bits and pieces scrapbook
Re: bits and pieces scrapbook
Sept. 1906.
A highly touted fight, held in the Nevada hinterlands to escape anti-boxing laws, had the box-office appeal of pitting a fan-favorite boxer, Battling Nelson, against one of the greatest fighters of all time, Joe Gans. Gans was black, and any interracial boxing match was big news in those days. Nelson was considered to be over-matched, but Gans was coming into the twilight of his career, and may have already been ill with tuberculosis (he would die of the disease just a few years later). The grueling fight lasted 42 rounds, and was finally won by Gans on a foul, a low blow by Nelson. The foul call was amazing because black fighters were rarely given the benefit of a clean fight in those days. Referees made it a habit to turn a blind eye to dirty tricks by white fighters against black fighters.
(by Allan Holtz)
Gans literally killed himself to make the lightweight limit for this bout, Nat Fleischer stated in "The Three Colored Aces." As a result of his extremely light diet and strenuous training in the Nevada heat, Gans would feel the effects of tuberculosis shortly afterward. Nelson's manager Billy Nolan allegedly set extremely unfair standards, as Champion Gans received only $11,000, compared to Nelson's $34,000 (or $22,500, depending upon the source). And when Gans did make it down to 133 pounds, the lightweight limit at the time, Nolan announced that he must enter the ring at the same weight or the fight would be called off. Gans, who allowed all this just to reportedly "bring home the bacon" for his family, still had a vicious combatant to face in the ring.
United States President Teddy Roosevelt's son Kermit was in the audience.
A highly touted fight, held in the Nevada hinterlands to escape anti-boxing laws, had the box-office appeal of pitting a fan-favorite boxer, Battling Nelson, against one of the greatest fighters of all time, Joe Gans. Gans was black, and any interracial boxing match was big news in those days. Nelson was considered to be over-matched, but Gans was coming into the twilight of his career, and may have already been ill with tuberculosis (he would die of the disease just a few years later). The grueling fight lasted 42 rounds, and was finally won by Gans on a foul, a low blow by Nelson. The foul call was amazing because black fighters were rarely given the benefit of a clean fight in those days. Referees made it a habit to turn a blind eye to dirty tricks by white fighters against black fighters.
(by Allan Holtz)
Gans literally killed himself to make the lightweight limit for this bout, Nat Fleischer stated in "The Three Colored Aces." As a result of his extremely light diet and strenuous training in the Nevada heat, Gans would feel the effects of tuberculosis shortly afterward. Nelson's manager Billy Nolan allegedly set extremely unfair standards, as Champion Gans received only $11,000, compared to Nelson's $34,000 (or $22,500, depending upon the source). And when Gans did make it down to 133 pounds, the lightweight limit at the time, Nolan announced that he must enter the ring at the same weight or the fight would be called off. Gans, who allowed all this just to reportedly "bring home the bacon" for his family, still had a vicious combatant to face in the ring.
United States President Teddy Roosevelt's son Kermit was in the audience.
Re: bits and pieces scrapbook
On the afternoon of September 22, 1922 fight fans packed the Buffalo Velodrome in Paris, France to see Georges Carpentier defend his light-heavyweight title against Battling Siki.
Nicknamed the “Orchid Man” for the corsages he often wore with his tailored suits, Carpentier had been fighting professionally since he was 14. Although he was coming off a failed attempt to win Dempsey’s heavyweight title, he’d helped secure boxing’s first million-dollar gate. Fighting again as a light-heavyweight, the Frenchman’s future was still bright—so bright that Carpentier’s handlers were taking no chances. They offered Battling Siki a bribe to throw the fight. Siki agreed, under the condition that he “didn’t want to get hurt.” What followed was one of the strangest bouts in boxing history.
Although Siki later admitted that the fight was rigged, there’s some question as to whether Carpentier knew it. Early in the first of 20 scheduled rounds, Siki dropped to a knee after Carpentier grazed him, and then rose and began to throw wild, showy punches with little behind them. In the third, Carpentier landed a powerful blow, and Siki went down again; when he got back on his feet, he lunged at his opponent head first, hands low, as if inviting Carpentier to hit him again. Carpentier obliged, sending Siki to the canvas once more.
At that point, the action in the ring turned serious. Siki later told a friend that during the fight, he had reminded Carpentier, “You aren’t supposed to hit me,” but the Frenchman “kept doing it. He thought he could beat me without our deal, and he kept on hitting me.”
Suddenly, Battling Siki’s punches had a lot more power to them. He pounded away at Carpentier in the fourth round, then dropped him with a vicious combination and stood menacingly over him. Through the fourth and into the fifth, the fighters stood head to head, trading punches, but it was clear that Siki was getting the better of the champion. Frustrated, Carpentier charged in and head-butted Siki, knocking him to the floor. Rising to his feet, Siki tried to protest to the referee, but Carpentier charged again, backing him into a corner. The Frenchman slipped and fell to the canvas—and Siki, seemingly confused, helped him get to his feet. Seeing Siki’s guard down, Carpentier showed his gratitude by launching a hard left hook to Siki’s head just before the bell ended the round. The Senegalese tried to follow Carpentier back to his corner, but handlers pulled him back onto his stool.
At the start of round six, Battling Siki pounced. Furious, he spun Carpentier around and delivered an illegal knee to his midsection, which dropped the Frenchman for good. Enraged, Siki stood above him and shouted down at his fallen foe. With his right eye swollen shut and his nose broken, the Orchid Man was splayed awkwardly on his side, his left leg resting on the lower rope.
Siki returned to his corner. His manager, Charlie Hellers, blurted out, “My God. What have you done?”
“He hit me,” Siki answered.
Referee M. Henri Bernstein didn’t even bother counting. Believed by some to be in on the fix, Bernstein tried to explain that he was disqualifying Siki for fouling Carpentier, who was then being carried to his corner. Upon hearing of the disqualification, the crowd unleashed a “great chorus of hoots and jeers and even threaten the referee with bodily harm.” Carpentier, they believed, had been “beaten squarely by a better man.”
Amid the pandemonium, the judges quickly conferred, and an hour later, reversed the disqualification. Battling Siki was the new champion.
Siki was embraced, just as Carpentier had been, and he quickly became the toast of Paris. He was a late-night fixture in bars around the city, surrounded by women, and he could often be seen walking the Champs-Elysees in a top hat and tuxedo, with a pet lion cub on a leash.
(By Gilbert King)
Nicknamed the “Orchid Man” for the corsages he often wore with his tailored suits, Carpentier had been fighting professionally since he was 14. Although he was coming off a failed attempt to win Dempsey’s heavyweight title, he’d helped secure boxing’s first million-dollar gate. Fighting again as a light-heavyweight, the Frenchman’s future was still bright—so bright that Carpentier’s handlers were taking no chances. They offered Battling Siki a bribe to throw the fight. Siki agreed, under the condition that he “didn’t want to get hurt.” What followed was one of the strangest bouts in boxing history.
Although Siki later admitted that the fight was rigged, there’s some question as to whether Carpentier knew it. Early in the first of 20 scheduled rounds, Siki dropped to a knee after Carpentier grazed him, and then rose and began to throw wild, showy punches with little behind them. In the third, Carpentier landed a powerful blow, and Siki went down again; when he got back on his feet, he lunged at his opponent head first, hands low, as if inviting Carpentier to hit him again. Carpentier obliged, sending Siki to the canvas once more.
At that point, the action in the ring turned serious. Siki later told a friend that during the fight, he had reminded Carpentier, “You aren’t supposed to hit me,” but the Frenchman “kept doing it. He thought he could beat me without our deal, and he kept on hitting me.”
Suddenly, Battling Siki’s punches had a lot more power to them. He pounded away at Carpentier in the fourth round, then dropped him with a vicious combination and stood menacingly over him. Through the fourth and into the fifth, the fighters stood head to head, trading punches, but it was clear that Siki was getting the better of the champion. Frustrated, Carpentier charged in and head-butted Siki, knocking him to the floor. Rising to his feet, Siki tried to protest to the referee, but Carpentier charged again, backing him into a corner. The Frenchman slipped and fell to the canvas—and Siki, seemingly confused, helped him get to his feet. Seeing Siki’s guard down, Carpentier showed his gratitude by launching a hard left hook to Siki’s head just before the bell ended the round. The Senegalese tried to follow Carpentier back to his corner, but handlers pulled him back onto his stool.
At the start of round six, Battling Siki pounced. Furious, he spun Carpentier around and delivered an illegal knee to his midsection, which dropped the Frenchman for good. Enraged, Siki stood above him and shouted down at his fallen foe. With his right eye swollen shut and his nose broken, the Orchid Man was splayed awkwardly on his side, his left leg resting on the lower rope.
Siki returned to his corner. His manager, Charlie Hellers, blurted out, “My God. What have you done?”
“He hit me,” Siki answered.
Referee M. Henri Bernstein didn’t even bother counting. Believed by some to be in on the fix, Bernstein tried to explain that he was disqualifying Siki for fouling Carpentier, who was then being carried to his corner. Upon hearing of the disqualification, the crowd unleashed a “great chorus of hoots and jeers and even threaten the referee with bodily harm.” Carpentier, they believed, had been “beaten squarely by a better man.”
Amid the pandemonium, the judges quickly conferred, and an hour later, reversed the disqualification. Battling Siki was the new champion.
Siki was embraced, just as Carpentier had been, and he quickly became the toast of Paris. He was a late-night fixture in bars around the city, surrounded by women, and he could often be seen walking the Champs-Elysees in a top hat and tuxedo, with a pet lion cub on a leash.
(By Gilbert King)
Re: bits and pieces scrapbook
Pittsburgh Press - December 1910
Re: bits and pieces scrapbook
December 1948
World Heavyweight Champion Joe Louis helps to load Christmas presents on to an aircraft In New York.
World Heavyweight Champion Joe Louis helps to load Christmas presents on to an aircraft In New York.
Re: bits and pieces scrapbook
1960.
Archie Moore gives a scathing opinion of Ingemar Johansson...
Archie Moore gives a scathing opinion of Ingemar Johansson...
Re: bits and pieces scrapbook
I really enjoy this thread 
Re: bits and pieces scrapbook
A 1941 Interview with Jack Blackburn...
Re: bits and pieces scrapbook
Shortly after Floyd Patterson had defeated Eddie Machen in 12 rounds of boxing that would never frighten Cassius Clay back into training, Floyd received two visitors in his Stockholm dressing room. One, wearing a neat, gray Ivy League suit, was Ingemar Johannson. "You too nice, Floyd," said Ingemar. The other, wearing a jaunty bow tie, was Nat Fleischer, the publisher of Ring magazine, who announced triumphantly that Floyd Patterson had moved up, that he was now the No. 2 challenger for the heavyweight championship.
Both were right, of course. Floyd is a nice man, too nice to be a professional fistfighter, but despite this he is also unquestionably superior—just as he has always been—to the five men over whom he had just leapfrogged from his old ranking down in seventh place: Doug Jones, Zora Folley, Cleveland Williams, Ernest Terrell and Machen. It was a little difficult to understand, however, why Floyd was so cheered by Fleischer's statement. For one thing, still above him stand Clay and Sonny Liston, and exactly why Floyd should ever want to fight either of them—he has plenty of money and his health—is a question that not even Patterson can adequately explain. Beyond that, his sudden rise in Ring's form chart had no more relation to reality than his precipitous drop from the top to his place behind Jones, Folley, etc. immediately after his back-to-back and back-on-the-canvas first-round knockouts at the hands of Liston. He was no worse a fighter after his losses to Liston than he had been before, and he is no better a fighter now after his wins over Machen and Sante Amonti, the inept Italian heavyweight he defeated on points in Sweden last January. He is still fast and strong and game—but he still is easy to hit. He still is acutely aware of helplessness, in himself or in others, including those he hurts in the ring. He still lacks the egocentric concentration of the true athlete, the single-minded aggressiveness of the great fighter, the consuming need to conquer or destroy everything in his way.
In the 11th round of the fight last Sunday he caught Machen against the ropes and hit him with a powerful right hand that sliced open Eddie's face and sent him to his knees. The mandatory eight-count rule, which requires that fighters knocked off their feet must take a count of eight before resuming battle, had been waived for the meeting, and Machen popped back to his feet at once, though dazed and with blood streaming down his face. It was an opportunity—an opponent momentarily helpless—that would have been capitalized on immediately by a Rocky Marciano or a Cassius Clay or a Sonny Liston. But Patterson stood quietly by and waited, looking at Machen with a curious half smile on his face. He did not move in for the kill, and Machen quickly recovered.
This was the maneuver—or rather, the nonmaneuver—that upset Johansson. "You take a step back when you should not," he told Patterson in the dressing room. "You had him hurt maybe five, six times. Why you don't move in? You must take a step forward, Floyd." Patterson looked at him enigmatically and did not reply. Later, however, Patterson said, "I was winning the 11th round when I hurt him, and I looked in his face and I saw hurt and defeat. This is a man who has had a hard life. He has been broke and in a mental institution. Should I knock him down further for my own good? I was winning. I didn't have to hurt him." Then he added, "He fought a good fight. He deserves a shot at Clay more than I do. He's broke and he's been down, and he deserves it."
This kindliness of Floyd's, a reflection of his hunger for friendship, for approval, for recognition, has its counterpart in his fear and resentment of disapproval, his touchiness, his moodiness. Before the fight in Stockholm (from which he earned $100,000, as a crowd of 40,000 damp Swedes paid approximately $300,000 dollars to watch on a rainy northern evening), Floyd annoyed even his enthusiastic Scandinavian admirers by sequestering himself like a moody Garbo in a small resort town 300 miles from Stockholm. He strained the abundant friendship most of the Swedish press has for him by making himself very hard to find for interviews. "I spent three days in Ronneby trying to talk to him," one Swedish reporter said, "and finally I got to see him for 20 minutes. Is this the Patterson we liked so well? I do not think so."
"He misses Cus D'Amato," said a man who is close to Patterson, referring to Floyd's first and longtime manager, from whom he is estranged. "He tries to do everything himself now—run the camp, worry about the money, take legal advice, everything. D'Amato used to do all that and keep him away from everyone so that he could concentrate on fighting. And then you have to remember that he was raised by Cus. When Cus first got him he was just a kid who didn't know anything about anything. All he knows and all his attitudes he got from D'Amato, including his suspicions and prejudices and his quickness to resent. He's got all of D'Amato's craftiness without D'Amato's background and intelligence."
In one of his rare colloquies with a member of the press, Patterson said, "I have to prove something. If I could preview a fight and see that I would be destroyed I would still fight. If I had to fight every day for seven days I would do it to prove myself." He focused all of his attention on the task at hand: beating Machen, proving himself. Although his brother Ray, who served as a sparring partner in his camp, could have had a fight on the card with Floyd and Machen, Patterson turned thumbs down on the grounds that he had to give his entire concentration to his own bout and did not want to have to worry about his brother at the same time.
(Sports Illustrated - July 1964)
Both were right, of course. Floyd is a nice man, too nice to be a professional fistfighter, but despite this he is also unquestionably superior—just as he has always been—to the five men over whom he had just leapfrogged from his old ranking down in seventh place: Doug Jones, Zora Folley, Cleveland Williams, Ernest Terrell and Machen. It was a little difficult to understand, however, why Floyd was so cheered by Fleischer's statement. For one thing, still above him stand Clay and Sonny Liston, and exactly why Floyd should ever want to fight either of them—he has plenty of money and his health—is a question that not even Patterson can adequately explain. Beyond that, his sudden rise in Ring's form chart had no more relation to reality than his precipitous drop from the top to his place behind Jones, Folley, etc. immediately after his back-to-back and back-on-the-canvas first-round knockouts at the hands of Liston. He was no worse a fighter after his losses to Liston than he had been before, and he is no better a fighter now after his wins over Machen and Sante Amonti, the inept Italian heavyweight he defeated on points in Sweden last January. He is still fast and strong and game—but he still is easy to hit. He still is acutely aware of helplessness, in himself or in others, including those he hurts in the ring. He still lacks the egocentric concentration of the true athlete, the single-minded aggressiveness of the great fighter, the consuming need to conquer or destroy everything in his way.
In the 11th round of the fight last Sunday he caught Machen against the ropes and hit him with a powerful right hand that sliced open Eddie's face and sent him to his knees. The mandatory eight-count rule, which requires that fighters knocked off their feet must take a count of eight before resuming battle, had been waived for the meeting, and Machen popped back to his feet at once, though dazed and with blood streaming down his face. It was an opportunity—an opponent momentarily helpless—that would have been capitalized on immediately by a Rocky Marciano or a Cassius Clay or a Sonny Liston. But Patterson stood quietly by and waited, looking at Machen with a curious half smile on his face. He did not move in for the kill, and Machen quickly recovered.
This was the maneuver—or rather, the nonmaneuver—that upset Johansson. "You take a step back when you should not," he told Patterson in the dressing room. "You had him hurt maybe five, six times. Why you don't move in? You must take a step forward, Floyd." Patterson looked at him enigmatically and did not reply. Later, however, Patterson said, "I was winning the 11th round when I hurt him, and I looked in his face and I saw hurt and defeat. This is a man who has had a hard life. He has been broke and in a mental institution. Should I knock him down further for my own good? I was winning. I didn't have to hurt him." Then he added, "He fought a good fight. He deserves a shot at Clay more than I do. He's broke and he's been down, and he deserves it."
This kindliness of Floyd's, a reflection of his hunger for friendship, for approval, for recognition, has its counterpart in his fear and resentment of disapproval, his touchiness, his moodiness. Before the fight in Stockholm (from which he earned $100,000, as a crowd of 40,000 damp Swedes paid approximately $300,000 dollars to watch on a rainy northern evening), Floyd annoyed even his enthusiastic Scandinavian admirers by sequestering himself like a moody Garbo in a small resort town 300 miles from Stockholm. He strained the abundant friendship most of the Swedish press has for him by making himself very hard to find for interviews. "I spent three days in Ronneby trying to talk to him," one Swedish reporter said, "and finally I got to see him for 20 minutes. Is this the Patterson we liked so well? I do not think so."
"He misses Cus D'Amato," said a man who is close to Patterson, referring to Floyd's first and longtime manager, from whom he is estranged. "He tries to do everything himself now—run the camp, worry about the money, take legal advice, everything. D'Amato used to do all that and keep him away from everyone so that he could concentrate on fighting. And then you have to remember that he was raised by Cus. When Cus first got him he was just a kid who didn't know anything about anything. All he knows and all his attitudes he got from D'Amato, including his suspicions and prejudices and his quickness to resent. He's got all of D'Amato's craftiness without D'Amato's background and intelligence."
In one of his rare colloquies with a member of the press, Patterson said, "I have to prove something. If I could preview a fight and see that I would be destroyed I would still fight. If I had to fight every day for seven days I would do it to prove myself." He focused all of his attention on the task at hand: beating Machen, proving himself. Although his brother Ray, who served as a sparring partner in his camp, could have had a fight on the card with Floyd and Machen, Patterson turned thumbs down on the grounds that he had to give his entire concentration to his own bout and did not want to have to worry about his brother at the same time.
(Sports Illustrated - July 1964)
Re: bits and pieces scrapbook
The crowd noise was at fever pitch as I walked the pathway to the ring. The closer I got, the more my friends and fans shouted encouragement. I was moved. I climbed the steps and entered my corner of the ring.
As my manager and trainer gave me last minute instructions, they had to yell over the shouts of the crowd. I looked at the people sitting ringside, recognizing many of them. All were waving, smiling and screaming words of encouragement as I sat waiting for the referee to call us to the center of the ring. I told myself that, with God’s help, I wouldn’t disappoint the fans. I was ready. This was the moment that I had worked for all of these years. It was almost surrealistic.
After introducing several celebrities in the audience, the ring announcer, Freddie Russo, said in his booming voice, “Ladieees and gentlemen, tonight we have a fifteen round fight for the Welterweight Championship of the World.” As is customary, he introduced the challenger first, “Weighing in at 145 ½ pounds, from Boston, Massachusetts, the challenger with a record of forty-five wins and six defeats, the Flame and Fury of Fleet Street, Tony Demarco!” The cheering was deafening and seemed never to end. When Johnny Saxton, the reigning champion was introduced, the cheering for me had not yet subsided.
Mel Manning, the referee, gave the instructions to each of us before we went back to our corners to wait for the bell. We stared at each other from our respective corners. It seemed as though our eye contact brought us closer and closer to the middle of the ring. We were both eager for the fight to start.
The bell finally rang and we charged on one another, hurling leather. This was the defining moment. Immediately I threw punches to Saxton’s head and body. I seemed to get the best of him with my body punches. The fact is that body punches don’t knock you out but they have a devastating effect on your stamina. It was certainly the case with this fight.
Between rounds my trainer, Sammy Fuller, told me to keep using body punches and not to let up. I continued to throw body punches at every opportunity. We went back and forth, round after round, but the body shots on Saxton were finally taking their toll. Whenever I could, I threw left hooks and continued until I could see that they were hurting Saxton.
Johnny was a devastating puncher, and believe me, he was inflicting some real punishment on me, but I began to wear him down.
The excitement mounted with every round. It got to a point where Saxton and I walked to the center of the ring and just stared each other down until the bell rang to start the round. My adrenaline was off the charts, and I was throwing shots that were coming from left field. A couple of times, Mel Manning, the referee, had to come between us to make sure we didn’t throw any punches before the bell rang.
For the first thirteen rounds, the fight seesawed back and forth between the two of us. At the beginning of the fourteenth round everything changed. I hit Saxton with a combination of punches ending with a vicious right that sent him to the canvas. He was hurt and the crowd went wild. Saxton struggled to his feet before the count of ten. Looking back at his condition at that point, I think it would have been better for the Champ if he hadn’t tried to stand up. He was helpless and defenseless as I attacked with punch after punch. I caught the Champ with a relentless array of left hooks and right crosses that were devastating. I hit him with a total of twenty-four consecutive punches that were right on the mark.
The crowd was amazed at the amount of punishment the Champ was capable of taking. Many in the crowd shouted for the referee to stop the fight before it was too late.
After those twenty-four punches, Johnny Saxton, the champion of the world, was dead on his feet. The Champ was helpless and the referee stopped the fight. I, Tony DeMarco, Leonardo Liotta, had reached the top of the mountain. I was the new undisputed Welterweight Champion of the World.
(by Tony DeMarco)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XL9FWU-tqVA
As my manager and trainer gave me last minute instructions, they had to yell over the shouts of the crowd. I looked at the people sitting ringside, recognizing many of them. All were waving, smiling and screaming words of encouragement as I sat waiting for the referee to call us to the center of the ring. I told myself that, with God’s help, I wouldn’t disappoint the fans. I was ready. This was the moment that I had worked for all of these years. It was almost surrealistic.
After introducing several celebrities in the audience, the ring announcer, Freddie Russo, said in his booming voice, “Ladieees and gentlemen, tonight we have a fifteen round fight for the Welterweight Championship of the World.” As is customary, he introduced the challenger first, “Weighing in at 145 ½ pounds, from Boston, Massachusetts, the challenger with a record of forty-five wins and six defeats, the Flame and Fury of Fleet Street, Tony Demarco!” The cheering was deafening and seemed never to end. When Johnny Saxton, the reigning champion was introduced, the cheering for me had not yet subsided.
Mel Manning, the referee, gave the instructions to each of us before we went back to our corners to wait for the bell. We stared at each other from our respective corners. It seemed as though our eye contact brought us closer and closer to the middle of the ring. We were both eager for the fight to start.
The bell finally rang and we charged on one another, hurling leather. This was the defining moment. Immediately I threw punches to Saxton’s head and body. I seemed to get the best of him with my body punches. The fact is that body punches don’t knock you out but they have a devastating effect on your stamina. It was certainly the case with this fight.
Between rounds my trainer, Sammy Fuller, told me to keep using body punches and not to let up. I continued to throw body punches at every opportunity. We went back and forth, round after round, but the body shots on Saxton were finally taking their toll. Whenever I could, I threw left hooks and continued until I could see that they were hurting Saxton.
Johnny was a devastating puncher, and believe me, he was inflicting some real punishment on me, but I began to wear him down.
The excitement mounted with every round. It got to a point where Saxton and I walked to the center of the ring and just stared each other down until the bell rang to start the round. My adrenaline was off the charts, and I was throwing shots that were coming from left field. A couple of times, Mel Manning, the referee, had to come between us to make sure we didn’t throw any punches before the bell rang.
For the first thirteen rounds, the fight seesawed back and forth between the two of us. At the beginning of the fourteenth round everything changed. I hit Saxton with a combination of punches ending with a vicious right that sent him to the canvas. He was hurt and the crowd went wild. Saxton struggled to his feet before the count of ten. Looking back at his condition at that point, I think it would have been better for the Champ if he hadn’t tried to stand up. He was helpless and defenseless as I attacked with punch after punch. I caught the Champ with a relentless array of left hooks and right crosses that were devastating. I hit him with a total of twenty-four consecutive punches that were right on the mark.
The crowd was amazed at the amount of punishment the Champ was capable of taking. Many in the crowd shouted for the referee to stop the fight before it was too late.
After those twenty-four punches, Johnny Saxton, the champion of the world, was dead on his feet. The Champ was helpless and the referee stopped the fight. I, Tony DeMarco, Leonardo Liotta, had reached the top of the mountain. I was the new undisputed Welterweight Champion of the World.
(by Tony DeMarco)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XL9FWU-tqVA
Re: bits and pieces scrapbook
A superb article on the great Bantamweight Battle of Britain - a rematch between British & Commonwealth Champion Walter McGowan from Scotland and Liverpool's Alan Rudkin on 13th May 1968 at The Kings Hall in Manchester.
Written by Greg Paterson....a regular poster on the boxing forums
......................................................
On the 6th of September 1966, two fighters embraced as the bell rang and waited anxiously for the referee to make a decision on who had won.
In one corner was the slick Scottish flyweight from Burnbank, Walter McGowan (left) who was WBC world champion. The other was Liverpool's reigning British and Empire bantamweight champion, Alan Rudkin. Rudkin's titles were on the line.
The decision was given. McGowan had won a controversial decision, most believing Rudkin had taken it, although respected veteran broadcaster Harry Carpenter believed McGowan had just done enough. There were calls for a rematch that seemed inevitable. However, Rudkin felt hard done by, believing he'd had his titles stolen from him.
22 months later the fighters re-entered the ring in the long awaited rematch. It was a natural to sell; the first fight was an epic and close fight and ended with a disputed decision. And here it was.
McGowan had lost his flyweight title to the great Chatchai Chinoi in a war but eventually his eye gave out and he lost on cuts. In the rematch he was ahead on the cards before his left eye fell to pieces and again he lost on cuts. He took eight months out before signing to fight Rudkin again.
Rudkin on the other hand was quite successful in the interim with six wins including two stoppages. However he had lost on points in a fight for the European bantamweight crown but still longed for his British and Empire titles. After the defeat by Mimoun Ben Ali (for the European title) he rebounded with a brilliant second round KO of the touted American Ronnie Jones, landing a perfect right hand to lay Jones out.
The action got under way.
The early rounds were close with McGowan the pure boxer he was landing fast jabs but Rudkin fought back well with the harder shots and edged these early rounds. Both fighters produced beautiful boxing of the highest quality.
As the fight wore onto the middle rounds Rudkin hit fine form in the eighth; he turned up his pressure and McGowan started to struggle as Alan forced himself forward with hard straight punches to the head and brutal body shots. He continued this in the ninth causing TV commentator, Harry Carpenter, to a liken him to a ‘Bulldog’. A few seconds later Alan seemed to floor Walter with a wicked right hand but legendary referee Harry Gibbs ruled it a slip, which was highly plausible as the ring was very slippy. But, Alan turned it on believing Walter to be hurt and really bullied the Scotsman for the rest of the round. In the tenth Rudkin kept up the pressure and looked to be in complete control with the average card being 8-2 to the scouser and Rudkin was keeping a ferocious pace.
Walter sat down on his stool after the tenth, his right eye was shut and in the last round Rudkin had opened a cut over his left cheek bone. Looking at him you wouldn’t have expected what was about to happen.
The bell for the eleventh rang. McGowan, sensing the need for a big push in the late rounds, got up on his toes and started to land beautiful combinations and fast jabs on the advancing Rudkin. No one could believe it. Walter looked to be fading in the last few rounds but had started this amazing comeback. Could he keep it up?
As Walter came out for the twelfth round he walked onto a brilliantly placed shot by Rudkin that seemed to shake the Scotsman. Watching it, I had the feeling this could be the end for the Scotsman as he tied up Rudkin to avoid his follow up attacks. As they broke Walter got up on his toes and proceeded to box as he had done in the last round but this round he was landing with authority and landed a precise right uppercut onto the onrushing Alan’s chin, forcing him back. This brilliant comeback continued in the thirteenth as Walter boxed brilliantly but Alan was always forcing the pace. Now the solid lead for Rudkin had evaporated and now the fight was in the balance but all Rudkin needed to do was win one of the last two rounds to secure victory.
The penultimate round commenced and Alan tore straight into McGowan with punishing body shots. The tide started to turn as Rudkin found the target more and more with hard accurate shots. Commentator Carpenter commented that Rudkin had ‘savage intensity’ which summed it up brilliantly, Alan wasn’t going to be denied of his titles that he believed rightfully belonged to him. Alan’s ‘savage intensity’ caused a horrific cut over the cut-prone McGowan’s left eye.
‘Seconds out, fifteenth and final round!’ shouted the timekeeper.
Both men rose from their stools Rudkin cut over his left eye and McGowan with both eyes shut and cuts above and below his left eye. You knew these guys had been in a fight. They got to centre ring and touched gloves and proceeded to tear into each other like hungry dogs. Rudkin landed furiously to the body making sickening 'booms' every time they landed. Walter threw fast flurries to the body back in an attempt to keep Alan off him but he couldn’t as they both kept trading. McGowan had to give ground and he did, as Alan stalked him landing bloodying combinations as McGowan leaped in with fast flurries in a brilliant last round.
As the bell sounded both men embraced tightly and Walter planted a kiss, instead of a hook, on the cheek of Rudkin, which summed up the love and respect each guy had for each other. In a fight of such savagery they could embrace like this was a testament to their sportsmanship.
Harry Gibbs walked over to Rudkin and raised his hand; he had scored it to Rudkin by a round or half a point – the closest it could be!
Rudkin was delighted he had redeemed himself and won back his treasured titles. The look on Rudkin’s face showed it all he was full of relief and joy for winning as he was raised onto someone’s shoulders and paraded around the ring as the crowd cheered for his and McGowan’s amazing performance. Oddly there was some booing but this writer believes it to be of fans' disagreement with the decision but the booing was minimal.
Thus concluded the greatest, most savage yet superbly skilled fight to take place in the British ring. Many would say that one of the Kevin Finnegan vs Alan Minter trilogy, or Jamie Moore vs Mathew Macklin.
But for me this honour belongs too the incredible fight between two of the almost forgotten greats of the British ring in Alan Rudkin and Walter McGowan.
Written by Greg Paterson....a regular poster on the boxing forums
......................................................
On the 6th of September 1966, two fighters embraced as the bell rang and waited anxiously for the referee to make a decision on who had won.
In one corner was the slick Scottish flyweight from Burnbank, Walter McGowan (left) who was WBC world champion. The other was Liverpool's reigning British and Empire bantamweight champion, Alan Rudkin. Rudkin's titles were on the line.
The decision was given. McGowan had won a controversial decision, most believing Rudkin had taken it, although respected veteran broadcaster Harry Carpenter believed McGowan had just done enough. There were calls for a rematch that seemed inevitable. However, Rudkin felt hard done by, believing he'd had his titles stolen from him.
22 months later the fighters re-entered the ring in the long awaited rematch. It was a natural to sell; the first fight was an epic and close fight and ended with a disputed decision. And here it was.
McGowan had lost his flyweight title to the great Chatchai Chinoi in a war but eventually his eye gave out and he lost on cuts. In the rematch he was ahead on the cards before his left eye fell to pieces and again he lost on cuts. He took eight months out before signing to fight Rudkin again.
Rudkin on the other hand was quite successful in the interim with six wins including two stoppages. However he had lost on points in a fight for the European bantamweight crown but still longed for his British and Empire titles. After the defeat by Mimoun Ben Ali (for the European title) he rebounded with a brilliant second round KO of the touted American Ronnie Jones, landing a perfect right hand to lay Jones out.
The action got under way.
The early rounds were close with McGowan the pure boxer he was landing fast jabs but Rudkin fought back well with the harder shots and edged these early rounds. Both fighters produced beautiful boxing of the highest quality.
As the fight wore onto the middle rounds Rudkin hit fine form in the eighth; he turned up his pressure and McGowan started to struggle as Alan forced himself forward with hard straight punches to the head and brutal body shots. He continued this in the ninth causing TV commentator, Harry Carpenter, to a liken him to a ‘Bulldog’. A few seconds later Alan seemed to floor Walter with a wicked right hand but legendary referee Harry Gibbs ruled it a slip, which was highly plausible as the ring was very slippy. But, Alan turned it on believing Walter to be hurt and really bullied the Scotsman for the rest of the round. In the tenth Rudkin kept up the pressure and looked to be in complete control with the average card being 8-2 to the scouser and Rudkin was keeping a ferocious pace.
Walter sat down on his stool after the tenth, his right eye was shut and in the last round Rudkin had opened a cut over his left cheek bone. Looking at him you wouldn’t have expected what was about to happen.
The bell for the eleventh rang. McGowan, sensing the need for a big push in the late rounds, got up on his toes and started to land beautiful combinations and fast jabs on the advancing Rudkin. No one could believe it. Walter looked to be fading in the last few rounds but had started this amazing comeback. Could he keep it up?
As Walter came out for the twelfth round he walked onto a brilliantly placed shot by Rudkin that seemed to shake the Scotsman. Watching it, I had the feeling this could be the end for the Scotsman as he tied up Rudkin to avoid his follow up attacks. As they broke Walter got up on his toes and proceeded to box as he had done in the last round but this round he was landing with authority and landed a precise right uppercut onto the onrushing Alan’s chin, forcing him back. This brilliant comeback continued in the thirteenth as Walter boxed brilliantly but Alan was always forcing the pace. Now the solid lead for Rudkin had evaporated and now the fight was in the balance but all Rudkin needed to do was win one of the last two rounds to secure victory.
The penultimate round commenced and Alan tore straight into McGowan with punishing body shots. The tide started to turn as Rudkin found the target more and more with hard accurate shots. Commentator Carpenter commented that Rudkin had ‘savage intensity’ which summed it up brilliantly, Alan wasn’t going to be denied of his titles that he believed rightfully belonged to him. Alan’s ‘savage intensity’ caused a horrific cut over the cut-prone McGowan’s left eye.
‘Seconds out, fifteenth and final round!’ shouted the timekeeper.
Both men rose from their stools Rudkin cut over his left eye and McGowan with both eyes shut and cuts above and below his left eye. You knew these guys had been in a fight. They got to centre ring and touched gloves and proceeded to tear into each other like hungry dogs. Rudkin landed furiously to the body making sickening 'booms' every time they landed. Walter threw fast flurries to the body back in an attempt to keep Alan off him but he couldn’t as they both kept trading. McGowan had to give ground and he did, as Alan stalked him landing bloodying combinations as McGowan leaped in with fast flurries in a brilliant last round.
As the bell sounded both men embraced tightly and Walter planted a kiss, instead of a hook, on the cheek of Rudkin, which summed up the love and respect each guy had for each other. In a fight of such savagery they could embrace like this was a testament to their sportsmanship.
Harry Gibbs walked over to Rudkin and raised his hand; he had scored it to Rudkin by a round or half a point – the closest it could be!
Rudkin was delighted he had redeemed himself and won back his treasured titles. The look on Rudkin’s face showed it all he was full of relief and joy for winning as he was raised onto someone’s shoulders and paraded around the ring as the crowd cheered for his and McGowan’s amazing performance. Oddly there was some booing but this writer believes it to be of fans' disagreement with the decision but the booing was minimal.
Thus concluded the greatest, most savage yet superbly skilled fight to take place in the British ring. Many would say that one of the Kevin Finnegan vs Alan Minter trilogy, or Jamie Moore vs Mathew Macklin.
But for me this honour belongs too the incredible fight between two of the almost forgotten greats of the British ring in Alan Rudkin and Walter McGowan.
Re: bits and pieces scrapbook
In a marvellous battle of former champions, Tony Canzoneri met Jimmy McLarnin for the first of two bouts on May 8, 1936 at Madison Square Garden, New York.
Canzoneri was actually cut after he got into the ring, and before the first bell, after being stunned by the overhanging microphone during the referee's instructions.
................................
Tony had started out as a pro in 1925, Jimmy in 1923. Both men were nearing the end of their glory days, yet still mustered magical reserves to serve up one of the most thrilling fights of a golden era.
People had their hearts in their mouths that night as Canzoneri dug deep and rallied back from the precipice of destruction. He was nearly swept away in a frantic opening round as he teetered on the edge of the first knockout defeat of his career.
Tony was staggering and tottering drunkenly after being hit by three terrific right hands in succession by McLarnin. Jimmy, who always tried for the early knockout and was a merciless finisher, struck Canzoneri yet again and sent him into the ropes. McLarnin surged in for the kill, firing with both fists. Tony sought refuge in a clinch, but was soon rocking and reeling again as Jimmy ripped punches to the body and drove Canzoneri into a corner. The bell rang but it seemed that Tony had only bought himself a brief stay of execution.
Not so. One could never make such assumptions where Canzoneri was concerned. His comeback in the second round was a ferocious microcosm of everything he was. McLarnin, sensing an early night, picked right up from where he had left off and drilled Tony with a jolting left. More blows followed, but then Canzoneri sprang back to life like a sleepy man thrown under a cold shower. A left-right combination halted Jimmy’s march and three more lefts suddenly reversed the roles and cast Tony as the hunter. A right to the cheek forced McLarnin to hang on, but shelter was hard to come by as Canzoneri kept shelling him. A left-right combination dropped Jimmy to one knee as the crowd roared. People were jumping and jigging and throwing imaginary punches as they watched Canzoneri turning the tide and turning back the clock.
McLarnin, with his trademark pluck, refused to take a count. He needed to. He was quickly sucked back into the maelstrom and took a sustained pounding for the remainder of the round.
Thereafter, Tony Canzoneri was a man inspired who never lost the initiative. The pace of the fight remained exceptional right to the end as two of the ring’s greatest mechanics fired away at each other. Canzoneri had perhaps the smallest fists of any fighter of his day, yet possessed tremendous punching power. In the last minute of the ninth round, he unleashed one of his Sunday best and caught McLarnin flush on the jaw. Jimmy was all over the place and nearly out as Tony followed up with another big salvo.
McLarnin, as tough and as gutsy as any man who ever stepped into a ring, simply would not go under. But Jimmy was in a sorry state as he came out for the tenth and final round, the left side of his face swollen and bruised. Canzoneri was too tired by that stage to apply the finishing touches and cap a brilliant performance with a knockout. But it really didn’t matter. He was the hero of New York City.
(by Mike Casey)
Canzoneri was actually cut after he got into the ring, and before the first bell, after being stunned by the overhanging microphone during the referee's instructions.
................................
Tony had started out as a pro in 1925, Jimmy in 1923. Both men were nearing the end of their glory days, yet still mustered magical reserves to serve up one of the most thrilling fights of a golden era.
People had their hearts in their mouths that night as Canzoneri dug deep and rallied back from the precipice of destruction. He was nearly swept away in a frantic opening round as he teetered on the edge of the first knockout defeat of his career.
Tony was staggering and tottering drunkenly after being hit by three terrific right hands in succession by McLarnin. Jimmy, who always tried for the early knockout and was a merciless finisher, struck Canzoneri yet again and sent him into the ropes. McLarnin surged in for the kill, firing with both fists. Tony sought refuge in a clinch, but was soon rocking and reeling again as Jimmy ripped punches to the body and drove Canzoneri into a corner. The bell rang but it seemed that Tony had only bought himself a brief stay of execution.
Not so. One could never make such assumptions where Canzoneri was concerned. His comeback in the second round was a ferocious microcosm of everything he was. McLarnin, sensing an early night, picked right up from where he had left off and drilled Tony with a jolting left. More blows followed, but then Canzoneri sprang back to life like a sleepy man thrown under a cold shower. A left-right combination halted Jimmy’s march and three more lefts suddenly reversed the roles and cast Tony as the hunter. A right to the cheek forced McLarnin to hang on, but shelter was hard to come by as Canzoneri kept shelling him. A left-right combination dropped Jimmy to one knee as the crowd roared. People were jumping and jigging and throwing imaginary punches as they watched Canzoneri turning the tide and turning back the clock.
McLarnin, with his trademark pluck, refused to take a count. He needed to. He was quickly sucked back into the maelstrom and took a sustained pounding for the remainder of the round.
Thereafter, Tony Canzoneri was a man inspired who never lost the initiative. The pace of the fight remained exceptional right to the end as two of the ring’s greatest mechanics fired away at each other. Canzoneri had perhaps the smallest fists of any fighter of his day, yet possessed tremendous punching power. In the last minute of the ninth round, he unleashed one of his Sunday best and caught McLarnin flush on the jaw. Jimmy was all over the place and nearly out as Tony followed up with another big salvo.
McLarnin, as tough and as gutsy as any man who ever stepped into a ring, simply would not go under. But Jimmy was in a sorry state as he came out for the tenth and final round, the left side of his face swollen and bruised. Canzoneri was too tired by that stage to apply the finishing touches and cap a brilliant performance with a knockout. But it really didn’t matter. He was the hero of New York City.
(by Mike Casey)
Re: bits and pieces scrapbook
The curious tale of Henry 'Slaughterhouse' Baker...
........................
Boxer Henry Baker's legend persists from beyond the grave
Henry Baker lived to fight another day after future heavyweight boxing champion James J. Jeffries figuratively handed him his head in the most important match of Baker's career in 1897.
The mystery is, how did the Milwaukee boxer manage to go on living after the wheels of a freight train lopped Baker's head clean off -- literally -- 11 years later?
Once hailed by the Brooklyn Eagle newspaper as "the coming heavyweight champion," the man known locally as "Heine" Baker had a downtown tavern and was a boxing instructor at the Milwaukee Athletic Society. A stint in the Chicago stockyards accounted for his fighting nickname, "Slaughterhouse" Henry.
Baker was "a real fighter," recalled Jeffries in his memoirs. "He was built like Tom Sharkey [another rugged 1890s heavyweight], but more smoothly muscled, and his weight, like Tom's, was 185 pounds. He was one of the most confident men I ever saw."
Heine earned his first notoriety in 1894 by whipping Denver Billy Woods in Chicago. A year later, Baker boxed an exhibition match with then-middleweight (and future heavyweight and light heavyweight) champion Bob Fitzsimmons at a Milwaukee theater, and "was not only aggressive all through the bout," reported The Journal, "but his protection was strong and effective."
Real prizefighting was illegal in Wisconsin, and many of Baker's fights were bootleg events. On June 9, 1895, he and Lem McGregor were supposed to fight in some woods south of Milwaukee. When less than $100 was put in the hat passed around by the 60 spectators for the winner's purse, McGregor refused to fight. "Baker called him a coward, but that did not stir his Southern blood to boiling," reported The Evening Wisconsin. A spectator named George Curtis agreed to fight Baker for $50, and was knocked out in four rounds for his trouble.
A month later, just as Baker and a Chicagoan named Michael Brennan squared off in a dance hall on the city's southern outskirts, a posse of county sheriff's deputies busted in and put everyone under arrest for violating the state statute against prizefighting. "Consternation seized the crowd and there was the liveliest kind of a scramble for the freedom of adjacent fields," reported The Evening Wisconsin.
Baker and Brennan were the first ones charged with violating the anti-boxing law in Milwaukee County in eight years. They could have gotten up to five years in jail and a fine of $1,000, but the boxers were fined only $10 each plus court costs.
A week after that, a fight at a North Side Milwaukee tavern on July 22 between Frank Klein and Louis Schmidt ended when Schmidt was knocked out in five rounds. Schmidt died at the scene. Klein was arrested for murder, and Baker, his cornerman in the fight, was also indicted. Heine skipped town, but a week later was arrested in Grand Rapids, Mich. and extradited to Milwaukee. This time the fine was stiffer, and Baker departed Milwaukee for good.
On the West Coast he helped prepare Bob Fitzsimmons for a match against Tom Sharkey in San Francisco. "The fact that Bob Fitzsimmons has selected Henry Baker of this city to assist him in training for his bout with Tom Sharkey goes to show that the Milwaukee boy is well thought of by the middleweight champion," said The Evening Wisconsin. "There has never been a 'Dutchman' who has displayed more gameness in the roped arena than this same Henry Baker."
"Baker Is Expected To Win," proclaimed The Milwaukee Journal hopefully when Heine fought Jeffries in San Francisco on May 18, 1897. It was scheduled for 20 rounds, and "the prediction is freely made by the Chicago sports that if Baker manages to land either glove on Jeffries, the latter's gallop toward the championship will be stopped."
Baker had his moments. He "did some pretty footwork for half a dozen rounds, and once or twice managed to land left and right on the Los Angelan when the latter least expected it," according to the San Francisco Examiner's report of the fight.
Jeffries himself later recalled, "I must say that the stockyards champion gave me good, hard work to do. As soon as we began he rushed at me and swung on my jaw with all his might. It was a great punch. He kept on swinging and tearing at me. He surely was a husky, tough fellow.
"I began nailing him with lefts and rights, and as the fight went along I measured him and knocked him down half a dozen times. In the seventh round, I remember, I hit him so hard that his heels flew up in the air and he turned a complete somersault."
They stopped it in the ninth, after two left hooks from Jeffries made Slaughterhouse Henry woozy as a cow whose next stop is the hamburger factory.
Because the confident Milwaukee fighter had bet his entire end of the purse on himself, he ended up with nothing and had to scrounge money to pay for an expensive oyster dinner he promised friends after the fight.
Baker fought until 1903, and then went to work for the streets department in Kansas City, Mo., and was out of the news until Oct. 10, 1908.
Under the headline "Heine Baker Dead," the Milwaukee Free Press reported, "The headless body of Henry Baker, one of the best known heavyweight boxers in the country at one time, was found on the railroad tracks near the Union depot" in Kansas City. "It is thought he was run over by a Burlington train." The Kansas City Star reported that services were held at Stewart's Chapel a few days later, and that Baker was laid to rest in Union Cemetery. He was 42.
"Baker was a big, good-natured German and he had many friends here," eulogized The Evening Wisconsin. "He was never considered a clever man, but was as strong as a bull and (was) always picked out for the big fellows when they wanted a real try-out."
Apparently Slaughterhouse Henry was stronger than any bull, because he didn't let losing his head keep him from living a very long life.
In April of 1951, a San Francisco Bay area newspaper ran an item announcing a sports program for residents of the Livermore Veterans Home. "Among participants," it said, "will be Sailor Tom Sharkey and his former sparring partner, Henry Baker, who contributed so much to Sharkey's standing as a heavyweight 50 years ago."
Ten years later, another West Coast newspaper reported, "Henry Baker, who was Jim Jeffries' third San Francisco opponent in 1897, died here last week of a kidney ailment. Close friends say he was 91. Baker appeared on the old Orpheum circuit at various times with Jim Jeffries, Jim Corbett and Tom Sharkey."
Jeffries and Sharkey both died in 1953, and haven't been heard from since. They were merely human after all, lacking the true indestructibility that Milwaukee's slaughterhouse champion had, apparently, up the Heine.
(By Pete Ehrmann)
........................
Boxer Henry Baker's legend persists from beyond the grave
Henry Baker lived to fight another day after future heavyweight boxing champion James J. Jeffries figuratively handed him his head in the most important match of Baker's career in 1897.
The mystery is, how did the Milwaukee boxer manage to go on living after the wheels of a freight train lopped Baker's head clean off -- literally -- 11 years later?
Once hailed by the Brooklyn Eagle newspaper as "the coming heavyweight champion," the man known locally as "Heine" Baker had a downtown tavern and was a boxing instructor at the Milwaukee Athletic Society. A stint in the Chicago stockyards accounted for his fighting nickname, "Slaughterhouse" Henry.
Baker was "a real fighter," recalled Jeffries in his memoirs. "He was built like Tom Sharkey [another rugged 1890s heavyweight], but more smoothly muscled, and his weight, like Tom's, was 185 pounds. He was one of the most confident men I ever saw."
Heine earned his first notoriety in 1894 by whipping Denver Billy Woods in Chicago. A year later, Baker boxed an exhibition match with then-middleweight (and future heavyweight and light heavyweight) champion Bob Fitzsimmons at a Milwaukee theater, and "was not only aggressive all through the bout," reported The Journal, "but his protection was strong and effective."
Real prizefighting was illegal in Wisconsin, and many of Baker's fights were bootleg events. On June 9, 1895, he and Lem McGregor were supposed to fight in some woods south of Milwaukee. When less than $100 was put in the hat passed around by the 60 spectators for the winner's purse, McGregor refused to fight. "Baker called him a coward, but that did not stir his Southern blood to boiling," reported The Evening Wisconsin. A spectator named George Curtis agreed to fight Baker for $50, and was knocked out in four rounds for his trouble.
A month later, just as Baker and a Chicagoan named Michael Brennan squared off in a dance hall on the city's southern outskirts, a posse of county sheriff's deputies busted in and put everyone under arrest for violating the state statute against prizefighting. "Consternation seized the crowd and there was the liveliest kind of a scramble for the freedom of adjacent fields," reported The Evening Wisconsin.
Baker and Brennan were the first ones charged with violating the anti-boxing law in Milwaukee County in eight years. They could have gotten up to five years in jail and a fine of $1,000, but the boxers were fined only $10 each plus court costs.
A week after that, a fight at a North Side Milwaukee tavern on July 22 between Frank Klein and Louis Schmidt ended when Schmidt was knocked out in five rounds. Schmidt died at the scene. Klein was arrested for murder, and Baker, his cornerman in the fight, was also indicted. Heine skipped town, but a week later was arrested in Grand Rapids, Mich. and extradited to Milwaukee. This time the fine was stiffer, and Baker departed Milwaukee for good.
On the West Coast he helped prepare Bob Fitzsimmons for a match against Tom Sharkey in San Francisco. "The fact that Bob Fitzsimmons has selected Henry Baker of this city to assist him in training for his bout with Tom Sharkey goes to show that the Milwaukee boy is well thought of by the middleweight champion," said The Evening Wisconsin. "There has never been a 'Dutchman' who has displayed more gameness in the roped arena than this same Henry Baker."
"Baker Is Expected To Win," proclaimed The Milwaukee Journal hopefully when Heine fought Jeffries in San Francisco on May 18, 1897. It was scheduled for 20 rounds, and "the prediction is freely made by the Chicago sports that if Baker manages to land either glove on Jeffries, the latter's gallop toward the championship will be stopped."
Baker had his moments. He "did some pretty footwork for half a dozen rounds, and once or twice managed to land left and right on the Los Angelan when the latter least expected it," according to the San Francisco Examiner's report of the fight.
Jeffries himself later recalled, "I must say that the stockyards champion gave me good, hard work to do. As soon as we began he rushed at me and swung on my jaw with all his might. It was a great punch. He kept on swinging and tearing at me. He surely was a husky, tough fellow.
"I began nailing him with lefts and rights, and as the fight went along I measured him and knocked him down half a dozen times. In the seventh round, I remember, I hit him so hard that his heels flew up in the air and he turned a complete somersault."
They stopped it in the ninth, after two left hooks from Jeffries made Slaughterhouse Henry woozy as a cow whose next stop is the hamburger factory.
Because the confident Milwaukee fighter had bet his entire end of the purse on himself, he ended up with nothing and had to scrounge money to pay for an expensive oyster dinner he promised friends after the fight.
Baker fought until 1903, and then went to work for the streets department in Kansas City, Mo., and was out of the news until Oct. 10, 1908.
Under the headline "Heine Baker Dead," the Milwaukee Free Press reported, "The headless body of Henry Baker, one of the best known heavyweight boxers in the country at one time, was found on the railroad tracks near the Union depot" in Kansas City. "It is thought he was run over by a Burlington train." The Kansas City Star reported that services were held at Stewart's Chapel a few days later, and that Baker was laid to rest in Union Cemetery. He was 42.
"Baker was a big, good-natured German and he had many friends here," eulogized The Evening Wisconsin. "He was never considered a clever man, but was as strong as a bull and (was) always picked out for the big fellows when they wanted a real try-out."
Apparently Slaughterhouse Henry was stronger than any bull, because he didn't let losing his head keep him from living a very long life.
In April of 1951, a San Francisco Bay area newspaper ran an item announcing a sports program for residents of the Livermore Veterans Home. "Among participants," it said, "will be Sailor Tom Sharkey and his former sparring partner, Henry Baker, who contributed so much to Sharkey's standing as a heavyweight 50 years ago."
Ten years later, another West Coast newspaper reported, "Henry Baker, who was Jim Jeffries' third San Francisco opponent in 1897, died here last week of a kidney ailment. Close friends say he was 91. Baker appeared on the old Orpheum circuit at various times with Jim Jeffries, Jim Corbett and Tom Sharkey."
Jeffries and Sharkey both died in 1953, and haven't been heard from since. They were merely human after all, lacking the true indestructibility that Milwaukee's slaughterhouse champion had, apparently, up the Heine.
(By Pete Ehrmann)
-
Caractacus
- Middleweight
- Posts: 18593
- Joined: 13 Jun 2014, 16:47
Re: bits and pieces scrapbook
Looks abit like Mike delisa dont he?
Re: bits and pieces scrapbook
Sept. 28. 1912
For the first time in his life Battling Nelson has declined to be interviewed. This time the subject of the proposed interview was matrimonial, not pugilism. "Is it true that your rumored engagement with Miss Fay King of Denver is all off?" Nelson was asked.
"The only match I know about is the one my Chicago representative is trying to clinch with Packey McFarland," replied Nelson, "and he is pretty slow about it, too."
Miss King says she loves you like a brother, but that she has not considered you for a husband," Nelson was informed.
"If McFarland thinks he can lick me, now is his chance," replied Bat.
"Didn't you and Miss King go up on Pikes peak and engage a minister to marry you? And didn't the minister fail to show up?" were the next questions.
"I'm not going to talk about marriage," said Bat. "I am leaving the matter up to her. What she says is right, no matter if she's wrong." Then Nelson got serious.
"There's no use in my talking marriage," he said. "Any man who says he's going to marry a woman is crazy, unless he has her right at the altar—and even then he's liable to be fooled. She may not like the color of his necktie and call off the match. Miss King is a fine cartoonist, and she'd make a fine wife for anybody. If I'm the lucky fellow at the finish I'll be tickled to death, that's all. But I'm not saying a word one way or the other on the time, the place or the girl."
.......................................
January 22, 1913.
Oscar Matthew Nelson, once famed as the lightweight champion pugilist 'Battling' Nelson, and Miss Fay Barbara King, a Denver cartoonist, were married today at the fighter's home in Hegewisch. The ceremony was brief, but as the final words fell from the minister's lips the bride, overcome by the nervous strain, swayed and toppled over into her husband's arms, sobbing violently. "Bat" soothed his bride, and pretty soon she smiled and said, "I feel much better after my cry."
Rev. W.E. Pearson, a Lutheran clergyman of Moline, performed the ceremony. "Jack" Robinson, manager of the fighter, was best man, and Miss Ida Nelson, sister of the groom, was maid of honor.
Outside a brass band burst forth into "Moonlight Bay." A report said there was to be a double wedding. Miss Ida Nelson, it was said, was to have been married to a young man of the town immediately after her brother's marriage. The story run that at the last minute the young man, fearing bad luck if he married on the twenty-third, insisted upon a postponement. Miss Nelson denied the story.
"I'm the happiest guy in the world." Bat said. Asked about his wife's future, the groom said:
"She'll probably devote her time to illustrating my map. But I'll stay in the ring. I've got to, as that's the only way I have of making a living."
The couple came to Chicago after the ceremony and a wedding breakfast was served at the Wellington hotel.
The trip downtown to "Bat's" home was a gala affair. A special car on the Illinois Central was chartered and a band hired.
On the train Miss King drew a cartoon of the pugilist. The moving picture men were clamoring for some pictures and set up their machines before, the happy pair. The band played and "Bat" leaned over and (kissed his bride to be twice, and the picture machines got it all.
A big crowd turned out at Hegewisch to greet "Bat" and his fiancee. There were vigorous cheers as the party stepped from the train. The band played as the long line of friends, townsmen. newspaper men, moving picture operators and photographers started for the Nelson home behind the bridal party in a big automobile.
Tonight the couple entertained friends at a theater.
.........................................................
February 28, 1913.
Nelson's Wife Says Pugilist Kidnapped Her
Former Lightweight Champion Will Be Met at Denver by Summons in Divorce Suit
Battling Nelson, financier of Hegewiseh and erstwhile champion lightweight prize fighter, will be met with a summons in a suit for divorce when he arrives in Denver March 5.
This announcement was made tonight by friends of Mrs. Nelson, better known in Denver as Fay King, a cartoonist on the Post.
That she was kidnaped by Battling Nelson on the night of January 20 for her marriage three days later at the fighter's home will be the charge which the suit will be based.
Fay King remained three days as Nelson's wife. She left for Denver on the Sunday night following the marriage and then went on to Portland. Ore., to visit her parents before resuming her work on the Post.
"Nelson heard of my reported engagement to a Denver man and ho stopped his fighting engagements to come here for me." said Miss King tonight. "He took me by storm after I was weak and a nervous wreck from resisting him and his proposals he forced me into a taxicab and rushed me off to the station.
"I realized that I had made a mistake the day of the wedding and the first opportunity I got I hurried back to Denver. I will go right on working on the Post as though the affair had never happened.
"The marriage must not and will not stand."
.....................................
May 6, 1913.
Couple back together.
Fay Has the Say and Battler Will Retire
Battling Nelson, hero of many ring battles, the receiver of many a lacing, ''…and former lightweight champion of the world, today announced the date of his retirement from the ring. Bat is going to quit. There's no idle boast connected with the announcement. It may not be the wish of the once durable Dane to put the gloves on the shelf, but it is the request Mrs. Battling Nelson, Fay King, and Fay has the say. Labor day will be the Dane's last fight—this because it will be the eighteenth anniversary of his fighting career. He would quit now but for that. There will be no fights between now and September, however. Nelson and his wife are now in Bedford, Va., resting up. Bat plans on settling in the far west.
...........
Years later Nelson sued King for divorce as reported in Cartoons Magazine, March 1916. A divorce was granted later that year.
Fay King's name was not found in the 1940 census. Battling Nelson passed away February 7, 1954.
The Oregonian newspaper , February 9, 1954, reported that the funeral expenses were to be paid by King.
Battling Nelson died February 7, 1954 at the age of 71 in the Chicago State Hospital where the rugged old battler was committed; his death was attributed to senility. Fay King preformed a very gentle and gracious act when she hears of his death. Fay was truly a kind person. She defrayed the funeral expenses so he could be buried in Chicago next to his second wife, “whom he loved so much,” who had died just 2 months before, December 26, 1953.
Fay had been married to Bat over 40 years before his death and yet, when she was told her response was. “He was such a noble, honest man he did not deserve such a tragic end.” Fay had not seen him since 1919.
(from - WHO WAS FAY KING by Marilyn Slater)
For the first time in his life Battling Nelson has declined to be interviewed. This time the subject of the proposed interview was matrimonial, not pugilism. "Is it true that your rumored engagement with Miss Fay King of Denver is all off?" Nelson was asked.
"The only match I know about is the one my Chicago representative is trying to clinch with Packey McFarland," replied Nelson, "and he is pretty slow about it, too."
Miss King says she loves you like a brother, but that she has not considered you for a husband," Nelson was informed.
"If McFarland thinks he can lick me, now is his chance," replied Bat.
"Didn't you and Miss King go up on Pikes peak and engage a minister to marry you? And didn't the minister fail to show up?" were the next questions.
"I'm not going to talk about marriage," said Bat. "I am leaving the matter up to her. What she says is right, no matter if she's wrong." Then Nelson got serious.
"There's no use in my talking marriage," he said. "Any man who says he's going to marry a woman is crazy, unless he has her right at the altar—and even then he's liable to be fooled. She may not like the color of his necktie and call off the match. Miss King is a fine cartoonist, and she'd make a fine wife for anybody. If I'm the lucky fellow at the finish I'll be tickled to death, that's all. But I'm not saying a word one way or the other on the time, the place or the girl."
.......................................
January 22, 1913.
Oscar Matthew Nelson, once famed as the lightweight champion pugilist 'Battling' Nelson, and Miss Fay Barbara King, a Denver cartoonist, were married today at the fighter's home in Hegewisch. The ceremony was brief, but as the final words fell from the minister's lips the bride, overcome by the nervous strain, swayed and toppled over into her husband's arms, sobbing violently. "Bat" soothed his bride, and pretty soon she smiled and said, "I feel much better after my cry."
Rev. W.E. Pearson, a Lutheran clergyman of Moline, performed the ceremony. "Jack" Robinson, manager of the fighter, was best man, and Miss Ida Nelson, sister of the groom, was maid of honor.
Outside a brass band burst forth into "Moonlight Bay." A report said there was to be a double wedding. Miss Ida Nelson, it was said, was to have been married to a young man of the town immediately after her brother's marriage. The story run that at the last minute the young man, fearing bad luck if he married on the twenty-third, insisted upon a postponement. Miss Nelson denied the story.
"I'm the happiest guy in the world." Bat said. Asked about his wife's future, the groom said:
"She'll probably devote her time to illustrating my map. But I'll stay in the ring. I've got to, as that's the only way I have of making a living."
The couple came to Chicago after the ceremony and a wedding breakfast was served at the Wellington hotel.
The trip downtown to "Bat's" home was a gala affair. A special car on the Illinois Central was chartered and a band hired.
On the train Miss King drew a cartoon of the pugilist. The moving picture men were clamoring for some pictures and set up their machines before, the happy pair. The band played and "Bat" leaned over and (kissed his bride to be twice, and the picture machines got it all.
A big crowd turned out at Hegewisch to greet "Bat" and his fiancee. There were vigorous cheers as the party stepped from the train. The band played as the long line of friends, townsmen. newspaper men, moving picture operators and photographers started for the Nelson home behind the bridal party in a big automobile.
Tonight the couple entertained friends at a theater.
.........................................................
February 28, 1913.
Nelson's Wife Says Pugilist Kidnapped Her
Former Lightweight Champion Will Be Met at Denver by Summons in Divorce Suit
Battling Nelson, financier of Hegewiseh and erstwhile champion lightweight prize fighter, will be met with a summons in a suit for divorce when he arrives in Denver March 5.
This announcement was made tonight by friends of Mrs. Nelson, better known in Denver as Fay King, a cartoonist on the Post.
That she was kidnaped by Battling Nelson on the night of January 20 for her marriage three days later at the fighter's home will be the charge which the suit will be based.
Fay King remained three days as Nelson's wife. She left for Denver on the Sunday night following the marriage and then went on to Portland. Ore., to visit her parents before resuming her work on the Post.
"Nelson heard of my reported engagement to a Denver man and ho stopped his fighting engagements to come here for me." said Miss King tonight. "He took me by storm after I was weak and a nervous wreck from resisting him and his proposals he forced me into a taxicab and rushed me off to the station.
"I realized that I had made a mistake the day of the wedding and the first opportunity I got I hurried back to Denver. I will go right on working on the Post as though the affair had never happened.
"The marriage must not and will not stand."
.....................................
May 6, 1913.
Couple back together.
Fay Has the Say and Battler Will Retire
Battling Nelson, hero of many ring battles, the receiver of many a lacing, ''…and former lightweight champion of the world, today announced the date of his retirement from the ring. Bat is going to quit. There's no idle boast connected with the announcement. It may not be the wish of the once durable Dane to put the gloves on the shelf, but it is the request Mrs. Battling Nelson, Fay King, and Fay has the say. Labor day will be the Dane's last fight—this because it will be the eighteenth anniversary of his fighting career. He would quit now but for that. There will be no fights between now and September, however. Nelson and his wife are now in Bedford, Va., resting up. Bat plans on settling in the far west.
...........
Years later Nelson sued King for divorce as reported in Cartoons Magazine, March 1916. A divorce was granted later that year.
Fay King's name was not found in the 1940 census. Battling Nelson passed away February 7, 1954.
The Oregonian newspaper , February 9, 1954, reported that the funeral expenses were to be paid by King.
Battling Nelson died February 7, 1954 at the age of 71 in the Chicago State Hospital where the rugged old battler was committed; his death was attributed to senility. Fay King preformed a very gentle and gracious act when she hears of his death. Fay was truly a kind person. She defrayed the funeral expenses so he could be buried in Chicago next to his second wife, “whom he loved so much,” who had died just 2 months before, December 26, 1953.
Fay had been married to Bat over 40 years before his death and yet, when she was told her response was. “He was such a noble, honest man he did not deserve such a tragic end.” Fay had not seen him since 1919.
(from - WHO WAS FAY KING by Marilyn Slater)
Re: bits and pieces scrapbook
"Schmeling carried Stribling to his corner after the KO"
Re: bits and pieces scrapbook
From Dec. 1980...
Re: bits and pieces scrapbook
Tony Janiro - Rocky Graziano
Re: bits and pieces scrapbook
doug.ie wrote:A 1941 Interview with Jack Blackburn...
Great interview, been reading a lot about Blackburn in other peoples books. Obviously a master boxer and according to Sam Langford "had the greatest fighting heart" of any man he knew.
