The Long Count Radio Broadcast Surfaces

Gene Tunney vs. Jack Dempsey II
Solders Field, Chicago
September 22, 1927
Graham McNamee NBC

Fight Film & Broadcast Sync

 

“The legendary battle of the Long Count between Jack Dempsey and Gene Tunney had been recounted and retold during many intellectual debates, heated arguments and bar fights for nearly a century. Motion pictures of the knockdown dramatically captured the famous seventh round and have since become part of boxing lore. However the blow by blow descriptions that millions across the country heard is an obscurity.”—Frederick V. Romano  

 

The film is famously shown in slow motion. The sequence begins nearly a minute into the seventh round. As he had done throughout the fight, Challenger Jack Dempsey advances toward Heavyweight Champion Gene Tunney. As Tunney throws a left, Dempsey counters with a right that catches Tunney to the head. Tunney, likely phased by the punch, fails to see Dempsey’s looping left hook and straight right. Both punches connect, and Tunney is staggered. He falls to the ropes where Dempsey continues his attack. Tunney’s knees give way under a crushing left hook and a right sends the champion to the canvas. Dempsey wrote that he hit Tunney with all the punches he’d been throwing in his sleep over the previous year. Referee Dave Barry gestures for Jack to follow the rules and go to a neutral corner, but now it was Dempsey who appeared stunned and amazed at what had just happened. Barry delays the count—at least a few seconds go by, or for many boxing fans, a near eternity. Dempsey walks directly behind the champion, then looking up, Dempsey finally complies with Barry and steps away. The referee turns toward the fallen champion, and ignoring the call of the timekeeper, restarts the count at One. Through the count, Tunney sits up holding the lower rope. At three he glances at the referee, otherwise he is still. His condition is a mystery. At eight, Tunney pulls his feet under and stands at nine. For the remaining two minutes Tunney retreats, unsteady at times, with Dempsey in pursuit, charging and swinging mostly at the air in front of Tunney’s head. Dempsey tries again and again trap to the champion, but Tunney manages to stay just out of reach. The round ends. Tunney shoves Dempsey away. The fight continues through the scheduled 10 rounds and Tunney retains the title. 

Theater audiences witnessed films of the fight in the days and weeks following the event. “The Long Count” as it came to be called, created one of boxing’s greatest controversies. Did referee Dave Barry’s delay of the count save Tunney from a knockout? Over the years, the film of the seventh round would become boxing’s version of the Zapruder film, a movie watched over and over, with every frame analyzed for what happened and what might have been.  Those first theater-goers, however, watched in silence. 1927 was still the era of silent films.

While the film remains a silent witness, the battle itself was heard by millions as it was broadcast live on radio around the world. The fight was announced by legendary sports commentator Graham McNamee. McNamee was a pioneer in radio who specialized in baseball coverage. In 1923, he was hired to call the Harry Greb and Johnny Wilson fight, but came away dissatisfied with the established formalities of commentary, where by describing events as a casual viewer, describing the action in past tense. This was akin to telling a story. McNamee began adding more personality to his delivery, describing not just the action as it happened, but embellishing or “coloring” the drama of the contest and describing the atmosphere inside the venue. He amped up his tone, sometimes breathlessly shouting the action. McNamee conveyed that he was just as thrilled with the action as the fans listening. This style came to be called play-by-play.

McNamee announced both the 1926 and 1927 Tunney-Dempsey fights for NBC. It’s been written that the second fight was especially dramatic, and it was reported that between seven and ten radio listeners were so caught up in the commentary that they suffered heart failure. 

NBC did not record Tunney-Dempsey broadcasts. In fact most radio broadcasts of the 1920s were never saved. Radio was still a live medium, and recording technology, primarily disc-cutting, was limited. Recording discs could only capture a few minutes at a time. With the LP and recording tape decades away, it was impractical to document countless hours of broadcasts.

Over the years I’ve reached out to fellow boxing collectors and asked if they knew anything about a recording, but nothing was ever verified. While doing a search a few months ago I came across lecture notes by Matthew Barton, a curator at The Library of Congress. He referred to a, “surviving radio broadcasts from 1927 … the Jack Dempsey-Gene Tunney long count heavyweight title fight … one of the reasons that we know just how long the long count was is because it was recorded.” I contacted Mr. Barton and it turned out he’s a very knowledgeable boxing fan. We discussed the recording, and he referred me to several radio historians who may be able to help with a copy. One source came through.

The existence of the broadcast turned out to be an open secret. The second Tunney-Dempsey air-check was indeed recorded—or more appropriately, it was pirated. With borrowed disc-cutting equipment, engineers at a small blues record label called Paramount of Port Washington, Wisconsin, captured McNamee’s broadcast on ten separate 78RPM recording discs.

According to radio archivist Louis V. Genco, “Paramount was a small, Wisconsin-based operation notorious among collectors today for the indifferent quality of its recording work, even as it recorded material by artists who are now very much in demand. Paramount (not Paramount Pictures) did not own its own recording studio until 1929, and up to that date depended on facilities rented from other companies, mostly in the Chicago area. On the evening of the fight, engineers cut and recorded the broadcast on a total of ten discs, each covering one round of the action with McNamee’s call. The sound quality is hollow and distant, leading to the conclusion that the recording was made by simply placing a microphone before a radio tuned to a station carrying the broadcast, most likely one of NBCs Chicago outlets.”

A limited number of copies were replicated and distributed, sold poorly, and the recording faded into obscurity. It’s unclear how many complete sets still exist. Along the way, a transfer of the audio was made for preservation.

With both audio and fight film in hand, I wanted to bring the two sources together to complete the movie. Matching exclusive sound and picture, referred to as “rubber sync,” is something of a challenge. The film was taken with hand-cranked cameras that varied in speed. The footage (I have a print of the 1927 theatrical release) does not show the entire three minutes of round 7. As for the audio, it’s low fidelity, but the recording is stable, and it captures the entire round. McNamee’s voice is prominent, with the crowd in the far background except during peak moments of action. Once loaded into a video editor, I looked for cues where the action, sound and commentary lineup—the opening bell, the crowd responding to key moments of action, and the referee’s count, were all clear reference points. McNamee’s narration was less help than I thought. His delivery was not particularly smooth. His speech halts at times, as if trying to find the right words. He’ll pause, perhaps distracted, then chase the action again, sometimes matching, sometimes lagging behind. My goal was to sync film and audio to where McNamee was likely responding and speaking, just like anyone at the fight or watching the film might respond.

In 1940, the ban on the interstate distribution of boxing films was lifted. The Long Count was seen by a much larger audience than when it was first released, including the eyes of a new generation. Watching the knockdown sequence in true-life speed, specifically from the time Tunney hits the canvas to when Dave Barry begins counting, appeared more of a technicality, than enough time for a groggy fighter to recover. As a result, the controversy declined, but it has never died. The spectacle is actually with the count itself, the drama of Barry’s dramatic tolling of the count, with Dempsey waiting in the wings, and Tunney’s Zen-like posture, making the world wait fourteen long seconds.
The matching radio call with the Long Count film is no revelation, but it offers a fresh perspective—to both see, and hear, the highlight of this classic fight. There’s a thrill in watching this film with the live sound. McNamee’s excitement is contagious. His call of the action, though rough by today’s standards, is enjoyable for that very reason. Unlike our perspective, with the film burned into collective memory, we hear a man describe this historical event as it unfolds in front of him, just a few feet away from the microphone. He has no idea what’s going to happen next, nor the impact of those three minutes for years to come.

"The Trouble with Harry" Harry Wills vs Firpo, Madden, Uzcudun, and Newsreels including Jack Dempsey

Rare footage casts a shadow on a Black Light

Myth-making is a large part of boxing. It raises the sport above statistics and enhances the historical narrative. The fact that boxers engage today under many of the same rules as those a century ago links boxers and fans generations apart as one community. And because boxing is staged in a theater setting, where the action is clearly displayed, it was naturally a focus of early motion pictures. Fight films have enabled past events to be preserved and witnessed from one generation to the next.  Some boxer’s legacies have grown despite the lack of surviving footage. The most notable is that of Harry Greb, who remains among the all-time greats, though no film of Greb’s fights have been seen for decades. Another boxer whose reputation has grown, despite a limited film record is the African-American heavyweight contender, Harry Wills.

The Black Panther

Born in 1889, Harry “The Black Panther” Wills began boxing professionally in 1912. He was among the youngest of the one-generation phenomenon of African-American boxers sometimes called “The Black Lights,” who unofficially dominated much of boxing’s elite fighters during the first two decades of the 20th century. Even today, Wills looks impressive in photographs. At 6’2” (or taller, depending on the record) Wills was a lean, imposing, chiseled 210-pound heavyweight. His victories over greats like the aging Sam Langford are often noted, and from 1917 through 1922 Wills had an amazing string of victories. It established him as a top contender.

Wills’ personal story, along with his rival Jack Dempsey, also represents one of boxing’s most famous unfinished chapters.  It’s a tale about race in post-war America and about Harry Wills—an African-American caught in the bitter tail wind of Jack Johnson divisive legacy—who took every public and legal measure available to him to secure a title fight with champion Jack Dempsey, but to no avail. Wills never got to fight Jack Dempsey for the heavyweight championship, in essence because he was black. Because of the unjust circumstances, there’s always been a question of who would have won. Profiles of Wills describe him as either a footnote or an uncrowned champion, depending on the biographer. Hearsay and speculation has fueled debate for decades. In any case, it’s clear that Harry Wills was a genuine force in the division. 
I’ve always wondered how good Harry Wills actually was, and the real story of his quest to fight Jack Dempsey. Going back to the records, I searched firsthand accounts. What I discovered was not simply a challenger who was turned away, but a convoluted trail of claims, counter-claims, public demands, court battles, reluctant investors, lawyers, feuding business interests, fearful politicians, and two boxers trying to earn a living.

Harry and Jack Sign the Dotted Line

After the success of the Dempsey-Carpentier fight in 1921, boxing exploded into the mainstream and Jack Dempsey’s career as world heavyweight champion soared to great heights. Then it stalled. Dempsey didn’t defend his title for the next two years, during which time Wills and other prospective challengers were considered and reconsidered. Dempsey has been criticized for not fighting enough during his reign. He in fact wanted to stay active, but his manager Doc Kearns and promoter Tex Rickard insisted on “saving him for the big fights.” This was a profitable career strategy for managers, but rust-inducing for boxers. 
In early 1922, a national poll placed Harry Wills as the preferred next challenger for Dempsey, just edging out contenders Tommy Gibbons and Bill Brennan. It suggested that the public was ready for an African-American to fight for the heavyweight title once
again. Negotiations began. Dempsey himself lobbied for the fight, writes Roger Khan in the biography A Flame of Pure Fire, and his handlers relented, but conditionally. On June 11, 1922, Dempsey and Wills put pens to contracts. But the powerful New York Commissioner William Muldoon did not want the fight to take place in New York. To complicate matters further, Muldoon and promoter Tex Rickard clashed over, of all things, ticket prices. Muldoon wanted 40,000 tickets fixed at $2.00 for the “working people.” Rickard refused. In retaliation, Muldoon blocked the Dempsey-Wills fight from taking place in New York, even threatening to halt all heavyweight fights until prices came down. Frustrated, Rickard traveled to several states—even north to Montreal—to find a welcoming venue. None wanted the fight or had the money to host the event. When the contract deadline ran out, Wills sued. From then until 1926, as the legal proceedings dragged on, a potential Dempsey-Wills fight was often in the news as either under consideration, being planned, or “scheduled for next year,” but never became a done deal.

Of Mice, Men and Money

Dempsey, Wills, and their managers did not create the nation’s racial problems. They were caught up in it. And the timing could not have been worse. They were mired in the aftermath of Jack Johnson, the oppressed first black heavyweight champion (1908-1915). Johnson’s victory over champion Tommy Burns was an upset, and a racist campaign began to drive Johnson out of boxing. First unsuccessfully beating Johnson in the ring, and then by prosecuting Johnson in the courts. But Johnson fueled the fire as well. He didn’t try to change people’s minds. His behavior out of the ring unfairly stereotyped African-Americans, and with one exception, he even refused to give the other great black boxers of his day a chance to fight for the title. During the five years after the Johnson-Jeffries fight, the heavyweight championship franchise, perhaps the richest in all of sports, was reduced to Johnson and his nomadic entourage, or as Tex Rickard harshly stated, a championship that “…ain’t worth a nickel.”

Rickard has been singled out as the culprit for blocking the Dempsey-Wills fight, and there’s no question that he did not want a black man to fight for the heavyweight championship again. Rickard was a businessman above all, and evidence suggests that he simply didn’t want to be involved in another controversial title fight for legitimate reasons. The motivation for Rickard’s reluctance stemmed from his experience promoting the Johnson-Jeffries fight in 1910. That year, he had pulled every available financial and political string to make the historic fight happen, even moving the event from California to Nevada when California’s governor barred the match. His reward was to witness race riots following the event and to be among those blamed. He abandoned boxing for the next six years.

It’s easy for us to look 90 years into past and cast judgment.  And are we so superior today with boxing in its post-decline? Not to mention the four years waiting for an African-American champion to grant a Filipino his rightful challenge? Big as boxing had become in 1921, Rickard and the promoters were still at the mercy of political winds. Even if the fight ended fair and square for either boxer, race relations were bad enough so that no one knew what the public reaction might be. There was a lot at stake, a great deal of money to lose, a social and political cost, and possibly jail. Race riots were not going to be an option.

Harry Takes the High Road in Low Country

Though Wills was black, he was not without means, money and popularity. Suing your way into a fight without promoters may have been like suing the stock market for not going up, but it got Wills’ case on record. In the meantime, there were many other fighters other than Wills in competition for Dempsey’s title, and the contenders battled one another for position. But Wills and his manager Paddy Mullins choose not to fight and thus eliminate any of his leading rivals including Tommy Gibbons, Billy Miske, Georges Carpentier, Jim Maloney, Harry Greb, Young Stribling, and Jack Delaney, none of whom drew the color line. Even Gene Tunney offered in 1925. Rickard may not have wanted to take chances, but Wills didn’t want to take chances either. By helping to keep Dempsey in court instead of the ring—Wills also sued to stop both the Dempsey-Firpo and Tunney fights—Wills may further have dimmed his own prospects.

Shelby and The Wild Bull

1922 came to a close without a Jack Dempsey fight.  Money was being lost and the champion and his manager Doc Kearns got fed up. They traveled west in 1923 to promote a title fight without Rickard, and far from the legal melee. Montana businessman Roy J. Molumby, offered Dempsey and Kearns a $100,000 cash advance for a fight between the champion and the contender Tommy Gibbons. The infamous Dempsey-Gibbons fight got Dempsey back in the ring, where he won a 15-round decision. But the event resulted in a financial bust, sending the town of Shelby into bankruptcy. Lesson learned, Dempsey and Kearns returned to New York.

Meanwhile, the Argentine heavyweight, Luis Angel Firpo, had come to the U.S. and replaced Wills as top contender with a string of savage knockouts. Firpo was a wrecking machine in the ring and his knockout of former champion Jess Willard had created a sensation. Firpo was matched with Dempsey and the champion prevailed in their historic two-round war at the Polo Grounds in New York City, September 14, 1923. In the months following the fight, Dempsey broke relations with manager Kearns, acquiring yet another legal adversary. For the next three years, champion Jack Dempsey was a celebrity, a court defendant, and a mismanaged boxer.

Wills and Firpo

In 1924, Wills was offered a golden opportunity. He accepted an offer to fight the feared Luis Firpo, who had nearly dethroned Dempsey a year before. Promoted by Tex Rickard, Wills and Firpo met at Boyles Thirty Acres, New Jersey, on September 11, 1924. Jack Dempsey was at ringside. This intriguing matchup has largely been lost to history.

Both Wills and Firpo were knockout artists of roughly the same size. Firpo was slightly heavier and an inch taller than Wills. The Times Daily reported the odds at all but even on the day of the fight. The fight went the full 15 rounds to end in a no-decision contest. The newspapers including the Quebec Daily Telegraph hailed Wills as a winner who “took almost every round and in the second round floored his opponent.” In front of an audience 75,000, it was the highest profile fight of Wills’ career. But while the fight put Wills in the spotlight, it also put him under the microscope. After three years campaigning as top contender, some witnesses were not impressed. The Milwaukee Journal headlined, “Harry Wills No Match for Champion Dempsey. Wills general ability as a fighter would not be sufficiently high to stand the champion off.  Firpo not only telegraphs his wallops, but sends a letter of warning…but Dempsey doesn’t telegraph. His punches come from a short distance and behind them lurk oblivion.”

Jack and Harry Sign Again

There’s no doubt that Wills deserved a title fight, and even Dempsey expressed his regrets at not having the fight to set the record straight. The two respected each other. It was an injustice to Wills and to history. But while Dempsey’s persona was larger than life, control over his career was with Kearns and Rickard. It wasn’t his decision to make. He deferred to his managers for nearly all business matters, and if Dempsey lobbied, as he did to fight Wills in 1922, Rickard would talk him out of it. There is no indication in any testimony that Dempsey was afraid of Wills. No better proof of this came than when Dempsey and Wills signed to fight for the second time.

By March 1925, the New York Commission had reversed its position on sanctioning a Dempsey-Wills match. The Commission now declared Wills as Dempsey’s mandatory challenger and threatened to place Dempsey on the ineligible list if he did not comply. The Associated Press reported on July 17, 1925, that Dempsey appeared before the New York Licensing Commission and formally accepted Wills’ challenge.  With Kearns now out of the picture, Dempsey was managing himself. On his own, with a new promoter, Dempsey made a genuine good faith effort to be matched with Wills.

Show Me The Money

Midwestern promoter Floyd Fitzsimmons, who had produced Dempsey-Miske fight in 1920, proposed a Dempsey-Wills fight to be held in Michigan City, Indiana. Dempsey was guaranteed $1,000,000 for the fight with $300,000 due upon signing. Dempsey accepted the offer. On September 28, 1925, Wills, Dempsey, the promoter and investors met for the contract ceremony. The event made headlines. Wills received a check for $50,000. Fitzsimmons told Dempsey he would get his check the following day. The next morning, Dempsey accompanied Fitzsimmons to the bank, ready to receive the down payment. Fitzsimmons handed Dempsey a check not for $300,000 but only $25,000. “It’s all I got right now, but there’s plenty more where that came from,” said Fitzsimmons. Still willing to proceed, Dempsey asked for cash instead: “I want to see this in green…and when you give me the other two-seven-five, I’ll give you the contract. Signed.” As the tellers counted out the cash, the issuing bank was called and reported back that the Fitzsimmons account was empty. The check bounced. Fitzsimmons couldn’t even deliver one dime of a down payment. Dempsey walked. Not only had the fight fallen through again, but now Dempsey was no longer licensed to fight in New York.

The Panther Cries Wolf

The heavyweight division continued to shake out; Tunney, Maloney, Delaney, Wills, Sharkey, Uzcundun and others were now in contention. In early 1926, Wills was offered $250,000 to fight Gene Tunney in a title eliminator, with the winner to meet the champion. Wills turned it down. Wills believed that fighting Dempsey was now a matter of entitlement. It was fateful decision. A Wills-Tunney fight may have changed the course of events. In any case the Tunney-Dempsey match was then scheduled.

Still there seemed no end to the claims, even as the Dempsey-Tunney fight approached. On August 6, 1926, the Evening Independent reported that a Chicago matchmaker, Doc Krone, announced that a $300,000 check was waiting for Dempsey in a Chicago bank. On August 22, the Telegraph Herald reported that Wills’ manager Paddy Mullins tried to bluff Dempsey once more into a contract, and then reportedly “failed to come forward with $150,000” saying, “We’ll post the money immediately if Dempsey will sign to fight Wills before September 23.” It was all too late. The public wanted Dempsey back, and he was in the ring with Gene Tunney three weeks later.

Then everything changed. Dempsey lost in an upset to Tunney, who then became champion. In October, Wills himself returned to the ring. At Brooklyn National League Park, a young and hungry Dempsey-esque heavyweight named Jack Sharkey brought Wills’ winning streak to an end. According to Time magazine, “Sharkey chopped and hacked at Wills, closed his eye, made his mouth bleed; all through the fight.” Wills reportedly backhanded, butted, and hit Sharkey during the breaks in an effort to discourage his opponent. After numerous warnings by the referee, Wills was disqualified in the 13th round. Wills soldiered on for several more fights, but retired from boxing in 1932 and became a successful real estate investor.

Discovering The Films

For decades, the only surviving public footage of Wills in action was the short, and incriminating, film of his 4th-round knockout by Paulino Uzcundun in 1927. Issued by Official Films as part of a series called Monarchs of The Ring, the 38-year-old Wills is seen clubbed to the canvas in what was his last fight as a contender. It’s no measure of his skills. I’ve interviewed several leading film collectors about additional surviving footage of Wills, but nothing had been verified for many years. However, I did locate several newsreels highlighting footage of Wills posing for the cameras before the Firpo fight. They provide a glimpse of his size and stance, but little else. Then, a rare breakthrough. Footage recently surfaced of Wills and Firpo in mid-fight, plus training footage, and 1st-round action against Irish Bartley Madden in 1924.

The Restoration
 
Though only a few minutes long, the footage of Wills and Luis Firpo is remarkably well preserved, and while the film of Wills-Madden is poor, the action is clear. The Wills-Firpo footage suffers jump cuts and gate slipping. I re-edited the shots into a new sequence and adjusted the speed and exposure. The Milwaukee Journal’s assessment that Dempsey need not “be cautious about meeting Wills in the ring” turns out to have some validity. The footage shows Wills’ defensive style, but without Jack Johnson’s speed or ability to control a fight. Wills’ greatest assets may have been his size and strength. Though Firpo was strong, and slightly larger than Wills, he displays none of the tenacity he did against Jack Dempsey. Firpo throws, with little accuracy, one overhand right after the other. Wills slips them with ease, but otherwise has no tactical answer of his own, and the two spend most of the time dragging one another around in clinches. The footage also includes the much-noted 2nd-round knockdown where “Wills floored Firpo with a right to the jaw. When Firpo arose Wills swarmed him with a flock of rights” reported United Press. The film tells its own version. The knockdown actually comes as Wills hits Firpo on the break. Firpo is more surprised than hurt and recovers quickly, as the two struggle for punching room. Wills was 35 years old, (Firpo was 30), but even a 35-year-old healthy, trained and experienced boxer will show flashes of youth for the first few rounds. This 1st- and 2nd-round action suggests that Wills was either a very slow starter, or as Firpo said, he was “more of a wrestler than a boxer.”

In the second film, Irish veteran Bartley Madden, who had also fought Harry Greb, Gene Tunney, Fred Fulton, and Tommy Gibbons, brought respectable ring experience. He was good enough to draw with Bill Brenan, and I show clip of his KO of George Christian in 1923. The Wills-Madden fight footage is dark and lacks detail, but the picture is steady, and the action is clear. Wills won a 15-round decision. But even in this losing effort, Madden exposes some of Wills’ weakness. Wills, the much bigger man, stalks aggressively, but Madden, who was only 5’11”, appeared able to close the distance and hit Wills with relative ease. This would have been fatal against Dempsey.

Dempsey and Wills were a lot closer in size than has often been suggested. At approximately 210 pounds, Wills was about 20 pounds heavier on average than Dempsey, but only one inch taller. In an article I wrote for boxing.com (“A Duel in the Sun”) is a film of Jack Dempsey sparring with Big Bill Tate in 1919. Hired by Doc Kearns in 1918, Tate had become a chief sparring partner in the Dempsey camp, where he remained until 1927. At 6’6”, he was vital in preparing Dempsey to fight Jess Willard. Tate was an African-American who was also an experienced contender, and his experience included five fights with Harry Wills, including one DQ win, two close decision losses and a draw. In viewing the clips of Wills and Tate, it’s striking how similar in style and technique they were. Had a Dempsey-Wills fight actually gone forward, Tate would have provided a great tactical advantage. And one has to wonder, what does it say that one man’s opponent is another man’s sparring partner?

A Panther in Winter

In Roger Khan’s excellent biography of Jack Dempsey, he observes that while the skills of Georges Carpentier have dimmed over the decades, the skills of Harry Wills have grown. He also quotes Trainer Ray Arcel in describing Wills as “a very good journeyman.” Arcel, who had apprenticed with Wills’ trainer Dai Dollings, also told referee Arthur Mercante, “Wills was big and none too fast. It was a terrible injustice that Wills never got a title shot, but those big, slower guys were made to order for Dempsey.” The sportswriter James P. Dawson, who wrote for The New York Times, testified after Wills’ loss to Sharkey, “None who saw last night’s battle can doubt that Dempsey would have annihilated Wills four years ago, three years ago, or a year ago.”


References:
Roger Kahn “A Flame of Pure Fire”
Jack Cavanaugh “Tunney – Boxing’s Brainiest Champ”
Arthur Mercante “Inside The Ropes”
The New York Times
Time Magazine
The Times Daily
Alton Evening Telegraph
The Evening Independent
The Milwaukee Journal
The Quebec Daily Telegraph
The Telegraph-Herald
Rochester Evening Journal
The Border Cities Star

"Jess Willard's Last Stand" -vs- Floyd Johnson & Luis Firpo 1923

Willard -vs- Floyd Johnson and Luis Ángel Firpo 1923
16mm Transfer & Restoration
10 Minutes, Silent & Sound

Jess Willard was one of those rare champions who manifested greatness in the single most important fight of his career. (Buster Douglas is another example that comes to mind.) Willard’s otherwise modest record crested on April 5, 1915, when he faced the seemingly unbeatable Jack Johnson for the heavyweight championship in Havana, Cuba.  After taking everything Johnson could throw for 12 rounds, the towering 6’6” Willard never lost his cool, and wore the champion down, knocking Johnson out in the 26th round.

During the four years that followed, Willard was, unfortunately, a complacent champion. He defended once in 1916 against contender Frank Moran, but otherwise chose to be inactive during the First World War and did not to fight again until July 4, 1919. In that historic match, challenger Jack Dempsey gave Willard the beating of the century; most of it in the first three minutes. It became the second fight Willard is remembered for. 

Comeback 

Willard’s career didn’t end there, however. The former champion had two more important prizefights, both of them four years later during his long forgotten comeback. On May 12, 1923, promoter Tex Rickard hosted the opening of Yankee Stadium with a huge boxing card that included heavyweight contenders Luis Ángel Firpo, Floyd Johnson and others, including Jess Willard. Jess had been lured out of retirement by Rickard with the prospect of a return match with Dempsey. “What people forget about Willard,” Rickard said before the bout, “is that he can punch.”

The event was a title eliminator and Floyd Johnson was matched with Willard. Burning with comeback fever, Willard shed 20 pounds, trained seriously, and appeared leaner than he had since his championship days. Still, the media was not impressed, and Johnson was favored to win easily. Not to be upstaged, Dempsey’s manager Doc Kearns even announced ahead of time that Floyd Johnson would likely be Dempsey’s next opponent.

The fight did not go as planned. From the opening bell Willard fought aggressively and dominated the action. By the middle rounds, the 41-year-old Willard appeared to tire, but he rallied back and dropped Johnson briefly in the ninth. Late in the 11th round, Willard scored again, decking Johnson with a smashing uppercut. Johnson got up and returned to his corner, but he was bloody and hurt and unable to continue.

Jess Willard, the Comeback Kid, had won on a TKO. It was sweet redemption, spoiling the party for Jack Dempsey’s next opponent.

"Youth,” wrote Damon Runyon in the New York American, “take off your hat and bow low and respectfully to Age." 

The Last Stand 

Willard was then matched with Firpo, who had knocked out Jack McAuliffe in three rounds on the same card. Two months later on July 12, 1923, at Boyle's Thirty Acres in Jersey City, New Jersey, Willard faced “The Wild Bull of the Pampas” with the winner to meet Dempsey for the heavyweight championship. Firpo, however, was a wrecking machine. Since arriving in the U.S. in 1922, the 6’2” powerhouse from Argentina had blown through the ranks, leaving a trail of knockout victims. For seven rounds Jess held his own (allegedly with a broken hand), but Firpo clubbed Willard to the canvas in the eighth and Jess failed to beat the count. 

The Films 

The Jess Willard-Floyd Johnson fight was filmed, but the knockout footage was either lost or never captured. The existing footage is raw and unedited, perhaps shot by a newsreel crew. I suggest this because the fight sequences are brief, as the photographer stops and start the camera to catch key moments of action. Fortunately the footage itself, taken late in the afternoon under clear skies, is well preserved and remarkably good quality. It shows Willard in good form, looking trim and fighting well against the young contender. I have included photographs of the knockout.

The Willard-Firpo fight, also seen here, took place at night under the stadium lighting. As far as I know, only a highlight of this fight survives.  It was widely distributed in 8mm and 16mm in the Monarchs of The Ring (Official Films) boxing anthology series beginning in the 1940s. The footage includes Firpo training, the referee’s the referee’s instructions, and the 8th round knockout. 

Gene Tunney & James J Corbett Sparring Film, New York 1925

Gene Tunney and Jim Corbett Sparring
Putnam Building Rooftop
Times Square, New York City, December 1925
Grantlin Rice Sportlight Movie Series (Edit)
9mm Film Transfer  (Low Res)

The Boxers

References have been made over the years to a legendary sparring session between Heavyweight Champion to be Gene Tunney and former champ James J. Corbett, prior to Tunney’s first fight with Jack Dempsey.  A film was made of the meeting, but has not been seen for decades.  Several years ago and a film archivist discovered an abridged version of this movie on 9mm film, a small but format high quality format in the 1920s.  The Tunney-Corbett film was transferred to video for preservation.

The Meeting

According to published accounts, Jim Corbett was in Chicago for the Tunney-Risko fight of November 1925 and surprised Tunney in his dressing room after the fight.  Grantlin Rice arranged for the two to meet again in New York a month later to be part of his Sportlight movie series.  On the roof of the Putnam Building in New York’s Times Square, Tunney and Corbett sparred for the cameras, and the two staged Corbett’s demonstration classic boxing technique in slow motion.  Two very brief shots of Jack Dempsey sparring at what appears to be an informal outdoor gathering are also shown.

The Film

Historically, this is perhaps the best documented meeting between pioneers of both vintage and modern boxing styles.  Corbett is 59 years old and appears very fit, but I was most impressed with the fact that Corbett was taller than Tunney, and would have been even bigger in his prime.  Eight months after this film was made, Tunney went on to win the Heavyweight Championship from Jack Dempsey in Philadelphia.

I obtained what turned out to be a low resolution copy of this film.  Still, I made some adjustments to the exposure and image stabilization to make it as clear as possible.  I’ll be sure to post an update if a better copy becomes available.  Enjoy this rare gem of vintage boxing.

Jack Dempsey’s MMA Fight

Jack Dempsey’s MMA Fight

Jack Dempsey -vs- Cowboy Lutrell

Ponce De Leon Park, Atlanta

July 1, 1940

16mm Sound Transfer

The Fight

Compared to many sports figures and celebrities, Jack Dempsey remained a visible and respected figure long after his boxing career ended.  He kept in shape, managed his restaurant, trained boxers, performed service for the military during World War II,  and did charity work.  Even through his forties, Jack was never far from the ring, sparring for the camera with Max Schmeling, Max Baer, Aturo Godoy and others to promote fights.  Dempsey also worked as a referee for boxing and wrestling matches. 

One evening in 1940, Dempsey was refereeing a wrestling match between Cowboy Luttrell and Dorve Roche.  There was an argument in the ring, and an altercation between Dempsey and the Cowboy.  To settle what was apparently a genuine public grudge, and to make a fistful of short money, business manager Max Waxman arranged a boxer vs wrestler match between Dempsey and Lutrell in Atlanta on July 1, 1940.  Neither an exhibition or a sanctioned prizefight, and certainly not a comeback attempt, the contest was akin to n MMA beatdown.  The Referee was Ring Magazine published Nat Fleischer, who worked the fight with as much energy as the fighters themselves.  Though a seasoned wrestler, Lutrell never managed to grab hold of Dempsey, as Jack began pounded him without mercy from the opening bell.  Most accounts describe the event as a disgrace, and has since been largely forgotten.   

The Film

The contest was captured (poorly) by a film crew, from a single camera angle, so low that spectators get in the way of the action.  Yet, the film was shown later in theaters in the weeks after the fight.  In this edition, the narrator describes the fight as an historical and nostalgic event for Dempsey, who was 45 years old at the time.

The rarity of this film is not so much the bout, as is the pre-fight newsreel footage, and the post fight interview between Dempsey and referee/publisher Nat Fleischer and wrestler Dorve Roche standing to the left.