The Boxing Biographies Newsletter
Volume 6 – No 1 5 Feb , 2010
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May 11th saw the passing of former heavyweight champion of the world, Floyd Patterson, who passed away at his home in upstate New York. He was 71 years old.



Never a true heavyweight by today’s standards, Floyd fought at exactly 13 stone, he was possessed of lightning speed of punch, and was a great combination puncher. Born on 4th January 1935 at Waco, N.C., Floyd spent his amateur fighting career in the middleweight division. He won the 1951 New York Golden Gloves 160 lb Open title. He was also the Eastern Golden Gloves 160 lb Open Champion, and that same year he was beaten for the Inter City Golden Gloves title by Richard Guerrero. He was just 16 years old when winning those titles.

The following year, 1952, saw Floyd once again win the New York Golden Gloves title, this time at 175 lbs. He would also win the Eastern Golden Gloves 175 lb title stopping Harold Carter in the first round, and he also added the Inter City Golden Gloves 175 lb title to his collection defeating Eddie Jones. That same year, l952, was a truly important year for young Floyd, for it was also Olympic Games year, and Floyd was chosen to represent the United States in the middleweight division. He came to the notice of the worlds boxing public by winning the Gold Medal with a first round KO of Vasili Tita of Rumania.

It was time to put his Olympic win to good use, and when only 17 years old, Floyd turned professional with the legendary ‘Cus D’Amato.

Between 12th September l952,and 29th December 1952,Floyd fought four times, winning all of them via KO, and not one contest went past the 5th round. The following year saw Floyd take part in 5 more contests, winning them all, three by K0,and the remaining two on points.

1954 saw Floyd taking to the ring twice as often, for he had 10 contests, but it also saw him lose for the first time. Of his ten contests he won 6 on points and the other three wins were via the KO route. His only loss that year was to Joey Maxim in Brooklyn, on June 7th 1965. Most of his opponents were from the light-heavyweight class, but were nevertheless top class fighters such as Yvon Durelle, Joey Maxim, and Jimmy Slade.



1955, saw Patterson still learning his trade, with a further nine contests, and he won every one of them inside the distance. He knocked out Willie Troy (5), Don Grant (5), Esau Ferdinand (10), Yvon Durelle (5), Archie McBride (7), Alvin Williams (8), Dave Whitlock (3), Calvin Brad (l), and Jimmy Slade (7). He was getting himself noticed, and was gradually placing himself into the position of challenging for the worlds heavyweight title, which by 1956 had become vacant, and on 30th November 1956,Floyd went in with the “Old Mongoose”, Archie Moore in Chicago, for the vacant world title. Here we had two exponents of the “Peek-a--boo” style of fighting, ie fighting behind crossed gloves, but youth came out on top, when Floyd knocked out the aging Archie in the 5th round to become the youngest world heavyweight champion ever at the age of just 21 years.

He would hold the title of the youngest ever champion, until the young Mike Tyson took it from him when he defeated Trevor Berbick. Patterson also had the dubious title of being the world heavyweight champion who was floored more times than any other heavyweight champion, but he answered that criticism by stating that he was also the world champ who got up more times than anyone else.

Patterson’s story was the typical story of “Poor boy made good”, for he was brought up in Brooklyn, one of 11 children, and spent terms in Reform Schools. It was here that he was able to work out his frustrations in the boxing ring, and at the age of 14,Floyd was hanging around New York’s Gramercey Gym, the premises above which D’Amato had a knack of recognising young fistic talent,(he would strike lucky years later with Mike Tyson),and he began to encourage Floyd.

As an amateur, Floyd had a total of 44 contests, winning no fewer than 40,and collecting the titles I’ve already mentioned.

An unfortunate part of Patterson’s reign as world heavyweight champion, was the fact that his manager D’Amato was at loggerheads with the powerful International Boxing Club, and he refused to let Floyd fight any fighter who was associated with that organisation, and of course it led to Patterson being accused of ducking legitimate challengers and taking on easy opponents.

It’s true, that when Floyd took on genuine heavyweights, he seemed to have trouble, and this was first experienced, when on 26th June l959,Floyd defended his title against Sweden’s Ingemar Johansson,in New York He was knocked out in 3 rounds by the big Swede.

Prior to taking on Johansson, Patterson had defended his title against Tommy Jackson (KO 10), Pete Rademacher (KO 6).Rademacher had not had a single professional contest, but was the Olympic Gold medalist, and fought for the worlds heavyweight title in his first professional contest-Roy Harris,(K0 12),and Britain’s Brian London,

It is clear to see why the calibre of Patterson’s world title opponents drew such criticism.

However, as well as holding the title of the youngest world heavyweight champion, Patterson was about to claim an even more important title, ie, that of being the first defeated world champion to reclaim the world heavyweight title, and on 20th June 1960,he did just that when he knocked out Ingemar Johansson in New York City, in the 5th round. He emphasized his superiority over the Swede nine months later, when, on 13th March 1961,he defended his title against Johannson at Miami Beach, and knocked him out in the 6th round.In between those contests, Patterson had travelled the world, giving exhibitions in Sweden, Germany, England, and Italy, and on 4th December 1951,Patterson defended his title in Toronto against Tom McNeeley, whom he knocked out in 4 rounds. By this time, the boxing public were demanding that Patterson put his title on the line against a realistic opponent, and there appeared no-one more realistic than Charles “Sonny” Liston.

Patterson defended against Liston in Chicago on 25th September l962. He was dispatched inside a round, and was once again an ex-champion. A proud but humble man, Patterson left the arena wearing a false beard and moustache, and from that time onwards he was also self managed. Despite his beating, Floyd demanded the right to challenge for the world title yet again, and on 22nd July 1963,Liston and Patterson met once more, this time in Las Vegas. The outcome, however was the same, a first round KO.



He fought on, and would challenge for the worlds heavyweight title twice more, against Cassius Clay/Muhammad Ali in Las Vegas when he was taunted by Ali who kept asking him “What’s my name “and was eventually knocked out in the 12th round, and he would lose a controversial points decision against Jimmy Ellis for the WBA version of the title in 1968. His last contest was a return against Muhammad Ali in 1972,when Floyd sustained an eye injury which resulted in the contest being stopped in the seventh round.

He fought a total of 64 contests, winning 55 with 40 KO’s, and eight losses, but his record of being the first heavyweight champion to reclaim the title will remain his for all time. He served two terms as head of the New York Boxing Commission, before the onset of Alzheimer’s and prostrate cancer brought his life to an end. He remained a respected former champion since his retirement from the ring, and the sport is poorer for his passing.


John C. Hurley

Manager, Promoter, and Matchmaker
Birth Name: John C. Hurley
Born: December 9, 1897 in Fargo, North Dakota
Died: November 17, 1972 in Seattle, Washington
Biography
As a boxing man, the iconoclastic "Deacon" Jack Hurley was one of the most colorful and fascinating characters in the sport. In addition to being regarded as one of the great masters of his day as a promoter, a manager, a trainer, and a cornerman, Hurley also had few peers when it came to cultivating sportswriters with his unique personality, strong opinions, and fascinating stories. The great sportswriter, W.C. Heinz, based one of the major characters in his highly regarded boxing novel, THE PROFESSIONAL, on Hurley.
As a manager and a trainer, Hurley was known to demand fifty percent of his fighters' purses. Yet he was regarded by many as one of the most honest people in boxing. Moreover, he was known to give his full efforts to see that his boxers did well in the ring and made alot of money.
When it came to training and managing his fighters, Hurley was known as a perfectionist with strong ideas. He would drill his fighters to do exactly what he expected of them. As a result, knowledgable people could tell a Hurley-trained fighter from others. Hurley also selected the opposition of his fighters carefully in order to bring them along gradually--methods in vogue today.
Hurley attempted to start a boxing career after serving with the United States Army's First Division in World War I. However, he had poor eyesight and lacked the physical ability to be a boxer. He moved into promoting and managing in his native Fargo, North Dakota, trying his hand with "Masked Marvels" before discovering his most talented attraction -- fellow Fargo native Billy Petrolle. Managing Petrolle allowed Hurley to travel throughout the United States, where he showed some of his managerial savvy, which included dressing the Italian-American Petrolle in an American Indian blanket to hype him up as an Indian boxer. Petrolle would go on to be a great fighter despite not becoming a world champion.
After Petrolle's retirement in the mid-1930s, Hurley moved into Chicago where he continued to manage fighters, most notably Billy Marquart and Lem Franklin. During the 1940s, he worked for five years as a promoter at the Chicago Coliseum. His most notable promotion was the Chicago meeting of Tony Zale and Rocky Graziano, which set an indoor record at the time for the largest gate, at $422,000.
In 1948 he went back to managing fighters, and began working with Omaha welterweight Vince Foster. Foster, who was knocked out in one round at Madison Square Garden, would die tragically in a motorcycle accident.
Hurley moved to Seattle, WA, where he began a long residence at the downtown Olympic Hotel. Soon afterward he discovered Harry (Kid) Matthews. Hurley refined Matthews's style and used his cunning public relation skills to build up Matthews's ballyhoo, to such an extent that members of the United States Congress began to speak up about the "injustice" of Matthews not receiving a heavyweight title shot.
After Matthews retired, Hurley continued to work with fighters until his death in 1972. Most notable was his promotion of the 1957 heavyweight title fight in Seattle between Floyd Patterson and Pete Rademacher, and his ability to sell Rademacher, who had never fought as a professional, as worthy of a title shot. Hurley also managed late 1960s/early 70s heavyweight contender Boone Kirkman.
Hurley spent his final days in Seattle, living in the Olympic Hotel. He is buried in Holy Cross Cemetery, West One-half, Lot 35, Block 7, Old Section, Fargo, ND.

A selection of stories about Jack Hurley



Until you've met the old professor, Jack Hurley, you just haven't been around. He's boxing at its best; sharp, suave, honest, uncompromising. As dour looking as a plate of pickles, he has a sense of humor like a stiletto. He stood up at a meeting of sports writers one day and declared they were a bunch of free-loaders, interested only in complimentary tickets. They chuckled and patted their palms. Anybody else they would have applauded with a handful of smashed potatoes.

To say Hurley is the man behind Harry "Kid" Matthews is to underrate the guy. He is Matthews. He does everything- bat the pitching and catching of blows in the ring, and we don't mean this sardonically. Harry's sudden jump to fame after long years of plugging dates from his meeting with Hurley.

Harry is the perfect fighting machine, but the thing that has made him great is his ability to absorb teaching and follow instructions. He has subordinated all his own ring knowledge to put himself completely in Hurley's hands. He doesn't even bother thinking about who or when he's fighting next If you think the Kid is unsmart you should see his bank account.



Full Time Job

Hurley works at the job of being Harry Matthews 24 hours a day. We've had calls from the guy at home in the middle of the night, and so have other writers all around the country. The guy's phone bill must be monstrous. He confided once he had $20,000 invested in Harry before he began getting dividends.

He takes 50 per cent of the Matthews earnings and out of it foots the bills. This arrangement startled Harry when he first went to Hurley and offered the old professor his contract. He suggested the usual 33 ½ per cent was sufficient. "How much you earning now?" asked Hurley. "Nothln'," said Harry. "How much," stabbed Jack, "is 50 per cent of nothing ?"

In the Matthew’s corner on fight night he reaches full stature. You've heard how he talked the Kid into believing when he was all but exhausted during the Bob Murphy fight - that he had his second wind and was in better shape than Murphy. No doubt Jack had to do some mental gymnastics this week when Danny Nardico was giving the kid a large, bad evening.

It's an odd thing to say about a man who fought for 13 years before meeting his Svengali, but it was Hurley who taught Matthews to fight. He told the Kid he was nothing but a novice ( made him a bit mad. Incidentally ) and started him all over.

Was Unfancy Dan

"The object of this same is to hurt and be hurt," he told Harry the Kid. "You're nothing but a fancy Dan, and not very fancy." They spent hour after rugged hour in the gym, teaching an experienced fighter how to throw a punch. The fact that Harry was young enough , he's 28 now , and willing to learn saved the partnership and made the fighter.

This is unusual in the fight game a manager doing all the chores for his man. The common practice is to turn the boy over to a trainer so the manager will have enough time for the mental work and for many of them there isn't that much time. Once, just once , we asked professor Jack why he didn't hire a trainer.

"A trainer," ha said, "is a man with a towel across his shoulders. Anybody can wrap a towel around his neck and fill his mouth with toothpick swabs. I should let one of those bums ruin my life’s work

26 May 1957 - NEW YORK

Yes, sir. there he was, breezing into the office. Tall, slender, a little balder and greyer than he used to be. He looked like a church deacon with a predatory glint In his eye. Of course, you recognized the character Immediately as Jack Hurley, the smartest hombre we ever met in the fight racket.

IN A FEW thousand well chosen words. Jack quickly disposed of the atom bomb, the Suez Canal and the budget and then got down to something of vital interest to the world at large, namely and to wit, the next heavyweight title fight.

Yes, sir. It seems that pompous Cus D'Amato, manager of Floyd Patterson ,the champion, had issued a lordly summons for brother Hurley to depart immediately from the state of Washington and appear before him. Cus, Jack confided has offered me the promotional rights For a title fight which I may stage anywhere I desire.

Fine, but who has been selected as Patterson's victim and where will the slaughter take place and
will anybody make money? Mention of the word money brought a broad smile to Jack's handsome face.

"MONEY," said he, "is something I've always been able to make, especially for others, but never
have been able to keep. I made matches for Jim Norris for seven years in Chicago and never lost
on a single show."

Here he diverged a little to explain how Norris has ruined the fight game" in this country. He
continued:

"An opponent will be no trouble. I can always dig up somebody. As for the place. It naturally
would be Seattle, where I can guarantee everybody can make a bundle” you will remember that Jack was the manager of Billy Petrolle who used to belt out brother lightweights and even welters with equal ease. Where is Billy now? Billy had little education but plenty of brains and when he quit with considerable dough in his kick, he started a small iron foundry and years later sold out for $100,000.

"THEN, ABOUT eight years ago," Hurley said, "he wanted to go into a nice quiet business where he could make a little and so I steered him Into the church goods business in Chicago, and he's made a big success ever since. Sells rosaries, statues, medals, candles, prayer books and other church books.

"Imagine one of the toughest of all fighters selling church goods.But then .Billy always was a devout guy. Well, I got to hustle off to keep a date with D'Amato." And off he went.

Hurley has Another Athlete

Deacon Jack Hurley, Seattle’s master manipulator of maulers has got himself another athlete, a white hope. When muscular Bob Albright shouldered his way past Joey Rowan of Philadelphia last Thursday in an unimpressive 10-round decision it, was only the beginning of what Hurley,and Albright, hope will be a pleasant relationship for the future. Although Albright apparently won in the late stages of the bout primarily through his added beef ( he weighed 223,Rowan 33 pounds less at 190), Professor Hurley hadn't hoped for a decisive win this early in Albright's rebuilding program.

The ex- Los Angeles heavyweight was termed green but game when Hurley decided to give him the benefit of his (Hurley's) guidance. "I'm teaching Albright from the feet up," said Hurley recently, and It was no exaggeration. "He's got no balance, no leverage . I want him to unlearn what he's learned before, and In six months I'll have him ready to move up into the rated ranks. And he will."

Something From Nothing

If there are any fight managers left who can make something out of a piece of raw fighter, Hurley is one of the few. He’s a genius as an instructor and at moving a fighter up the ladder. It’s an education to watch him train one of his fighters.

Hurley marks a square on the floor of the gym and has the fighter stand on a chalk line which is only three feet square. He makes him punch without moving his feet. He teaches him how to get into punching position and weave and rock and get leverage. Hurley teaches him to hold his hands close, just out in front of him a little bit, and in this way he is in a position to punch quickly with either hand. He learns to weave and come out of it with a left hook or to bring a right up from a crouch, and every punch is thrown with the body behind it.

He’s Worth It

Hurley lets you know that Albright is in good hands, but onlookers agree that it’s not just a manager’s boast. Hurley and his fighters split purse 50-50, but he’s one manager who is worth all his 50 per cent. While most others aren’t worth a dime over 10 per cent. Ordinarily a manager’s share is one third, but Hurley has demonstrated he is no ordinary manager.

“ I teach my fighters, I train them, I do their press work and handle their business affairs “ he points out. “ There luck to have a manager like me. If I hadn’t come along most of them would have been bums”. Such words could put Hurley in an unfavorable light, but there is no sign of swagger or boastfulness in him, nor is there undue modesty. He’s merely stating the facts.

Hurley never claimed that Harry Kid Mathews could fight, but he maneuvered him up the fistic ladder almost to the top, which was a knockout by Rocky Marciano. But lots of other fighters have met that end. And Mathews retired from the ring with more than $150,000 in his bank account.

Bob Albright may not go as nearly that far, even with the famous Hurley tutoring. But if he can defeat a “name” heavyweight like Joey Rowan after only a few lessons for his feet in Hurley’s “from the ground up” course of training he might have something by the time the Professor gets to his mitts.

End






The Nebraska State Journal – March 1910

SPRINGS LAST and GREATEST FIGHT

SEVENTY SIX TERRIFIC ROUNDS



By favor of popular demand and common consent among pugilists "Tom" Cribb, the Quld Champion," was allowed to hold the title long after his fighting days had passed. When he formally retired the honor was left open to competition and was contested by "Tom" Spring and "Bill" Neat as the two most promising candidates. Spring capped a long uphill career by winning handily in eight rounds.

A new challenger was found in the person of John Langan, a courageous Irishman who held
the title for his own country. Spring defeated him at Worcester in the presence of 50,000
spectators after a fight of seventy-seven rounds, which was marred by constant interference from
the crowd.

The result was so unsatisfactory and Langan represented so forcibly that he had not had fair
play that another meeting was arranged.




If there was a London fight follower who was not on the road to Chichester or already In the vicinity of that city by early morning of June 8. 1824, he had set up as a hermit and a lone dweller from his people.

Those who had witnessed the first meeting between Smith and Langan, who were this day to submit once more to the issue of battle, knew that the prize ring could show no better sport than what lay forward. It was Ireland against England, and the better man to be champion of the world.

"Tom" Spring, the champion, whose real name was Thomas Winter, was twenty-nine years old and the veteran of a score of desperate encounters in which he had proved that persistence and courage may outweigh a lack of natural aptitude for athletic success. A bull dog tenacity and an inability to yield any fight while he could stand had brought him through with but one defeat, that at the hands of "Ned" Fainter, before he attained the title.

John Langan, the challenger, was a fearless. generous, scientific boxer in his twenty-sixth year. Born In Clondalton, county Kildare, he had won his way through the ranks of the Irish fighters to a point where none dared accept his open offer to dispute the title he had assumed. After having served with honor in a military expedition to South America he had come to England with further triumphs in view to receive his first check from Spring.

Chichester was humming like a hustings at dawn. Hewlings, mine host of the Swan Inn, had become the pioneer magnate of the ring by taking upon himself all arrangements for the fight. he had purchased this privilege for £100 paid to each of the gladiators, selecting an open field about three miles out of town as the scene of action.



The field was cut off by a canal spanned by a single bridge, and it was here that the far sighted promoter designed to reap his harvest in contravention of slack custom, which permitted any outsider to enjoy a combat if he could but squeeze near enough.

Within the field farmers of the neighborhood had drawn up their carts and wagons to form an outer ring about the stage. In accordance with the article of agreement particularly demanded by Langan the twenty-four foot stage had been built six feet from the ground and planked with three inch deal without turf.

He had held this as his right, since in the previous contest the crowd ad swarmed up and over at pleasure. In place of the usual ropes three rows of rails surrounded the platform, which, with the posts, were smoothed and rounded to prevent Injury.

At eleven o'clock the throngs began moving across Hewlings' bridge to the field, and two hours later Mr. Jackson, the former champion, who acted as marshal of the day ordered that the lists be opened. Spring, guarded on one side by his backer, Mr. Sant, and on the other by a Baronet, wedged through the press at the heels of Cribb and Painter, respectively his second and bottle holder. Cribb had ever been Spring' s chief supporter and admirer, and his presence now in attendance upon "his boy" aroused a storm of applause.

The champion tossed his hat over the rails to the stage, a traditional gesture of defiance, and climbed the ladder nimbly. While he stripped Cribb and Painter strapped on kneecaps of padded leather, it having been charged that during the former meeting they had sought secretly to injure Langan after a fall.



Langan arrived a few minutes later, accompanied by Colonel O'Neil, his backer, "Tom" Belcher as his second and "Big" O'Neal as his bottle holder. He ascended the stage and modestly dropped his hat over the rails, then untied a black silk neckerchief and affixed it to one of the posts as his display of colors. , Spring intertwined a blue scarf with Langan's as his own gage of battle, a circumstance which moved the fancy to heavy witticisms about the juxtaposition of black and blue.

There had been a dispute at the first meeting of the men as to the weight of the belts worn. and Spring, stepping forward, showed Langan that he had no belt about him on this occasion. Langan thanked him and demonstrated that he vas equally without protective leather. A moment later time was called and they advanced to the salute, Cribb at the same, time shaking hands with Belcher and Painter with' O'Neal. The attendants then retired and the boxers fell on guard.

The Two Gladiators.

Spring was in his best form. – weighing 186 pounds, and trained well but not too closely. .Langan weighed about ten pounds less and was nearly two inches under the other's height of five feet eleven and a half inches. The Irishman was magnificently developed as to chest and arms, though a trifle too slender in the legs and about the loins. Both men came to combat smiling and eager. There was no undercurrent of ill will between them. Each knew his adversary for a fair, high spirited fighter, ready to do his utmost but above taking undue advantage. Spring's attitude was with body and head well back, balanced upon his rear foot. Langan's tendency was to hold his head rather low and forward.

They stood a moment while each caught and held the glint of his opponent's eyes, then they circled, watching cautiously for the lead. A little light sparring was Quickened when Langan drove for the face, Spring stopping neatly and countering with a swing which got home on Langan's head. The Irishman bored in quickly, reaching for the wind, and Spring rushed to grips. The struggle was a plain trial of strength, not complicated with wrestling tricks. The champion was forcing his adversary back when Langan dexterously broke away and slammed in with right and left, which Spring guarded. The champion wasted no time in feints, but suddenly struck a fast pace and they milled fiercely, Spring planting a hard face. Langan found the distance unprofitable and again sought to bore in to close quarters where he could hammer the ribs. Spring met him the same way as before, clinching and struggling for a throw as they tramped and whirled Langan slipped to his knees. Spring patted him on the shoulder approvingly and they went to their corners.

Langan had warmed into his style and opened the second round with slashing tactics, sweeping a left hook to the jaw and hammering Spring's guard. The champion showed himself nimble footed and evaded a terrific drive, stopping the rush with neat parries and clipping in to the head. They mixed It freely, taking punishment on both sides. Spring's guard was excellent and be was remarkably fast. He had a little the best of the milling and Langan, with a driving left hander, danced out of the melee . Spring followed, but both were cautious and winded.

They sparred for some minutes, when Langan stepped in and broke an opening through which he
shot a hard right to the mouth. Spring gave ground and the Irishman tried to repeat, but the champion, smiling, warded easily and they came to short arm, driving jolts to the body. Langan found this expensive and closed. They struggled desperately, when the Irishman by clever .shifting of his weight hurled the other backward to the boards and fell upon him. A sweeping cheer from Langan's partisans greeted the turn of fortune, but the odds of two to one on the champion remained unchanged.

This slight advantage was just what Langan had needed. Though no braver boxer ever mounted a
stage, he was apt to yield to discouragement in the face of continued failure and a dash of success was a tonic to him in action. He left his second's knee cheerfully at the opening of the third round and walked snappily into the first rally. He slid a clever swing over Spring's guard, but the champion jumped aside and they joined for a hot mill that showed the spectators some of the prettiest work of the flight.

The guard of both seemed impregnable and it was hit, ward, counter and hit with the precision of clockwork. Langan suddenly shifted and slammed through a drive to the ribs that made trouble, but the champion fought him to a pause without giving ground

Langan Shows Courage.

Spring now went upon the aggressive, ripped home a blow to the jaw and drove the Irishman into a corner , following hard. Langan fought out cleverly with body blows, parrying a swing that bid fair to demolish him with a skill that set the throng cheering.

Bracing for retaliation, he feinted to the head and flung himself forward with a haymaker at the
ribs that Spring was just able to stop. Langan held stubbornly to his advance and peppered Spring's guard, launching a tremendous drive at the face. The champion ducked In time and danced away from the determined Irishman.

Langan went after him again and kept the champion footing it merrily and dodging swings until, cornered In his turn, he came out manfully. He smashed a Terrific clip with the left to the face that sent Langan spinning, followed it with another and a third to the same spot, and .reversed the situation. Langan again retreating to the corner. The Irishman rallied and they fought to a standstill. Langan started again, but the champion got his dangerous left to the face once more and on the retreat the Irishman closed. After a brief struggle Spring threw his man, ending a round of nearly seven minutes amid deafening applause.

Langan had suffered severely about the face but had not lost heart. He felt that he had firmly withstood the worst Spring could deliver and that his returns did not lack effect. The half minute treatment from Belcher and O'Neal freshened him greatly and he jumped into the fourth round in whirlwind manner. Spring was slow in defence for an instant and the, Irishman pounded two to the ribs and one to the ear that drew crimson. He held to his pace, fighting with the agility of his weight and hammering the champion once and again to the jaw. Spring gave before the slashing Irishman, but calmed him with a flush hit to the mouth. They mixed it at high speed, when Langan closed and putting forth, all his strength threw the champion, landing on top.

Langan's left ear was in bad shape from a clip received in the last mix up when he sat upon his
second's knee once more. He was also badly winded, but the short respite sent him back to the scratch again with untamed vigour .he led of the fifth round as he had the preceding, putting all his weight behind right and left drives in sledge hammer style. Spring needed all his science to break the force of the Irishman's attack, but refused to retreat and they stood up to it as the forefathers of the ring were wont, take one and give one, and once again. Langan showed well in such straightforward tactics and after taking a terrific drive to the chest found Spring's claret with a flush hit to the face. The round presented little in the way of shifty play and both were seemingly reckless, set upon landing a decisive blow. In a fast, hard mill Langan put away several of Spring's best efforts, but finally caught one of the champion's dangerous swings on the side of the jaw and tottered. Spring sent him down with a face smash.

The Irishman had had enough of aggression for a time and lay back when they stepped into a sparring bout in the sixth round. Spring was calm and unruffled. The best point about his generalship had always been that he did not rely upon any set method of offence or defence. Not being what is known as a "natural fighter,'' he had no pet blows, no favored style. he governed himself entirely by the character of his opponent's fighting and was the master of all ring tactics. A long, laborious training had bared every trick to him and taught him to rely upon none. So it was that when Langan tried to force the pace the champion forced as hard, always seeking to keep just a trifle ahead, and now that Langan grew wary Spring was equally ready to relax. They exchanged a few blows and Langan danced out of range. Spring quickly closed and threw him. landing on top.

The Irishman Like Iron.

Langan was fresher for the seventh round and led off strong, setting home a handy tap to the side of the head. Spring stopped another nasty swing with a precision that brought applause, the approbation swinging to the Irishman an instant later when he foiled a ripping drive for the body with equal skill. They came in at short range and fought to a standstill. In a lull Belcher shouted advice to Langan. "Fight first," he called: "fight first, he can't hurt you.'' "Gammon him to that if you can." retorted Cribb for the benefit of his man. The Irishman went upon the offensive in obedience to the injunction and planted a telling cut below the champion's left eye. Spring wadded another at the same spot and came through with a smash to the face, Langan footing It away just in time to avoid its mate. They mixed fiercely. Spring jolting home his left with great regularity to the ribs. Langan was suffering and tried for the jaw but the champion slammed thrice to the head and drove his man clean away.

Langan was on his mettle and started a volley at the face that bathed Spring in crimson. Then, at a good opening, he put himself behind a tremendous blow that almost wrenched him off his feet -when Spring hopped out lightly. The Irishman gamely tried to hold his speed, but was plainly weakened, missing several wild swings. Spring closed, but Langan threw him off desperately, cutting the champion's head. Spring came into a wrestle again and whirled his man off his balance, landing neatly over the ear while the Irishman was falling.

The battle seemed to be Spring's at this stage and his partisans were confident that the end was near. But in this they were not counting upon Langan's reserves of courage the Irishman had tasted victory in the fierce early rounds and was heartened to his task. He would not give in now until he was crushed.

The eighth, ninth and tenth rounds were brief and tame. Although Langan showed no disposition to quit he was cleverly fighting for strength. Spring saw it, but, in accordance with his invariable plan, would not pull up a notch. If Langan was resting, so was he, and the big, quiet, kindly fellow held off and bided his time. In the eighth and ninth rounds the champion got his man down, but in the tenth the Irishman, in response to a word of advice from O'Neal, gave , Spring a clean back fall, taking a swing to the head.

At the opening of the eleventh round it was plain that Langan was getting his second wind. He opened with a bothersome drive to the ribs and Spring instantly closed, throwing and landing on top In the twelfth round they feinted a little, when the champion again closed. The Irishman crooked him neatly and in falling Spring received a nasty cut on the head by hitting a rail. Langan began to rush in the thirteenth round, but Spring evaded and got home a solid body blow, following into grips and again landing on top

Spring's followers began to show uneasiness. The champion had certainly been unwise in slacking the pace and in seeking to close so often. The wrestle was the recourse of the man who had suffered most and wished to bring the round to a close, and was, moreover, a tiring maneuver. But Spring had reasons of his own for these frequent falls. His left hand, injured in earlier fights, had played the traitor. At the instant of receiving the back fall in the tenth round he had struck Langan on the head from an awkward angle and the ligaments had been torn. His fist was now swollen and puffed up like a blister. He nursed it, closing and throwing his man again for the fourteenth round.


Langan bored in hard at the fifteenth round and hooked through with left and right, the first doing damage. Spring closed again and threw his man. cutting him over the head as he went down.

Exchange Friendly Words.

The sixteenth round was scarcely more than a feint and a fall, the fighters going down together. Langan patted Spring's shoulder as they were rising and they exchanged a few friendly words. The champion skillfully stopped a dangerous rush in the next round by quick play with his right, using his left arm only to guard, but the Irishman made a perfect hold and threw the champion a terrific cross buttock that sent Spring hurtling through the air to strike the stage heavily. In the eighteenth round Langan got home two telling drives before they went down and in the nineteenth he swept in a swing that had venom behind it. though Spring threw him.

The change in the situation was now apparent. The Irishman was fresher at the forty-five minutes than he had been at the ten. Spring's left hand seemed to be useless and he was keeping it out of harm's way. His right was also giving him trouble and the frequent wrestling had sapped his strength. Neither man had forgotten to smile and the spectators could see a long fight ahead. What with Langan's spurt and the champion's injuries the issue seemed almost exactly balanced. Langan opened the twentieth round in whirlwind style, but the other blocked him cleverly and catching the Irishman hurled him over his thigh. Langan struck on his head and Spring, falling by his own efforts, landed on top of him. For a moment it looked like a "settler," but the Irishman was up quickly. The champion ended the next six rounds by throwing Langan, but the Irishman came up each time as if nothing had happened.

Spring's tactics were now generally understood and applauded. His right hand was nearly as bad as his left and, with accustomed caution, he was giving away not a single chance. Secure in his own strength, he counted upon the falls to weaken his opponent while saving his fists for the vital moments.

In the twenty-seventh round Langan slipped to the floor and the umpire warned Belcher that his man must not go down without a blow. Langan would have remonstrated at opening the twenty-eighth round, but was sharply called to the scratch by Cribb. They milled and closed, when Spring again won the fall. The Irishman courted trouble in the next session and came slashing in with a right hand swing that sliced the champion's cheek. Spring found the opening he wanted and shot over a flush hit to the mouth with his right that sent Langan staggering. The champion then leaped upon his adversary and throw him.

Above the great shout of applause that went up came Cribb's triumphant bellow:—

“That’s a little one for us I believe.Our hands are gone are they ?.

Langan was now proving himself one of the gamest men that ever entered a ring. Hammered, pounded and jarred almost out-of his senses, cut and torn and welted beyond human semblance, he still tripped it jauntily to the centre for more. .Spring was settled into a dogged stride, warily nursing his hands the while. The Irishman was all for fighting at distance, but the champion could not afford to meet him at this and held to his wrestling. In the thirtieth round Langan again turned the tables by winning the fall. In the next Spring caught him a humming right hander to the jaw. Langan came back with a stiff body blow, but swung wild three times until the champion sent him down with a lunge under the ear. The thirty second round ended with a heavy fall for the Irishman that seemed to have finished him. He came up groggy and rested heavily on Belcher's knee.

Spring now proved once more that he was an eminently fair fighter, generous to the point of endangering his own-chances. Langan was heaving from the last-fall when he came up again, and after some weak blows the champion caught him, lowering him gently to the stage. The respite proved most valuable for Langan. He returned to give battle with renewed strength for the thirty-fourth round and drove right and left ,to the body. Spring retreated and the Irishman slashed in viciously, only stopping when thrown One hour and seven minutes had now elapsed.

Wearing Him Down.

Langan was still holding the pace. The brave fellow had not ceased to smile and nod to his supporters He had fought himself now into the test period of the conflict, when endurance was the only-question, and he did not believe than any man above the ground could best him in a long trial of strength. He walked Into the thirty-fifth round like a conqueror, slamming a drive to the head-and a jolt to the body with steam behind them. Spring met him at the milling, but cautiously, devoting most of his attention to guarding.

Langan still bored in, jumping away when Spring sought to close and slashing the champion's
face. Spring then hit out in turn and landed a' staggering blow to the jaw that sent Langan spinning and down. The next session ended in the same way for the champion was very cautious and never tried his hands unless he could make them count. The Irish champion seemed far gone when dragged to Belcher's knee in the interval. Some of his backers below the stage urged Belcher to take him out. but the veteran tended and nursed his charge, whispering encouragement:—

"You're not hurt yet. Jack, and Spring's hands are too far gone to hurt you now." Langan grinned. "Never fear." he said: "I'll win it yet."

It seemed as if he might when he rushed Into the thirty-seventh round, but Spring stopped his rushes neatly and was much freer with his fists, punishing Langan about the face and ribs and throwing him. Belcher had almost to carry his man to the center for the thirty-eighth round, but once placed the Irishman fought like a wildcat until Spring got home four blows without return and threw him.

The champion won the next six sessions on falls, but the Irishman, to the surprise of all still had
"business in the field of fight" and seemed the stronger for his frequent forcible contact with the stage. In the forty-fifth round he sent in a ripping blow to the body and slammed the champion from his stand, following with a pretty swing to the side of the head Spring came back, but the Irishman stood him off and the champion had recourse to wrestling once more, when, as usual, his greater weight won the fall. Langan took a little brandy and water in the interval Langan seemed absolutely unconquerable. He sustained Severe injuries in the next three rounds, but was up to the mark for the fiftieth.

"My boy, it's all your own if you will but fight first," was Belcher's continual warning, and Langan did all that flesh and bone could do to follow it. He got home a telling jolt to the ribs, but again lost the clinch. In the next round he showed remarkable strength, pinning Spring against the rails while they wrestled, but falling underneath. In the next Spring clipped him on the chin and knocked him down, at which Cribb boomed:—

"Is there anything the matter with that hand, I should like to know?"

In the fifty-fourth round Langan caused wild enthusiasm among his friends by making a rattling rally and closing so hardily that Spring was thrown with great violence. There seemed to be no end to the Irishman's resources and two more reverses did not quiet him. He opened the fifty-seventh round with a burst of energy and for some minutes was ail over Spring, who was holding himself together and playing with extreme care. It was well recognized at this point that a lucky throw on the part of Langan might switch the battle to his side, since the champion's hands were like pillows.

Langan Is Beaten.

The Irishman cut in a tremendous smash to the side of the head and under Belcher's urging tried to repeat. But the champion saved himself further damage by hasty footwork and came back strong with right and left, under which Langan staggered and fell. Langan was almost pushed down in the next two encounters, but he had more surprises in reserve. Rallying in the sixtieth round he whipped a stinging right to the face, closed and hurled the champion to the stage.

Langan's game and resolution brought him a continual roar of applause. He was not yet beaten.
With any one but the cool headed ring general opposite him at this moment he would almost certainly have won.

"I never saw such a fellow," exclaimed "Jack" Randall, "the Nonpareil;" "he'll fight for a week. He don't know when to leave off."

So it was. Langan showed pure grit and took heavy falls in the next four rounds. He came up
for the sixty-fifth round with wavering knees, but still willing. The champion was in little better case. Spring could scarcely close his puffed hands and was very weak. The Irishman meant fight again and whirled several taps to the face, punctuated by a hard drive. Spring gave ground, but used the back of his fists to advantage. Langan raised another storm of cheers by closing, shaking the champion of his feet . He held his own in the next two rounds, though making each move with obvious effort Spring hit him down open handed in the sixty-eighth round, and as the Irishman rested on his second s knee there were cries of "Take him away!" "Take him out!" "Do you hear what they say, Jack?" asked Belcher. "Yes." said Langan. "But I'll not be taken away. I'm winning, man."

For the next five rounds Langan opened each time in undaunted manner, but his strength could not carry him beyond a few weak blows. It was evident now that he would not quit as long as he retained consciousness in spite of repeated cries from his friends. Spring, no longer in danger, grew fresher, but exhibited his usual generosity, refraining from punishment and contenting himself with stopping the Irishman's rushes and pushing him off his feet. After the seventy-fourth round, in which Langan stood but a few seconds, Cribb joined In urging him to quit. "I will fight," returned Langan. "No one shall take me away." Cribb appealed to Belcher, but the veteran was helpless. Langan had made him promise that he would not take that decision upon himself.

The Irishman was carried to the centre again for the seventy-fifth round, making desperate efforts to control his racked limbs and place himself in a posture for defence. Spring went up to him and rallied easily with him, then fibbed him down. Once more, for the last time, he came back, stanch to the end. His knees almost gave way beneath him when Belcher's arm was removed. He stood for a second, trying to lift his hands when Spring came up and sent him down mercifully, without punishment. When his attendants reached his side he was unconscious. The crowd acclaimed the champion, but Spring had no eyes for any but his gallant adversary. He walked over to the fallen man, stooped and caught his hand.

Langan opened his eyes, "Is it over?" asked the Irishman. "Yes," said Belcher, and Langan fell back with a sigh. “Jack,'' said the champion, as he wrung the limp hand, "you and I must be friends to the end of our lives; and anything that is in my power I will do to serve you”