robertsnell
11-15-2011, 04:52 AM
The Boston Globe
4 Feb 1918 – 13 March
John L Sullivan’s Life, as it was written by himself
Parts 1 to 23
By John L Sullivan
In beginning this narrative or my life and rather turbulent career, I want it distinctly understood that I am not and never was ashamed of having been a fighter. To attain anything in this world every man must fight and to reach the top he must win. Life itself is a fight. Even the art of writing is a fight. If any of my readers have any doubts on that subject they should see me with a pencil and paper in my hand trying to knock ideas out of my head, trying to fill these pages. When I went on a grand tour of the United States and faced all comers, I did not find a single man as hard to knock out as I do this first chapter.
As I said before, life is a fight from beginning to end. The world is full of fights, and those you see directing the affairs of the Nation are the winners. They have fought their way to the top, and that is the only way to get there. Even. the preachers have to fight. They go into the pulpit with the idea, of knocking out the Devil, and by the way that Devil seems to be about the only fighter that ever stuck it out regardless of age.
They keep pounding on him, however, and while they have never succeeded in knocking him out completely, Old Satan has never got any better than a draw. The man who stands out in law, medicine or any other profession has to fight his way to the top, and the poor boy who starts out to reach the top was to fight his way to honors as well as to fight off poverty at the same time.
Desire to Excel
It may or may not be morally right for one man to stand up and strike another with his fists, but it is the same old idea — a desire to excel. If you will remember away back yonder in the time of Julius Caesar — well, I guess you can't remember that far back, neither can I — anyway, at that time the historians, tell us of how great multitudes arose and marveled at the muscles of the man." That was many years before the corning of Christ, and even then people were congregating to look some fellow over who showed some signs of being a champion. The same thing has been true ever since. Did you ever notice that throngs are on hand to greet a champion just after he has won a big fight?. The rivalry between men for physical superiority is what is left of our ancient animal instincts and will be continued until the end of time.
The lion ruled the forest because he was the best fighter. Among all the wild fighters the leader of the herd is always the one who has won his spurs by showing physical superiority. Some time ago I was standing in back of stage curtain of a moving picture show. At the start a picture of President Taft was thrown on the screen and it got a fair round of applause. Next came Roosevelt, and he received an even a little better applause. They then flashed a picture of Jim Jeffries on the screen, and I thought the crowd would tear up the house.
It was almost an ovation. The next was that of George Washington the Father of His Country, and he only got a ripple of handclapping. I do not think, however, that the favoritism toward Jeffries was so much on account of lack of respect or admiration for the others, he was simply the man of the hour — the man who was getting ready for the champion of the world with his fists.
I merely relate that incident to show what a hold any man of muscle and brawn has on the American public. Very few men can ever reach the ideal of physical perfection, and those who do attain that honor are looked upon as heroes who have done something for the physical uplifting of the race. Now. this is not a lecture, but I could not refrain from giving my readers a few of my views in regard to the ancient sport, business or whatever you may pleased to call it, of fighting.
Having passed the half century mark in years, and being able to look back over a career of strife and excitement, my mind drifts to a little scene in the playground of a primary school in Concord St. Boston.
It Was The Beginning
It was the beginning. A knot of youngsters had gathered in the centre of the playground and from their gesticulations were evidently intensely excited. One youth held under his arm a little schoolboy’s hat, and in it was a handful of marbles, some of the best and prettiest marbles in the school. Another muscular looking youth had the bareheaded boy by the lapel of his coat and was talking in the strongest language a boy of 12 knows. To his coat tail was hanging a small pale faced boy, evidently in deep distress.
"Now, look here, Jerry," said the boy who was protecting the weaker youth, "You've got to give this boy those marbles, you know he won them on the level, because he beat you plain."
"I ain't going to give him nothing." Jerry said, "I couldn't shoot cause my thumb was sore."
"Ain't so." said the little fellow "John, when I beat him he grabbed all the marbles and tried to run away. Don't let him keep them." "Jerry, go on and give this boy those marbles”.
The boy spoken to as John was evidently getting angry, His eyes flashed and the muscles in his small arms began to move up and down beneath the sleeve of his jacket. "I ain't going to give them," replied Jerry, doggedly, "and I don't, know of anybody that can make me. It's none of your business, anyhow."
"You ain't, eh?" replied John and his eyes snapped, "Well, let me tell you something. When Bobby first came to this school his mother told me to look after him and I am going to do it. You've got to give him those marbles or you've got to lick me, one or the other." At this the little gathering of boys applauded vigorously. They wanted to see a fight. "Go on and fight, him. Jerry, or give up the marbles," they yelled in chorus.
Jerry Was Willing
Jerry appeared to be willing, and after handing his cap and marbles to one of the boys the two youthful fighters squared and got ready for an honest set-to. The other boys gathered in a circle, which in schoolboy customs means a guarantee of fair play. After a little jumping around Jerry ran at his antagonist and tried to plant a blow on his face, but it failed. John blocked the blow, and came back with another that narrowly missed Jerry's ear.
"Hit him, John; hit him!" yelled little Bobbie, "he is a big bluffer." John tried but failed and Jerry stung him with a glancing blow to the cheek. That appeared to get up the Irish in John and, like a whirlwind, he waded into a clinch, his elbow rubbed into Jerry's ribs. Jerry reached for the spot with his right hand and as he did so John's right shot out and struck him squarely on the jaw". Jerry dropped to the ground defeated.
"Here's your marbles, Bobby," said John. "Ain't hurt much, are you, Jerry?" he asked the fallen boy. "Let's shake hands." "Guess I was wrong, anyway," said Jerry. "Let's be. friends."
From that date on these two boys — Jerry and John — were the best of friends. They were both named Sullivan, but were no kin. The winner of that fight was yours truly, John L. Sullivan, and it was the first big fight of his career. Moreover, that fight was on the level and it was fair. I stuck to that principle the rest of my life.
That little fight in the schoolyard on Concord St taught me that the place to strike a man and knock him out without injuring him permanently was on the point of the jaw. Practically every man that was ever knocked out by me took the count from a punch on the jaw.
I was not a quarrelsome boy, and as a rule had little trouble, but it so happened that my prowess as a boxer spread around the school and many a little lad I had had to defend in the years that followed. My success as a regular boxer and fighter for money will be told in the chapters that follow.
Part 2
I have always believed that I inherited my love for athletic games and muscular feats from my father, who came from County Kerry, Ireland. My big frame and general physical build came from my mother’s side of the family. She was born in County Roscommon, Ireland, and she came from a race of big men.
My father was a little fellow weighing no more than 130 pounds. What he lacked in size however was made up in enthusiasm over great athletic stunts. In fact he grew so enthusiastic at times that he almost forgot facts and figures. That was especially true as to things that were supposed to have happened in Ireland. He could never “see” anything that occurred in America.
During my fight with Paddy Ryan for the championship my father spent time in a newspaper office in Boston getting the telegraphic details. When the fight was over and my father learned that I had won he was taken home in a cab. Several friend were along with him and he was being showered with congratulations.
“Well Mr. Sullivan” said one of the newspaper men, “ I guess you are very proud of your son, aren’t you”. “And what for ? “ asked the old gentleman in a derogatory manner.
“Why, because he has just won the championship”, replied the young man.
Nothing Said His Father
“That’s nothing, me son” said the old gentleman.”There’s many a man in Ireland who kin knock the face of him”
While I knew the old gentleman was proud of his son at heart, he would never allow me to think so. I shall never forget the manner in which he greeted me on my return.
“So you are the champion eh ?” he said after looking me over. “Well he continued. It’s a good thing that you don’t fight in Ireland”
In the room with my father was an old gentleman named Hudson. They began to ply me with questions as to what I had seen while travelling around the country. The talk was on matters pertaining to athletics and great muscular feats.
I began to tell them about a great athlete James Maloney who I had seen jump in and out of 10 flour barrels and make a running jump of 22 feet. I think the record then was 21 feet.
“Sure that nothing” said the old man. “you have no jumpers in this country . I mind a fellow born in Ireland who jumped across the Shannon River and it was 32 feet from bank to bank at the narrowest place”
“Well “ I replied a little testily “ I guess you never had a man over there who could do what George Washington did”. “And what was that ? asked the two of them. “Why he threw a silver dollar across the Potomac river when he was only 18 years old”.
That stumped the old men for a minute. “Well ye know my boy” finally said my father, “Ye know a dollar went a long way in them days”.
Learned To Keep Cool
I quickly learned that the advantage was in keeping cool and making every blow count. I was naturally very strong. In fact I weighed 200 pounds before I had reached the age of 21. I was quite a good runner, a good baseball player, and a fair Jumper. I liked boxing better and I made that a specialty.
At that time boxing was quite the rage around the athletic clubs of Boston and I fell right in with the sport. I always believed in fighting with gloves. At this time I was working as an apprentice plumber trying to learn the trade. I got along very nicely and did not have as much time as I would have liked to devote to boxing. I went to the clubs at night and was beginning to make some reputation as an amateur boxer.
I worked the plumbing trade for 6 months. When the water pipes in the old Williams market were frozen a journeyman and myself were sent there. We went with all the necessary appliances which were used for thawing out pipes in the plumbing trade, including lighted torch and hot water. After a hard day’s work in which I carried all the water the journeyman and myself had some words. I told him that I thought I had carried enough and that he could have a few hours of that work himself. This caused some feeling between us and resulted in our having a scrap over the affair, and right there I won another fight. He made his escape to the shop which was only a few doors from where we were working.
When Career began
A few nights after that my career as a boxer really began. I dropped into a variety show at the Dudley Street Opera House. I knew that there was to bee a boxing exhibition, but I had no idea of taking any part in it. I took a seat among some friends near the first row. A strong looking young fellow named Scannell was introduced as a great boxer, he walked to the footlights and said.
“ I would be glad to put the gloves on with any man in the house. If there is anybody here who thinks I cant lick him, let him stand up”
I could feel that everybody in the house was turning his eyes on me. Having had some local reputation as a boxer they naturally expected me to accept the challenge.
I walked to the stage and went into the wings. I had no fighting togs, so I simply took off my collar and rolled up my sleeves. I walked out on the stage and everybody laughed because I looked so queer in my street clothes, while the great fighter had on tights. I was very timid at being on stage, and I stood around for a second, as if waiting for the fighters to be introduced.
As I stood there with my hands down that fellow Scannell walked up behind me and gave me an awful clout on the back of the head that almost knocked me cold. I was enraged at this, but did not lose my senses. Turning my head very quickly I saw Scannell smiling at the crowd as if he had done a very smart trick.
I was determined to get even with that fellow and without turning my head I slowly edged up to him until I had got within range. I then turned like a flash and let loose my big right fist. The blow caught him squarely on the point of the jaw and lifted him clearly of his feet. I swung so hard that I knocked him over the top of the piano and into the orchestra. He crashed into the works of that piano and made the inside of it look like a load of splinters. He kept falling until he had broken three of the fiddles and your ought to have heard them howl. They wanted the money for their broken fiddles, but I told them to collect it from Scannell. Scannell came to about an hour afterward.
I didn’t get any money for that fight, but had the pleasure of taking the fight out of the fellow who had hit me from behind and broke up a German orchestra as well.
Part 3
As a youth I was a very industrious young fellow, and, unlike many fighters, I never had much trouble making money. When I quit the tin smithing business I was getting $21 a week and that was considered good pay in those days.
I was one of the best amateur ball players around Boston and played with the Tremonts, the Etnas, Our Boys and several other clubs. I used to get $25 for playing a game and I got that twice a week. I played first base and right field and was a good hitter. In 1870 I was offered $1300 to play with the then famous Cincinnati Reds in Its seasons of 1870 and 1880.
I had the boxing fever, however, and did not accept the offer. Between my baseball playing and my boxing exhibitions around town I was making as much as $1000 a week before I was 21 years old.
Having made up my mind to become a fighter I went at it in a systematic way. I never had a teacher. I never took a boxing lesson in my life, I watched other boxers keenly and appropriated the best of their styles. I was strong and that made it easy for me to experiment.
The first regular sparring match — they would call it a fight these days that I ever had was in 1878, when I met Johnny Woods, better known as "Cocky" Woods, in Cockerill Hall, Hanover St, Boston. He was also a Bostonian and was a man of considerable reputation, having been matched to fight Heenan, the Benecia boy. After a little preliminary sizing' up I planted a clean wallop on his jaw and he was out.
You must understand that at this time practically all championship fights were fought under the old London prize ring rules., They differ vastly from the Marquis of Queensberry rules that are used today.
London Prize Ring Rules
Under London prize ring rules the rounds may last one minute or they may last 10. Whenever either fighter is knocked or wrestled to the ground the gong- sounds and the round is over.
Thirty seconds are allowed for rest, but the fighters were more apt to get three minutes. That 30 seconds of time is supposed to start from the moment the fighter is placed in his chair in the corner of the ring. Consequently the old fighters did a lot of "stalling." for instance, they would fall to the ground and the trainers would take plenty of time in going to pick them up. These
seconds would make a chair out of their arms and hands and place the fighters on it. They would take all the time they could to get back to the corner and then after they got there the fighter
would still have 30 seconds.
There are a lot of fighters in America today who would have a hard time getting along under the old London prize ring rules, especially if they had to fight with their bare fists. During the year 1880 I had many fights and succeeded in beating two such men as Dan Dwyer and Tommy Chandler
This was not the "Tom" Chandler of Pacific Coast fame, however. Later In that year I got my chance to be known as a coming fighter. It was through Prof Mike Donovan, the man who trained President Roosevelt, that I got a first peep at fame. I agreed to box with Donovan at a benefit performance given him by some friends at the Howard Athenaeum in Boston.
We wound up the fight in three rounds, and toward the finish I really tried to knock him out. I didn't quite make it, however, and we left the stage with the crowd cheering. The master of ceremonies, thinking we were sore at each other, made us shake hands. Donovan was a clever boxer and I surprised him by my ability to stand him off. !
When we reached our dressing rooms upstairs we had a long talk.
"John," he said, "I believe you really tried to knock me out."
"O, no," said I, as 1 winked to one of my seconds. "I didn't try very hard to finish you."
"Well, I'm going to be honest with you, John," he said, "and tell you that I tried my best to knock you out and I was surprised I failed to do it." "Well, I'll be honest," I. replied, "and tell you that I came within an inch of putting the knockout wallop over. If you hadn't dodged that last one that was aimed at your jaw you wouldn't have come to yet."
They Didn't Believe It
Prof Donovan returned to New York and" told Joe Goss, George Booke and other knowing ones around that city that he had found a comer up in Boston that was going to be the boss of the mat.
"O, tell that to the sailors," Goss replied. "I would like to get a peep at him. Can't you show him to us?" Donovan told them that they would see me before long. Goss, at that time, if you remember, was one of England's greatest champions, and, incidentally, he was a great fellow to know.
It was so arranged that I was to meet Goss on April 6, 1880, at a testimonial given to him in Music Hall, Boston. That gave me the first chance to demonstrate to the wise ones that I was to
become one of the world's greatest exponents of the manly art of fighting.
We boxed three rounds, and I could have knocked him out completely, but my friends advised me not to do so. In the second round we were standing toe to toe and slugging when suddenly I let loose a right-handed swing and knocked him flat. He was all in, but his seconds managed to get him to his corner and save him for the next round. As he came in the third I could have finished him easily, but Tom Denny and Billy Edwards advised me not to do so, as I might hurt him worse than I intended.
Therefore I was very careful and sparred through the last round without trying for a knockout blow. As Goss was taken to his dressing rooms he turned to the referee and said: "That fellow's blows feel like the kick of a mule."
The next day the papers had a little article about the fight and one of them said: "Sullivan's terrific hitting on this occasion proved quite a sensation." You know, in those days the papers didn't have much to say about prize fighting. If a fighter got as much as two inches of reading' about himself before a fight came off he was lucky.
Part 4
When, at the age of 21, I spent two months in a strange city, fought a man twice to get a decision, was arrested by the police end then received a purse of $58 , and $20 of which I contributed myself for my troubles, I began to feel that I was a real prize fighter.
The city I visited was Cincinnati and the man I fought was John Donaldson, who was known far and wide as the "champion of the West." The fight advanced me to the first round of the
pugilistic ladder and gave me an initial insight into the workings of the prize ring as the sport was conducted in those days.
My reputation as a boxer and fighter In Boston had spread throughout, the country. John McCormick, a sporting writer on the Cincinnati Enquirer, who later came to New York and write under the name of "Macon," conceived the idea of having a fight in Cincinnati between a good man from the East and the champion of the West.
Having found gentlemen who would give him financial backing: Mr. McCormick packed
his grip and started for Boston. They didn't do things through the papers In those days as much as they do now.
One afternoon I dropped into a sporting place known as Sheppard's, in Boston, and the proprietor told me there was a stranger there to see me. The visitor was Mr. McCormick."I want you to come out to Cincinnati and see if you can best our champion in an exhibition boxing match," he said to me. "And I want to know what you will charge. Of course I will pay railroad expenses both ways."
I thought It over for a minute, and then agreed to go for $250. I thought that was putting the figure pretty high at that.
"That's a little high," he said, "but I'll tell you what I will do, I will pay your railroad fare and your hotel bill and give you $150.". "You're on," I replied, and the bargain was sealed.
Imagine a fighter of today going all the way from Boston to Cincinnati to fight the "champion of the West" for Why, they would charge you that much now for incidentals.
Started for the West
A few days thereafter I packed my grip and started out for the strange Western country. That is the first time I ever went away from home. Arriving at Cincinnati I had a week in which to get ready. I didn't need it, however, for I was ready all the time.
The boxing match was held in Robinson's Opera House, and when I stepped on the stage I saw that the place was jammed to the doors with people. I determined, then and there to put the Western champion out if I got a chance. Donaldson was a well built man and was a fighter of considerable note. He had licked a lot of good men out in that section of the country and
I knew that if I even made it close the fight would give me some added reputation and finally lead me up to a fight for a championship.
Although considerable heavier than Donaldson, I was much quicker. He quickly realized that and attempted to keep out of my way. We were to box three rounds. It was in the second round that I caught him as he jumped and the blow floored him. I hit him so hard that he almost turned a somersault, and the spectators set up a shout of wild glee.
When the third round was over the crowd began yelling "Go on! Go on! Give us some more of it." Donaldson walked to the corner and removed his gloves. He refused to continue the fight.
"I am not in condition," he explained to the gang. "And as this man is in training I refuse to fight him." As a matter of fact, I had not trained as much as Donaldson. I was in perfect condition, however, and didn't need to train.
The crowd was in a big hubbub and everybody was clamoring for Donaldson to go on and have it out. I stood there for I knew that I could lick him. Finally Donaldson came to the footlights and made a speech. "I am not going to fight now because I am not in condition," he said. "But I here challenge John L. Sullivan to meet me in two months for $500 a side and the fight to be fought with hard gloves." "That suits me." I replied. "Get your money up."
Waited Two Months
As a matter of fact I did not have $500, but I had several friends in Cincinnati, who offered to put up the coin. Donaldson never did get up his money, but I was so anxious to get at him that I decided to fight, anyway. I stayed around Cincinnati for two months at my own expense to get this fight. Mr McCormick made good his contract to the letter and paid me $150 and expenses, but, of course, he had nothing to do with the second fight and I had to take a chance on getting what I could.
Donaldson and myself finally met on the night, of Dec 24. back of the old Atlantic garden on Vine St. We had intended fighting at some hall out of town, but the police got on to it and
gave a warning not to start. There was a big crowd waiting to see that mill start. Those on the inside finally got the tip and we all slipped around to the hall back of Atlantic garden.
There was a crowd of less than 150 on hand when we finally got together, and none of them paid their way in. We were afraid of the police and had to rely on a collection. This was done by passing around the hat. I put $20 in the hat myself. I was counting on getting Donaldson’s $500 bet.
At the last minute he flickered on the money question, but said he, would get it as soon as his friends arrived. They never arrived.
We started the fight finally, under the London prize rules. It lasted 10 rounds, and when 1 finally hooked a hard right swing on Donaldson's jaw he went down and out. He had prolonged the fight by running around the ring and crawling on the floor when down. It was not a hard tight, for I had the best of it all the way through. If we had been fighting under Marquis of Queensberry rules I would have knocked Donaldson out in less than three rounds, but he kept stalling me off by hitting the floor and staying there.
Just $58 in the Hat
After I had been declared the winner I took the hat that held the money. When counted up it figured just $58, and I never saw anything of that $500 that was to have been bet by Donaldson,
To add to my troubles as a coming fighter both Donaldson and myself were arrested the next day. Bobb Linn went bond for both of us. On the following Wednesday we were tried for "engaging In a prize fight."
The courtroom was packed when we came before the judge, and there were scores of witnesses. Their testimony kept the courtroom in an uproar of laughter until the Judge stopped it.
Johnny Moran, brother-in-law of Peter Moris, the well-known featherweight champion of England at one time, was the main witness. "Did you see a prize fight between these two men?" asked the judge. "No, your honor," replied Moran. "What I saw was a foot race."
"Well, who was ahead'.'" asked the judge. "Donaldson was in the lead by several yards," replied Moran. "And Sullivan was hot behind him."
"Did he catch him?" asked the judge, who was enjoying the thing himself.
"Only once, judge," replied Moran. "And then he barely touched him."
"Well, what happened then?" asked the Judge.
"Nothing, judge," replied the witness, "except that Donaldson stopped running”
"You are discharged," said the judge to Donaldson and myself. "I fall to see any harm in a good footrace."
Part 5
It was in Cincinnati that I first saw light ahead that would eventually lead me to the championship. My victory over John Donaldson had made me quite a favorite in the Ohio city, and I was advised to go after Paddy Ryan and not stop until I had nailed him. I needed no advice, however, for it had always been my one ambition to get Paddy Ryan, the champion, in the ring and let myself loose. Thus it was that the following challenge appeared in the Cincinnati Enquirer:
To the Sporting Editor of the Enquirer:
I am prepared to make a match
To fight any man breathing for any
sum from $1000 to $10,000 at catch weights
This challenge is specially
directed at Paddy Ryan and will remain
open for a mouth, if he should
see fit not to accept it,
Respectfully yours.
JOHN L. SULLIVAN.
I caught Ryan at Springfield, Mass, but he refused to either spar or fight me. "You go get a reputation before coming to me," said Ryan. I could clearly see he did not consider me worthy of
his standing as a pugilist. Arriving in Boston, I was practically broke. I set about to raise some money in case Ryun should' accept my challenge. I got hold of Joe Goss, the English
champion whom I had licked, and we gave a sparring: exhibition.
There were several bouts at the exhibition and one of the men I was selected to fight was Jack Stewart, called "The Champion of Canada." I shall never forget that fight, for it was the first time I had ever seen a man show the white feather in the ring. I cracked Stewart a couple of hard ones and in the second round he ran out of the ring and fled from the hall. Just as he was beating it into the wings I gave him a hard kick that helped him on his way.
Before the fight he had been parading around the theatre and telling everybody about what he was going to do to me. The exhibition netted $1300, which Goss and divided evenly.
Goss opened a sporting resort in Boston with his share of the money. I took the first train to New York. I had but one thing in view. I must get a reputation and at the same time get together enough money to make good on a bet with Ryan.
No "Stage Money" Then
You know, in those days, when a fighter said he would bet $500 he had to put it up. In this day and time they bet $10,000 and $15,000 at a crack, but that is easy. They never put it up. Most of the bets in prize fighting today are made on paper.
On the way to New York I thought out a scheme for getting money that later proved to be the greatest novelty ever introduced in prize fighting and one that did more to add to my fame
than anything I ever did. My idea was to meet any man in the world that wanted to fight me and give $50 to anyone who could last four rounds.
On March 31, 1881, I was tendered a testimonial benefit at Harry Hill's place. The sports of New York were beginning to take an interest in me, and I received lots of encouragement in my ambition to finally become the champion. At the close of the entertainment at Harry Hill's the master of ceremonies walked to the footlights and announced in a loud voice:
"This man , John L. Sullivan, is not afraid to fight any man in the world. He offers $50 to any man who stands before him for four rounds. He does not expect any one, and if Paddy Ryan
is in the house It goes for him." In one of the boxes was a man known as Steve Taylor, though his real name was John Mahan. Many of the New Yorkers of today will remember him.
He was a native of Ireland, but came to America when a youth. During his career Mahan was well known around New York as a politician under the Tweed regime. He was also a coroner
in Jersey City at the time. As a boxer and prize fighter Mahan was for some reason known as Steve Taylor, and it is that name I will use in telling this narrative.
Taylor had fought many of his fights and around New York he was looked upon as a wonder. He was a six-footer of very powerful build, and as agile as a cat. He fought a draw in 1878 with Phil Dwyer, the Brooklyn champion. When Jem Mace came over here from England Taylor was looked upon as the only man that could give him a fight. Among Taylor's other experiences
were those of training Paddy Ryan for his fight with Joe Goss and sparring over The country with him.
It can be readily understood that all the people at the boxing benefit naturally turned their eyes towards Taylor when I issued my challenge of $50 for anybody who could stand before me for four rounds. "I will fight him, finally said Taylor, as he jumped to the stage. Matt Grace, the collar and elbow wrestler, was selected an referee, and Hollywood stood up for Taylor, while Billy Madden acted in that capacity for me. We fought under the Marquis of Queensberry rules and wore ordinary boxing gloves. The minute I saw Taylor put up his hands knew I would beat him.
Paid, Although He Won
The first round was spent sizing each other up. Just at the end of the opening round I got in one left that staggered Taylor, and he looked at me in surprise. He never felt a blow like that before, he afterwards told me.
We had barely got started in the second round when I caught Taylor on the side of the head, with a right hand swing, and he hit the floor with a thump. He was game to the core and came up for more. He was making a desperate attempt to last the four rounds. Again I felled him with a stinging right, and he was so far gone when the bell rang that he threw up the sponge and I had won.
I felt a little sorry for Taylor, because he appeared to be a good game fellow. I needed the money badly, but I couldn't stand the idea of seeing him lose a fight like that and then go broke. I went over and shook his hand and gave him half of the prize he had failed to win. After that Taylor was a friend of mine and he once went with me as a sparring partner on a trip around the
country.
The crowd went wild over this novelty in prize fighting. The crowd was anxious for more. Finally there was a voice up in the gallery. A big rawboned looking fellow stood up for a
minute and then walked to the stage. "I have just come over from England, said the new man and haven't got a farthing to my name. I would like to fight for a purse If I can get a backer. My name is Con Morris. I think I can lick this fellow."
The hall was again in an uproar.
I will give a purse of $500 for a fight between those two men','' said a voice from the gallery, and Bill Borst, the famous sporting man, stood up. I found out later that Jim Wakely was also ready to help. Everything was going along nicely and I was told to come in Borst's place that night so we could fix up the details. we had just about fixed everything up when they decided they had better take Morris uptown and give him a tryout. They told him to put on the gloves with a fellow named Connors, who was a very ordinary fighter around New York. The new champion proved a bad one and Connors knocked him out in five rounds.
This stopped my fight with Morris and it was responsible for my battle with John Flood on the barge in the Hudson River. I will reserve my description of that fight for the next chapter.
Part 6
I was seated on a campstool in one of the dark corners of the old barge. My only companion for most of the trip was Joe Goss, the old champion, whom I had licked in Boston. As we moved slowly up the stream I could hear the choppy waters of the Hudson River sloshing against the sides of the old boat. I thought of the good old times around Boston, and couldn't help being reminded of how far I had gone to realize my ambition of being a great fighter.
The only light we had was that from a flickering torch stuck over in a corner. There was a haze of tobacco smoke all over the barge, and through it I could see men drinking from wine bottles and wagering money by the handfuls. There was occasionally a burst of laughter, but the principal noise was the popping of champagne corks.
The chill of the night had begun to make me shiver when Jim Wakely, the famous New York sport, came over and threw an extra blanket around my .shoulders. I was already dressed for
the fight and Goss had to continually rub me to prevent stiffness of my muscles. The tug that was towing us up the river made as little noise as possible. The torches were backed up with reflectors to prevent them being seen from shore. The whole affair seemed weird and mysterious. We were dodging the police.
Since the days of Sayers and Yankee Sullivan the police have been a constant thorn in the side of the prize fighters. Even to this day matches have to be so arranged that conditions are introduced in the agreements covering a possible interference by these officers of the law. They gave us some lively chases in those days, but by some hook or crook we always managed to ward off arrest until after the fights had been decided. After all my big fights, or rather the greater part
of them, I had to undergo arrest.
As we proceeded up the river that memorable night — it was April, 1881— I was constantly on the lookout for any boat that might put out from the shore. In another corner of the barge sat John Flood, a noted heavyweight, known far and wide as the "Bull's Head Terror." He and his party were watching the other side of the river.
To a Finish, for $1000
Having failed to get a match with the Englishman, Con Morris, Billy Borst and Jim Wakely had arranged for Flood and myself to fight to a finish, under London prize ring rules for a purse of $1000. Of that amount $750 was to go to the winner and $250 to the loser. In addition to that we made several side bets. We had been warned of interference by the police, and the managers had conceived the idea of slipping up the Hudson in a barge and holding the fight in the middle of the
stream opposite Yonkers.
Five hundred men were taken on the barge at $10 each, which, as you see, made a sum total of $5000. Of course the managers had to come in for something, as well as to pay the expenses
of the trip, the referee, timekeepers, etc.
As I sat there keeping an eye on the shore Joe Goss, who had left me for a moment, came back and tapped me on the shoulder. "John," he whispered “they have framed it up to beat you out of this. you want to be on the lookout for they intend to play some trick on you”. "I don't believe they would take the chance," I replied.
Goss insisted that he knew what he was talking about, however, and again he left me for a minute."They are all ready to try It," he whispered, as he came back to my corner. There are several toughs over in that end of the boat and they have been betting their heads off on Flood. If he does not win it their plan is to jump in the ring, put out the lights and stop the fight. If they cannot win any other way they will throw you overboard”
I stilt refused to believe that men would be capable of such a thing. Despite this belief I later found that it was true. Jim Wakely, Billy Borst and some others came around with the same information. By the time the old barge had reached the end of Manhattan Island the rumor had spread all over the boat, and it looked for awhile as if there was going to be serious trouble.
It was something like 10 o'clock when we reached a point off Yonkers and there we anchored. I knew now that It was time to fight. Al Smith, one of the most reliable and straightforward men that the sporting world ever knew, was selected as referee, and Joe Elliott, at one time sporting editor of the New York Herald, acted as stakeholder.
Ordered Into the Ring
The anchor had hardly struck the mud when 'we were ordered to get in the ring. I did not know it then, but it developed later that Al Smith had hurried things so as to stall off any trouble regarding the plot to beat me out of the fight if I won.
As Flood and I took seats opposite each other in the canvas-covered ring Al Smith threw off his coat and stood up between us. "Gentlemen," said Smith, "I have an important announcement to make, and I want you to listen. There has been a plot formed here to beat Sullivan out of this fight if he wins, and I want to tell you right now that you are not going to get away with it. If any man other than the fighters puts his foot into this ring or attempts to start any trouble I will award this fight to John L Sullivan, and I have friends enough on hand to see that he gets the money.
Have you got the money Mr Elliot ?
The stakeholder announced that he had the money on hand and he would turn it over according to the referee’s directions, no matter what happened.
“You are right” yelled the gang from Cherry Hill “ and we’ll stick by you”
That put a decided crimp into the scheme, and Flood and I got ready to fight. As I was walking over, to shake hands with my opponent, I caught a glimpse of the smiling face of Paddy Ryan in the edge of the crowd. "I'll get you next," I said to him, and he laughed good naturedly.
"You'll get a chance yet," he replied, and someone in the crowd added: "But you will have to get up some dough to fight the champion."
Flood and I pulled on our skin-tight gloves, and with a shout from the crowd we went at it. Still fearing some trick on the part of Flood's friends, I made up my mind to end the fight just as quickly as possible.
Without waiting for any preliminary sparring I rushed at Flood and let both fists drive at his face and stomach. He stood them oft for a second, and then I caught him on the ear with a right-hand swing that sent him flopping to the floor. The round had lasted less than a minute. You must bear in mind that we were fighting under London prize ring rules, and that a round ended when one or the other of the fighters was downed.
How It Ended
In the eighth round Flood showed a little new life and came to me with a rush. That was just what I wanted. He had been keeping out of reach for several minutes. We had been fighting 16 minutes when Flood suddenly made a second dash toward me. A wave then lurched the boat a little, which only served to increase his momentum. I saw his right fist coming and dodged it. I knew that my chance had arrived. Instead of stepping to one side I braced myself and, as his fist shot over my head my right landed squarely on his jaw and he flopped to the floor. It was an awful jawbreaker that I hit him, and without waiting for him to revive Flood's own backers threw up the sponge and admitted that I had won.
"There is no use in letting a willing man be killed," said one of Flood's backers. "He is completely outclassed." Although I still had in mind the attempt that had been made to stop the
fight and cheat me out of my honest victory, I felt very sorry for Flood. I knew he had nothing to do with that scheme. He was too honest and too game.
I went over to the corner and took him by the hand. "We met as friends. old fellow," I said to Flood, "and I want to part that way." I then grabbed a hat and went all over the boat taking up a collection for the man I had beaten. After that fight John Flood was one of the best friends
I ever had.
Paddy Ryan came over and congratulated me. The next morning there appeared an interview in one of the papers, in which Ryan said: "Sullivan is a clever young fellow, and he looks as if he would turn out to be a good fighter." "Are you willing to give me a fight now?" I asked of Ryan, when I met him on the street. "Show me another good victory and I'll talk to you," replied Ryan.
Still determined, I started out looking for another customer.
4 Feb 1918 – 13 March
John L Sullivan’s Life, as it was written by himself
Parts 1 to 23
By John L Sullivan
In beginning this narrative or my life and rather turbulent career, I want it distinctly understood that I am not and never was ashamed of having been a fighter. To attain anything in this world every man must fight and to reach the top he must win. Life itself is a fight. Even the art of writing is a fight. If any of my readers have any doubts on that subject they should see me with a pencil and paper in my hand trying to knock ideas out of my head, trying to fill these pages. When I went on a grand tour of the United States and faced all comers, I did not find a single man as hard to knock out as I do this first chapter.
As I said before, life is a fight from beginning to end. The world is full of fights, and those you see directing the affairs of the Nation are the winners. They have fought their way to the top, and that is the only way to get there. Even. the preachers have to fight. They go into the pulpit with the idea, of knocking out the Devil, and by the way that Devil seems to be about the only fighter that ever stuck it out regardless of age.
They keep pounding on him, however, and while they have never succeeded in knocking him out completely, Old Satan has never got any better than a draw. The man who stands out in law, medicine or any other profession has to fight his way to the top, and the poor boy who starts out to reach the top was to fight his way to honors as well as to fight off poverty at the same time.
Desire to Excel
It may or may not be morally right for one man to stand up and strike another with his fists, but it is the same old idea — a desire to excel. If you will remember away back yonder in the time of Julius Caesar — well, I guess you can't remember that far back, neither can I — anyway, at that time the historians, tell us of how great multitudes arose and marveled at the muscles of the man." That was many years before the corning of Christ, and even then people were congregating to look some fellow over who showed some signs of being a champion. The same thing has been true ever since. Did you ever notice that throngs are on hand to greet a champion just after he has won a big fight?. The rivalry between men for physical superiority is what is left of our ancient animal instincts and will be continued until the end of time.
The lion ruled the forest because he was the best fighter. Among all the wild fighters the leader of the herd is always the one who has won his spurs by showing physical superiority. Some time ago I was standing in back of stage curtain of a moving picture show. At the start a picture of President Taft was thrown on the screen and it got a fair round of applause. Next came Roosevelt, and he received an even a little better applause. They then flashed a picture of Jim Jeffries on the screen, and I thought the crowd would tear up the house.
It was almost an ovation. The next was that of George Washington the Father of His Country, and he only got a ripple of handclapping. I do not think, however, that the favoritism toward Jeffries was so much on account of lack of respect or admiration for the others, he was simply the man of the hour — the man who was getting ready for the champion of the world with his fists.
I merely relate that incident to show what a hold any man of muscle and brawn has on the American public. Very few men can ever reach the ideal of physical perfection, and those who do attain that honor are looked upon as heroes who have done something for the physical uplifting of the race. Now. this is not a lecture, but I could not refrain from giving my readers a few of my views in regard to the ancient sport, business or whatever you may pleased to call it, of fighting.
Having passed the half century mark in years, and being able to look back over a career of strife and excitement, my mind drifts to a little scene in the playground of a primary school in Concord St. Boston.
It Was The Beginning
It was the beginning. A knot of youngsters had gathered in the centre of the playground and from their gesticulations were evidently intensely excited. One youth held under his arm a little schoolboy’s hat, and in it was a handful of marbles, some of the best and prettiest marbles in the school. Another muscular looking youth had the bareheaded boy by the lapel of his coat and was talking in the strongest language a boy of 12 knows. To his coat tail was hanging a small pale faced boy, evidently in deep distress.
"Now, look here, Jerry," said the boy who was protecting the weaker youth, "You've got to give this boy those marbles, you know he won them on the level, because he beat you plain."
"I ain't going to give him nothing." Jerry said, "I couldn't shoot cause my thumb was sore."
"Ain't so." said the little fellow "John, when I beat him he grabbed all the marbles and tried to run away. Don't let him keep them." "Jerry, go on and give this boy those marbles”.
The boy spoken to as John was evidently getting angry, His eyes flashed and the muscles in his small arms began to move up and down beneath the sleeve of his jacket. "I ain't going to give them," replied Jerry, doggedly, "and I don't, know of anybody that can make me. It's none of your business, anyhow."
"You ain't, eh?" replied John and his eyes snapped, "Well, let me tell you something. When Bobby first came to this school his mother told me to look after him and I am going to do it. You've got to give him those marbles or you've got to lick me, one or the other." At this the little gathering of boys applauded vigorously. They wanted to see a fight. "Go on and fight, him. Jerry, or give up the marbles," they yelled in chorus.
Jerry Was Willing
Jerry appeared to be willing, and after handing his cap and marbles to one of the boys the two youthful fighters squared and got ready for an honest set-to. The other boys gathered in a circle, which in schoolboy customs means a guarantee of fair play. After a little jumping around Jerry ran at his antagonist and tried to plant a blow on his face, but it failed. John blocked the blow, and came back with another that narrowly missed Jerry's ear.
"Hit him, John; hit him!" yelled little Bobbie, "he is a big bluffer." John tried but failed and Jerry stung him with a glancing blow to the cheek. That appeared to get up the Irish in John and, like a whirlwind, he waded into a clinch, his elbow rubbed into Jerry's ribs. Jerry reached for the spot with his right hand and as he did so John's right shot out and struck him squarely on the jaw". Jerry dropped to the ground defeated.
"Here's your marbles, Bobby," said John. "Ain't hurt much, are you, Jerry?" he asked the fallen boy. "Let's shake hands." "Guess I was wrong, anyway," said Jerry. "Let's be. friends."
From that date on these two boys — Jerry and John — were the best of friends. They were both named Sullivan, but were no kin. The winner of that fight was yours truly, John L. Sullivan, and it was the first big fight of his career. Moreover, that fight was on the level and it was fair. I stuck to that principle the rest of my life.
That little fight in the schoolyard on Concord St taught me that the place to strike a man and knock him out without injuring him permanently was on the point of the jaw. Practically every man that was ever knocked out by me took the count from a punch on the jaw.
I was not a quarrelsome boy, and as a rule had little trouble, but it so happened that my prowess as a boxer spread around the school and many a little lad I had had to defend in the years that followed. My success as a regular boxer and fighter for money will be told in the chapters that follow.
Part 2
I have always believed that I inherited my love for athletic games and muscular feats from my father, who came from County Kerry, Ireland. My big frame and general physical build came from my mother’s side of the family. She was born in County Roscommon, Ireland, and she came from a race of big men.
My father was a little fellow weighing no more than 130 pounds. What he lacked in size however was made up in enthusiasm over great athletic stunts. In fact he grew so enthusiastic at times that he almost forgot facts and figures. That was especially true as to things that were supposed to have happened in Ireland. He could never “see” anything that occurred in America.
During my fight with Paddy Ryan for the championship my father spent time in a newspaper office in Boston getting the telegraphic details. When the fight was over and my father learned that I had won he was taken home in a cab. Several friend were along with him and he was being showered with congratulations.
“Well Mr. Sullivan” said one of the newspaper men, “ I guess you are very proud of your son, aren’t you”. “And what for ? “ asked the old gentleman in a derogatory manner.
“Why, because he has just won the championship”, replied the young man.
Nothing Said His Father
“That’s nothing, me son” said the old gentleman.”There’s many a man in Ireland who kin knock the face of him”
While I knew the old gentleman was proud of his son at heart, he would never allow me to think so. I shall never forget the manner in which he greeted me on my return.
“So you are the champion eh ?” he said after looking me over. “Well he continued. It’s a good thing that you don’t fight in Ireland”
In the room with my father was an old gentleman named Hudson. They began to ply me with questions as to what I had seen while travelling around the country. The talk was on matters pertaining to athletics and great muscular feats.
I began to tell them about a great athlete James Maloney who I had seen jump in and out of 10 flour barrels and make a running jump of 22 feet. I think the record then was 21 feet.
“Sure that nothing” said the old man. “you have no jumpers in this country . I mind a fellow born in Ireland who jumped across the Shannon River and it was 32 feet from bank to bank at the narrowest place”
“Well “ I replied a little testily “ I guess you never had a man over there who could do what George Washington did”. “And what was that ? asked the two of them. “Why he threw a silver dollar across the Potomac river when he was only 18 years old”.
That stumped the old men for a minute. “Well ye know my boy” finally said my father, “Ye know a dollar went a long way in them days”.
Learned To Keep Cool
I quickly learned that the advantage was in keeping cool and making every blow count. I was naturally very strong. In fact I weighed 200 pounds before I had reached the age of 21. I was quite a good runner, a good baseball player, and a fair Jumper. I liked boxing better and I made that a specialty.
At that time boxing was quite the rage around the athletic clubs of Boston and I fell right in with the sport. I always believed in fighting with gloves. At this time I was working as an apprentice plumber trying to learn the trade. I got along very nicely and did not have as much time as I would have liked to devote to boxing. I went to the clubs at night and was beginning to make some reputation as an amateur boxer.
I worked the plumbing trade for 6 months. When the water pipes in the old Williams market were frozen a journeyman and myself were sent there. We went with all the necessary appliances which were used for thawing out pipes in the plumbing trade, including lighted torch and hot water. After a hard day’s work in which I carried all the water the journeyman and myself had some words. I told him that I thought I had carried enough and that he could have a few hours of that work himself. This caused some feeling between us and resulted in our having a scrap over the affair, and right there I won another fight. He made his escape to the shop which was only a few doors from where we were working.
When Career began
A few nights after that my career as a boxer really began. I dropped into a variety show at the Dudley Street Opera House. I knew that there was to bee a boxing exhibition, but I had no idea of taking any part in it. I took a seat among some friends near the first row. A strong looking young fellow named Scannell was introduced as a great boxer, he walked to the footlights and said.
“ I would be glad to put the gloves on with any man in the house. If there is anybody here who thinks I cant lick him, let him stand up”
I could feel that everybody in the house was turning his eyes on me. Having had some local reputation as a boxer they naturally expected me to accept the challenge.
I walked to the stage and went into the wings. I had no fighting togs, so I simply took off my collar and rolled up my sleeves. I walked out on the stage and everybody laughed because I looked so queer in my street clothes, while the great fighter had on tights. I was very timid at being on stage, and I stood around for a second, as if waiting for the fighters to be introduced.
As I stood there with my hands down that fellow Scannell walked up behind me and gave me an awful clout on the back of the head that almost knocked me cold. I was enraged at this, but did not lose my senses. Turning my head very quickly I saw Scannell smiling at the crowd as if he had done a very smart trick.
I was determined to get even with that fellow and without turning my head I slowly edged up to him until I had got within range. I then turned like a flash and let loose my big right fist. The blow caught him squarely on the point of the jaw and lifted him clearly of his feet. I swung so hard that I knocked him over the top of the piano and into the orchestra. He crashed into the works of that piano and made the inside of it look like a load of splinters. He kept falling until he had broken three of the fiddles and your ought to have heard them howl. They wanted the money for their broken fiddles, but I told them to collect it from Scannell. Scannell came to about an hour afterward.
I didn’t get any money for that fight, but had the pleasure of taking the fight out of the fellow who had hit me from behind and broke up a German orchestra as well.
Part 3
As a youth I was a very industrious young fellow, and, unlike many fighters, I never had much trouble making money. When I quit the tin smithing business I was getting $21 a week and that was considered good pay in those days.
I was one of the best amateur ball players around Boston and played with the Tremonts, the Etnas, Our Boys and several other clubs. I used to get $25 for playing a game and I got that twice a week. I played first base and right field and was a good hitter. In 1870 I was offered $1300 to play with the then famous Cincinnati Reds in Its seasons of 1870 and 1880.
I had the boxing fever, however, and did not accept the offer. Between my baseball playing and my boxing exhibitions around town I was making as much as $1000 a week before I was 21 years old.
Having made up my mind to become a fighter I went at it in a systematic way. I never had a teacher. I never took a boxing lesson in my life, I watched other boxers keenly and appropriated the best of their styles. I was strong and that made it easy for me to experiment.
The first regular sparring match — they would call it a fight these days that I ever had was in 1878, when I met Johnny Woods, better known as "Cocky" Woods, in Cockerill Hall, Hanover St, Boston. He was also a Bostonian and was a man of considerable reputation, having been matched to fight Heenan, the Benecia boy. After a little preliminary sizing' up I planted a clean wallop on his jaw and he was out.
You must understand that at this time practically all championship fights were fought under the old London prize ring rules., They differ vastly from the Marquis of Queensberry rules that are used today.
London Prize Ring Rules
Under London prize ring rules the rounds may last one minute or they may last 10. Whenever either fighter is knocked or wrestled to the ground the gong- sounds and the round is over.
Thirty seconds are allowed for rest, but the fighters were more apt to get three minutes. That 30 seconds of time is supposed to start from the moment the fighter is placed in his chair in the corner of the ring. Consequently the old fighters did a lot of "stalling." for instance, they would fall to the ground and the trainers would take plenty of time in going to pick them up. These
seconds would make a chair out of their arms and hands and place the fighters on it. They would take all the time they could to get back to the corner and then after they got there the fighter
would still have 30 seconds.
There are a lot of fighters in America today who would have a hard time getting along under the old London prize ring rules, especially if they had to fight with their bare fists. During the year 1880 I had many fights and succeeded in beating two such men as Dan Dwyer and Tommy Chandler
This was not the "Tom" Chandler of Pacific Coast fame, however. Later In that year I got my chance to be known as a coming fighter. It was through Prof Mike Donovan, the man who trained President Roosevelt, that I got a first peep at fame. I agreed to box with Donovan at a benefit performance given him by some friends at the Howard Athenaeum in Boston.
We wound up the fight in three rounds, and toward the finish I really tried to knock him out. I didn't quite make it, however, and we left the stage with the crowd cheering. The master of ceremonies, thinking we were sore at each other, made us shake hands. Donovan was a clever boxer and I surprised him by my ability to stand him off. !
When we reached our dressing rooms upstairs we had a long talk.
"John," he said, "I believe you really tried to knock me out."
"O, no," said I, as 1 winked to one of my seconds. "I didn't try very hard to finish you."
"Well, I'm going to be honest with you, John," he said, "and tell you that I tried my best to knock you out and I was surprised I failed to do it." "Well, I'll be honest," I. replied, "and tell you that I came within an inch of putting the knockout wallop over. If you hadn't dodged that last one that was aimed at your jaw you wouldn't have come to yet."
They Didn't Believe It
Prof Donovan returned to New York and" told Joe Goss, George Booke and other knowing ones around that city that he had found a comer up in Boston that was going to be the boss of the mat.
"O, tell that to the sailors," Goss replied. "I would like to get a peep at him. Can't you show him to us?" Donovan told them that they would see me before long. Goss, at that time, if you remember, was one of England's greatest champions, and, incidentally, he was a great fellow to know.
It was so arranged that I was to meet Goss on April 6, 1880, at a testimonial given to him in Music Hall, Boston. That gave me the first chance to demonstrate to the wise ones that I was to
become one of the world's greatest exponents of the manly art of fighting.
We boxed three rounds, and I could have knocked him out completely, but my friends advised me not to do so. In the second round we were standing toe to toe and slugging when suddenly I let loose a right-handed swing and knocked him flat. He was all in, but his seconds managed to get him to his corner and save him for the next round. As he came in the third I could have finished him easily, but Tom Denny and Billy Edwards advised me not to do so, as I might hurt him worse than I intended.
Therefore I was very careful and sparred through the last round without trying for a knockout blow. As Goss was taken to his dressing rooms he turned to the referee and said: "That fellow's blows feel like the kick of a mule."
The next day the papers had a little article about the fight and one of them said: "Sullivan's terrific hitting on this occasion proved quite a sensation." You know, in those days the papers didn't have much to say about prize fighting. If a fighter got as much as two inches of reading' about himself before a fight came off he was lucky.
Part 4
When, at the age of 21, I spent two months in a strange city, fought a man twice to get a decision, was arrested by the police end then received a purse of $58 , and $20 of which I contributed myself for my troubles, I began to feel that I was a real prize fighter.
The city I visited was Cincinnati and the man I fought was John Donaldson, who was known far and wide as the "champion of the West." The fight advanced me to the first round of the
pugilistic ladder and gave me an initial insight into the workings of the prize ring as the sport was conducted in those days.
My reputation as a boxer and fighter In Boston had spread throughout, the country. John McCormick, a sporting writer on the Cincinnati Enquirer, who later came to New York and write under the name of "Macon," conceived the idea of having a fight in Cincinnati between a good man from the East and the champion of the West.
Having found gentlemen who would give him financial backing: Mr. McCormick packed
his grip and started for Boston. They didn't do things through the papers In those days as much as they do now.
One afternoon I dropped into a sporting place known as Sheppard's, in Boston, and the proprietor told me there was a stranger there to see me. The visitor was Mr. McCormick."I want you to come out to Cincinnati and see if you can best our champion in an exhibition boxing match," he said to me. "And I want to know what you will charge. Of course I will pay railroad expenses both ways."
I thought It over for a minute, and then agreed to go for $250. I thought that was putting the figure pretty high at that.
"That's a little high," he said, "but I'll tell you what I will do, I will pay your railroad fare and your hotel bill and give you $150.". "You're on," I replied, and the bargain was sealed.
Imagine a fighter of today going all the way from Boston to Cincinnati to fight the "champion of the West" for Why, they would charge you that much now for incidentals.
Started for the West
A few days thereafter I packed my grip and started out for the strange Western country. That is the first time I ever went away from home. Arriving at Cincinnati I had a week in which to get ready. I didn't need it, however, for I was ready all the time.
The boxing match was held in Robinson's Opera House, and when I stepped on the stage I saw that the place was jammed to the doors with people. I determined, then and there to put the Western champion out if I got a chance. Donaldson was a well built man and was a fighter of considerable note. He had licked a lot of good men out in that section of the country and
I knew that if I even made it close the fight would give me some added reputation and finally lead me up to a fight for a championship.
Although considerable heavier than Donaldson, I was much quicker. He quickly realized that and attempted to keep out of my way. We were to box three rounds. It was in the second round that I caught him as he jumped and the blow floored him. I hit him so hard that he almost turned a somersault, and the spectators set up a shout of wild glee.
When the third round was over the crowd began yelling "Go on! Go on! Give us some more of it." Donaldson walked to the corner and removed his gloves. He refused to continue the fight.
"I am not in condition," he explained to the gang. "And as this man is in training I refuse to fight him." As a matter of fact, I had not trained as much as Donaldson. I was in perfect condition, however, and didn't need to train.
The crowd was in a big hubbub and everybody was clamoring for Donaldson to go on and have it out. I stood there for I knew that I could lick him. Finally Donaldson came to the footlights and made a speech. "I am not going to fight now because I am not in condition," he said. "But I here challenge John L. Sullivan to meet me in two months for $500 a side and the fight to be fought with hard gloves." "That suits me." I replied. "Get your money up."
Waited Two Months
As a matter of fact I did not have $500, but I had several friends in Cincinnati, who offered to put up the coin. Donaldson never did get up his money, but I was so anxious to get at him that I decided to fight, anyway. I stayed around Cincinnati for two months at my own expense to get this fight. Mr McCormick made good his contract to the letter and paid me $150 and expenses, but, of course, he had nothing to do with the second fight and I had to take a chance on getting what I could.
Donaldson and myself finally met on the night, of Dec 24. back of the old Atlantic garden on Vine St. We had intended fighting at some hall out of town, but the police got on to it and
gave a warning not to start. There was a big crowd waiting to see that mill start. Those on the inside finally got the tip and we all slipped around to the hall back of Atlantic garden.
There was a crowd of less than 150 on hand when we finally got together, and none of them paid their way in. We were afraid of the police and had to rely on a collection. This was done by passing around the hat. I put $20 in the hat myself. I was counting on getting Donaldson’s $500 bet.
At the last minute he flickered on the money question, but said he, would get it as soon as his friends arrived. They never arrived.
We started the fight finally, under the London prize rules. It lasted 10 rounds, and when 1 finally hooked a hard right swing on Donaldson's jaw he went down and out. He had prolonged the fight by running around the ring and crawling on the floor when down. It was not a hard tight, for I had the best of it all the way through. If we had been fighting under Marquis of Queensberry rules I would have knocked Donaldson out in less than three rounds, but he kept stalling me off by hitting the floor and staying there.
Just $58 in the Hat
After I had been declared the winner I took the hat that held the money. When counted up it figured just $58, and I never saw anything of that $500 that was to have been bet by Donaldson,
To add to my troubles as a coming fighter both Donaldson and myself were arrested the next day. Bobb Linn went bond for both of us. On the following Wednesday we were tried for "engaging In a prize fight."
The courtroom was packed when we came before the judge, and there were scores of witnesses. Their testimony kept the courtroom in an uproar of laughter until the Judge stopped it.
Johnny Moran, brother-in-law of Peter Moris, the well-known featherweight champion of England at one time, was the main witness. "Did you see a prize fight between these two men?" asked the judge. "No, your honor," replied Moran. "What I saw was a foot race."
"Well, who was ahead'.'" asked the judge. "Donaldson was in the lead by several yards," replied Moran. "And Sullivan was hot behind him."
"Did he catch him?" asked the judge, who was enjoying the thing himself.
"Only once, judge," replied Moran. "And then he barely touched him."
"Well, what happened then?" asked the Judge.
"Nothing, judge," replied the witness, "except that Donaldson stopped running”
"You are discharged," said the judge to Donaldson and myself. "I fall to see any harm in a good footrace."
Part 5
It was in Cincinnati that I first saw light ahead that would eventually lead me to the championship. My victory over John Donaldson had made me quite a favorite in the Ohio city, and I was advised to go after Paddy Ryan and not stop until I had nailed him. I needed no advice, however, for it had always been my one ambition to get Paddy Ryan, the champion, in the ring and let myself loose. Thus it was that the following challenge appeared in the Cincinnati Enquirer:
To the Sporting Editor of the Enquirer:
I am prepared to make a match
To fight any man breathing for any
sum from $1000 to $10,000 at catch weights
This challenge is specially
directed at Paddy Ryan and will remain
open for a mouth, if he should
see fit not to accept it,
Respectfully yours.
JOHN L. SULLIVAN.
I caught Ryan at Springfield, Mass, but he refused to either spar or fight me. "You go get a reputation before coming to me," said Ryan. I could clearly see he did not consider me worthy of
his standing as a pugilist. Arriving in Boston, I was practically broke. I set about to raise some money in case Ryun should' accept my challenge. I got hold of Joe Goss, the English
champion whom I had licked, and we gave a sparring: exhibition.
There were several bouts at the exhibition and one of the men I was selected to fight was Jack Stewart, called "The Champion of Canada." I shall never forget that fight, for it was the first time I had ever seen a man show the white feather in the ring. I cracked Stewart a couple of hard ones and in the second round he ran out of the ring and fled from the hall. Just as he was beating it into the wings I gave him a hard kick that helped him on his way.
Before the fight he had been parading around the theatre and telling everybody about what he was going to do to me. The exhibition netted $1300, which Goss and divided evenly.
Goss opened a sporting resort in Boston with his share of the money. I took the first train to New York. I had but one thing in view. I must get a reputation and at the same time get together enough money to make good on a bet with Ryan.
No "Stage Money" Then
You know, in those days, when a fighter said he would bet $500 he had to put it up. In this day and time they bet $10,000 and $15,000 at a crack, but that is easy. They never put it up. Most of the bets in prize fighting today are made on paper.
On the way to New York I thought out a scheme for getting money that later proved to be the greatest novelty ever introduced in prize fighting and one that did more to add to my fame
than anything I ever did. My idea was to meet any man in the world that wanted to fight me and give $50 to anyone who could last four rounds.
On March 31, 1881, I was tendered a testimonial benefit at Harry Hill's place. The sports of New York were beginning to take an interest in me, and I received lots of encouragement in my ambition to finally become the champion. At the close of the entertainment at Harry Hill's the master of ceremonies walked to the footlights and announced in a loud voice:
"This man , John L. Sullivan, is not afraid to fight any man in the world. He offers $50 to any man who stands before him for four rounds. He does not expect any one, and if Paddy Ryan
is in the house It goes for him." In one of the boxes was a man known as Steve Taylor, though his real name was John Mahan. Many of the New Yorkers of today will remember him.
He was a native of Ireland, but came to America when a youth. During his career Mahan was well known around New York as a politician under the Tweed regime. He was also a coroner
in Jersey City at the time. As a boxer and prize fighter Mahan was for some reason known as Steve Taylor, and it is that name I will use in telling this narrative.
Taylor had fought many of his fights and around New York he was looked upon as a wonder. He was a six-footer of very powerful build, and as agile as a cat. He fought a draw in 1878 with Phil Dwyer, the Brooklyn champion. When Jem Mace came over here from England Taylor was looked upon as the only man that could give him a fight. Among Taylor's other experiences
were those of training Paddy Ryan for his fight with Joe Goss and sparring over The country with him.
It can be readily understood that all the people at the boxing benefit naturally turned their eyes towards Taylor when I issued my challenge of $50 for anybody who could stand before me for four rounds. "I will fight him, finally said Taylor, as he jumped to the stage. Matt Grace, the collar and elbow wrestler, was selected an referee, and Hollywood stood up for Taylor, while Billy Madden acted in that capacity for me. We fought under the Marquis of Queensberry rules and wore ordinary boxing gloves. The minute I saw Taylor put up his hands knew I would beat him.
Paid, Although He Won
The first round was spent sizing each other up. Just at the end of the opening round I got in one left that staggered Taylor, and he looked at me in surprise. He never felt a blow like that before, he afterwards told me.
We had barely got started in the second round when I caught Taylor on the side of the head, with a right hand swing, and he hit the floor with a thump. He was game to the core and came up for more. He was making a desperate attempt to last the four rounds. Again I felled him with a stinging right, and he was so far gone when the bell rang that he threw up the sponge and I had won.
I felt a little sorry for Taylor, because he appeared to be a good game fellow. I needed the money badly, but I couldn't stand the idea of seeing him lose a fight like that and then go broke. I went over and shook his hand and gave him half of the prize he had failed to win. After that Taylor was a friend of mine and he once went with me as a sparring partner on a trip around the
country.
The crowd went wild over this novelty in prize fighting. The crowd was anxious for more. Finally there was a voice up in the gallery. A big rawboned looking fellow stood up for a
minute and then walked to the stage. "I have just come over from England, said the new man and haven't got a farthing to my name. I would like to fight for a purse If I can get a backer. My name is Con Morris. I think I can lick this fellow."
The hall was again in an uproar.
I will give a purse of $500 for a fight between those two men','' said a voice from the gallery, and Bill Borst, the famous sporting man, stood up. I found out later that Jim Wakely was also ready to help. Everything was going along nicely and I was told to come in Borst's place that night so we could fix up the details. we had just about fixed everything up when they decided they had better take Morris uptown and give him a tryout. They told him to put on the gloves with a fellow named Connors, who was a very ordinary fighter around New York. The new champion proved a bad one and Connors knocked him out in five rounds.
This stopped my fight with Morris and it was responsible for my battle with John Flood on the barge in the Hudson River. I will reserve my description of that fight for the next chapter.
Part 6
I was seated on a campstool in one of the dark corners of the old barge. My only companion for most of the trip was Joe Goss, the old champion, whom I had licked in Boston. As we moved slowly up the stream I could hear the choppy waters of the Hudson River sloshing against the sides of the old boat. I thought of the good old times around Boston, and couldn't help being reminded of how far I had gone to realize my ambition of being a great fighter.
The only light we had was that from a flickering torch stuck over in a corner. There was a haze of tobacco smoke all over the barge, and through it I could see men drinking from wine bottles and wagering money by the handfuls. There was occasionally a burst of laughter, but the principal noise was the popping of champagne corks.
The chill of the night had begun to make me shiver when Jim Wakely, the famous New York sport, came over and threw an extra blanket around my .shoulders. I was already dressed for
the fight and Goss had to continually rub me to prevent stiffness of my muscles. The tug that was towing us up the river made as little noise as possible. The torches were backed up with reflectors to prevent them being seen from shore. The whole affair seemed weird and mysterious. We were dodging the police.
Since the days of Sayers and Yankee Sullivan the police have been a constant thorn in the side of the prize fighters. Even to this day matches have to be so arranged that conditions are introduced in the agreements covering a possible interference by these officers of the law. They gave us some lively chases in those days, but by some hook or crook we always managed to ward off arrest until after the fights had been decided. After all my big fights, or rather the greater part
of them, I had to undergo arrest.
As we proceeded up the river that memorable night — it was April, 1881— I was constantly on the lookout for any boat that might put out from the shore. In another corner of the barge sat John Flood, a noted heavyweight, known far and wide as the "Bull's Head Terror." He and his party were watching the other side of the river.
To a Finish, for $1000
Having failed to get a match with the Englishman, Con Morris, Billy Borst and Jim Wakely had arranged for Flood and myself to fight to a finish, under London prize ring rules for a purse of $1000. Of that amount $750 was to go to the winner and $250 to the loser. In addition to that we made several side bets. We had been warned of interference by the police, and the managers had conceived the idea of slipping up the Hudson in a barge and holding the fight in the middle of the
stream opposite Yonkers.
Five hundred men were taken on the barge at $10 each, which, as you see, made a sum total of $5000. Of course the managers had to come in for something, as well as to pay the expenses
of the trip, the referee, timekeepers, etc.
As I sat there keeping an eye on the shore Joe Goss, who had left me for a moment, came back and tapped me on the shoulder. "John," he whispered “they have framed it up to beat you out of this. you want to be on the lookout for they intend to play some trick on you”. "I don't believe they would take the chance," I replied.
Goss insisted that he knew what he was talking about, however, and again he left me for a minute."They are all ready to try It," he whispered, as he came back to my corner. There are several toughs over in that end of the boat and they have been betting their heads off on Flood. If he does not win it their plan is to jump in the ring, put out the lights and stop the fight. If they cannot win any other way they will throw you overboard”
I stilt refused to believe that men would be capable of such a thing. Despite this belief I later found that it was true. Jim Wakely, Billy Borst and some others came around with the same information. By the time the old barge had reached the end of Manhattan Island the rumor had spread all over the boat, and it looked for awhile as if there was going to be serious trouble.
It was something like 10 o'clock when we reached a point off Yonkers and there we anchored. I knew now that It was time to fight. Al Smith, one of the most reliable and straightforward men that the sporting world ever knew, was selected as referee, and Joe Elliott, at one time sporting editor of the New York Herald, acted as stakeholder.
Ordered Into the Ring
The anchor had hardly struck the mud when 'we were ordered to get in the ring. I did not know it then, but it developed later that Al Smith had hurried things so as to stall off any trouble regarding the plot to beat me out of the fight if I won.
As Flood and I took seats opposite each other in the canvas-covered ring Al Smith threw off his coat and stood up between us. "Gentlemen," said Smith, "I have an important announcement to make, and I want you to listen. There has been a plot formed here to beat Sullivan out of this fight if he wins, and I want to tell you right now that you are not going to get away with it. If any man other than the fighters puts his foot into this ring or attempts to start any trouble I will award this fight to John L Sullivan, and I have friends enough on hand to see that he gets the money.
Have you got the money Mr Elliot ?
The stakeholder announced that he had the money on hand and he would turn it over according to the referee’s directions, no matter what happened.
“You are right” yelled the gang from Cherry Hill “ and we’ll stick by you”
That put a decided crimp into the scheme, and Flood and I got ready to fight. As I was walking over, to shake hands with my opponent, I caught a glimpse of the smiling face of Paddy Ryan in the edge of the crowd. "I'll get you next," I said to him, and he laughed good naturedly.
"You'll get a chance yet," he replied, and someone in the crowd added: "But you will have to get up some dough to fight the champion."
Flood and I pulled on our skin-tight gloves, and with a shout from the crowd we went at it. Still fearing some trick on the part of Flood's friends, I made up my mind to end the fight just as quickly as possible.
Without waiting for any preliminary sparring I rushed at Flood and let both fists drive at his face and stomach. He stood them oft for a second, and then I caught him on the ear with a right-hand swing that sent him flopping to the floor. The round had lasted less than a minute. You must bear in mind that we were fighting under London prize ring rules, and that a round ended when one or the other of the fighters was downed.
How It Ended
In the eighth round Flood showed a little new life and came to me with a rush. That was just what I wanted. He had been keeping out of reach for several minutes. We had been fighting 16 minutes when Flood suddenly made a second dash toward me. A wave then lurched the boat a little, which only served to increase his momentum. I saw his right fist coming and dodged it. I knew that my chance had arrived. Instead of stepping to one side I braced myself and, as his fist shot over my head my right landed squarely on his jaw and he flopped to the floor. It was an awful jawbreaker that I hit him, and without waiting for him to revive Flood's own backers threw up the sponge and admitted that I had won.
"There is no use in letting a willing man be killed," said one of Flood's backers. "He is completely outclassed." Although I still had in mind the attempt that had been made to stop the
fight and cheat me out of my honest victory, I felt very sorry for Flood. I knew he had nothing to do with that scheme. He was too honest and too game.
I went over to the corner and took him by the hand. "We met as friends. old fellow," I said to Flood, "and I want to part that way." I then grabbed a hat and went all over the boat taking up a collection for the man I had beaten. After that fight John Flood was one of the best friends
I ever had.
Paddy Ryan came over and congratulated me. The next morning there appeared an interview in one of the papers, in which Ryan said: "Sullivan is a clever young fellow, and he looks as if he would turn out to be a good fighter." "Are you willing to give me a fight now?" I asked of Ryan, when I met him on the street. "Show me another good victory and I'll talk to you," replied Ryan.
Still determined, I started out looking for another customer.