BoxRec

The mean streets of Philadelphia were kinder to George Benton than the shadowy alleyways of the boxing business. He never received a shot at the World Middleweight Championship in 21 years as a pro‟. He was avoided, suffered setbacks that forced him into a brief retirement, and rarely given a shot at the top men in the division due to his penchant for springing upsets and his immeasurable class and ability in the ring.

Benton could hit, but was known for his incredible defensive boxing. Notorious for his ability to adapt to and time his opponents offence so that it rarely landed clean, he was a brilliant combination puncher with a hurtful left hook and a sharp right hand, who could break his man down or dominate with his jab and counter punching. He learned on the job, and by sparring in the renowned Philadelphia gyms that could break a man in half upon entering the door of any one of a dozen sweaty holes that housed ace warriors of all shapes and sizes. It moulded him into a man who could make or break anothers career, a “Policeman‟ whose biggest opportunities came when facing other black fighters who showed promise. Benton received little in the way of opportunity when he beat them. He was so good that only two white contenders were matched with him in his ring life.

Benton’s active career, between 1949-1970, also spanned some of the deepest and most competitive Middleweight era’s in history, which added to his struggles to break out of the pack. Some of the greatest 160 lb. fighters held the undisputed title during Benton’s best fighting years: “Sugar‟ Ray Robinson, Dick Tiger, Nino Benvenuti, Joey Giardello and Emile Griffith . Despite beating many fighters in The Ring’s top ten rankings, Benton was not regularly in the top ten himself going into a new year, bar their end of year rankings for 1962. Great Welterweights such as Carmen Basilio, Kid Gavilan, Emile Griffith and Luis Manuel Rodriguez also infiltrated the top end of the division, lessening Benton’s chances at the top even further.

With no junior or super middleweight classes throughout most of this time (154lbs was inducted into the title canon in 1962) this followed the trend of fighters who didn’t mind spotting their opponents some weight either north or south of the divisional border. The title was never fractured during Benton‟s window of opportunity, and despite this, the division was so competitive it changed hands no less than 19 times, bookended by Champions of the highest calibre, Ray Robinson and Carlos Monzon. The contenders that staked their claim for supremacy read like a “Whos Who” of brilliant middleweights, and some got their hands on the belt, and some got a shot. Many languished in the who needs ‘em club and fought each other.

George Benton was rarely even in this club.

Whilst the likes of Charley Burley, Cocoa Kid, Holman Williams, Lloyd Marshall, Ezzard Charles and Archie Moore were no longer terrorising fighters around this weight, there was still a legitimate “Murderers Row” of talent operating during different stages of Benton’s middleweight pursuit. There were boxers, devastating punchers, sluggers, swarmers, wiley veterans, spoilers, astute counter punchers and defensive specialists during Benton’s time. Some, like Benton, were great at one or more things. Most were good at everything. The likes of Holly Mims, Charley Josephs, Carl “Bobo‟ Olsen, Ralph “Tiger‟ Jones, Randy Turpin, Gil Turner, Gene and Don Fullmer, Eduardo Lausse, Del Flanegan, Freddie Little, Joey Giambra, Florentino Fernandez, Laurent Dauthuille Henry Hank, “Spider‟ Webb, Rory Calhoun, Paul Pender, Terry Downes, Yama Bahama, Rubin “Hurricane‟ Carter, Denny Moyer, Neal Rivers, Joey Archer, Dave Sands, Bennie Briscoe, Laszlo Papp, Gomeo Brennan, Rocky Castellani, Milo Savage, and many more battled it out to try and get in a position to make money and earn acclaim. More often than not, Georgie Benton was struggling to gain employment, let alone break through ranks as dense as these.

Seeking a way to transfer his hoodlum energy into a positive means of making money, Benton took up boxing at age 13 and by 16 was a pro, lying about his age. He defeated a good mix of trial horses like Lester Felton and Bobby Lee, and talented contenders such as Holly Mims and Charley Josephs in his first few years in the paid ranks, impressive wins over men that would be seen amongst the cream of the crop in the coming years.

Josephs, who would go on to feature in The Ring‟s ratings for two years, was beaten well in his first two meetings with Benton. The Ring magazine of March 1953 said Benton “the decision rather easily and (scored) two knockdowns in the process.” In their second meeting in 1958, Benton landed the cleaner punches and won a unanimous decision, although Joseph turned the trick in their third meeting a few months later.

In 1959, Benton took on Bobby Boyd, who just a few months earlier was ranked number seven in the World. In a risky fight, Boyd had faced number three ranked Ellsworth “Spider‟ Webb, a mainstay of the upper echelon and a tough, hard punching contender. In an incredible shootout lasting less than a round, Boyd staggered Webb, only to be brutally stopped himself

Benton was unranked going into his fight with Boyd, but showed his quality against a top contender who was looking to bounce back and further his claim for a high ranking. Whilst only a few rounds of footage from the fight are available, reports from the time indicate Benton won well in an upset. He was “convincing in shellacking the 10th-ranked middleweight from Chicago with a headhunting attack‟ and that was amply demonstrated in the 10th round, where Benton hurt his man.

In the footage, Benton shows his ability to slip and counter from close range, often continuing his assault as the quality Boyd tries to fight back. Benton has his man hurt a few times, and looks a competitor of the highest calibre, a slick counter puncher in the mould of “Sweet Pea‟ Whittaker and even showing flashes of what makes Floyd Mayweather such a lauded competitor: Catching, parrying, and deflecting shots with his gloves and shoulders, and landing accurate sharp counters. His head and upper body movement is a sight to behold.

Benton was also very strong and an adept inside fighter. His next bout would see this aspect of his game given a strong workout. He was about to take on a man he had beaten before, the brilliant Holly Mims. Mims could box, he could hit, and he was a crafty and experienced fighter who had given Ray Robinson great difficulty, and who could be relied to trade upon his rock hard chin in his opponents back yard.

Benton had beaten Mims via eight round decision seven years earlier, when Benton was far less experienced. In the years that had followed, Mims had gained more experience than Benton, because he had less trouble getting fights. Mims had plenty of opportunities to wear the “handcuffs”, which explains his low K.O. percentage (he was not supposed to knock out white guys, and was regularly unchained to do his worst against the black contenders of the day to stop them progressing, and would continue to be used as such for many years).

It spoke volumes that a fighter as talented as Mims was not deemed as much a risk to book as Benton. It was fine for these talented fighters to be near the top, but never at the top.

A UPI article leading into the fight describes Benton as “about as popular as the tax collector‟ and that Benton may have already been a pro ”for a decade but, he has trouble finding men willing to enter the ring with him.‟ His number of fights was lambasted as well: “He has fought only 41 times during the decade‟, and whilst Mims had 57 fights in the same time span and was ranked seventh by The Ring, Benton wasn’t ranked because he “wasn’t fighting regularly‟. However, that was one year that it wasn’t a fair criticism: Benton had fought five times in the 12 months leading into this fight, and had gone 3-2. Mims had only fought twice, and had lost a decision to Bobby Boyd, the man Benton had beaten easily just a few months before! Mims was a slight favourite due to Benton’s “reputation being higher than his ranking‟, and it was thought the winner might have an outside chance at getting a shot at the World title.

Benton’s manager, Herman Diamond, hoped a decisive win for Benton might give him a higher ranking and get him more fights. It was not to be.

A competitive bout, with Mims a clear winner, one headline reading, “Mims bottles up Benton’s attack, wins with ease‟. Mims used short right uppercuts to help take a unaminous decision, and was said to have smothered Benton in a hard bout, not giving Benton much room to punch. Mims was a wily and diversely skilled fighter and Benton found it hard to figure him out for most of the bout.

Using his familiar inside tactics, veteran middleweight Holly Mims, 155 3/4, carved out a unanimous decision over George Benton, 159 1/2, Wednesday night in a nationally televised 10 round fight. Mims outclassed his younger opponent with a close-in aggressive body attack and good combinations. He staggered Benton with a left-right flurry midway through the 7th round and pressed his foe throughout. Mims forced Benton to fight his style throughout the contest. Only in the 10th did Benton succeed in scoring with stiff punches from long range.” -United Press International

But the AP release said that whilst “Mims Clobbers George Benton‟ he also “Still Fears ‘im‟ with his manager Nick Trotta feeling this performance would be detrimental to Mims’ standing, and quipped cynically, “”I was afraid of this guy Benton. He was the most feared middleweight around. I suppose now that we‟ve beaten him we won‟t get any other fights for 10 months.”

Benton and Mims would then both take on fifth ranked Henry Hank, another stupendously tough competitor, who fought the cream of the crop at both Middle and Light Heavyweight, and was only stopped once by the great puncher Bob Foster. A classic counter puncher both inside and out who blended offence and defence seamlessly and could scrap it out as well, he had some degree of inconsistency but mixed at the very highest level for years. Hank beat Mims by 12 round decision, and then beat Benton via ten round decision, doing good work in the fourth and seventh rounds, and maintaining his attack into the 10th, where he had defensive specialist Benton holding onto the ropes!

Benton bounced back with a close decision win over future junior middleweight champion, the thunderous punching Freddie Little, who was not yet at his peak, but was still a dangerous fighter. Film of the devastating 2nd round K.O Little scored defending his unified 154lb championship in 1969 against Hisao Minami gives an indication of what Benton would’ve been up against.

Little punched hard, and was being brought up like a prospect, beating trial horse Charley Cotton and knocking out Australian middleweight champion Clive Stewart. Benton, a 2-1 underdog, won a tight one with cards of 5-5, 5-3-2 and 5-4-1, coming on strong late with combinations, bloodying Little‟s nose. To Little’s credit, he had Benton cut badly over the eye in the 10th and final round (UPI) Little would bounce back after his loss to Benton with a win over Charley Josephs.

Benton then travelled to Scotland, losing a decision to the toughly matched and talented hometown fighter John McCormack. Benton would retire after this bout and work in a factory, not seeing action for another year.

But times were tough, and Benton could get more money boxing as well as working his day job. He came back to the fight game, and came back with a vengeance, the year off seemingly revitalising him and seeing him enjoy a purple patch. He would go 9-0(7) over 3 years, including a brilliant win over future champion Joey Giardello. Giardello, a fellow Phili‟ fighter, also came up the hard way and was known for his gameness, but being white and fan friendly, had a lot of opportunities to overcome his inconsistency before finally reaching the pinnacle of his division. Here are highlights of a hard-fought victory over top contender Rory Calhoun.

Benton’s run had seen him rank 10th, whilst Giardello was ranked fourth (and was actually promoted to number two by the NBA a few hours before the bout). This did little to dissuade Benton, who promised a K.O going into the fight: “He won’t be able to avoid my hooks, jabs jars and jolts‟.

Benton Whips Giardello: 10th ranked George Benton, hammering away with short left chops and long looping left hooks, scored a unanimous decision over No.2-ranked middleweight contender Joe Gardello…In the 6th Benton backed Giardello into a corner and had him sagging on the ropes with a series of punches. At one point Giardello fell outside of the ring but it was not scored a knockdown — Associated Press

George Benton has emerged from oblivion after years of frustration with a victory over no.2-ranked Joey Giardello. Now he wants a shot at the title….Meanwhile Benton, despite earning $9,611-his largest purse ever-isn‟t quitting the job he‟s been working in manufacturing plant at Fairless Hills, Pa…. Benton, a masterful boxer, kept the pressure on his opponent with a left jab, left hooks and combinations. — Charleston Daily Mail

Benton, forcing the fight all the way, completely outclassed Giardello in the opening three rounds. He had Giardello bewildered with jabs and right and left crosses and opened a cut over the favorite’s right eye in the 3rd round. But Giardello wouldn’t quit. He took the offensive in the 4th through the 7th rounds, delivering a bruising body attack that forced Benton to miss with his potent jabs. The bout was headed for a photo finish when Benton exploded in the final two rounds — United Press International

Omnipresent and influential trainer, manager and promoter Lou Duva was on hand to make sure it was Giardello, and not Benton who got a shot at middleweight champion Dick Tiger (which he won) and to ensure Benton never got a crack at the title, against a man he had already “whipped‟ and had no intention of facing him again.

Yeah, I screwed George out of his shot. He didn’t even know about it till I told him many years later. — Lou Duva

An article in The L.A Times painted Benton (now ranked third by The Ring) as a brilliant operator and criticised Giardello’s avoidance of Benton after their first encounter.

Georgie Benton may be the best box-fighter in the world today. The cliché is to say pound-for-pound, but when Georgie and Sonny Liston sparred in a Philadelphia gym a few years ago…”Liston couldn’t hit him with a bullet” Georgie slipped so far out of Liston’s ponderous reach and blows that sometimes the punches and the target weren’t even in the same time zone. He whipped Joey Giardello in 1962, but when Benton’s handlers came looking for a shot, Joey demanded, “Who‟d he ever lick?‟ — L.A Times

In 1963, Benton faced off with the infamous puncher Rubin “Hurricane‟ Carter. Carter was coming off a cut stoppage loss, but had beaten Holly Mims, Gomeo Brennan and devastated fellow massive puncher Florentino Fernandez in the first round. Carter often gets underrated nowadays due to him being grossly misrepresented in the media (in depictions in both song, Bob Dylan‟s “The Hurricane‟, and on screen in the motion picture of the same name) but he was a rugged, strong puncher who was not entirely unskilled, as he demonstrated in his fight with Benton. After this ten rounder he would go on to starch all-time pound-for-pound great Emile Griffith inside a round. These displays of brutality were of the highest order, but would not happen to Georgie Benton.

Benton lost a split decision in what at the time was a minor upset. Dick Tiger, then Middleweight champion, was on hand to watch the contest. It was a bout that could have gone either way, with brilliant work done by both on the inside and both gaining the others respects with their punches. Benton displayed his dynamic footwork and positioning early on in the bout, fired off fluent combinations, and dug well on the inside when that failed to nullify Carter.

With the loss, Carter was in and Benton was out, and it would be “Hurricane‟ who got the shot at the new champion, Joey Giardello. Benton was once again dismissed as a threat to the top guys, who wanted nothing to do with him. His time at the top had never begun, but his time chasing the pot at the end of the rainbow was over.

Benton’s next two fights were wins, a 10 round decision over Allen Thomas, where Benton had his man figured out after two rounds and went on to boss the fight, hurting Thomas whenever he cared to, and hard-punching John Henry Smith, where he scored a second round knockout. Both fights were filmed and survived until today, and display Benton’s talents in punching and ring generalship.

He would then split two fights with Johnny Morris for the Pennsylvania State title. Morris was a “stylish‟ boxer who overcame the favourite by utilising a stiff jab and a set of limber legs‟. In their return, Benton overcame his younger foe and some miscalculated scorecards to take the decision, hurting Morris in numerous rounds to take the 12 round decision and the State championship.

Benton then picked up with, in hindsight, a very impressive 10 round decision win over Jimmy Ellis. He “landed the only heavy punches of the slow-moving fight in the ninth round, when he stunned Ellis with 3 lefts to the head‟. Whilst Ellis was finding his feet as a middleweight contender, he wouldn’t lose for 12 bouts, five years and one Joe Frazier after this, finding victories over Floyd Patterson (Floyd was robbed), Jerry Quarry, Leotis Martin and Oscar Bonavena (dropping the iron-chinned Bonavena, a feat Joe Frazier couldn’t pull off) to take half of the Heavyweight crown in Muhammad Ali’s absence.

But Benton was nearing the end of his 21 year career. Still never dropped, he suffered the first technical knockout loss of his career, against one of the greatest fighters of all time, the Cuban pound-for-pound great, Luis Manuel Rodriguez.

Referee Pete Tomasco halted the fight because Benton was bleeding badly from a deep cut over his left eye. The 151 lb. Rodriguez opened the cut in the fifth with his left jabs. Ringside observers said it appeared both fighters had boxed evenly through the first eight rounds.

He suffered another TKO loss, this one to all-time-great middleweight puncher Bennie Briscoe, who would be one of the top middleweight contenders of the following era. Briscoe “came on strong at the end to wear down his opponent‟, according to the Associated Press. On Doctors advice, the bout was stopped before the 10th round could begin. He had still never been off his feet.

Benton then went 8-1 against lesser opposition, but regardless of his chances to turn things round and crack the big time after 21 years in a hard business, he was shot in the back by someone who’d been smacked around by Benton’s brother earlier in the day for making advances on their sister. Benton valiantly head butted his attacker until he dropped his weapon.

This saved his life, but with a bullet lodged in his spine he couldn’t save his boxing career.

Benton was in and out of the hospital for two years. The discharge from his bowels infected his spine, and it was as if his body were being consumed in flames. He wore a body cast and went from 165 pounds to 105. — Sports Illustrated

However, his knowledge of The Sweet Science would set him in good stead even though his physical state was depleted. His services would come to be in demand in the 70s. He trained under Eddie Futch to hone his craft as a teacher. Benton was revered (and feared) as a fighter in his physical prime, but his mental facets hadn’t degraded despite two decades of tough competition, a testament to his defensive ability. He was about to expose the next generation of fighters to his massive boxing brain.

Joe Frazier would visit and ask Benton to help him develop his right hand. And in a strange twist of fate, Lou Duva, the man who had screwed Benton years before for a shot at the middleweight title, sought him out to train some of his greener fighters in the art of defence.

Early successes included coaching Leon Spinks to his upset victory over Muhammad Ali for the World Heavyweight championship, but with the party life the Olympic and pro‟ champ‟ Spinks was living he turned up unfocused for the rematch, and Benton, dismayed at his young charge for listening to the hangers-on he had accumulated rather than him, walked out mid-fight.

Benton would have his greatest successes as a teacher in the 80s, working with three brilliant Olympians: Evander Holyfield, Meldrick Taylor, and Pernell Whittaker, who seemed the perfect fighter to be moulded by the defensive master Benton.

He teaches them jabs and feints and pivots and parries, all those little tricks nobody bothers to learn anymore. Twist your head. Scatter your jabs. Step on his toes. Sometimes they listen, sometimes they don’t and break his heart. But, hey, baby, as he would say, heartbreak is part of boxing-the one guarantee-and if the kids stay with him long enough, he will teach them something about that, too, something about surviving in a business that turns people into predators, that traffics in false friends, that encourages poor men to kill you with gloves while rich men kill you with paper and pencils — Sports Illustrated

He got Holyfield, who had hit a brick wall in his fight with the veteran great Larry Holmes to make an adjustment that saw him ease off the pedal, and gave arguably his most renowned sound bite when asked why Holyfield stopped going all-out on the offensive in that fight: “Like my trainer used to say: ‘Win this one. Look good in the next one,’ Benton said.

In 1989 and 1990, Benton was named “Trainer of the Year” by the Boxing Writers Association of America and in 2001 he was inducted into the International Boxing Hall of Fame. He died of pneumonia in 2011.


(by Kyle McLachlan)

"At about seven o'clock in the evening on Monday, December 14, his wife met him on the stairs to their flat on West Forty-second Street. The house they lived in still stands, a house of dingy brick with ten walk-up apartments, two on each of its five floors. He told Mrs. Siki he was going "out with the boys" and would be back in time to help her pack for a trip they were making next day to Washington, where Siki was to appear in a theater. Shortly after midnight on the morning of the fifteenth, Patrolman John J. Meehan, of the West Thirtieth Street station, walking his beat along Ninth Avenue, had a brief encounter with Siki, whom he knew by sight. Siki, wobbling a little as he turned under the "L" tracks from Forty-first Street, called to Meehan that he was on his way home. The patrolman told him to keep going that way. At 4:15 A.M., Meehan walked past the intersection of Forty-first Street and Ninth Avenue again and saw a body lying about a hundred feet east of the corner in the gutter in front of 350 West Forty-first. Approaching it, he recognized Siki. The body was taken to Meehan's station house where a doctor pronounced the fighter recently dead from internal hemorrhage caused by two bullet wounds. Detectives examined the deserted block of Forty-first between Eighth and Ninth avenues. In front of No. 346, some forty feet east of where Siki had died, they found a pool of blood on the sidewalk. It seemed to them that Siki might have been trying to crawl home after he was shot. They could not tell just where the shooting had taken place. The gun, a vest-pocket .32-caliber pistol, was lying in front of No. 333, on the other side of the street. Only two bullets had been fired from it. An autopsy showed that these had entered Siki from behind, one penetrating his left lung and the other his kidneys. The autopsy showed something else which surprised Siki's neighbors a good deal when they heard of it: he had suffered from an anemic condition.

At his wife's request; Siki was given a Christian funeral service at the Harlem funeral parlors of Effie A. Miller. The Reverend Adam Clayton Powell delivered a eulogy. However, seven Mohammedan pallbearers in turbans carried his body to the hearse, chanting prayers as they did so, while a crowd of three thousand people looked on. The body was clothed in evening dress, as Siki would undoubtedly have wished. His estate, estimated at six hundred dollars, was awarded to his wife in Surrogate's Court after Levy made out an affidavit in her favor. The words of the affidavit while perhaps not strictly accurate in point of fact told the broad truth about Siki's place in the world better, I think, than the editorial that spoke of Achilles, Siegfried, and "natural man." To the best of his knowledge, Levy said, Siki left surviving "no child or children, no father, mother, brother, or sister, or child or children of a deceased brother or sister." He lived as a man without kin or country, roots or guides, and that, it seems to me, is a hard way to do it.

Siki's murder was never solved. There was an abundance of suspects, but none of them suited the police at all until one day in March 1926 a young man of eighteen who lived a block or two from Siki's house was arrested and booked on a homicide charge in connection with the killing. Detectives disguised as truck drivers had heard him making incriminating remarks, they said, over a telephone in a bootleggers' hangout at Tenth Avenue and Fortieth Street. On being arrested, he allegedly signed two statements which gave two different accounts of the crime. One said that Siki had staggered into a coffee pot at Eighth Avenue and Fortieth Street in the early morning of December 15 and had thrown a chair at the eight men, including the deponent, who were gathered there. Deponent ran out of the place in alarm and heard shots fired in the restaurant behind him. The other statement, which fitted the physical facts of the killing a little better, said that a short while after the throwing of the chair, he, the young man under arrest, lured Siki to Eighth Avenue and Forty-first Street on the promise of buying him a drink. At the corner they were joined by two other men, one of whom, as the party walked west on Forty-first, shot Siki in the back. The young man was held in the Tombs for eight months, until the fall of 1926, and then was released by the court without trial, presumably because the state was not satisfied with its case. I might add that in May 1927 this same young man got five to ten years for second-degree robbery, committed in April in the vicinity of Ninth Avenue and Forty-second Street against a tourist from another state. That was clearly the wrong part of town for a tourist to go to."

(by John Lardner)

.........

Battling Siki (September 16, 1897 – December 15, 1925), aka Louis Mbarick Fall, was an American-Senegalese light heavyweight boxer born in Senegal who fought from 1912–1925, and briefly reigned as the lineal light heavyweight champion after knocking out Georges Carpentier.

McFarland, Cleverest Boxer of All Time, Proved Champions Aren't Always Best
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Edgren Says Chicagoan at Official 135 Today Would Be Kingpin.
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Packey, Success in Ring, Showed Same Sagacity in Business World.
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By ROBERT EDGREN. (1934)

Packy McFarland, now a State Athletic Commissioner in Illinois, was the cleverest fighter I ever saw in the ring, bar none, at any weight. Like a lot of others, Packey started his career with a long string of knockouts. He knocked out 14 of his first 15 opponents. In his first four years he had 42 fights, and won 33 with knockouts. But he developed amazing speed and skill, and after that knocked his men out only when he had to. He had a lot more fun making them look foolish in the ring.

I first heard of McFarland when a New York friend of mine, Mart Waterman, who missed very few good fights while taking business trips around the country, dropped me a line from Chicago.

"I've just seen the greatest lightweight I ever looked at," he wrote. "His name is Packey McFarland."

On returning to New York he told me the story. Mart went to see Battling Nelson, lightweight champion, who was showing in Chicago, in a theater near the stockyards district. Among the boys who wanted to put the gloves on with the champ was a tall, lean, curly-haired youngster, who volunteered for a couple of rounds. Bat asked Mart to come up back of the scenes and hold the watch on his bouts. Nelson was a great endurance fighter, rugged, tough, furiously aggressive, not much of a boxer. He sailed into Packey intent of scoring a quick knockout. But Packey wasn't waiting to be socked. He went into a whirling attack himself, all around Nelson, dodging the champ's flying gloves with ease, picking at Nelson, jabbing his head back, stopping his rushes with swift counters.

Nelson was surprised, annoyed and finally enraged. He couldn't lay a glove on the youngster, and he was getting his head nearly punched off. He was cut, jarred, bruised, humiliated and he couldn't do a thing. A fine exhibition for a champion. The crowd was up on the seats, yelling, and Waterman was so interested in the fight he forgot he was holding the watch. Nelson finally grabbed Packey, wrestled around near the timekeeper and snorted: "Call time, you big bum! Whadda ya think this is, a Marathon?" Mart glanced at his watch. The round had gone five minutes. He yelled "time."

During the rest Bat Nelson tried to catch Mart's eye, but Mart wouldn't look at him. The second round started. It was worse than the first, for Nelson was getting winded. In fairness to Bat, he had been on a theatrical tour and was in no condition for a fast fight. Packey clipped and banged him all over the ring. Nelson was bleeding and his eyes were puffing up and he was panting as he never panted in a fight. He snarled at the timekeeper and made various threats, but Waterman didn't call time. He was enjoying the fight too much to stop it, and it was too good a joke on Bat. Finally Nelson called "time" himself and made a dive for the timekeeper. But Mart discreetly slipped the watch into his pocket and hopped off the stage into the crowd. He gave Bat plenty of time to cool off before going to the dressing room to return the watch. Bat was just having a talk with his manager, Billy Nolan.

"Billy," said Bat, "you get hold of that kid McFarland right away and sign him up to an ironclad contract. We'll manage him together. I want him in the same stable where I won't have to fight him." Nolan failed to sign McFarland. Packey was fully as smart as Nelson. He was sure he could beat Nelson and he wasn't going to sign away his chance. But he never could get Bat into a match. That was one of the reasons why the cleverest of all lightweights in that or any other day never became champion.

In another year or so Packey was finding it hard to make 133 pounds. He could do 135, but Nelson, naturally a 130-pound lightweight, demanded ringside weight in full fighting costume--and that was that.

Today, at the official 135, Packey would be kingpin of them all. The cleverest exhibition I ever saw any boxer give was by McFarland in the Jack Britton bout in New York in 1913. Packey had boxed a no-decision eight-round bout with Britton in Indiana, and one paper had given Britton the "Newspaper decision." Britton went to New York and Dan Morgan became his manager. Morgan got a large number of copies of the paper mentioned and distributed them through New York sport departments, meanwhile taking a blue streak--Dan is one of the most entertaining talkers I ever listened to--about Britton's "victory over McFarland." Of course, we had all seen Packey fight and considered him a marvel.

The beauty of it was that under Morgan's coaching Britton was becoming the sensation of the New York rings, winning fight after fight and showing quite amazing speed and skill and a wicked punch that furnished a lot of fighters with plenty of class.

So New York sent for McFarland, and Packey came.

Just before the fight Packey said to me: "I'm not going to try to knock Britton out. I'm just going to show him up and get even with that manager of his for saying he beat me in that eight-round fight."

The fight started like a whirlwind, Britton attacking swiftly and confidently. And Packey, grinning, never let go a hard punch, but just circled around Jack with a rapid fire of short, light taps that tipped him off balance and kept his head bobbing back. As it went on round after round Britton, who was as game a fighter as ever lived, went at Packey in plunge after plunge, throwing everything he had into a wild flurry of punches, and never landing anything! I remember Jack desperately tearing after Packey, and Packey, stopping and standing still, ducking or blocking Jack's blows without once moving his feet, meanwhile shutting off Britton's vision by holding one open glove across his eyes and working on him with the other hand.

Used to seeing Britton outboxing other fighters almost as easily, we at the ringside could hardly believe it. And I think we were all sorry for poor Jack when, in sheer exasperation over his inability to land a punch on the teasing McFarland or to make headway against Packey's constant tap-drumming of light hits, Jack went into a crying rage. Like a small boy in a street fight, he tore after Packey with wild swings, tears running in streams down his cheeks. I think Packey was a bit sorry for Jack after the fight. He had had his revenge, and more. Anyway they made peace and became good friends. And Britton proved his real class by twice winning the welterweight world's championship and holding the title for five busy years without ever dodging a challenger.

Packey earned a fortune in the ring and retired. Two years after that they persuaded him to come back and fight Mike Gibbons, who was one of the cleverest and most dangerous of all the good middleweights of that time and claimant of the middleweight championship. Always smart, Packey fixed the weight a notch low for Gibbons. Mike burned himself out getting down to it, and Packey got a majority of the "newspaper decisions." This was in the no-decision period of New York boxing, back in 1915. Packey retired for good and went into business, and just to show how smart he was, aside from boxing, he was one of the few fighters who ever tolled up a million dollars outside the roped arena.

“I don’t have to think twice about the man who gave me my hardest fight. As long as I live I will never forget the licking I received at the hands of Ever Hammer. He made me wish I had never laced a glove on my hands.” -Benny Leonard, Lightweight Champion

“I can think of a lot of so-called world beaters that I would sooner take on than this Hammer guy.” –Lew Tendler, Lightweight Contender

Ever Hammer, the durable Swede from Chicago, stormed out of the Windy City in the early 1910s and quickly proved every bit as tough as his name implied. He was born on October 30, 1894 on Chicago’s North Side to Swedish immigrants. As a teenager he worked as a driver and a delivery boy for a local grocer when he decided on boxing as a career. At that time the hometown competition was fierce, with top ringmen like Packey McFarland, Battling Nelson, Johnny Coulon and Harry Forbes regularly plying their trade in Chicago’s rings and gyms. Undaunted, Ever turned pro in 1913 and was soon dialed in to the local pugilistic scene, making an immediate impact by scoring kayos in half of his first eighteen bouts. His rugged, give-and-take approach to fighting quickly endeared him to fans and he became a popular attraction throughout the Midwest.

Despite his stellar record and increasing popularity, Hammer seemed unable to secure bouts with the top lightweight contenders and voiced his frustration to Chicago Cubs’ shortstop Joe Tinker, an acquaintance made famous by Franklin Pierce Adams’ poem “Tinker to Evers to Chance” and would later be enshrined in baseball’s Hall of Fame. Tinker, a fervent boxing fan, advised the young fighter to get himself a good, “wide awake” manager, which Ever had not had up to that point. Taking the tip, Hammer sought out Howard Carr (aka Kid Howard), a former prizefighter who was running a nearby gym and managing fighters. Howard gave Ever a tryout and was impressed enough to take him on.

Under Carr’s guidance Hammer was able to make great strides in his career in a short period of time. He made his first impression on the world lightweight ranks on March 2, 1916 in Kenosha, Wisconsin when he pounded out a 10-round newspaper win over top contender Joe Welling. It was an important victory, one that brought him his first national notices in the press. But his performance against a faded but still dangerous Ad Wolgast three weeks later in Racine is what made him a star. With heavyweight king Jess Willard and Battling Nelson at ringside, Hammer tore into the former lightweight champion, winning the newspaper decision in a bloody, hard fought 10-round battle. The Racine Journal-News was suitably impressed, calling it “the meeting of the two greatest action-lads of the class.” Wolgast himself was taken by this young blonde tiger who had a style that so mirrored his own in bygone days; so much so that he undertook to train Hammer for his next fight, which was to be in Milwaukee on April 24 against the reigning lightweight champion, Freddie Welsh.

Wolgast, known as the “Michigan Wildcat”, had fought Welsh on numerous occasions and knew his style well. In fact “The Welsh Wizard” had beaten the old champion several times, so Ad received no small measure of satisfaction in watching his youthful protégé subject Freddie to an unmerciful 10-round beating that left him with a bloody mouth, a torn ear and a closed eye at the final bell. Hammer was unmarked as he smiled at the roaring crowd. The fight was declared a No-Decision but the newspapers unanimously agreed that young Ever had dominated the Welshman and that if the title had been on the line there would be a new champion. An attempt by the Welsh camp to take the luster off the Chicagoan’s victory by blaming the champ’s poor performance on an injured hand was dismissed contemptuously by many sportswriters. Welsh himself admitted that Hammer had given him the hardest fight of his career; high praise coming from a man who had battled the likes of Benny Leonard, Johnny Dundee, Packey McFarland, Jim Driscoll, Abe Attell and Willie Ritchie.

Hammer next made a stop in East Chicago, Indiana to face off against yet another great fighter- the fabled “Scotch-Wop” Johnny Dundee. Slick, fast and talented, Dundee had fought them all from Benny Leonard and Freddie Welsh to Willie Ritchie and Johnnie Kilbane. Like Welsh he had a huge advantage in experience over his younger foe. But Johnny quickly realized that he had his hands full on this night. It took all the skill he could muster and every trick in his vast repertoire for Dundee to quell the tearaway rushes of the mad Swede and secure a newspaper decision. Some reporters thought that a draw would have been the correct verdict. All agreed that it was a hard fought battle which saw Hammer’s stock rise even higher in the lightweight ranks. A hotly contested rematch in Kansas City, Mo. two months later was won by Dundee on points in fifteen rounds, but it was so close and action packed that neither fighter lost face with the press or public.

Ever Hammer and Benny Leonard Prefight Photo
Ever Hammer and Benny Leonard Prefight Photo
All the commotion surrounding this newcomer didn’t go unnoticed by Benny Leonard, who had been blazing his own brilliant trail through the lightweight ranks. The two contenders were soon matched in an eagerly anticipated bout which saw a sellout crowd pack the Convention Hall in Kansas City on Oct. 18, 1916 to watch Benny play matador to Hammer’s bull. Ever tore out of his corner at the sound of the first bell and proceeded to give Leonard a calculated pounding. Benny later recalled the experience:

“He never gave me a chance to lead and not even time to think. He was right on top of me after every clinch, pasting away with both hands all the time. He varied his attack and I was forced to take about as fine a tanning in three minutes of one-sided battling as ever I received before and since I became champion. Two cruel rights to the mouth opened a cut from which blood flowed freely. I was a sight when I returned to the corner. He cut me to pieces. Between rounds Gibson and the boys were kept busy cleaning away the blood and refreshing me for the next melee. It was awful.”

Hammer continued his relentless attack round after round, pounding the body and ripping uppercuts to the head of his bewildered opponent, all the while taunting him with comments like “What kind of guys are you New Yorkers? Come on and fight!” By the mid-rounds Benny’s nose was bleeding along with his mouth. Even worse, his opponent seemed oblivious to his best shots and continued to bore in, whaling away with both hands. Realizing that he’d better do something and fast, Leonard began to use feints, jabs and speedy footwork in order to check the rushes of the Swede. The tide slowly began to turn and near the bell ending the ninth round Benny nailed Ever coming in with a perfect punch right under the heart. The blow was the turning point of the battle and wasn’t unnoticed by Leonard, who watched the Chicagoan stagger to his corner and slump on his stool.

At the start of round 11, Hammer rushed at Leonard and straight into a right uppercut that detonated off his chin. Benny stepped back expecting Ever to fall forward as so many others had done before. Instead, his blow was answered immediately with a vicious left hook leaving the New Yorker dazed and hurt. Smelling blood Ever swung madly at his retreating opponent, who danced and jabbed until his head could clear. At the break of a clinch in round 12, Benny nailed Hammer again under the heart followed by a perfect one two, dropping him. Howard Carr had seen enough and stopped the bout, the referee awarding Leonard with a TKO. After the contest Billy Gibson, Leonard’s manager, said that “Hammer hurt Leonard more in that one bout than 100 other opponents had done.”

The loss to Leonard began a low period for Hammer. In the space of just over six months he had fought four future hall of famers- Wolgast, Welsh, Dundee (twice) and Leonard- and a few top contenders to boot, but such a hectic schedule coupled with his reckless fighting style were bound to take a toll. His career hit a slump over the next four years- though he was never stopped- and he won only seven of 24 fights. As bad as it was Ever, who had gotten married to his childhood sweetheart shortly after the second Dundee bout, had to keep fighting to put food on the table. He took fights whenever and wherever he could as returning to the paltry paydays of his delivery boy years was simply no longer an option. He was a professional prizefighter now and fighting is what he would do to provide for his family.

When the 1920s dawned Ever headed west and caught a second wind. He beat top contender Phil Salvadore and battled tough Willie Robinson to a draw right in their own backyards. But Hammer’s most notable bout was when he faced a streaking local hotshot named Dave Shade in Stockton, California. Shade would later be considered one of the greatest fighters to never win a world title, becoming a top welterweight and middleweight contender and battling on even terms with welterweight champion Jack Britton and light-heavyweight champion Maxie Rosenbloom twice each and double-crown champ Mickey Walker three times. But on this night Hammer nullified Shade’s speed advantage with crowding and fierce infighting. Being the local favorite, Shade was given a draw by the judges, but the Stockton Daily Evening Record decried the hometown verdict, scoring it as a clear win for the Chicago battler.

As for Hammer, he returned to the Midwest refreshed and with a vengeance, reeling off ten straight victories. This included newspaper wins over top contenders Richie Mitchell and Charley White as well as gaining revenge on several of the pugs who had beaten him during his earlier slump. It seemed as if Ever Hammer was back in business.

It all came crashing down when he decided to again challenge the great Benny Leonard, now lightweight champion of the world. On August 8, 1922 in Michigan City, Indiana Leonard won a clear cut newspaper decision in ten rounds over his game foe, but it was clear to Benny and everyone present that this was not the same Ever Hammer who given him such a tough go six years earlier. This was a faded pug that years of tough give and take fighting had finally caught up with. Ever further hastened his exit from the scene the following month in Philadelphia when he faced the second greatest lightweight of the era, the southpaw Lew Tendler. Hammer sparred regularly with the slick former welterweight and middleweight titlist Jimmy Clabby in preparation for the bout, but it proved to be to no avail after the first bell rang on September 11. Tendler, who weeks earlier had given Benny Leonard all he could handle, was in his prime and beat Ever soundly in winning an eight round newspaper decision.

The last nail in the coffin came shortly afterward in a clear case of history repeating itself. Hammer went to Omaha, Nebraska where he was thrown in against Ace Hudkins, a youthful tiger who had a style and attitude eerily similar to his own in younger days. A decade earlier Ever held a similar position when he was matched against Ad Wolgast, except now it was he who was the aging veteran being served as cannon fodder for the up and coming slugger. The “Nebraska Wildcat” tore away at Hammer from the start and it took all of the old Swede’s savvy to survive. Apparently the referee didn’t agree with his tactics and Hammer was disqualified in round seven for “stalling”.

Hammer’s career was essentially bookended by two wildcats- his star had risen in beating Wolgast, the “Michigan Wildcat”, and had now descended in losing to Hudkins, the “Nebraska Wildcat”.

Not content to end his career on a losing note, Ever took a year off and then came back to reel off four more victories before retiring from the ring in 1930. He gathered up his family, which now included a young daughter, Oma, and returned to California, the site of his career resurrection as a bona fide contender in the 20s. He was employed at Knotts Berry Farm in Buena Park, where the barn of former heavyweight champion Jim Jeffries had been relocated and turned into a makeshift boxing museum. Ever worked at the museum, where his job was to greet and answer visitor’s questions. In sharp contrast to fellow give and take contemporaries Battling Nelson and Ad Wolgast, both of whom suffered greatly from pugilistic dementia in later years, Hammer suffered no ill effects, his mind remaining sharp and his memories lucid. He spent his remaining years living in Anaheim, where he died on September 13, 1969.

(by Douglas Cavanaugh)




to read more of Douglas Cavanaugh and learn more about his upcoming book...visit...
https://www.facebook.com/pittsburghboxing

He was hard to forget: Granite chin, massive hands, broad shoulders, that combined, said it all, ‘don’t mess with me.’ Even then stories were doing the rounds about the antics he had got up to. Some of them were true.

He also played the double for Victor Mc Laglen in the movie, The Quiet Man, in 1951, after hustling himself into the part by claiming cousinship of John Ford. Between filming, he went on a wild session one evening and night with John Wayne. Later, as the drink loosened the tongue and stiffened the courage, John Wayne challenged Thorton to a fight, telling him that only one would survive it. Thorton did not accept the challenge because he knew it would not be Wayne. It was also no coincidence that the character that Wayne played in the movie was called Sean Thorton.

Then there was the talk that he threw a fight when he was a professional boxer, betting on himself to lose, and having to skip his beloved and native Galway for a few years until things quietened a bit.

When there is talk of champions, Joe Frazier, World Heavyweight Champion in 1971, came to Connemara and met Thorton. “You may be heavyweight champion of the world Joe,” Thorton told him, “but I am the heavyweight champion around here.”

(by Barry Clifford)

.............................................


Mairtin Thornton (died 1984) was an Irish heavyweight boxer in the 1940s. He was nicknamed the "Connemara Crusher".

Thornton was a native of Spiddal, Connemara, County Galway.

Thornton was the Irish Heavyweight Boxing champion in 1943. He fought Bruce Woodcock for the British Commonwealth Heavyweight title in 1945.

He boxed from 10 January 1938 until 23 April 1949. He won 14 bouts and lost 8.

When he retired from boxing he ran a pub in Spiddal, County Galway. He died in 1984.





.....................................



An irish tv report, including an interview with Thornton, from 1974, starts at around 3.50 in this video...

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=po3HhrnKVk0

1954

A shock-haired little Zulu, with the fighting heart of his warrior ancestors, has become the bright light in Britain's gloomy boxing scene.

His name Is Jake Tuli and he ranks right behind champion Yoshio Shirai among the world's flyweight fighters.

It is on him the British fight fans are pinning their hopes for a world title.

British, you say? A Zulu? 'Sure he comes from Johannesburg,' says the Cockney fight fan. 'But that's in the British Commonwealth, ain't it? And Tuli is British Empire flyweight champ, ain't 'e So 'e's British, just as much as the lad from Manchester, Sheffield or Glasgow. And no one can say he ain't' - What's more, say Britain's title-hungry fans, Tuli boxes out of Britain, so he's part of the British boxing picture, no matter what his birthplace.

Tuli (22) goes into the ring as fit and strong— at his weight— as world heavyweight champion Rocky Marclano. He's the old Henry Armstrong whirlwind type, soaks up punishment like a sponge and dishes it out with two fisted efficiency.

Tuli's climb into the world class makes fighting men compare him with the great Battling Siki - the Senegalese negro who knocked out the idol of France, Georges Carpentier, In the sixth round in 1922 to win the light-heavyweight championship of the world.

But little Tuli, with his mop of shock black hair, is a very different man to the Battling Siki who was stabbed to death in a New Tork street brawl, once he is out of the ring. Tuli Is a modest, soft-spoken man with deeply religious ways. He lives with a priest in a London clergy house and helps to serve Mass three times a week.

'It Is a pleasure to handle such a fine fighter and a good living boy,' manager Jim Wicks said. 'He is a manager's dream."

Tuli came to Britain for the first time in September, 1952. That's when he took the British Empire flyweight championship from England's Teddy Gardner.

'That win gave Tuli four titles— and after only 10 professional bouts.' Wicks said. 'He held the flyweight title European flyweight and Bantamwelght title of South Africa. The Empire title makes it four - He still holds them!"

Tuli has lost only one fight out of 24 contests. That was when he climbed out of his class to meet European bantamweight champion Robert Cohen last December. Tuli lost on points over 10 rounds and boxing writers named it the "Fight of the Year".


(Townsville Daily Bulletin - April 1954)

doug.ie wrote:He was hard to forget: Granite chin, massive hands, broad shoulders, that combined, said it all, ‘don’t mess with me.’ Even then stories were doing the rounds about the antics he had got up to. Some of them were true.

He also played the double for Victor Mc Laglen in the movie, The Quiet Man, in 1951, after hustling himself into the part by claiming cousinship of John Ford...

Victor McGlaglen was himself a pro boxer, and a wrestler too:

http://boxrec.com/list_bouts.php?human_ ... &cat=boxer



Victor McGlaglen in "The Informer", 1935, one of the greatest movies ever made

Sept 1989

"Right here and now, I want it understood that when I win the championship from Jack Dempsey, I am going to draw the colour line." - Gene Tunney

...

doug.ie wrote:McFarland, Cleverest Boxer of All Time, Proved Champions Aren't Always Best
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Edgren Says Chicagoan at Official 135 Today Would Be Kingpin.
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Packey, Success in Ring, Showed Same Sagacity in Business World.
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By ROBERT EDGREN. (1934)

Packy McFarland, now a State Athletic Commissioner in Illinois, was the cleverest fighter I ever saw in the ring, bar none, at any weight. Like a lot of others, Packey started his career with a long string of knockouts. He knocked out 14 of his first 15 opponents. In his first four years he had 42 fights, and won 33 with knockouts. But he developed amazing speed and skill, and after that knocked his men out only when he had to. He had a lot more fun making them look foolish in the ring.

I first heard of McFarland when a New York friend of mine, Mart Waterman, who missed very few good fights while taking business trips around the country, dropped me a line from Chicago.

"I've just seen the greatest lightweight I ever looked at," he wrote. "His name is Packey McFarland."

On returning to New York he told me the story. Mart went to see Battling Nelson, lightweight champion, who was showing in Chicago, in a theater near the stockyards district. Among the boys who wanted to put the gloves on with the champ was a tall, lean, curly-haired youngster, who volunteered for a couple of rounds. Bat asked Mart to come up back of the scenes and hold the watch on his bouts. Nelson was a great endurance fighter, rugged, tough, furiously aggressive, not much of a boxer. He sailed into Packey intent of scoring a quick knockout. But Packey wasn't waiting to be socked. He went into a whirling attack himself, all around Nelson, dodging the champ's flying gloves with ease, picking at Nelson, jabbing his head back, stopping his rushes with swift counters.

Nelson was surprised, annoyed and finally enraged. He couldn't lay a glove on the youngster, and he was getting his head nearly punched off. He was cut, jarred, bruised, humiliated and he couldn't do a thing. A fine exhibition for a champion. The crowd was up on the seats, yelling, and Waterman was so interested in the fight he forgot he was holding the watch. Nelson finally grabbed Packey, wrestled around near the timekeeper and snorted: "Call time, you big bum! Whadda ya think this is, a Marathon?" Mart glanced at his watch. The round had gone five minutes. He yelled "time."

During the rest Bat Nelson tried to catch Mart's eye, but Mart wouldn't look at him. The second round started. It was worse than the first, for Nelson was getting winded. In fairness to Bat, he had been on a theatrical tour and was in no condition for a fast fight. Packey clipped and banged him all over the ring. Nelson was bleeding and his eyes were puffing up and he was panting as he never panted in a fight. He snarled at the timekeeper and made various threats, but Waterman didn't call time. He was enjoying the fight too much to stop it, and it was too good a joke on Bat. Finally Nelson called "time" himself and made a dive for the timekeeper. But Mart discreetly slipped the watch into his pocket and hopped off the stage into the crowd. He gave Bat plenty of time to cool off before going to the dressing room to return the watch. Bat was just having a talk with his manager, Billy Nolan.

"Billy," said Bat, "you get hold of that kid McFarland right away and sign him up to an ironclad contract. We'll manage him together. I want him in the same stable where I won't have to fight him." Nolan failed to sign McFarland. Packey was fully as smart as Nelson. He was sure he could beat Nelson and he wasn't going to sign away his chance. But he never could get Bat into a match. That was one of the reasons why the cleverest of all lightweights in that or any other day never became champion.

In another year or so Packey was finding it hard to make 133 pounds. He could do 135, but Nelson, naturally a 130-pound lightweight, demanded ringside weight in full fighting costume--and that was that.

Today, at the official 135, Packey would be kingpin of them all. The cleverest exhibition I ever saw any boxer give was by McFarland in the Jack Britton bout in New York in 1913. Packey had boxed a no-decision eight-round bout with Britton in Indiana, and one paper had given Britton the "Newspaper decision." Britton went to New York and Dan Morgan became his manager. Morgan got a large number of copies of the paper mentioned and distributed them through New York sport departments, meanwhile taking a blue streak--Dan is one of the most entertaining talkers I ever listened to--about Britton's "victory over McFarland." Of course, we had all seen Packey fight and considered him a marvel.

The beauty of it was that under Morgan's coaching Britton was becoming the sensation of the New York rings, winning fight after fight and showing quite amazing speed and skill and a wicked punch that furnished a lot of fighters with plenty of class.

So New York sent for McFarland, and Packey came.

Just before the fight Packey said to me: "I'm not going to try to knock Britton out. I'm just going to show him up and get even with that manager of his for saying he beat me in that eight-round fight."

The fight started like a whirlwind, Britton attacking swiftly and confidently. And Packey, grinning, never let go a hard punch, but just circled around Jack with a rapid fire of short, light taps that tipped him off balance and kept his head bobbing back. As it went on round after round Britton, who was as game a fighter as ever lived, went at Packey in plunge after plunge, throwing everything he had into a wild flurry of punches, and never landing anything! I remember Jack desperately tearing after Packey, and Packey, stopping and standing still, ducking or blocking Jack's blows without once moving his feet, meanwhile shutting off Britton's vision by holding one open glove across his eyes and working on him with the other hand.

Used to seeing Britton outboxing other fighters almost as easily, we at the ringside could hardly believe it. And I think we were all sorry for poor Jack when, in sheer exasperation over his inability to land a punch on the teasing McFarland or to make headway against Packey's constant tap-drumming of light hits, Jack went into a crying rage. Like a small boy in a street fight, he tore after Packey with wild swings, tears running in streams down his cheeks. I think Packey was a bit sorry for Jack after the fight. He had had his revenge, and more. Anyway they made peace and became good friends. And Britton proved his real class by twice winning the welterweight world's championship and holding the title for five busy years without ever dodging a challenger.

Packey earned a fortune in the ring and retired. Two years after that they persuaded him to come back and fight Mike Gibbons, who was one of the cleverest and most dangerous of all the good middleweights of that time and claimant of the middleweight championship. Always smart, Packey fixed the weight a notch low for Gibbons. Mike burned himself out getting down to it, and Packey got a majority of the "newspaper decisions." This was in the no-decision period of New York boxing, back in 1915. Packey retired for good and went into business, and just to show how smart he was, aside from boxing, he was one of the few fighters who ever tolled up a million dollars outside the roped arena.

that is the most informative piece I've ever read on Packy, I've only seen his name mentioned in boxing reference books but very little information or explanation of his capabilities. This thread is one of the very best on BoxRec - please keep up the good work.

palooka wrote: that is the most informative piece I've ever read on Packy, I've only seen his name mentioned in boxing reference books but very little information or explanation of his capabilities. This thread is one of the very best on BoxRec - please keep up the good work.

July 17, 1945 - Bruce Woodcock vs Jack London: The British & Empire Heavyweight Championship - White Hart Lane (Tottenham FC), Tottenham, London.

When the gong sounded for round one, Bruce began the fight cautiously enough, avoiding close encounters with the much heavier London by dancing away from him, following the game plan Tom Hurst had worked out with him. But London seemed far from confident, crouched and lumbering with ponderous swings which Bruce evaded easily. As the film commentator noted, Bruce was ‘more upright, gloves well up, chin well tucked in’, and snapping straight lefts in reply that jabbed London’s face and sent his head back. According to the reporter from the News Chronicle, it was then that Bruce winked over London’s shoulder across at Nel Tarleton in his corner. Tarleton said afterwards: ‘It meant Bruce knew that the fight was his from that moment. I gave him that one-two punch. He possesses it naturally. I saw its possibilities when he came to me one day in my gym and I showed him how to develop it.’ Bruce tried it a few times in the opener, but the killer one-two was another five rounds away.

In the second, Bruce’s lefts kept jabbing with insistent regularity. He evaded a dangerous hook from London and scored a right cross in retaliation, backed up by another straight left. London tried to get Bruce into clinches which the referee had to break up. The same patterns recurred in the next two rounds, and the crowd must have begun to think they were in for a long haul.

But things hotted up in the fifth, which was the closest Bruce came to trouble. London rushed from his corner into the fray, seemingly determined to nail his opponent. London kept harrying him with attacks to the body and caught him with a big left punch to the side of the face, leaving a cut to the nose, followed by a left to the mouth, swelling his lip. London sensed his chance and followed through by driving Bruce into the ropes, and was still attacking to the body as the bell went. It took some of the wind from Bruce’s sails, slowing him up such that he looked tired going back to his corner, and even more so sat on his stool while his team worked on him. But we can see Tom Hurst talking fervently as he helps Bruce to a much needed swig of water, and whatever he said, it worked.

The climax came out of the blue two minutes into the sixth round. Bruce took the fight straight back at London, catching him with two heavy right hooks. And then he caught London with two short rights that sent him down on his back over the bottom rope, out of the ring, and although he got back up immediately, he was obviously hurt and dazed. Bruce knew it was his moment, and he took it: he hit London hard, a left and right, two lefts to the face, and then twice, with lightening right hooks on the chin, sending him crashing to the canvas. The crowd were already on their feet; the noise was unbelievable. London struggled to get up, even as far as his hands and knees, but the count beat him - he would say later that he couldn’t hear it for the roaring of the crowd.

(by Bruce Woodcock Jnr)

Palooka, In the book, 'UNCROWNED CHAMPIONS" by JJ Johnston and Don Cogswell, there is a chapter on the career of Packey McFarland "Pride of the Stockyards."

thank you very much, I'll try and hunt a copy down.

1920

1927

"Wiggins was under the shower in the dressing room for a few seconds after the workout, when he received news of this awful indictment. He went through the roof, and then he went through the door, clad only in a dressing gown."

In one corner sat 'Peerless' Jim Driscoll.

Driscoll was known as ‘Gentleman Jim’, but his quiet and unassuming manner belied his skill and strength as a boxer. Despite his short and slim figure, he had boxed in fairs in his youth, and it was there that he learned the trade and honed his skills.

The fight was to be Driscoll's challenge for the British lightweight. Driscoll had been British featherweight champion since 1906 and had challenged for the world title in 1910 but failed to secure the 'knock-out' and thus did not win the crown.



In the other corner sat Freddie Welsh (aka the Welsh Wizard), who was the Welsh, British and European lightweight champion.

Born Frederick Thomas, he had made his name in the United States. He had boxed in fairs for money and had developed a rugged and unruly style.

At only 5 feet 7 inches tall and weighing only 9 1/2 stone, Welsh would crouch and duck, clinching and punching the opponents' kidneys and head, tactics considered 'ungentlemanly' in his native country.

His fight to claim the European title in 1909 had drawn a crowd of 15,000 in Mountain Ash, the largest crowd to watch a boxing match in Wales up to that time.



It was not long before the bout degenerated into a street fight as Welsh’s tactics prevented Driscoll from using his notorious left arm and showing his style.

In the tenth round of a scheduled twenty, Driscoll finally lost his cool and butted Welsh under the chin across the ring forcing the referee to disqualify him.

Boxing fans rioted in Cardiff for days. There was never to be a rematch.


............................


While Welsh was from Pontypridd and Driscoll hailed from just 14 miles away in Cardiff, the pair were from very different backgrounds, had taken vastly different career paths, and represented boxing styles that were split by 3,000 miles of Atlantic ocean.

Welsh, whose real name was Frederick Hall Thomas, came from a relatively wealthy background as an auctioneer's son whose grandfather had been a renowned mountain fighter .

At the age of 16 he travelled to North America seeking work and adventure, the first of many jaunts across the Atlantic.

As he chased a shot at the world lightweight title his skill in the ring was matched by a flair for publicity that saw him play on his vegetarianism, plan to take part in a trans-Atlantic balloon race, and concoct a story to the press that he had been kidnapped in Mexico!

He had returned to Britain in 1909 and received a huge welcome in Wales, but his ring style courted controversy as it was felt that he fought in an 'American' manner that emphasised in-fighting and valued controversial kidney punches.

Driscoll, meanwhile, who had Irish heritage, had fought himself out of a life of poverty in Cardiff Bay with an upright, classical style that has been described as "the boxing textbook come to life" and that took him to the British title.

His vast experience, learnt in the boxing booths, had endowed him with formidable skills including an artistic left hand, and he proved a huge hit on a nine-fight tour of the United States in 1908/9.

Driscoll dominated world featherweight champion Abe Attell in their showdown in New York, but the no-decision rule meant that he would have needed a knock-out to claim the title.

The Welshman's manager, Charlie Harvey, knew the clamour that could be built for a rematch under Championship rules.

But Driscoll boarded a ship for Britain the day after the Attell fight in order to perform his annual piece in a charity show for Nazareth House Orphanage in Cardiff.

"I never break a promise," was Driscoll's simple reply to Harvey's howls of dismay, and the fighter received a hero's welcome back home.

With the two local heroes now back in Wales and seeking worthy opponents for a major fight, the clamour built for a showdown.

While the two had been firm friends, bad blood had allegedly been built since a lively 1907 meeting in a boxing booth.

"I thought I'd let [Welsh] see that I was a better goat than he was"

Newspapers helped to hype the rivalry, with arguments emerging over details of the bout including the weight, referee, size of the gloves and the Driscoll camp's insistence on clean breaks.

The bickering delayed the showdown, but was quickly put aside when the Welsh Sports Club put up a record purse of £2,500, £1,500 for Driscoll and £1,000 for Welsh.

Despite poverty caused by the ongoing miners strike, a sell-out crowd of over 10,000 was packed into the Westgate Street arena.

The huge, corrugated iron building adjoining the Arms Park - dismantled in 1919 and rebuilt in Mill Road, Ely, only to be demolished in the early 1920s - had been opened in 1908 as the venue for Cardiffians to learn to waltz on roller skates as a brass band played.

But with the atmosphere at fever pitch the styles of the two protagonists failed to gel.

The bigger and stronger Welsh controlled the early stages, avoiding Driscoll's straight left, clinching and roughing up his opponent.

Driscoll had come into the bout with a festering wound above his ear that became a favourite target for his opponent, but the Cardiff man was more angered by Welsh's alleged boring with the head, his verbal jibes and his kidney punching.

The referee Peggy Bettinson - who officiated from a ringside seat - did little to curb the growing anger of Driscoll and the crowd, while the imperturbable Welsh wore an innocent smile throughout the entire fight.

After a disappointing, dirty fight, the usually unflappable Driscoll lost his cool in the 10th round as he aimed a series of blatant head-butts at his opponent, forcing Bettinson to step in and disqualify the Cardiff man.

Contemporary newspaper reporter James Butler said: "It was the only time I saw Driscoll not in control of himself in the ring.

"So bitter was the hatred by the 10th round that the finest boxer this country has ever produced was rushing in red-eyed like a man gone berserk."

A distraught Driscoll burst into tears, saying: "The referee allowed Freddie to butt me till I couldn't stand it any longer. I thought I'd let him see that I was a better goat than he was."

Despite his head-strong action, Driscoll found sympathy with press, public, and even the referee who had disqualified him.

"I can't say that I ever worried much about what people thought or said of me" - Welsh

"Welsh, I admit is a most exasperating man to fight, and I can fully sympathise with Driscoll in losing his head," said Bettinson.

Welsh himself said later: "I can't say that I ever worried much about what people thought or said of me.

"I like to be liked, and have often wished that I could be as much loved as Jim Driscoll, say, but I have never been able to bow down to rules and regulations."

The war of words and opinion was not the end of the controversy, though, as opposing seconds Boyo Driscoll and Badger O'Brian began a scuffle.

Members of the audience were dragged in and the brawl spilled out onto Westgate Street, police intervention needed to break up the carnage.

The frustration of the crowd summed up the mood of the night, with the question left open as to which of the two fighters was the greatest.

Speaking in a 1977 BBC Wales interview, former Welsh bantamweight champion Billy Eynon - an ex-sparring partner of Driscoll's - came down in favour of the Pontypridd man.

"Driscoll was a great classical boxer, but Welsh was the best," said Eynon.
"He was winning every round easily. He needled Driscoll who lost his head and butted Freddie.

"Driscoll was the classical boxer but he was a dirty boxer as well. He was an idol in Cardiff and had the Cardiff people behind him."

But Driscoll was arguably already past his best in 1910, ill health and the Great War meaning he would fight just six more times.

He died of pneumonia on 30 January, 1925, at the age of 44, and over 100,000 lined the streets of Cardiff for the funeral.

Welsh's long pursuit of the world title continued and was eventually fulfilled in 1914 when a huge purse guarantee tempted champion Willie Ritchie into the ring.

After outclassing his opponent over 20 rounds, Welsh reigned for three years but damaged his considerable reputation by exploiting the no-contest rule to keep the crown.

Unfortunate business decisions, high living and health problems meant that his life was also cut short, and he was found dead in his Manhattan apartment in 1927, at the age of 41.

"Welsh and Driscoll would be outstanding and would beat all of today's fighters, they were a different class of boxer altogether," said Eynon in his 1977 interview.


("Wales and its Boxers: The Fighting Tradition" - Peter Stead and Gareth Williams)







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In this video Billy Eynon, a former british bantamweight title contender, speaks about the fight between Driscoll and Welsh, as well as touching on his own career which included being a sparring partner for Driscoll.
Also, an interesting part of this video, Eddie Thomas (former british and european welterweight champion) speaks of Eynon having fought in front of a crowd of 200,000 !!...

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I4xTXlFcqdo

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this video shows both in fights not against each other (vs packy mcfarland and frank robson respectively)....notice here, as mentioned in a previous post, the referee sitting outside of the ring, and a few rows away from the ring, during the boxing...

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=evYYJKdU6_8




*Classic Boxing Society -
http://classicboxingsociety.blogspot.ie/
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Jersey Joe Walcott v Harold Johnson - Philadelphia, 1950.

Walcott knocked Johnson out in three rounds....14 years previous, Walcott had knocked out Harolds father, in the same town...also in three rounds...

1961

doug.ie wrote:Jersey Joe Walcott v Harold Johnson - Philadelphia, 1950.

Walcott knocked Johnson out in three rounds....14 years previous, Walcott had knocked out Harolds father, in the same town...also in three rounds...

I would have loved to have seen this fight... I love that picture..

Jack Mcauliffe, who retired as undefeated lightweight champion of the world in 1896, once had a monkey that rode his neck when he did roadwork.
Twenty miles was customary in those days - they trained for finish fights - so the monkey and McAuliffe saw a lot of territory together.

"The Monk would hold on with his legs around my neck, and if I stopped too fast he would grab my ears to stop from falling off" McAuliffe said years later.
*'The Monk' (as McAuliffe referred to him)

McAuliffe in his glory had been a great friend of John L. Sullivan and of a bantamweight named Jack Skelly from Yonkers. The three were engaged to perform in a Salzburg festival of the sweet science promoted by the Olympic Club of New Orleans in September 1892.
On September 5, McAuliffe was to defend his lightweight title against Billy Myer. On the 6th, Skelly would try to win the featherweight championship from the incumbent George Dixon. And on the third climatic night, the great John L would annihilate an upstart from San Francisco named Jim Corbett.

"I thought the monkey would bring us all luck" McAuliffe said "He started good. When I knocked Billy out in the fifteenth the monk was up on the top rope as the referee said 'Ten!' and hopped off on to my shoulder before the man got my hand up. I took him and threw him in the air and caught him, I was so happy...."Oh, you jewel of a monkey!" I said, and when I was on the table after the fight he played in the hair on my chest like I was his brother.....Then Skelly fought Dixon, and when Dixon knocked him out I thought I noticed a very peculiar look on the monkey's face, like he was glad to see Skelly get it. I said to myself 'I wonder who you are.' I gave him the benefit of the doubt, but when Corbett stopped Sullivan, I grabbed the monkey by the neck and wrung it like a chicken. I've often felt bad about it since. God help me, I have a very bad temper."

(A.J. Liebling)