A Matter of Opinion

Prize fighting is popular because, watching it, civilized people are vicariously purged of their primitive inclinations. Another need that it satisfies becomes evident, not only in the prefight betting, but in the event the outcome is disputable. Onlookers can then enter actual combat, with their opinions. In the Stone Age, a fight was simply a fight, with no nonphysical exchanges before or after. Today a fight stimulates the popular art of debate. Psychologically speaking, the meeting of the country's two second-best physical fighters last week in the Yankee Stadium, Manhattan, was one of the most successful affairs of its kind ever conducted by society.

Of the principals, one was a 194 1/2-pound man, aged 32, of Irish descent--Jack Dempsey. Thick-lipped, splay-nosed, laconic, he was to demonstrate whether or not he could again transform himself into a smashing feline whirlwind in the boxing ring as he could from 1919 to 1926 when he was world's champion heavyweight.

The other was a 196-pounder of Lithuanian descent, Jack Sharkey,* aged 25. Heavily good-looking, bright-eyed, garrulous, he was to prove himself formidable enough to deserve a chance at overpowering the man that whipped Dempsey last autumn, World's Champion Gene Tunney.

Each of these big men boasted he would batter the other unconscious and each--though Sharkey had been coached to check his "killer" instinct and weary Dempsey by skillful boxing--reverted quickly and satisfactorily to the brute soon after the first gong sounded.

They drove their fists into each other savagely, scarcely bothering to protect themselves. Eighty thousand people, swarming around them in the night, bellowed with joy. They drove each other back and forth around their brightly lighted enclosure, grunting, snuffling for breath, dripping sweat and blood. Several million people, listening to an excited radio announcer at the ringside, rocked with excitement. It was, said the announcer, a furious fight, fast and even.

Sharkey, the talkative, was known to be tender of stomach. Dempsey, crouched and persistent, concentrated his hammering on Sharkey's ribs and navel. Sharkey's jabs and swings rained on Dempsey's grimly contorted face, opening wet cuts under both eyes, abrading the truculent jaw.

Some thought Sharkey hit oftenest. Others said Dempsey hit hardest and forced the fight. Sharkey seemed the livelier, Dempsey the stronger, when, in the seventh round, something happened about which cigar stores and drawing-rooms, blind pigs and boudoirs, will never need to stop wrangling.

The man nearest the two fighters at the time, Referee Jack O'Sullivan, described it later:

"There is no question about the punch on the left leg with a right --a punch on Sharkey's left leg by Dempsey's right. It was a sweeping blow which glanced off the leg and it was followed by Dempsey's left to the solar plexus, which was the decisive blow as I saw it. When Sharkey got the solar plexus punch he grunted. Before the solar plexus blow was delivered and after the right landed on Sharkey's left leg, I was stepping in toward the men, saying: 'Watch your punches, Jack.' Then, realizing there were two Jacks, I said: 'I mean you, Dempsey.' Then Dempsey hit the solar plexus blow. Sharkey dropped his right hand and Dempsey hit, him a left on the jaw."

Sharkey fell on his anguished face. Referee O'Sullivan counted ten seconds, declared Dempsey the winner. Under the regulations this decision was final. Though he complained loudly after coming to, Sharkey entered no formal appeal from the decision. He bore no tell-tale bruise; did not seek medical examination. Tex Rickard, promoter of the fight, proceeded at once to arrange the second meeting of Winner Dempsey and Champion Tunney, in Chicago in September.

Cinema films, "shot" from a platform near the ring, were expected to settle the positive contentions of three schools of thought which sprang up from the split-second observations of many men and their emotional memories. But when the films were shown, Dempsey's back was found squarely blocking from view the disputed action of his right fist in the seventh round. The schools of contention all thrived and the films were virtually tripled in value. Every cinema spectator could still be his own referee on the thrust which men held, variously, had 1) landed fair, above Sharkey's high-waisted purple trunks; or 2) landed foul, on or near Sharkey's groin; or 3) inspired Sharkey to hope for a decision of foul, a hope cut short by the referee's silence and Dempsey's terrific chin smash.

A "roll call" of ringside sport writers revealed a distinct preponderance of dependable opinion in the school of thought that claimed a foul. Among those voting "no foul" were Mayor Walker of New York City; Champion Tunney; and men named Farrell, Byrne, O'Neill, Sullivan, Loughran.

Grantland Rice, usually calm, said: "Dempsey struck Sharkey two foul blows. ... As Sharkey apparently doubled up in pain, Dempsey followed with a left hook to the jaw and Sharkey . . . fell, squarely on his face, writhing as if in deepest agony. . . .

"It was a strange, queer-looking fight with one of the queerest finishes in all ring history."

Joe Williams, expert for the Scripps-Howard newspapers, who had backed Dempsey for a "hoopla" finish with as much sentiment as shrewdness, wrote bitterly: "I am reasonably confident Jack Dempsey fouled Jack Sharkey. ... I wanted to see him ... do it cleanly."

James P. Dawson, though convinced of the foul himself, summed up in the New York Times: "In behalf of [Referee] O'Sullivan it can be said unequivocally that he acted as he saw the action and as his experience dictated. If he made a mistake ... he made an absolutely honest mistake. . . . O'Sullivan always has been one of the most efficient and capable referees. ... He is known for his honesty, fearlessness, integrity and unimpeachable character. None disputed this. ... It is simply a matter of opinion."

P: According to despatches, a Philadelphian, to show his friend how the moot blow landed, pinched his friend quickly on stomach and chin. The friend toppled, fractured his skull, died.

P: William A. Muldoon of the New York State Boxing Commission announced that care would be taken to select as radio spokesmen at future fights, persons capable of describing the condition of the fighters without misleading overemphasis on bloody eyes, cut noses, swollen ears, which make "boxing" sound like "fighting."

P: Receipts of the fight totaled $1,083,529, taxes included. Of this--

The U. S. got $ 98,502

New York State got 49,251

Dempsey got (reputed) 352,000

Sharkey got 210,426

Rickard got (balance) 273,350

P: People present included the Maharajah of Ratlam, India, wearing diamond-studded earrings, followed by pickpockets and detectives; Peggy Hopkins Joyce, followed by a bus party of 45; Jack Kearns, onetime manager of Dempsey, followed by an odor of perfume; Bernarr Macfadden, editor & publisher of the New York (porno)Graphic; Irving Berlin, Benny Leonard, JRex Beach, David Belasco, Florenz Ziegfeld, Thomas' Meighan & Mix, Amelita Galli-Curci, John J. McGraw, Charles M. Schwab; Aviators Byrd, Noville, Balchen, Acosta, Chamberlin; George F. Babbitt & wife; Mike de Pike; Jakey Eisenstein; Rastus George Washington Brown; a Well-Wisher.

P: Estelle Taylor, cinemactress, wife of Jack Dempsey, was reported to have fainted in her Los Angeles home on hearing of her husband's victory. Regaining "consciousness," she said: "I hope Jack did not hurt Mr. Sharkey, but I am very happy that he won."

* Real name: Josef Paul Cukoschay. He adopted the "Sharkey" from Tom Sharkey, heavyweight near-champion of 1890-1905; the "Jack" from Jack Dempsey (real name: William Harrison Dempsey).