go on, and I was caught in the middle of a bad fix.
Refused The money
I knew that I had to make good with the public in some manner, so I appeared at an exhibition. As soon as I got in the ring the crowd knew that I was in no condition to fight, and my explanation was entirely unnecessary. I made a short talk however in which I excused myself to the public. I immediately left the hall and went to my room.
A little later Al Smith sent me over my share of the gate receipts which amounted to around $1000. I refused to take the money on the grounds that I was not entitled to it. Smith refused to take it back, and we settled it by giving the money to charity.
This drinking question is one for profound consideration. Sometimes I contend that no man can be successful and drink, and then suddenly wake up and discover that I am mistaken.
On the other hand, if we look over the pages of history we find that many of our greatest men liked drink now and then. Daniel Webster liked his tipple. Henry Clay was always ready to take just one more. Calhoun was fond of his old fashioned toddy. George Washington took his straight, without water on the side, and regular too. Thomas Jefferson would not run away from a drink . King Edward of England has played the drink thing across the boards. He knows how to do it too.
Trip To England
While I never expect to take another drink as long as I live, I have none of those hard feelings against a man who does. If a man can take a drink and get away with it, so much the better, but yours truly has found long since that whiskey is not for him. I am against prohibition though. I think it an abridgement of personal liberty.
On the morning of Oct 27, 1887, I boarded the Cunard liner Cephalonia and set sail for England. I was going abroad on a mission of money, glory and revenge. I wanted to get Charley Mitchell and Tug Wilson, and in addition to that I was going after Jeff Smith, who was then posing as the Champion of England.
Harry S. Phillips, a well known sporting man of Montreal was my manager. Accompanying us was Jack Ashton, the Providence fighter, and Mr. John Barnett, a personal friend, who acted somewhat in the capacity of travelling companion, adviser and secretary.
We arrived in Liverpool on Nov. 6 at 2 o’clock. It was Sunday afternoon and there was an immense crowd on hand to greet me. I was a little bit shy about entering this foreign country, but when I saw all these friendly faces I knew that somebody would be on hand to help me out of difficulties. Among those who greeted me at the pier were Arthur Magnus, Alf Greenfield and Johnny Curran.
As I stepped from the tender the crush was so great I had difficulty in reaching a carriage. The crowd finally got so enthusiastic over the “American Champion” that they started to take the horses from the carriage and pull me to the hotel themselves. The police interfered and stopped that and after considerable waiting I finally reached the hotel in safety.
Made Speech From Window
I made a speech from the window of a newspaper office in which I thanked the people and promised them that I would show them what I could do as a “Knock Out” before the end of the week. I gave an exhibition on the Wednesday night following and was introduced with Jem Smith the champion of England.
The place was packed and the crowd immediately began to yell “Speech, Speech”. “I thank you” I said. “And all I’ve got to say is that here is one fellow I came over to lick” pointing to Jem Smith. They looked at me rather strangely as I said that, but I added;
“I want to lick him just as much as he wants to lick me”. My manager later told me that I should have said “ I want to best this man”, they didn’t appear to get the word “lick” at first.
We started on a trip around the country, and one of the most interesting places I visited was Cardiff, Wales. There my reception was one of the most enthusiastic ever tendered a visitor.
Called It A Dog Collar
“You don’t attach much importance to the diamond belt in the possession of Jake Kilrain ? “ was asked of men in Cardiff. “No” I replied.”It is only a dog collar given by the Police Gazette. It’s real value is about £30 ( $150), and if I win it I intend to offer it for competition among the New York bootblacks”.
I had a little opportunity to meet all comers in Wales and England, because they wouldn’t fight. I repeatedly issued the challenge, but the people over there are not as quick to take a chance as they had been in America. I did meet one fellow in Cardiff – Samuels , I think his name was, - but he didn’t know much about the fighting game.
We sparred for a second and I unbelted one that caught him on the jaw and he went down for what looked like the count. He was not out however for he raised up and said “Quits,quits”.
End
Re: John L Sullivan - his story
You are a total legend Mr Snell, thank you. 8)
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robert.snell1
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Re: John L Sullivan - his story
Thanks mate and I will have the final chapter done soon. The total file will also be made available in a word and pdf file.
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robert.snell1
- Heavyweight
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Re: John L Sullivan - his story
Part 23 – final chapter
As I near the end of my story I must take time to pay tribute to a man whom I regard as one of the greatest men this country ever produced. The man I refer to Ira D. Sankey, the evangelist. He is one of the few men who over called my bluff and made me think a long time about what he said. If I had listened to his advice I would be a rich man today and would be able to set a better example to the youth of the country than I have done.
Boys, when a man garbed as a minister calls on you I want you to listen to him with a great deal of attention. He knows a bit more about the world than you think.
I was in my room in a Buffalo hotel about 15 years ago when a bellhop came in and said that a stranger had called and wanted to take up some of my time. "If you don't say for him to come up," said the boy," said the boy, "he says he will come up anyway." "You tell that fresh fellow if he wants to take a chance on going down faster than he came up to come up," I said.
In a couple of minutes a dignified man, attired as a preacher, appeared in the doorway. "My name is Sankey," he said. in way of introduction. "Well, I wouldn't feel bad about that," I replied with a look that was intended to put the visitor out of business. "What do you want with me?
“I want you to change your way of living and set a different example for the youth of the country”, was his opening remark. !Huh, Huh” I replied with some astonishment. "You have no right to squander your strength in wild living'," he went on without flinching-. "It was given you for a different purpose." "I don't squander anybody's money but my own," I replied, "and I do a lot more good with mine, I’ll bet you, than you do with yours”.
.
Didn't Heed Old Advice
"Now, Mr Sullivan," he went on, "don't make the mistake of thinking that I don't know anything about the world and the things to which you refer. I've been pretty close to them in more countries than one, and I'm here to ask you to do something for the growing boy’s by setting a good example. These are the people we want to start in the right channels. By showing them the proper way to live you can do as much for saving these young people as I can."
We sat there and talked for an hour and he soon got it through my head that I was wrong and that he was right, Still, I had had so much of that kind of advice offered me that I did not heed it. He certainly made a great try and he went a long distance out of his way to force something upon me that I needed. I wish I had taken that advice.
In my concluding chapter I want to impress upon the boys and young men of this country the importance of doing something. The boy who sets his aim at a life of detail will never do much. He will be a good, handy man to have around, but you will never see his name in the papers.
The principal thing in life is to create something. To improve, on what others have done is all right, but the main idea is to go out and do something yourself. Do something different from what the other fellows have done.
Dig up something new.
Some years ago a young fellow came to my training camp on Long Island to make some drawings of me and to write a story of how I trained. I tried to help him all I could, but all the time I was talking to him I could see he had something in his mind that was his own. He was different from all the other artists I had seen before.
The next day I picked up the paper and saw that, his drawings were entirely different from what I had suggested to him. He was Frederick, the famous artist. Pie was then about 21 years old. Look what he did. The editor who sent him out to see me that day never imagined that Remington's pictures some day would be selling for thousands of dollars.
Managers Don’t make Fighters
I have often heard it said that managers are generally responsible for the success of fighters. That is all bosh. They can help a lot by attending to the details, but it is the fighter who makes the name for himself.
William Brady is a big theatrical manager, and I have no doubt that he cons himself into believing that he made James J. Corbett champion. Perhaps he never would have received a hearing as a manager if he hadn't been lucky enough to hitch up with the pompadour boy from California.
Tom O'Rourke was a stair builder before he got hold of George Dixon. I'll wager that O'Rourke can put up quite an argument to show that he made Dixon a success and caused him to pile up money for a dozen years. Of course Dixon has no comeback, because he is dead.
I am now well past 50 years, my hair is white and my weight is around 300 pounds. I take the most excellent care of myself. I never use intoxicants in any form whatever. I spend the greater part, of my time in my room. When I am not busy writing letters I take a deck of cards and amuse myself for hours playing solitaire.
A friend has already sprung a joke on me in advance. He says it would not be strange for some purchaser to ask his dealer for a scrapbook and be given the "Life of John L. Sullivan" by mistake.
As I near the end of my story I must take time to pay tribute to a man whom I regard as one of the greatest men this country ever produced. The man I refer to Ira D. Sankey, the evangelist. He is one of the few men who over called my bluff and made me think a long time about what he said. If I had listened to his advice I would be a rich man today and would be able to set a better example to the youth of the country than I have done.
Boys, when a man garbed as a minister calls on you I want you to listen to him with a great deal of attention. He knows a bit more about the world than you think.
I was in my room in a Buffalo hotel about 15 years ago when a bellhop came in and said that a stranger had called and wanted to take up some of my time. "If you don't say for him to come up," said the boy," said the boy, "he says he will come up anyway." "You tell that fresh fellow if he wants to take a chance on going down faster than he came up to come up," I said.
In a couple of minutes a dignified man, attired as a preacher, appeared in the doorway. "My name is Sankey," he said. in way of introduction. "Well, I wouldn't feel bad about that," I replied with a look that was intended to put the visitor out of business. "What do you want with me?
“I want you to change your way of living and set a different example for the youth of the country”, was his opening remark. !Huh, Huh” I replied with some astonishment. "You have no right to squander your strength in wild living'," he went on without flinching-. "It was given you for a different purpose." "I don't squander anybody's money but my own," I replied, "and I do a lot more good with mine, I’ll bet you, than you do with yours”.
.
Didn't Heed Old Advice
"Now, Mr Sullivan," he went on, "don't make the mistake of thinking that I don't know anything about the world and the things to which you refer. I've been pretty close to them in more countries than one, and I'm here to ask you to do something for the growing boy’s by setting a good example. These are the people we want to start in the right channels. By showing them the proper way to live you can do as much for saving these young people as I can."
We sat there and talked for an hour and he soon got it through my head that I was wrong and that he was right, Still, I had had so much of that kind of advice offered me that I did not heed it. He certainly made a great try and he went a long distance out of his way to force something upon me that I needed. I wish I had taken that advice.
In my concluding chapter I want to impress upon the boys and young men of this country the importance of doing something. The boy who sets his aim at a life of detail will never do much. He will be a good, handy man to have around, but you will never see his name in the papers.
The principal thing in life is to create something. To improve, on what others have done is all right, but the main idea is to go out and do something yourself. Do something different from what the other fellows have done.
Dig up something new.
Some years ago a young fellow came to my training camp on Long Island to make some drawings of me and to write a story of how I trained. I tried to help him all I could, but all the time I was talking to him I could see he had something in his mind that was his own. He was different from all the other artists I had seen before.
The next day I picked up the paper and saw that, his drawings were entirely different from what I had suggested to him. He was Frederick, the famous artist. Pie was then about 21 years old. Look what he did. The editor who sent him out to see me that day never imagined that Remington's pictures some day would be selling for thousands of dollars.
Managers Don’t make Fighters
I have often heard it said that managers are generally responsible for the success of fighters. That is all bosh. They can help a lot by attending to the details, but it is the fighter who makes the name for himself.
William Brady is a big theatrical manager, and I have no doubt that he cons himself into believing that he made James J. Corbett champion. Perhaps he never would have received a hearing as a manager if he hadn't been lucky enough to hitch up with the pompadour boy from California.
Tom O'Rourke was a stair builder before he got hold of George Dixon. I'll wager that O'Rourke can put up quite an argument to show that he made Dixon a success and caused him to pile up money for a dozen years. Of course Dixon has no comeback, because he is dead.
I am now well past 50 years, my hair is white and my weight is around 300 pounds. I take the most excellent care of myself. I never use intoxicants in any form whatever. I spend the greater part, of my time in my room. When I am not busy writing letters I take a deck of cards and amuse myself for hours playing solitaire.
A friend has already sprung a joke on me in advance. He says it would not be strange for some purchaser to ask his dealer for a scrapbook and be given the "Life of John L. Sullivan" by mistake.
Re: John L Sullivan - his story
Hi Robertsnell1,
When you make this into an E-Book,would you put some of the rarely published photographs of John L. Sullivan
in between the various chapters?
Some of those e-books get difficult to read when its just text.
Also,would it be possible to have its text in the late 19th Century type-set too?
Like when the re-printed his 1893 autobiography in 1977.
That usually gives the text some extra flavour.
When you make this into an E-Book,would you put some of the rarely published photographs of John L. Sullivan
in between the various chapters?
Some of those e-books get difficult to read when its just text.
Also,would it be possible to have its text in the late 19th Century type-set too?
Like when the re-printed his 1893 autobiography in 1977.
That usually gives the text some extra flavour.
Re: John L Sullivan - his story
Anyone here ever seen any of Frederick Remington's sketches of Jawnel?
(I have not seen a copy in 10 years so I cant remember if any of Remington's sketches may have been in the reprint of
" Reminiscences of a 19th Century Gladiator" published in London in 1892,
and re-printed in 1977 as,
"I Can Lick Any Son- Of-A-B*tch In The House !"
(I have not seen a copy in 10 years so I cant remember if any of Remington's sketches may have been in the reprint of
" Reminiscences of a 19th Century Gladiator" published in London in 1892,
and re-printed in 1977 as,
"I Can Lick Any Son- Of-A-B*tch In The House !"
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robert.snell1
- Heavyweight
- Posts: 1141
- Joined: 16 Oct 2003, 07:56
Re: John L Sullivan - his story
some good ideas which are noted
Re: John L Sullivan - his story
I have not read any of the recent biographies of John L.Sullivan published over the last 25 years,
but I e-mailed the Remington museum of Art to ask about those sketches.
Possibly they may have been re-printed in the recent biographies,but
Ive never seen any of those books.
but I e-mailed the Remington museum of Art to ask about those sketches.
Possibly they may have been re-printed in the recent biographies,but
Ive never seen any of those books.
Re: John L Sullivan - his story
Here is a link to the original cover illustration of John L. Sullivan's 1892 autobiography.
http://www.lib.monash.edu.au/exhibition ... cks/22.jpg
http://www.lib.monash.edu.au/exhibition ... cks/22.jpg
Re: John L Sullivan - his story
Do you have any idea how many words are in these 23 chapters compared to his 1892 autobiography?
Re: John L Sullivan - his story
My guess is that he originally had written these articles around 1912,
as he mentions in the last chapter that,"I am now well past 50 years".
(born Oct. 1858).
Difficult to say how much of it may be ghost written if any of it,but
it certainly sounds like one would imagine he spoke.
John L. Sullivan has been dead for 93 years,but with his written memoirs ,he is still communicating to an audience in written form,
from beyond the grave.
as he mentions in the last chapter that,"I am now well past 50 years".
(born Oct. 1858).
Difficult to say how much of it may be ghost written if any of it,but
it certainly sounds like one would imagine he spoke.
John L. Sullivan has been dead for 93 years,but with his written memoirs ,he is still communicating to an audience in written form,
from beyond the grave.
Re: John L Sullivan - his story
I just noticed at amazon.com,that John L.Sullivan's 1892 autobiography was re-printed in paperback in 2008.Srebmun wrote:Wonderful, thanks very much for posting.
I just ordered the Isenberg book too.
IMOP,I would get that book too.
Re: John L Sullivan - his story
Just had a peep so shall be ordering it no doubt.Brutu wrote:I just noticed at amazon.com,that John L.Sullivan's 1892 autobiography was re-printed in paperback in 2008.Srebmun wrote:Wonderful, thanks very much for posting.
I just ordered the Isenberg book too.
IMOP,I would get that book too.
I've posted this elsewhere but I recently downloaded some of the PDF's senya13 posted up some time ago, i.e.
Henry Downes Miles - Pugilistica (1906)
Fred Henning - Fights for the Championship - The Men and Their Times (1902)
Frank Louis Dowling - Fistiana; or the Oracle of the Ring (1841 edition)
William Oxberry - Pancratia, or a History of Pugilism (1812)
And got the printers here in work to put a cpl of them into booklet form, am very pleased, will get them all eventually but didn't want to take the piss too quickly.
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robert.snell1
- Heavyweight
- Posts: 1141
- Joined: 16 Oct 2003, 07:56
Re: John L Sullivan - his story
hey Robert.snell.1,
In which issue of the BOSTON GLOBE was part 23-final chapter published in?
In which issue of the BOSTON GLOBE was part 23-final chapter published in?
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robert.snell1
- Heavyweight
- Posts: 1141
- Joined: 16 Oct 2003, 07:56
Re: John L Sullivan - his story
Wed 13 march 1918
Re: John L Sullivan - his story
Were you able to find out when these 23 chapters were originally printed in the BOSTON GLOBE ca.1912?
Or was his life story purchased by them years earlier but not published until after John L. Sullivan's death?
Or was his life story purchased by them years earlier but not published until after John L. Sullivan's death?
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robert.snell1
- Heavyweight
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- Joined: 16 Oct 2003, 07:56
Re: John L Sullivan - his story
no further info on that date of publication. I might send them an email on this to see what they can add