Joe Gans

by Colleen Aycock

  Fight Night in Fort Erie and Baltimore

  Joe Gans arrived on Saturday, May 10, 1902, in Buffalo, New York, with his manager and corner men, Young Peter Jackson and Herman Miller. The group stayed in Buffalo until fight time.

  Erne worked out with his close friend Frank Zimpfer. Also in attendance at his training quarters on Rose Street was the middleweight wrestling champion of Buffalo, Jack Kreiger, and George Halce, boxer and trainer. Erne had won his title from Lavigne in the city of Buffalo, but the bout with the black fighter Gans had to be held in nearby Fort Erie, Canada. Erne spoke to reporters: “You can see the condition I am in. I expect to win and I will win.” Erne announced his strategy, “I will not say I will throw science to the winds that night, but I will go after Mr. Gans from the ringing of the gong. I am going to get to his stomach and will win by whipping him there. I don’t care to say anything further regarding my plans.”4 During the interview, Erne was handed a telegram from Charles “Kid” McCoy stating that he would be “in his corner” at ringside.

  On Saturday the odds were 10 to 9 in favor of Gans.

  On Sunday trains from every destination began bringing “sporting men” to Buffalo from New York, Chicago, Boston, Philadelphia, Baltimore, and Detroit. Erne emerged from his residence at the Cottage Hotel with his handlers that evening after eating a big supper and greeted well-wishers.

  The International Athletic Club’s new venue accommodated 5,000 and nearly all the seats were taken by noon, Monday, the day of the fight.

  Back in Baltimore the stage was set at the Germania Maennerchor Hall, where Al Herford had arranged to have a direct wire of the 20-round championship bout sent from ringside to the club. He had also arranged two bouts in Baltimore for May 12. The first was between Jimmy Farren and Johnny Leckner, the winner to fight top contender Tommy Feltz. The second was between Kid Monahan and Johnnie Smith for the chance to box Dan Dougherty, Terry McGovern’s sparring partner.

  Local chit-chat in Baltimore that evening centered around a more local fight that had taken place in Cumberland, Maryland, the previous night between Jack Bolan and Denver’s George Strong. Jack Bolan was a hearty character. Although Bolan had recently been beaten by Kid Sullivan of Washington, he managed to win a blood-bath with Strong in the fifth round. However, the punishment he meted out was not the talk of the evening. What was remarkable was that Bolan had won the match after being stabbed in the back in a brawl earlier in the week. Few in the smoky entertainment hall, however, came for the on-site fights or the local boxing news. The fans were there for one primary reason: to hear the round by round telegraph report of the world’s championship bout from Canada. Back in Fort Erie at 8:30, Ed MacBride was introduced as referee for the 8-round preliminary. The fight between Joe McMahon and Eddie Kelley, 118-pounders, was ordered halted in the 4th round by Fort Erie Police Chief Griffin. As a result, referee MacBride called the bout a draw. Guests and boxing luminaries at ringside were then introduced. Terry McGovern, who held wins over both of the warriors slated for the title event, was there with his manager Sammy Harris. McGovern’s money was known to be on Gans.

  At 9:35 Gans entered the ring, followed by Erne. When Gans walked to ring center to shake Erne’s hand, an immense cheer erupted from the crowd, so highly anticipated was the moment.

  At 9:45 referee Charley White of New York was introduced. The Athletic Club had originally offered him only $100 to referee the marquis event. What he actually received was something between that figure and the $250 he had requested. White called the boxers to the center of the ring to explain the Canadian interpretation of the rules of the famed Marquis of Queensberry. “No holding and hitting, nor hitting while in clinches....”5

  For the “Fight of the Century” against Battling Nelson in Goldfield, Nevada, Gans’ mother sent a telegram to ringside telling her son to “bring back the bacon.” The phrase took on its own celebrity with spectators expecting the famous telegram prior to subsequent Gans events. This grotesque caricature of Gans and his mother mocking the famous telegrams that coined the phrase was printed in the San Francisco Examiner in September 1907 as part of the racially charged, pre-fight publicity for the Gans-Britt match.

  One-Punch Knockout

  Back in Baltimore, Gans’ wife tried to enter the Maennerchor Hall to hear the telegraphed report, but she was denied entrance. She waited for news by the door. Inside sporting fans faced an empty ring on stage and listened intently when the report began:

  Round 1—They came out and sparred away briskly. Gans led his left for the face twice, but missed. Then he led with both hands for the face. Erne ducked and they clinched. Then Erne tried his left, but it was too high. He next tried a straight left but the shifty Gans side-stepped.

  There was a slight mix-up and Gans had the better of it. When they got out of the mix Gans sent his right to the ear hard. There was a quick exchange, when the Baltimore boy sent both hands to head, and Erne looked dazed.

  Gans now felt out his opponent with a left punch to the face, drawing blood from Erne’s nose. Erne seemed fully dazed now and Gans rushed in and banged his right plump on Erne’s jaw.

  Frank fell slowly to the floor with mouth and nose bleeding. He rolled over on his abdomen and was counted out before he could attempt to regain his feet. The time of the round: 1 minute and 40 seconds.6

  The crowd back at Maennerchor Hall cheered wildly, many in disbelief that the match could be over in such short order. While there were a few hisses, the cheers overwhelmed the room for over a minute. A black spectator rushed out to give Mrs. Gans the good news. She left overjoyed.

  After fighting longer and harder than any man in history to earn a chance at the title, Gans won it swiftly. Having studied Erne’s habit of feinting with his left jab and pulling back his head to avoid a counter, Gans had practiced the timing of his own power shots. When Erne started this move early in the first round, Gans fired a crushing right to where he knew Erne’s chin would be. The fight was over with one perfect punch!

  The fight was short. Erne’s defense was described the next day in the papers as “pitiably weak.”7 Gans’ left punch through Erne’s guard allowed him to land his right on the jaw and Erne sank to the floor. After this fight it was Gans who was pleasantly surprised: “Of course, I did not expect to win so quickly,” Gans said, “But I believe the end would have been the same had the fight gone much further.”8 At ringside the Herford party was inundated by excited fans.

  After being led to his corner the former title-holder was still in a daze. When Erne came out of his stupor, he cried, shocked by the sudden defeat. The comments collected by the press that evening sounded very much like those heard in the previous Erne-Gans bout, only this time the tables were turned.

  Unlike the first fight with Erne when Gans left in disgrace the next morning, or the McGovern fight where he had to appear in court the morning after the fight, on the day following this victory, Gans was given a hero’s welcome: an automobile ride through Buffalo. Joining him in the victory drive were Terry McGovern, Sam Harris, and referee Charley White. (No one has commented on the strange friendship struck between Gans and McGovern. Obviously they seem to have become good friends after Chicago, despite the hysteria of the “fixed fight.” Whatever deal had been struck was one Gans took to his grave.)

  Al Herford was not in the celebration party. He was busy entertaining bids from potential contenders to the newly won title, making statements to the sportswriters, and self-righteously listing demands to Erne’s management. Herford told reporters, “Erne is very anxious for a return match now. I will give him a dose of his own medicine, as he dictated the terms when he held the title.” Wanting to make sure everyone knew who was in command of any possible Erne re-match, he added, “Now as Gans is the champion he must do as we say. The purse must be divided on the 75 per cent and 25 per cent basis.” Like a barker at the biggest fair in the country, Herford had a captive audience and was back to his cigar-chomping sales pitch, “First come, first s
erved. So all you lightweights who have aspirations to become champions here is your chance.”9 Gans’ victory and Herford’s invitation would be printed in papers across the country.

  At Last a Champion

  Finally, Gans had his title and with his share of the purse could afford to buy a piece of property. Gans’ share, after expenses, was split 50/50 with his manager, an arrangement made between the two from the beginning of their relationship. They had also agreed to split Herford’s bets, both wins and losses. It was estimated at the time that from this fight the two split a little over $9,000, a total from the purse and the bets. And the title was a valuable commodity in itself, enabling future exhibitions and higher guaranteed purses.

  Newspaper reporters were quick to point out that in less than two minutes, Gans had made more than the annual salary of the president of the United States, more per minute even than John D. Rockefeller. The press had so much fun with the elaborate financial evaluations that they occupied several column inches in the Baltimore Sun. Included at the end of the article was a chart comparing John to Joe, the first “badly dyspeptic,” the other “can digest broken bottles.” Unlike Rockefeller, Gans was “not too proud to speak to anyone.”10 While tongue in cheek, the lengthy comparison was an illustration of how the color barrier could be broken. For the first time in the history of Gans’ news coverage, the Baltimore fighter was seen outside a racial context. The color of money had put the champion on a pedestal, in the same hallowed realm as the president of the United States and alongside one of the wealthiest men in the world.

  When Gans’ mother told him to “bring home the bacon,” it stood for more than just providing for his loved ones. By ushering in a future filled with opportunity for black athletes of generations to come, Gans would be, as he stated in his famous telegraph to his mother in 1906, “bringing home the bacon with lots of gravy on it.”11

  There are expressions that bespeak the heart of a generation. America circa 1900 was not yet a preeminent power and was still in search in many ways of a national identity. So when a celebrity boxer would say something that captured the mood at the time in a catchphrase, it would become exceedingly popular. When the newspapers said that the fans had seen the “Real McCoy” after one of Kid McCoy’s great bouts, the phrase caught on in no small part because of the trickery that was so ingrained in the American experience during the Gilded Age, and a longing among the people for something earnest. The Vietnam era echoed a similar sentiment when a soft drink called itself “the real thing.” While few today are aware of the origin of the phrase “bring home the bacon,” it goes to the core of what it means to be a provider in America, where the stakes are so high and the world so uncertain.

  When Gans returned to Baltimore and the Eureka Athletic Club, a large photograph of Frank Erne had been draped in black “crepe.” Gans’ canvas belt, embroidered with small American flags and the letters “J.G.,” lay prominently across the desk. It was left behind for fear that it might be a bad luck charm, associated as it was with the first Erne fight. But in the final determination Gans’ boxing skills were what mattered. Science had beaten superstition.

  Joe Gans had made history, becoming the first African-American–born world titleholder. He had legitimately earned the praises of the world, but what he wanted to regain most was the love and respect of his fellow Baltimoreans. And to show his devotion to his birthplace, he would bring the lightweight belt home. When hometown reporters asked him how it felt to be the world’s greatest lightweight fighter, he said, “I hope the Baltimore public will take kindly to me now. I am anxious to fight Erne or the best man the club can get to meet me in this city.”12

  But Frank Erne would not fight Gans again or anyone else in America. Instead, Erne went to London for one last fight and then on to Paris, where he helped to train the first generation of French boxers.

  Joe Gans had finally crossed the color barrier. He stood atop the fistic world. He had won well over 100 bouts, most by knockout. Even before he won the championship, sportswriters had called him the “Old Master.” But his greatest deeds were still ahead.

  10

  Defending the Championship:

  A Gentleman and a Gladiator

  Socrates: “And do you suppose, Adeimantus, that a single boxer who was perfect in his art would easily be a match for two stout and well-to-do gentlemen who were not boxers?”

  —Ancient Greece, 5th Century B.C.

  As historian Nat Fleischer wrote, “No man ever conquered a tougher field than did Gans in winning his title.” He could have added that no man ever conquered a tougher field than Joe Gans when defending his title.1

  Gans Wins Acceptance in Jim Crow America

  Gans defended his championship title against the world’s best, usually in their hometowns. He never put his crown on the shelf as was customary in his time, and indeed during much of the twentieth century. Muhammad Ali, the most popular of recent champions, traveled the world defending his championship against the best heavyweights of every country. While Ali was a true “world champion,” Gans was the original traveling champion who took on all comers.

  By 1902 Joe Gans was the headline attraction throughout America—the man to beat. In a few years Jack Johnson would draw the spotlight to the heavyweight division, but for now the so-called “questions” about ability and character surrounded Joe Gans. “The quick defeat of Erne astounded the boxing world for Erne was rated among the truly greats of fistiana.”2 Would the American public accept the fact that Gans was really that good?

  From Reconstruction to World War II, newspapers consistently illustrated America’s conflicting attitudes toward blacks. Reportorial admiration for the skills developed by the black fighter appeared next to denigrating cartoon figures, perhaps masking an underlying fear that exceptional physical abilities might be racially inherent. Darwin’s theory of evolution and natural selection upset Victorian thinking but took scientific, literary, and popular thinking by storm. Wild imaginings and frail logic helped to fan flames of fear between the races, especially the notion that one race could, over time, develop superiority to another. Black champions like Gans, Dixon, Langford, and Jack Johnson to come, were super men—physically superior to their white competition, and this challenged prevailing attitudes of the establishment and its hope for white supremacy in the new century.

  Cartoons about Gans appeared in newspapers around the country from the 1890s through 1942. Ty Cobb, sports editor of The Nevada State Journal in Reno, titled his lead story of September 27, 1942, “The Greatest Fighter Who Ever Lived? This Writer Lauds Joe Gans, Old Master.” While the story proclaims Gans as the greatest, a pen-and-ink sketch under the headline reminds the modern reader of popular thinking at the time. The cartoon-like sketch tells a different story of the black athlete, one that illustrates that the black super-athlete evolved from some monkey-like form. Pictured are two figures: one strolls inside a Greco-Roman–styled Hall of Fame. The champion is depicted with a jaw larger than his skull, arms stretched below his knees, awkward and inhuman. Next to this picture is a more realistic sketch of Gans. His face is serious, his chin and jaw smaller than the crown of his head, with his shoulders and muscles befitting those of a boxer. The drawing is captioned with: “We is all jus’ natchally inclined champions!” The implication is that Gans would say something like this.

  Although Gans had little formal education, quotes from newspaper interviews indicate that he was highly articulate, especially when compared to many of the fighters of his day. Newspapers did try to capture the voice of the fighter, but no paper ever quoted Gans using such vaudeville-styled diction as that above. Gans spoke in lucid, complete sentences. The same newspaper that had called him a “coon” quotes Gans responding to the outcome of the Walcott fight: “What’s the use of complaining? Mr. Welch says it was a draw. I refuse to express my opinion concerning the decision. I think it ... well, I won’t say what. I wasn’t hurt at all and could have gone on for another twenty rounds. The o
nly punches that hurt me were those that Mr. Walcott drove into my ribs.”3

  Sportswriter Bill Moran says of the group of black boxers, “In proportion to their numbers, the Negroes have produced a larger percentage of great fighters than any other race. Today, the greatest box office attraction is Joe Louis. And it has always been that way: when a Negro was good he was really good.”4 He goes on to point to Tom Molineaux, a bare-knuckle fighter, born a slave in Virginia but considered by many an English boxer, followed by George Dixon, Joe Walcott, and Jack Johnson, as being great boxers. But the “daddy of them all,” Moran writes, is Joe Gans.

  Gans Scores Knockout Per Month—and Four Title Defenses in 1902

  In addition to the pride that comes with owning a title at the top of a professional rung is the ability to “cash in” on being the champion. The book about former heavyweight champion James J. Braddock, “Cinderella Man,” explains matter-of-factly how Braddock’s income soared into the stratosphere during his brief rein as champion, as he fought exhibitions and made appearances without risking his hard-won title. Defending a world boxing title is a notoriously risky proposition. A champion faces his stiffest competition when a title is on the line. After training long, hard days for the occasion, the challenger comes full of fight and determination to take the meat from the lion’s jaws. As a result, many title-holders are reluctant to accept title challenges. Gans was lucky to get a chance at Erne. In 1903 heavyweight champion Jim Jeffries defended his title only once, and middleweight champion Tommy Ryan avoided his rivals for the crown all year. Championships came at such a price and were such a valued commodity that title challenges were difficult and costly to arrange. But unlike many, Gans didn’t rest on his laurels. He was a fighting champion from the get-go, not only defending his lightweight crown several times per year, but also during this time taking on and defeating bigger, heavier men in non-title fights on a routine basis.