Kings of the Queensberry Realm

Front matter

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Preface

No book is complete without a preface, but it is the author's intention to make the preface to "Kings of the Queensberry Realm" as short — if not as sweet — as the donkey's galop of tradition.

"Kings of the Queensberry Realm" was written after much urging from brother newspaper men of the author who are aware of his long experience as a chronicler of championship events.

When it is remembered that the doings of the old-time gladiators of the ring have always been — and are still — a favorite theme with sporting historians it would seem that no apology is necessary for treating of the deeds of the latter-day heavyweights who battled under Queensberry rules for the blue ribbon of the fistic domain. ^ The Author.

* v

CHAPTER XXIV. Jeffries and Fitzsimmons ? 305

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

PAOB

Fitzsimmons and Jeffries Signing Articles for their Fight

July 25, 1902, Frontispiece

Fitzsimmons* Cottage at Skaggs Springs, . . . . 12

The Jeffries Colony at Hayward Cottage, Harbin Springs, Cal. , 13

Fitzsimmons Preparing for his Fight with Jeffries, July 25 , 1902, 28

Jeffries in the Gymnasium at Harbin Springs, Cal. , 29

Jeffries' Training Quarters at Allenhurst, N. J., ... 44

House at Allenhurst Where Corbett and Jeffries Trained, . 45

George Dawson, 60

Sam Fitzpatrick 61

Jack McAuliffe, 77

Billy Delaney 93

Fitzsimmons Delivering a Fourth of July Oration, . , # . 109

Jeffries Being Paced Into Middletown, Cal., .... 125

View of Harbin Springs, Cal. , 125

Young Corbett, 141

Charles W. Mitchell, 157

Terry McGovern, 172

Jack Dempsey, 173

M*. and Mrs. Fitzsimmons and George Dawson, . . . 204

Jeffries and Party Starting on a Hunting Trip, .... 205

Fitzsimmons Taking the Stage at Skaggs Springs, . . . 220

Albert Griffin, . . .221

View of Carson City, Nev., 268

Gus Ruhlin and Billy Madden, 269

Jeffries Enjoying an After-dinner Rest at Harbin Springs, . 284

Mr. and Mrs. Fitzsimmons and Party at Skaggs Springs, . 285

Introduction

Across the pond in England, just now, there is a com* mendable feeling of tolerance in regard to professional pugilism, even, while the amateur or physical culture phase of the question has champions innumerable. This appreciation of boxing takes shape in the promotion of tournaments in the army and navy, as well as in other directions, and on more than one occasion during the past year I have read of British notables who presided at these functions expressing the hope that the teaching of boxing to youths would become more general than at present.

As regards professional pugilism, one only has to compare the conditions that exist now with those of a dozen years ago to decide that vast improvements have been made in the manner of conducting the sport.

Under the old system it was bare knuckles for weapons and the turf for a ring floor whenever a pair of fighters wished to decide the question of superiority. It was often a matter of mob law and dodging the preventive authorities. Fair contests were the exception, the fighter with the larger following being assured of the protection necessary to make it a case of win, tie, or wrangle.

Nor did the end of the contest mean the peaceful enjoyment of his laurels for the victor. It cost John L. Sullivan all he won in his London prize ring encounter with Kilrain at Richburg, to save himself from a season in a Southern jail. It was Sullivan's jocular boast that he built a couple of school houses down Richburg way with his stake money.

Nowadays a pugilistic event under the old rules is never heard of* The experts of the Queensberry game vi INTRODUCTION

settle their differences in splendidly appointed arenas. They meet in padded rings hemmed in by stakeless ropes and in the presence of thousands of well-dressed spectators who pay high prices for the privilege of witnessing the stars of the ring in action.

The sport has been shorn of its objectionable features. Under the old style of milling, in addition to the cruel blows and bruises a contestant was apt to receive from the bare knuckles of an adversary, there was the danger of being gashed and cripple*! by spiked shoes or having his ribs crushed through being thrown by the cross buttock or backheel process and then fallen upon.

Now the men ply each other with well-stuffed gloves and the wrestling feature is entirely eliminated.

The modern rules, in fact, while they work no particular hardship to the thickset fellow built on the lines of old-time pugilistic ideals, providing he has other things besides mere strength on which to base his hopes of success, enables a lithe, active athlete of quick brain and natural speed to cope with an opponent much brawnier than himself.

As a matter of fact there is nothing to cavil at in connection with what actually transpires within the ropes during an honest bout under Queensberry rules. Hard knocks are exchanged, to be sure, but the principals are supposed to be inured to hard knocks. Otherwise they have no business there. Arenic sport always had a fascination for the populace since the days of the Empire, and these fighters of ours are the gladiators of modern times, furnishing the form of arenic sport at presetit in demand. They are, or should be, trained to the minute and their flesh, if they are properly conditioned, should be almost bruise proof.

As evidence that latter day pugilism does not involve permanent facial disfigurement one only has to glance at the lineaments of the three ex-champions of the world and the present holder of the title. The faces of John L. Sullivan, James J. Corbett, Bob Fitzsimmons and James J. Jeffries show neither scar nor blemish. Never

INTRODUCTION vii

a flattened nose or gnarled ear adorns the headpiece of any member of this famous quartette.

There is an objectionable side to boxing, however, and that is the crookedness which occasionally attaches to it. As matters stand there seems to be no adequate way of dealing with the swindlers of the pugilistic game, but if plans at present under consideration mature, the camel of tradition will have an easier time swarming through the orifice in a needle than the scheming ringster will experience while attempting to work off a bogus bout.

Boxing will surely be controlled by a commission appointed for that purpose at no distant day. The members of this commission will, of necessity, be men of experience and they will have for assistants others who will formulate plans that will render it next to impossible to victimize either the promoters or the public. Most boxing swindles have their origin in betting, and when clubs are duly licensed and contests are presided over by referees acute enough to detect fakes in their incipiency and empowered to cancel all wagers at the first indication of collusion, the swindlers who make a specialty of fixing glove contests will be completely baffled.

This is but a suggestion as to the methods of purifying the sport that are to be observed when boxing is placed under proper control. Many existing evils will be lessened and many innovations and improvements will suggest themselves. The boxing situation will gradually adjust itself to a condition where public confidence will be fully restored.

There will be short shrift for offenders. A rogue's gallery will possibly be established so that a discredited boxer or manager will be prevented from seeking fresh fields to begin a crooked career anew.

There will be a system, no doubt, by which "scrubs" or indifferent performers will be debarred from giving exhibitions of their awkwardness and uselessness as ringsters. The license fees enacted by the several states will viii INTRODUCTION

be high enough, probably, to make it incumbent upon managers to secure good talent in order to deserve a share of the public money. In such case a salaried matchmaker would no more think of engaging incapable boxers than a proprietor of a vaudeville house would of presenting "artists" who are thoroughly devoid of talent.

J

Chapter I

BOXING AND FOOTBALL COMPARED — BOXING AS A FORM OF EXERCISE— AS A PROFESSIONAL SPORT.

If once we effaee the joys of the chase From the land and outroot the stud, Goodbye to the Anglo Saxon race!

Farewell to the Norman blood!

So wrote Adam Lindsay Gordon, an Australian poet, years ago, in defense of his favorite pastime, and it would be quite in order for some versemaker of the future to work off a similar prophecy in jingle if an attempt is ever made to place boxing entirely under the ban,

Leaving aside for the time being the professional aspect of the game pugilistic, there is much to be said in support of boxing as a phase of physical culture. It is a healthful exercise. It develops the various muscles of the limbs and frame evenly ; it tends to make a youth alert in mind and body, sure-footed, and less liable to become confused than the ordinary mortal when confronted with sudden danger of any kind. It begets confidence in one's own resources which is simply another name for courage.

As an inkling into the art of self-defense is gained the youth of average intelligence and good nature becomes imbued with feelings of chivalry. He learns to bear pain and discomfort philosophically, while as a means of teaching a lad to control his temper no better ordeal than twenty minutes a day with a painstaking professor of sparring or a skillful classmate can be imagined.

Many of the older scholastic institutions of this country and Great Britain already have their boxing instructors and their classes in self-defense. The writer believes that the time will come when boxing will form a portion of every boy's education.

Pastimes, to which attach a certain risk of bodily injury and which call for the possession of skill, endurance and pluck, influence a youth lastingly for his own good. Whether he become a soldier on the field of battle, a professional man, or a worker in the busy marts df commerce the effects of his early physical exercises will act as a spur to endeavor and prove a grand ally to whatever mental training he had in order to fit him for his vocation. It will nerve him for the fray and endow him with a determination to surmount obstacles.

At present football is the most strenuous of all college pastimes. It is a rough, hard game, but the prospects are it will continue in favor indefinitely. Occasionally the merits and demerits of the gridiron sport are discussed, and I have read where ministers of the Gospel, even, have commended football on the score that it prepares the youth for the rough spots in life's journey.

This is very true, but it is doubtful if the gridiron would turn out half as many heroes as the gymnasium if boxing had equal standing with football as a school or college sport.

In football the players on a side work shoulder to

BOXING AND FOOTBALL COMPARED 11

shoulder. There is the incentive which comes from association. One fellow borrows confidence from another. There is the shuffle of many feet, the combined pressure of many stalwart frames. These fire the blood and nerve the participants to "deeds of derring do." The veriest weakling would hurl himself against a foe with the balance of the team if inveigled into a football game.

In a college boxing tourney, if there were such things, it would be just youth against youth. Outside the ropes friends might root for a friend but within that little hempen corral nothing but individual grit and individual effort would count. Is it not therefore reasonable to conjecture that boxing would be more potent than football in the matter of breeding self reliance?

Nor is it sarcasm to say that in the matter of personal injury football is more severe than boxing. This of course is the old straw that has been thrashed over and over by the apologists for pugilism. It invites the time-honored argument "but the injuries inflicted upon football players are inflicted unwittingly."

This reminds me of a certain ladies' night given at the Grand Opera House, San Francisco, years ago, by the Olympic Club of the city named. There was an elderly lady present with her friends, and the boxing was strange to her. She saw her nephew and another lad strut the stage with gloves on their hands and make weird passes at each other. Suddenly she gasped, " Did you see that ? " she said excitedly. " Why, I saw him strike Alfy right in the face."

They cuddled her up and tried to explain the thing to her, while others in the near neighborhood grinned. It was hard to pacify the good old dame. It was not the violence of the blow but the evident "malice aforethought " that agitated her. She was quite satisfied, the offending youth struck Alfy on purpose and nothing could persuade her that the assault was justifiable.

Yes, sirs, the injuries inflicted in boxing are inflicted wittingly, but at that what love taps they are compared to the cracked spines and broken limbs incurred on the gridiron field.

How often have we seen an unfbrttmate player borne gray-faced, mud-bespattered and blood-bedabbled from the game and his plight forgotten an instant later when his substitute rolled into the scrimmage and the atmosphere vibrated with college yells.

In amateur boxing there is no danger of being ground to a pulp by stamping heels and tons of human weight. A damp sponge will generally remove all traces of the conflict arid if there is prospect of a bout becoming one-sided and a principal being hammered unnecessarily it is the duty of a discriminating -master of ceremonies to call a halt and render a decision. That is what he is for.

It may be hekl that to include boxing in the physical training of youth would cause many a lad's thoughts to turn to professional pugilism. In reply to this all that can be said is that while the fighting instinct in mankind dates back to the very beginning of things, the percent* age of those who have either the inclination to become professional fighters or the various attributes necessary to insure success in that line is infinitesimally small.

The writer's argument is that while training the average youth in the use of nature's weapons imbues him with manliness ami courage and tends to fit him for the struggle of life, it does not fill him with a desire to be* a professional fighter any more than schooling him

BOXING AND FOOTBALL COMPARED 13

in gymnasium specialties would fire him with the ambition to become a circus acrobat.

Another thing, your professional pugilist is born as well as made, as a glance at the strongly marked jaws and determined faces generally of the fighters at present before the public will show. There may be such a thing as a pugilist graduating from a college boxing class into the professional ranks, but if he is anything like the average fighter of my acquaintance he was destined for the twenty-four foot ring anyhow. He was bound to get there, too, whether he imbibed his knowledge of things fistic from the teachings of a high-priced professor or Acquired his talent in the line of self-defense in friendly bouts during the lunch hour at a rolling mill.

The one thing in this particular connection which impresses me is the remarkably small number of recruits the professional ring has gained from the amateur ranks.

There are no two countries in the world, probably, where so much money is paid for private tuition in sparring as England and Australia, yet instances where amateurs have turned professionals are remarkably rare in those places. If anything the effect of "taking lessons" is directly opposite. It causes the student of self-defense to become interested to some extent in the doings of the professional glove wielders and it makes him a connoisseur of that kind of thing, but it robs the calling of its glamor unless, as already hinted, in the case of those who happen to be to the manner born.

Chapter II. *

PRIZE FIGHTS VS. BOXING CONTESTS — A DISTINCTION AS WELL AS A DIFFERENCE — THE OLD STYLE AND THE NEW.

A man in search of information went to a trance medium.

Said he to the wholesale and retail dealer in occultism: "I want to know the difference between a prize fight and a glove contest."

It wasn't a good day for business, so the medium gave his patron undivided attention.

"I'll ask you to join me in a little trance," he said. "Together we will wander hand in hand and explore the past."

There was darkness; a sound like the flapping of pinions or the preliminary rattle of a moving picture machine and then a big patch of light with jagged edges appeared.

"Where are we now?" asked the man.

"In Belgium."

There was a ring enclosed with slacked ropes and in it two men were scuffling and snorting, like dogs in a quarrel to the death. All around them was a rabble of hard looking characters. The morning was misty and raw and the turf floor of the ring ankle deep in mire.

One of the fighters was a stalwart fellow, heavy-

PRIZE FIGHTS vs. BOXING CONTESTS 15

browed and square-jawed. They called him Slavin. The other was of stockier build. He had chest and arms like a cannon ball tosser. His name was Jem Smith.

The fighters reeled into a corner of the ring. Immedately a knot of tough looking fellows who leaned across the ropes began to kick the taller man and strike him over the head. The hands of the fighters were bare. They wore spiked shoes and judging from the appearance of their legs each of them had been spiked in turn.

They struggled to the center again. Suddenly one of them caught the other on the hip and threw him heavily to the moist and trampled ground.

"What was that?" asked the medium's guest.

'A cross-buttock."

'And what is this thing?"

f A prize fight."

( Now," added the medium, "we will return to the land of the free via London and while I can't, for obvious reasons, treat you to Scotch and soda I'll be able to show you what the newspapers of the big city say about this thing."

This is in part what they read in a Fleet street sporting publication :

Round 2. Slavin fought Smith right into his own corner. There was a disgraceful scrimmage there among Smith's friends, Slavin being badly used. Both men fell together. Time — fifteen seconds.

Smith's party shouted out that their man had been spiked by Slavin's boots. Referee Vezey, thus appealed to, declared that the men had spiked each other. * * *

Round 7. Smith came up stronger, and did some of the forcing work, beating Slavin for a moment onto the ropes. While in this position one of the crowd of roughs n

tt if deliberately kicked the Australian, who, however, took no notice of the cowardly attack. Both the combatants got away from the ropes, and fought to the middle of the ring, where Smith slipped and both were taken to their corners.

Round 8. Slavin did the opening work in this round, driving Smith around the ring and finally into his corner, where his friends were ready to protect him. Smith came out again, when Slavin landed heavily with right and left and Smith sought the ground.

Round 9. There were heavy exchanges from the outset, Slavin giving his man no rest, and driving him back into his corner. While there one of the mob struck Slavin a violent blow on the head.

There was darkness again, commotion of some kind and this time a much bigger area of light.

"Now we are in New Orleans," said the medium.

There was a vast crowd seated in a commodious, wellappointed arena. On the main floor the space was divided into boxes in which sat men, who, from appearances, were well to do.

Other seats arose in tiers and every seat was occupied.

In the center of the building was a raised platform and on it a square space marked off with ropes and stakes. Around the ring were many policemen in uniform, the stars on their breasts gleaming brightly.

The order was perfect as two pugilists emerged from diagonally opposite corners and faced each other. These men wore padded gloves. One of the boxers was a very large man. He wore green tights. The other seemed a mere stripling. He was entirely different from anything the spirit wanderers had yet seen.

He was tall. Compared with the fellow in front of him he did not seem to be of robust frame. His hair-

PRIZE FIGHTS vs. BOXING CONTESTS 17

was brushed up a la pompadour and on his pale face there was a thoughtful expression.

He was very nimble. He skipped around his bulky opponent as a humming bird flutters around a flower and he dealt him repeated blows. The crowd cheered. The big man* could not strike the other effectively even though they frequently came together and held each other by the shoulders and arms.

"Why doesn't the big man cross-buttock his adversary?" asked the medium's companion.

"Because the rules forbid such a thing/'

The contest went on. The big man with all his wonderful strength and bulk, with all his courage, was forced to succumb.

The cry went up "Corbett wins." .

"What is this thing?" asked the searcher after information.

'A glove contest." 'But they fought?"

"Yes."

"And for a prize, I presume?"

"Yes."

"Why not call it a prize fight, then?"

"Because the other thing is called a prize fight."

"Um. Good and sufficient reasons, I guess. They certainly are entirely different."

And there you have it. The difference between a prize fight and a glove contest is the difference between London prize ring methods and Queensberry rules.

The latter were framed to improve the sport ; to bring it out of lonesome, mob ruled spots in distant fields; to bring it within the pale of the law and give it a a if setting of comfortable surroundings, danger-lessening equipment and orderly crowds.

The writer claims that this has been done — that the day of the cross-buttock, the back-heel, and the bare knuckles is past. May it never return.

Chapter III

HOW PUGILISTS TRAIN FOR GLOVE CONTESTS — REDUCING THEIR WEIGHT — VARIOUS TRAINING METHODS OF FIGHTERS.

To the man whose sporting proclivities merely assert themselves spasmodically; whose interest in pugilistic events is fitful and dependent largely upon the frequency of championship events, the sight of a fighter in training possesses almost as much fascination as the spectacle of two glovewielders in actual contest.

This is shown by the indignities that are borne and the rebuffs that are accepted with meekness and humility, in order to gain entry into a gymnasium where a pugilist of note is preparing himself for an important ring engagement.

Time and again has the author derived amusement from watching some man of prominence in the business world, squeezing against the wall of a draughty barn and remaining as quiet as the traditional mouse. His feelings, no doubt, are akin to those of a gamin who has crawled under the canvas of a circus. He seems to fear attracting attention to himself as he gazes pop-eyed at the pugilist punching the bag or having an exercise bout with one of his handlers.

The persons who are permitted to witness these things generally try to surround themselves with an air of unobtrusiveness. They recognize that they are privileged guests and they do their best to keep out of everybody's way, so that their chances of being similarly favored on the occasion of their next visit to the training quarters may be improved.

To many of these spectators the weird movements of the perspiring fighter are as a sealed book. They know in a general way that the bag-punching, the boxing and the dancing around are part of a system to improve the "wind" and inure the frame to fatiguing exercises, but as to what especial purpose is served by each of the several branches of training work they are in ignorance.

The author has frequently been applied to by amateur boxers for information regarding the correct mode of training, and it is very evident there is an impression among the uninitiated that all pugilists condition themselves according to a common schedule.

This is a mistake. With fighters it is a case of man know thyself and regulate the exercises accordingly. What will prove pleasant pastime for one pugilist will be irksome to another, and in like manner what will benefit one will be detrimental to another.

Habit of body and the degree of natural energy possessed by a ring athlete have all to do with the training formula. An active man of spare build has to be restrained for fear that he may overwork himself. A loggy fighter who makes flesh rapidly must be spurred to greater exertion, and work selected for him which will keep his lung pipes from clogging and remove the accumulations from his ribs.

There is as much diversity in the methods of pugilists of established reputation in regard to training, as there is in respect to their styles of fighting. The average boxer is to all intents and purposes a faddist, and I have yet to meet one who has not some specialty in the line of training on which he places the stoutest reliance.

At the same time there are certain rules to which all conform and it is with these that I purpose to deal in this chapter.

Training methods have improved in the same proportion as boxing itself within the past twenty years. In the old London prize ring days, when men fought with naked hands for stakes alone and gate money was an unknown quantity, the backer of a bare knuckle fighter resorted to heroic measures in order to place his man in what he considered- proper physical condition for the fray.

Stories are still told of how fighters of the Deaf Burke era were compelled to jog mile after mile while holding on to the rear of a swiftly moving cart driven by the party who furnished the sinews of war.

When the fighter fell from sheer exhaustion, the exercise for that particular occasion was at an end. The pugilist was driven to the tavern where he made his headquarters, soused in cold water, rubbed and scrubbed and then fed on rare beef, stale bread and old ale. After that he was allowed to lounge about until the cart drew up at the door again.

Latter day champions, who employ valets, sparring partners and a big training staff generally, would snort at such rigid methods, just as they would if asked to exchange the comforts of padded rings and artificially warmed pavilions, for a battleground on the sodden turf of some wind-swept field.

Not that the pugilist of these days does not train diligently and conscientiously, but he likes to regulate his own schedule and be his own taskmaster.

He has a trainer, of course — no training camp is complete without one — but if the worthy referred to thinks a change in programme necessary, he is careful to convey his ideas to his principal in the form of a suggestion. Boxers in training are whimsical and will brook nothing ,in the shape of a command from the fellow who is ostensibly in charge of the Condition Department.

The most popular forms of exercise and those which enter into the schedule of most pugilists are walking and running in the open air, punching the ball, using the pulleys and wrist machine and sparring. Other exercises which are not so generally indulged in are skipping the rope, tossing the "medicine ball" and "shadow fighting" with small dumbbells gripped in the hand.

As specialties, some pugilists go in for wrestling, riding either an ordinary bicycle or a stationary affair and working a pair of oar handles from the sliding seat of a stationary rowing machine.

The percentage of pugilists who keep themselves in good condition in and out of season is lamentably small. It is the practice, once the rigors of training have relaxed and the contest for which preparation was made has become a thing of the past, to indulge the appetite with all the things that were forbidden during the days of strict regimen. Highly seasoned food, liquors, late hours, and all the other excesses which await a class of men who are petted and courted, help to undo what regular work and careful diet accomplish. By the time a pugilist's signature is required to a new set of articles of agreement not a vestige remains, as a rule, of his splendid fettle of a few months previous.

Taking it for granted that the fighter about to enter upon a season of preparation has not attempted to exercise self denial and has been taking things easy, to use no harsher expression, since his last appearance in the ring, what must he do to attain good condition ?

To begin with, if he knows anything about hygiene he will take physic in sufficient quantities to free his system from bilious accumulations and eliminate the lingering effects of rich viands and seductive liquids from his blood.