thedrifter
05-04-04, 08:10 PM
Lieutenant Tunney
The Pride of the Marines
The Literary Digest
October 16, 1926
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
When Knighthood was in flower, the crowned champion of the tourney was apt to show a tender solicitude for the wounds of his overthrown rival; and romantic authors have moved our hearts with tales of the graceful speeches exchanged by victor and vanquished on such occasions. And altho it may seem a far cry from the field of chivalry to the strictly professional sixteen-foot ring in the Sesqui stadium, a faint suggestion of "Ivanhoe" creeps into the report of a social call paid to the battered Mr. Dempsey by the applauded Mr. Tunney--already promoted to a lieutenancy in the United States Marine Corps Reserves--on the day following the memorable collision between them.
Greeting his foe of the ring with outstretched hand, which he said was "a bit tender," related an Associated Press correspondent in Philadelphia, Tunney exprest the hope that Dempsey was "coming along all right." Dempsey "thrust out his hand"--this time in friendship, however--and "told the new champion he was glad he had come." Whereupon Tunney took a seat with Dempsey and the two knights indulged in an intimate exchange of details of their contest." Thus they fought their tourney over again in pleasant discourse of hooks and jabs, while the dethroned champion's wife, known in the movie world as Estelle Taylor, hung upon their words with sympathetic palpitations.
Despite the painful injuries to his countenance, Dempsey "talked with a whole-heartedness and an engaging smile that made it difficult to believe that only the night before he had been in a desperate battle with his guest." Some concern was exprest over the former champion's closed eye, "which he said was not healing as quickly as he thought it should," and his conqueror exprest an apologetic concern, accompanied with practical advice drawn from his own experience of first aid to battered features.
The new champion was reminded by his dilapidated victim of sundry "good wallops" that he, Lieutenant Tunney, had landed, and Mr. Dempsey also "mentioned times when Tunney's hard punches had failed to hit the mark" - failures which apparently afforded him a slightly melancholy satisfaction. Tunney, in his turn, reminded Dempsey of hard swats and well-directed blows, remarking occasionally that he wondered "if you felt that as much as I thought you did." And the correspondent reports this chivalrous speech delivered to the defeated knight of the ring by his conqueror:
"I have always thought you were a great champion, and I want to say now that you are a fine, clean opponent and fought as clean and game a fight as any man who has been in a ring. Any man can be proud to have met you in the fight you made."
That nothing might be wanting in the knightly flavor of this visit of condolence, we are told that--
Tunney emerged from the Dempsey suite with a broad smile. "Dempsey's a fine chap," exclaimed the new champion, "and I hope he comes around without any trouble. We had a good talk about that fight."
All of which makes it easier to understand the current editorial pronouncement that prize-fighting--or boxing, to use the politer word--has become "respectable." This changed state of affairs is deduced from a number of signs. The immense concourse of people form all walks of life, including the learned professions, who can now be drawn to a championship fight, and the presence of a large leaven of women, some of high social or professional standing, are cited as evidence that the Marquis of Queensberry's sixteen-foot ring has gone up in the social scale since the days when it was the furtive and fugitive magnet of rough and plug-uglies. "Cabinet-officers, Governors, and members of Congress were present in great numbers," notes the New York Times in an editorial on the Tunney-Dempsey argument; "professional men also in great numbers, capitalists and merchants, too." And witness the attitude of Gov. Gifford Pinchot, of Pennsylvania:
Governor Pinchot, who before the world's championship fight said he hoped Gene Tunney would win, said to-day that he was immensely pleased with his victory, and added he thought his triumph would be a good thing for boxing all over the United States.
Asked if he received a wetting from the rain, the Governor said:
"No, I had sense enough to take a raincoat.
"The whole affair last night was a complete justification of the Pennsylvania law to regulate boxing, and I was greatly pleased that the athletic commission stopt one bout which, if allowed to continue, might have become brutal.
"Most of all, however, I was pleased with the superb exhibition given by Tunney, who by his superior headwork won the championship. I was very anxious to have Tunney win, partly because of my strong admiration for the United States Marine Corps. Tunney's victory will be a good thing for boxing all over the United States.
"Finally, I enjoyed myself immensely, and I hope to see Tunney box again.
"I have never seen a great crowd so well handled, nor have I ever seen a great crowd that handled itself so well! It is no overstatement to say that no concert audience could have been more perfectly orderly than the 125,000 were in the stadium."
- The End -
Your Faith Can Knock Out Fear
by Gene Tunney,
1926-28 Heavyweight Boxing Champion
Faith Made Them Champions
Edited by Norman Vincent Peale
1954
When you think of Tunney, you think of his spectacular victory over Jack Dempsey. This story reveals the fight before the fight . . . how Gene was beaten before he ever got into the ring . . . and how he found a way to bounce back to win boxing's most famous championship battle.
*****************************************
I was one scared young man on the morning of the New Year in 1920. The opponent whom I was scheduled to box that afternoon was a tough veteran named Whitey Allen, as cagey and experienced a fighter as they come.
It was one of my first bouts since returning from France where I had served as a Marine in World War I. I was still wet behind the ears in the professional fighting sense. My fear on this day was based on a fear that I'd had all my life--of professionals.
I can remember praying that morning as fervently and humbly as any man ever has. I prayed that in the fight that afternoon I might not be permanently injured when I was knocked out. I didn't ask that I might win. I took it for granted that I'd be knocked out, and I was terribly afraid of being hurt for life.
The prize ring is a rather terrifying place when you think about it. You're up on a raised platform which is a glare of light. All around you is the dim expanse of the crowd. You see faces wrenched with expressions of frantic excitement, emotions produced by the lust for battle--gloating, savage mouths open with yelling.
In every fighter comes occasionally the supreme horror of not being able to fend off the blows showered on him, of being helpless to raise his hands to ward them off.
Thus when I prayed that I might not be permanently injured, I gained confidence that I wouldn't be. This took the edge off mad, irrational fear. If it hadn't been for this confidence I gained from prayer, I imagine that I'd have gone into the ring inwardly shaking and quaking, thoroughly beaten in advance.
As it was, I climbed into the ring that day with enough courage to go through the orthodox procedures of fighting a normal fight. In the second round I suddenly realized how groundless my fears had been. My opponent was no super-man. I went on to win the fight.
Thus I had scored one victory over fear. But years later faintness of heart nearly cheated me out of the championship.
This happened before my title bout with Jack Dempsey. Dempsey, the Manassa Mauler, was an overwhelming favorite to thump me out in an early round. Newspapers talked of what a murderous lacing he would give me. Being human I read the papers to find out what they were saying about me.
One night at the beginning of my long training period I awakened suddenly and felt my bed shaking. It seemed fantastic. Ghosts or what? Then I understood. It was I who was shaking, trembling so hard that I made the bed tremble. I was that much afraid--afraid of what Dempsey would do to me. The fear was lurking in the back of my mind and had set me quaking in my sleep, the nightmare thought of myself being beaten down by Dempsey's shattering punches.
continued.......
The Pride of the Marines
The Literary Digest
October 16, 1926
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
When Knighthood was in flower, the crowned champion of the tourney was apt to show a tender solicitude for the wounds of his overthrown rival; and romantic authors have moved our hearts with tales of the graceful speeches exchanged by victor and vanquished on such occasions. And altho it may seem a far cry from the field of chivalry to the strictly professional sixteen-foot ring in the Sesqui stadium, a faint suggestion of "Ivanhoe" creeps into the report of a social call paid to the battered Mr. Dempsey by the applauded Mr. Tunney--already promoted to a lieutenancy in the United States Marine Corps Reserves--on the day following the memorable collision between them.
Greeting his foe of the ring with outstretched hand, which he said was "a bit tender," related an Associated Press correspondent in Philadelphia, Tunney exprest the hope that Dempsey was "coming along all right." Dempsey "thrust out his hand"--this time in friendship, however--and "told the new champion he was glad he had come." Whereupon Tunney took a seat with Dempsey and the two knights indulged in an intimate exchange of details of their contest." Thus they fought their tourney over again in pleasant discourse of hooks and jabs, while the dethroned champion's wife, known in the movie world as Estelle Taylor, hung upon their words with sympathetic palpitations.
Despite the painful injuries to his countenance, Dempsey "talked with a whole-heartedness and an engaging smile that made it difficult to believe that only the night before he had been in a desperate battle with his guest." Some concern was exprest over the former champion's closed eye, "which he said was not healing as quickly as he thought it should," and his conqueror exprest an apologetic concern, accompanied with practical advice drawn from his own experience of first aid to battered features.
The new champion was reminded by his dilapidated victim of sundry "good wallops" that he, Lieutenant Tunney, had landed, and Mr. Dempsey also "mentioned times when Tunney's hard punches had failed to hit the mark" - failures which apparently afforded him a slightly melancholy satisfaction. Tunney, in his turn, reminded Dempsey of hard swats and well-directed blows, remarking occasionally that he wondered "if you felt that as much as I thought you did." And the correspondent reports this chivalrous speech delivered to the defeated knight of the ring by his conqueror:
"I have always thought you were a great champion, and I want to say now that you are a fine, clean opponent and fought as clean and game a fight as any man who has been in a ring. Any man can be proud to have met you in the fight you made."
That nothing might be wanting in the knightly flavor of this visit of condolence, we are told that--
Tunney emerged from the Dempsey suite with a broad smile. "Dempsey's a fine chap," exclaimed the new champion, "and I hope he comes around without any trouble. We had a good talk about that fight."
All of which makes it easier to understand the current editorial pronouncement that prize-fighting--or boxing, to use the politer word--has become "respectable." This changed state of affairs is deduced from a number of signs. The immense concourse of people form all walks of life, including the learned professions, who can now be drawn to a championship fight, and the presence of a large leaven of women, some of high social or professional standing, are cited as evidence that the Marquis of Queensberry's sixteen-foot ring has gone up in the social scale since the days when it was the furtive and fugitive magnet of rough and plug-uglies. "Cabinet-officers, Governors, and members of Congress were present in great numbers," notes the New York Times in an editorial on the Tunney-Dempsey argument; "professional men also in great numbers, capitalists and merchants, too." And witness the attitude of Gov. Gifford Pinchot, of Pennsylvania:
Governor Pinchot, who before the world's championship fight said he hoped Gene Tunney would win, said to-day that he was immensely pleased with his victory, and added he thought his triumph would be a good thing for boxing all over the United States.
Asked if he received a wetting from the rain, the Governor said:
"No, I had sense enough to take a raincoat.
"The whole affair last night was a complete justification of the Pennsylvania law to regulate boxing, and I was greatly pleased that the athletic commission stopt one bout which, if allowed to continue, might have become brutal.
"Most of all, however, I was pleased with the superb exhibition given by Tunney, who by his superior headwork won the championship. I was very anxious to have Tunney win, partly because of my strong admiration for the United States Marine Corps. Tunney's victory will be a good thing for boxing all over the United States.
"Finally, I enjoyed myself immensely, and I hope to see Tunney box again.
"I have never seen a great crowd so well handled, nor have I ever seen a great crowd that handled itself so well! It is no overstatement to say that no concert audience could have been more perfectly orderly than the 125,000 were in the stadium."
- The End -
Your Faith Can Knock Out Fear
by Gene Tunney,
1926-28 Heavyweight Boxing Champion
Faith Made Them Champions
Edited by Norman Vincent Peale
1954
When you think of Tunney, you think of his spectacular victory over Jack Dempsey. This story reveals the fight before the fight . . . how Gene was beaten before he ever got into the ring . . . and how he found a way to bounce back to win boxing's most famous championship battle.
*****************************************
I was one scared young man on the morning of the New Year in 1920. The opponent whom I was scheduled to box that afternoon was a tough veteran named Whitey Allen, as cagey and experienced a fighter as they come.
It was one of my first bouts since returning from France where I had served as a Marine in World War I. I was still wet behind the ears in the professional fighting sense. My fear on this day was based on a fear that I'd had all my life--of professionals.
I can remember praying that morning as fervently and humbly as any man ever has. I prayed that in the fight that afternoon I might not be permanently injured when I was knocked out. I didn't ask that I might win. I took it for granted that I'd be knocked out, and I was terribly afraid of being hurt for life.
The prize ring is a rather terrifying place when you think about it. You're up on a raised platform which is a glare of light. All around you is the dim expanse of the crowd. You see faces wrenched with expressions of frantic excitement, emotions produced by the lust for battle--gloating, savage mouths open with yelling.
In every fighter comes occasionally the supreme horror of not being able to fend off the blows showered on him, of being helpless to raise his hands to ward them off.
Thus when I prayed that I might not be permanently injured, I gained confidence that I wouldn't be. This took the edge off mad, irrational fear. If it hadn't been for this confidence I gained from prayer, I imagine that I'd have gone into the ring inwardly shaking and quaking, thoroughly beaten in advance.
As it was, I climbed into the ring that day with enough courage to go through the orthodox procedures of fighting a normal fight. In the second round I suddenly realized how groundless my fears had been. My opponent was no super-man. I went on to win the fight.
Thus I had scored one victory over fear. But years later faintness of heart nearly cheated me out of the championship.
This happened before my title bout with Jack Dempsey. Dempsey, the Manassa Mauler, was an overwhelming favorite to thump me out in an early round. Newspapers talked of what a murderous lacing he would give me. Being human I read the papers to find out what they were saying about me.
One night at the beginning of my long training period I awakened suddenly and felt my bed shaking. It seemed fantastic. Ghosts or what? Then I understood. It was I who was shaking, trembling so hard that I made the bed tremble. I was that much afraid--afraid of what Dempsey would do to me. The fear was lurking in the back of my mind and had set me quaking in my sleep, the nightmare thought of myself being beaten down by Dempsey's shattering punches.
continued.......