MY TRIBUTE TO NEW ORLEANS

[enrique]

I LOVE NEW ORLEANS AND I HOPE THE CITY COMES BACK WITH ITS GRAND OLD CHARM. HERE'S AN ARTICLE I WROTE A COUPLE OF YEARS AGO AND IT IS MY TRIBUTE TO THE CITY. I HOPE YOU ALL LIKE IT.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------.

The Boxing Ghosts Of The Big Easy

By Enrique Encinosa

New Orleans was supposed to be a pure vacation, a decompression after several months of work on a draft of a Cold War novel set in Africa and a book of short stories in Spanish to be published later this year, or whenever the agents and editors reach agreements.

The Big Easy is a special place for me, a city visited sporadically over the last three decades with each trip searing a memory that only a hardcore boxing fan can understand. My first trip, while a high school student was capped with a handshake and a brief chat with Pete Herman, the great little rooster of the bantamweights, who owned a fine restaurant in the French Quarter. The second visit, while an amateur boxer and college freshman, provided the thrill of a ringside seat at the Municipal Auditorium, to watch Joe Brown out hustle a tough club fighter named Joe Barrientes, in one of "Old Bones" last performances. Such memories have linked me in a warm way to the city of Willie Pastrano and Ralph Dupas.

The last vacation turned into a quest. In the weeks preceding my trip to the Crescent City, I dug into old, yellowed magazines and newspaper clippings. I searched for an ancient site, the place where it all began, where time and circumstance joined together to serve as a midwife to the birth of modern boxing. Truly, I expected to find nothing other than a normal, run-of-the-mill street by the Mississippi River where long ago, history was made.

My cousin Jake, born and bred in the Big Easy, became a self-appointed tour guide. With his girlfriend Betty and my wife Ilia, we cruised the French Quarter. Bo Diddley and Eric Burdon and the New Animals were performing at the House of Blues. Street performers tap danced or played music at Jackson Square. The Cafe du Monde overflowed with tourists drinking Chickory Coffee and munching bignettes, flaky French pastries covered with powdered sugar. In the porch of a Cajun restaurnat a large metal pot boiled with red crayfish. Though the partially opened doors of strip clubs, slices of nakedness were glimpsed on the street. The air smelled of spices, broiled redfish and magnolias.

Eventually, somewhere between powdered donuts and buying a small statuette of Satchmo with his magic horn, I explained my historical quest to my Crescent City guides. So we piled into a white Honda and headed to a neighborhood close to the French Quarter.

The site I looked for is not listed in the tourist books. It is a square block of New orleans bordered by four streets: Clouet, Montegut, Charles, and Royal. My eyes scanned the street. To my astonishment, there it stood, a red brick wall wedged between two wooden residences.

"I can't believe it," I said, "There's still a wall left standing. This is incredible. Drop me off and pick me up in a half-hour."

I stood in front of 628 Clouet Street. The brick wall stretched the length of the property and curved around the back. I knew, from an old Lester Bromberg article that I was staring at the last remaining brick wall of the New Orleans Olympic Club, where the great John L. Sullivan lost his crown to Gentleman Jim Corbett.

I knocked on the door. A wiry man with long hair answered.

"Excuse me," I said, "I'm a writer and I...can you tell me how long this brick wall has been here?"

"Over a hundred years," Gerald Medina answered, "Yes, that is the wall."

"So you know what I'm talking about?"

"Yes. One day several cops showed up here and asked to see the wall. They are history buffs and they told me that some important fight took place here, and this is the original wall of the club. And an old timer around the corner also told me about the fight but I don't recollect the details."

Medina invited me into his home. As I walked around the back, looking at the red brick wall, I told him a brief story of the significant historical event that transpired in this street over a century before.

"In the past century boxing was illegal. Fighters fought on barges and barns, for bet money and with bare fists. In some cities, boxing was allowed only as exhibitions with gloves. The Olympic Club was a country club of the wealthy who sponsored athletes and sports. The political power of the Olympic Club joined with the permissive politics of Nineteenth Century Louisiana and legalized boxing at a big level was born here, during a three-day promotion where three title fights were held. It was the transition moment from the bare knuckle era to modern times, a significant moment in sports history. Did you ever see the movie 'Gentleman Jim' with Errol Flynn?"

"Yes," Medina answered, "I remember that movie."

"That's the story of how James J. Corbett beat John L. Sullivan," I said, "And now, my friend, you own a piece of history. Because this is the only wall left of the New Orleans Olympic Club. The two houses on the other side of this brick wall were built with wood salvaged after the place burned down years later. I'm going to write a piece about this and I'll send you a copy. Perhaps we can come up with some boxing fans or the city to put a plaque here. This is where modern boxing was born in the United States."

I walked around the block, entering a large yard where an industrial operation is established. I was walking on the site of the fights, on the place where Sullivan lost his crown, where Jack McAuliffe and George Dixon had flashed their skills. I asked more questions from locals, but nothing of value was gained.

I lit a Kool and stood on Chartres Street. I reflected on the significance of the events that happened here, in this square block by the Mississippi.

John L. Sullivan was significant for he was the first national sports hero and blue collar non-entrepreneur to earn a million dollars in Nineteenth Century America. He had brought some respectability to prize fighting, but was often arrested for his bare-knuckle contests. Corbett, a bank clerk from San Francisco was a handsome, lightning quick athlete, who advocated boxing with gloves, refusing to fight under London Prize Ring Rules.

I stood on Chartres Street and imagined the drama of a century before. Twelve thousand boxing fans arrived by train, filling the hotels and bordellos of the French Quarter. Gamblers consulted with Creole witches the possible outcome of the fight. A local politician complained that one of the three bouts featured George Dixon, the magnificent black featherweight, scheduled to fight a white contender long on valor and short on skills. Banners with photos of the fighters were displayed on storefronts and balconies. Fifty telegraph operators were involved in transmitting the round-by-round results of the event to awaiting crowds across America. New Orleans sparkled with excitement that week.

The arena, built with treated wood was the site of three title bots in three nights. The first event featured Jack McAuliffe, who as king of the lightweights would retire undefeated after twelve years of active fighting. The champion faced the "Streator Cyclone" Billy Myer, a top contender. A crowd of 4,357 fans saw the unbeaten McAuliffe stop Myer in fifteen face-slicing rounds.

The second night, "Little Chocolate" George Dixon performed with such brilliant finesse against club fighter Jack Skelly, that the white, prosperous southern audience gave the black featherweight a standing ovation, a significant gesture in an age not yet three full decades away from a bloody Civil War. Dixon defeated Skelly with ease, by an eight round knockout in front of 4,062 paying customers.

The night of September 7, 1892, Sullivan and Corbett faced each other in front of 4,973 fans with a door gate of 60,318, an astronomical sum in an age when a skilled tradesman made $3,000 a year.

It was a dramatic scenario. Sullivan was the idol of the Boston Irish, the first lad to become a national hero in America, a representation of his era, good hearted, boisterous, free spending and proud. The "Great John L." had up to this night, remained undefeated in twelve years of fighting with or without gloves. Forty two wins and three draws was his record as he entered the New Orleans ring, including his most famous victory, the bloody seventy five round brawl with Jake Kilrain in 1889. Sullivan was a brutal slugger who shattered ribs with his solid power.

"Gentleman Jim" was a handsome youth from San Francisco with a well combed pompadour and first rate style in dress and manners. Most important, he could fight, having beaten Joe Choynski and boxing a hard draw with top contender Peter Jackson. Corbett was an innovator, a pioneer in applying speed and technique over raw power. Pompadour Jim also had power, derived more from speed and accuracy than from brute strength.

It lasted twenty-one rounds. Sullivan charged as Corbett danced. Gentleman Jim drew first claret, bloodying Sullivan's nose in the third round. The Boston Strong Boy tried hard, but too many years of boozing and hard fights caught up to him, as the younger, faster contender danced and slashed. Twice Sullivan fell, Corbett became king and boxing entered a golden age.

I stood on that sidewalk and imagined it. A crowd of people lining up on the entrances on Royal and Chartres, most dressed in somber suits with derbies, while the flashier crowd wore straw hats or bright cravats. Little Chocolate dressed in a cotton suit celebrating his previous night's triumph over Skelly puffing on a Havana cigar. Sullivan leaving the building surrounded by his acolytes, his face a bruised mask of stunned disbelief. Gamblers paying or being paid. Neighborhood children on the outer fringes of the crowd, impressed with the drama of the spectacle. Corbett, triumphant, being congratulated by friends. Joe Choynski talking to boxing fans in the street corner under the gas lit lamps. Hansom cabs pulled by snorting horses filled with the sporting crowd in a festive mood. Blue suited policemen with handlebar mustaches moving along the masses, an eye out for the ruffian or pickpocket. Bat Masterson, the great lawman, walking with a slight limp, dressed in a suit with a brocade vest, a nickel-plated revolver resting on a dark holster at his waist. Old Southerners with well-clipped mustaches and linen dusters...

The white Honda turned the corner. Reality came back as the fantasy images vanished. Jake opened up the passenger's side.

"Where do you want to go now?" Jake asked.

"Anywhere you want," I answered, "I've seen it all today."

[Grimm]

Well the bad news didn't stop yet they're supposed to get hit by another hurricane.

[silkov]

Great article... I stayed in New Orleans about 15 years ago for about two weeks and it was an amazing place unlike anywhere else I've ever been really. Always things happening, good and bad, ...but never boring. I really feel for its people there and hope maybe some good might come out of all the bad things that have happened there recently.

[Chuck1052]

I noticed that there were bouts featuring white boxers vs.
black boxers in Louisiana during the early 1890s. Of
course, there was a ban against such bouts in
Louisiana for many decades after that period. By the
way, Andy Bowen, a fine black boxer from Louisiana,
was fighting white fighters, including the bout in which
he sustained fatal injuries vs. George Lavigne, a white
boxer who was one of the greatest lightweights before
the advent of Joe Gans.

- Chuck Johnston

[enrique]

When blacks were not allowed to fight whites in the South, a black lightweight from Philly named Frank MCLean learned a few words of Spanish, had a robe embroidered with "The Cuban Wonder" and passed himself of as a "foreigner" so he could fight whites in the south during the 1890's.

[BoxBuzz]

I played Faces in fat city in the 70's and 80's. What a ride! Been there many times it's more than a heartbreak what has happened and what may be happening again. Mother Nature is just awesome to behold but she is just a bad girl with no heart whatsoever.

Or is it the wind machines? The truth is out there I guess.

Nice read Enrique. Thanks

[Brutu]

A link to a historic preservation photograph taken in 1978 of
628 Clouet Street,
(between Royal Street and Chartres Street)
Bywater District New Orleans Louisiana.
a brick wall can be seen to the left between the two wooden houses.

http://nutrias.org/photos/cooper/mjc40.jpg

[Brutu]

This looks like it may have been redrawn from an old photographic image.

The Olympic Club
(destroyed by fire along with Nine other buildings
December.6.1897)Total loss $70,000.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/infrogmation/3844160422

[Brutu]

Two contemporary illustrations of the interior of the Olympic Club.

(which was light by electricity in 1892)



http://flickr.com/photos/infrogmation/3844160356



http://flickr.com/photos/infrogmation/3844160374

[Brutu]

In 2008 a private citizen made a painted wooden sign and put it on his place of business
located on 3027 Chartres Street on the same block.




http://flickr.com/photos/infrogmation/2 ... 1981340053

[Brutu]

If and ever you visit New Orleans,you may also want to visit the town of
Kenner Louisiana,just a few miles NW along Airline Highway.
In the Riverton historic district at the levee on the end of Williams Blvd
at LaSalle Landing ,you can see a Bronze sculpture
commemerating the Jem Mace vrs Tom Allen
Bare-Knuckled World Heavyweight championship fight of May.10.1870

http://thewandererschuckandkate.blogspo ... losed.html

The statue was commisioned by the Kenner's Lion Club and sculpted by Paul Parret.The statue was dedicated in 1988.

http://travelingringo.com/2012/01/monum ... -kenner-la


http://boxrec.com/media/index.php/Jem_M ... _Tom_Allen

[yancey]

Enrique, I love New Orleans too.

Thanks Brutu for bringing this interesting thread back up and adding to it.

[Brutu]

Not a whole lot has survived concerning the Olympic Club.
(founded in 1883)
This book gathers up what is known.
There were two seperate buildings on the block belonging to the club.
If that red wall in the photograph is what Enrique was referrring to,
that was probably the 3 story building,
that had the offices,reading room,billard room.
In the back was the gymnasium,74x180 feet,
Turkish and Russian bathrooms and rifle range.
35-by-75 foot natatorium
bowling alley
The other building in front of it with the entrance on Royal Street
was the ampitheatre
which was 163-by-183 feet(seating capacity 9,000.

http://books.google.com/books?id=LG1SQ- ... g=PA262&dq

[Brutu]

here is some more on the history of the Olympic Club
by the author of that same book.
Beyond the Ring by Jeffrey T. Sammons.
pp 14-19.


http://books.google.com/books?id=LG1SQ- ... pg=PA14&dq

[CNorkusJr]

Nice Piece on New Orleans.

If I might add some boxing stuff to it. My father, Charley Norkus, fought LSU "Fighting Tiger" and AAU Collegiate Champ Thurman "Crowe" Peele in his home town of New Orleans twice in 1957.

In May of 1957, Crowe Peele was undefeated 14-0 heavy looking to make a move into the rankings. As usual, the IBC sent my father down to New Orleans to test Peele's boxing career. With Pastrano waiting in the wings for fellow hometown hero to get past my father, it was going to be big money in New Orleans.

My father flew down to NO a week ahead of time to finish off training in a N.O. gym called Curley's Gym. (I dont have an address-working on it).
Peele the heavy favorite 5-1, the fight to be held in N.O. Municipal Auditorium. The Aud held 9,300 if filled. Jim Owen and Bonny Geigerman from the Louisiana Boxing Club promoted the bout and expected large crowds from Baton Rouge to come flll the Aud.

Final total of 4,200 paying a gate of $12,000 were on hand to see my father take Peele in a 10 Rd UD. Peele took 2 of the 10 Rds. My father was slated to fight Pat McMurtry next, but the IBC thought that the popular fight (many hard shots and lots of blood made for an exciting bout) might be set for a quick rematch. (Similar to my father's fights with Danny Nardico in Miami in 1954). One problem did arise, but a good one was, that the birth of his only child, Charlie Norkus Jr (me) was due that July and he flew home to be with my mother till then. I came in July and the 2nd fight as promised was held in August-3 months after the first one.
My father did fight Pat McMurty in his hometown of Tacoma, WA the following year and is another story at another time.

An expected sell-out would have brought a record crowd to the area since 1900. The papers said that the 1892 bout with Sullivan vs Corbett brought in $ 62,000. The largest ever. No bout since cleared $20,000 since in N.O. ,not even a Pastrano fight.
Though the crowd for the 2nd Norkus-Peele fight ended up 5,522 customers and reached $16,500, it was considered a good payday for all involved.
My father KO'd the heavily favorite again Peele in the 4th Rd. You might note that famed Whitey Bimstein was in my father's corner for both of these fights.
My father never lost a fight with Bimstein in his corner.
Last heard, Crowe Peele is still alive and runs a small business in N.O. outback. For some reason, he was never enshrined in LSU's HOF; and is considered a travesty by many down there.

Much of the statistics above came from collective newspapers I have in my father's scrapbboks.

Here are two shots of my father entering the ring in New Orleans with Bimstein. I believe it was the from the first fight and were taken by a fan sitting in the first row. They were sent to my father from the fan many years later.


This is a Promo shot taken about the same time with Bimstein at Stillman's Gym.NYC.



Here's a nice piece on Peele

http://digbatonrouge.com/article/a-lega ... n-time-10/

[Brutu]

The Olympic Club on Royal Street was also the site of the longest boxing
match(with gloves) on record.
Andy Bowen vrs, Jack Burke
April.6.1893
a scheduled " fight to the finish" using 5 oz. gloves.
It was declared a "no contest" after 7 hours and 19 minutes.
(purse $2,500.00)

http://books.google.com/books?id=zBkpLy ... pg=PT31&dq

[Caractacus]

I was watching the 1975 film HARD TIMES the other week,
and in the beginning when Chaney gets off the train and goes to the dinner,
he then walks across the street and into a cotten warehouse where a bare-knuckled fight is going on.
I wonder if the reddish coloured brick wall seen on the one side of the warehouse when he enters
is the surviving wall from the Olympic Club ?
getting some pugilistic history homage into the film.

[Caractacus]

a lot of the links have been removed to the photos but thot bump this thread up anyway.