Boxing

In Los Angeles. Down to the ringside of a fine new boxing stadium strutted a gentleman in a tuxedo. There were other gentlemen present in similar garb for this was a night to which reporters would doubtless affix, in their matutinal commentaries, the adjective "gala." The Olympic Stadium, on which $1,000,000 had just been spent, was about to be opened by scuffles between Salvadore and Jessick, lightweights, and Brown and Grandetta, bantams. "Cold Ice Cream, a Spoon in Every Package," cried vendors; candy was offered, soda-pop--the crowd ignored these amenities the better to stare at the tuxedoed gentleman.

He was a large fellow; muscles, or some fatty tissue, bulged beneath the neat black coat which, despite the obvious fact that it had been made for its wearer, had a curious air of having been stolen. Whose was that ovine yet sturdy countenance ? Whose that beady eye? Whose but William Harrison ("Jack") Dempsey's, Heavyweight Champion of the World. The referee introduced him to the crowd; the Nation's hero rose to receive his accustomed mead of adulation.

"Booh," yelled a shrill voice; the sound grew, deepened, spread from tier to tier until it came thundering from the roomy chests of the spectators seated on the topmost rim of the amphitheatre, under the cold Pleiades--"Booh . . . BOOOH-H. . . ." Mixed in the hoarse menace of that roar were catcalls in trembling falsetto--''Oh, Gerald " --mewings, imprecations, cries of "Bring on Wills . . ." Champion Dempsey turned the color of an embarrased orchid, crept to his seat, remained there until agile Salvadore had defeated Jessick (onetime amateur Pacific Coast lightweight champion), "Newsboy" Brown had won a decision over Frankie Grandetta.

In Vernon, Calif., the night before, George Godfrey, titanic Negro, had smacked one Tiny Herman to the canvas four times in three rounds--and then once more. After the fifth smack, Tiny Herman did not rise again until the referee's arm had marked off ten strophes. Had Negro Harry Wills, Dempsey's Nemesis, appeared before the Vernon crowd in tuxedo or barrelhouse cutaway, it is quite possible that the gathering would have favored him with the same vocal bludgeonings that the Los Angeles group bestowed upon the Champion, for Wills is reputed to be dodging Godfrey even as he himself is being dodged.

In Kansas City. Harry Greb, middleweight champion, who has acquired the preposterous habit of fighting as if he enjoyed it, of training in baggage cars while touring the country to seek whom he may devour, flattened one Ed Smith of Neodosha, Kan., in four rounds.

In Manhattan. Louis ("Kid") Kaplan, Featherweight Champion of the World, offered a merciless display of fistic pyrotechnics upon the body of an ron-jawed, rock-gutted youth from New Orleans, one William Kennedy. For twelve rounds Kennedy kept coming in, jerking his head from side to side under the champion's sharpshooting, his red eyes glazed and almost sightless under the fire of the electric torches; kept coming in, while Kaplan, irritated by his resistance, clubbed remorseless blows to the body, sent jabs flickering to his bloody mouth: kept coming in. . . At the end of the fight, Kennedy was still conscious.