The Legacy

by Lynda La Plante

  Freedom went ten rounds with Munn, a tough fight, then got his famous punch in. Monty went down. Freedom’s confidence was restored, and Kearn and Rickard were now convinced of his potential beyond doubt. They began to play a minor part in promoting Freedom, but they were still holding back. In a private meeting with Sir Charles they told him they both felt it was too early for Freedom to take on Risco, he was not ready. They also had an eye on the gates, wanting to build Freedom’s name up.

  The fight with Pierre Charles went ahead. This time Freedom had to go the full twenty rounds, and he won on points. Press reports began to feature Freedom Stubbs as a powerful contender for the title. The gates were also improving - money was coming in - and although deals had been set up between Sir Charles and the Golden Triangle, there was still a lot left in the purse for Freedom. But once again his hopes of getting closer to the championship were thwarted and another bout was arranged, this time in Chicago.

  As always, Sir Charles kept his accounts with meticulous care, and all Freedom’s expenses were deducted. The boat fares, the hotel, the train, the plane rides, nothing was left out. Then there were Ed’s wages, taxes, the rent for the Miami villa, every dollar and cent was accounted for. Sir Charles, whose constant battles with the trustees of his estate made him only too aware of his cash flow, was miserly in many ways, but he astounded everyone by handing out huge tips. He would give with one hand and take with the other. Ed put it down to eccentricity, but Dempsey laughed, he put it down to his Lordship being ‘just a goddam tightass’.

  Whatever the outcome of the finances, Ed made sure Freedom’s share was looked after, and to date they were, in his own word, ‘flush’. Ed was holding more than five thousand dollars for Freedom, in large bills in a money-belt round his rotund stomach. Freedom never questioned Ed about finances. In truth, he didn’t care. Being knocked out had marked him, and he was back in training with a vengeance. He never wanted to experience that humiliation again.

  Ed had forgotten their, problems in Chicago. In New York Freedom was accepted as a gypsy, but in Chicago they were again refused admission to any of the best hotels. Freedom grew moodier than ever, and twice Ed had to hold him back from physically assaulting hotel clerks.

  Most blacks in Chicago resided in the area known as the South Side, ranging from 30th to 39th Street, and there was a famous hotel, the Du Sable, on the corner of 39th and Cottage Grove Avenue. The Du was one of the most popular hotels for the black elite, where great jazz musicians rubbed elbows with black politicians, judges and lawyers. Duke Ellington and Count Basie often stayed there when playing theatres in downtown Chicago. The incongruous situation of being able to play there but not live there was a sore point. To Ed’s shame, Freedom moved into the Du while he himself stayed at the Lexington with Sir Charles. Freedom had joked about it, saying he didn’t give a damn what they wanted to think he was. Black or white, he was there to fight.

  And he got a fight, not in the ring but outside a speakeasy. It started with Freedom and two black boxers he had met at the Du being barred from entering the speakeasy. The three boxers started slugging it out with the bouncers on the door, and the police were called. They were on a tough training schedule and Ed had assumed Freedom was resting, when he was summoned to the local police station. Along with his ‘brothers’, Freedom was put behind bars for the night. Sir Charles paid a heavy fine and made a large ‘donation’ to police funds to get Freedom released. Afraid of the bad press this situation was bound to cause, the venue was switched, and a hasty retreat to New York organized. In the end this proved beneficial because their luck was in. A contender removed from the running left an opening for Freedom in a fight scheduled to take place in Madison Square.

  Freedom’s arrest seemed at first to have no effect on him, but Ed detected a difference. He had often said that Freedom lacked the ‘killer instinct’ - now he saw an anger in Freedom that unleashed itself, but not necessarily in the ring. Ed warned him to keep his temper, at all cost they must avoid bad publicity. The old, familiar mask came down and he received that blank, hooded stare. Ed was told quietly but firmly that it was up to him to make sure that Freedom was never subjected to the insults his ‘brothers’ received.

  Ed made a point of telling Sir Charles it was imperative to make the public aware of Freedom’s Romany origins. If he were to be barred from any more hotels, there would be trouble and Ed doubted if he could control it.

  From then on, Freedom made a point of mixing with black boxers in the gymnasiums and socializing with them in the bars and nightclubs. He felt an empathy with their segregation, and they in turn accepted him as one of them. They encouraged him and waited in line to act as sparring partners, and many of them should, by rights, have been put forward as contenders.

  Ed sat in Freedom’s sparse room in the run-down hotel. Freedom had pulled the mattress from his bed and laid it on the floor to sleep. He was stretched out on it now, his head resting on a grubby pillow. Ed knew he was exhausted, but all the attention he had been getting pumped him full of adrenalin.

  Freedom felt Ed’s eyes on him and turned with a smile. ‘You got a big paunch on you, Ed. Want to run round the clubs with me, do the Black Bottom. That’ll slim you down.’ ,

  ‘No I don’t, and you shouldn’t be out gallivantin’ wiv all sorts. I’m not a stickler, I know you gotta let off a bit of steam now an’ then, but keep it to a minimum. This isn’t all belly, neither - this is our cash, son. I don’t let it out of me sight fer a minute.’

  Freedom laughed and told Ed he should take care on his way back to that posh hotel, joking that Ed might be robbed by some of his ‘black brothers’.

  ‘Never mind me, it’s you I’m bothered about, you need to rest up.’

  Freedom stretched his arms above his head and sighed. ‘How many more times do they want me to show how good I am? I want Risco - I done my part, I’ve proved myself, I want Risco. So you get that fat body round to his Lordship and tell him I’m through waiting.’

  ‘I hear you, lad, but you remember I’m the trainer, don’t get too big fer yer boots or you’ll be leavin’ ‘em on the canvas … An’ stay in ternight, all right? No bloody Black Bottomin’.’

  Ed clutched his belly all the way back to the hotel. He decided that perhaps it would be better if the winnings were put in the hotel safe. He counted all the dollar bills and stacked them in a neat pile. As always, Sir Charles had made Ed sign for the money when it was given to him. Ed now decided to ask him to arrange for its safekeeping.

  That evening, Sir Charles watched as the money was put into the hotel safe. He suggested to Ed that he open a bank account, but Ed wouldn’t hear of it. He had never had much to do with banks, he didn’t even have an account back in England, having rarely had more than a pocketful of loose change to his name. Besides, most of the money belonged to Freedom. Another reason, which Ed did not mention to Sir Charles, was that Freedom was still barely able to write more than his own name. To give him a chequebook would only confuse the issue, and knowing his spendthrift ways it was better all round for the money to be kept out of generous hands.

  Ed cabled Freda and Evelyne that all was well - more than well, they were inching closer and closer to the title. He did not mention that Freedom was becoming hard to handle. He wanted to get Freedom out of New York. Even though he still worked out in the gyms, he was hitting the booze, and many a morning he was too hung over to train. At last Ed got a call to meet with the Golden Triangle. It seemed they had some good news for him.

  The fight with Johnny ‘Rubber-legs’ Risco was on. Ed wanted Freedom to rest for at least a month, but Dempsey laughed at him, saying that in the days when he was in the booths he fought three or four fights a week, and he knew Freedom was raring to go. Against his better judgement, Ed agreed. The publicity campaign for the Risco-Stubbs fight was under way.

  Freedom was working out when Ed told him the Risco fight was going ahead. He belted hell out of the punchbag, then clasped Ed joyfully to his sw
eating body. Ed did not mention the hours he had spent arguing with Sir Charles that it was too soon, that Freedom needed more rest.

  Sir Charles had organized Freedom’s match with Risco only three weeks after his win on points at Madison Square, but Ed gave Freedom no hint of his misgivings. Right now, Freedom was confident, even over-confident. ‘This is it, I get through with Risco, there’s just Sharkey and the German to go, that title’s getting closer.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, I hear you. Just remember Sharkey’s still number two contender. He’s already wiped out Risco, so he’ll be watching you like a hawk.’

  Freedom went back to the punchbag with renewed energy. Ed sized him up. He reckoned Freedom could take Risco, but Sharkey would be another matter. Sharkey was lighter than Freedom, but he was said to be unstoppable. He would fight the winner of the Stubbs-Risco bout and, if Freedom won, he would be a very tired boxer.

  Sharkey’s only obstacle to the vacant throne was the big German, Max Schmeling. He was Germany’s international champion and a formidable contender. Schmeling was already at the top in the betting. He and Sharkey had noted the meteoric rise of the gypsy fighter and, as Ed suspected, both men calculated that Freedom would be a very tired man. They booked ringside seats for the bout, which was to take place in Chicago and was already a sell-out. Rumours began to circulate; the Golden Triangle had an interest in the gypsy - tired he might be, but he was beginning to draw crowds. Freedom, at first a rank outsider, now featured in the last lap for the vacant throne. The running was still Schmeling first, Sharkey second, Risco third. Having done extremely well, Freedom was now placed fourth.

  Freda and Evelyne felt cut off, waiting for the results. Both understood the importance of Freedom’s fight against Johnny ‘Rubber-legs’ Risco. Evelyne would stand at the gate of the villa for hours on end hoping the Western Union boy would bring her a message. She couldn’t sleep for worry.

  Freda, who usually tried to keep Evelyne calm, almost induced a miscarriage by screaming at the top of her voice. ‘He’s here? He’s coming! Evie, Evie, he’s got a, telegram!’

  Evelyne’s hands were shaking as she tore open the envelope. She read it, then closed her eyes. ‘He’s won, Freda, he’s won!’

  It had taken sixteen rounds for Freedom to get Risco down on the canvas. Down and unable to bounce back. Freedom was tired but jubilant, and Ed was beside himself. The throne was closer - his boy was now placed third.

  Sharkey and Schmeling were impressed, but Sharkey was still more than confident. If the gyppo was tired before the Risco fight, now he would be exhausted. He put pressure on his promoters to push his fight with Freedom forward.

  Dempsey and his partners celebrated when they received the news. Rickard increased the publicity with Sir Charles right alongside him and not afraid, as Dempsey joked, ‘to get his hand outta his pocket’. Having been unsure to begin with, they now all believed there was a chance. They brought out the ‘big guns’ and set about designing posters. Their boy, they were sure, had the ‘Golden Glove’.

  Chapter 24

  ED was unusually quiet on the flight back to Miami. Freedom sat next to him, wearing dark glasses, his head resting on the back of his seat. He was exhausted.

  Poor Ed had lost even more hair during their travels, forever worrying, and now he believed he had a gastric ulcer. Out of the corner of his eye, Freedom watched him take out a cigar, roll it in his fingers, put it back in his pocket and then take it out again. Fidget, fidget … Freedom laid his hand on Ed’s arm and quietly asked him the important question, ‘How long have I got, Ed?’

  Ed stared out of the window, his stomach churning. He wasn’t sure whether it was the fight that caused it, or the realization that they had barely a month to prepare. Freedom hesitated only a moment when told. ‘Well, I said I wanted to fight, looks like Kearn and Rickard are coming up trumps.’

  Ed was too much the professional to get excited. He knew it was too soon. Freedom needed more time to rest. ‘I think those two think they’re goin’ ter make another Golden Triangle with you at the apex instead of Dempsey. They’ll be behind this razzmatazz. You think you’ll be fit enough, lad?’

  Freedom laughed, punched Ed’s shoulder and said he was ready. ‘Sir Charles’d step in if I wasn’t, wouldn’t he? He wouldn’t let me fight if I wasn’t up to it, don’t worry, Ed.’

  ‘Sir Charles, lad, blows with the wind, that’s all I know. Right now he’s all over those two big Americans, talking of buying his own plane, God help us if he wants to take the controls.’

  They strapped themselves into their seat belts as the pilot shouted that they were about to land. Ed’s face turned green. ‘Gawd, this is the bit I hate. S’all right getting up, an’ while yer up there, but comin’ down’s horrible.’

  ‘Yeah, it’s like fighting, Ed, no fun when you’re down.’

  They landed safely and Ed fussed about their bags, worried they would lose the precious sets of gloves. Freedom shouted, ‘Ed! Ed, look, will you look at that, well I’ll be goddamned if that ain’t a sonofa-bitch!’

  He was pointing to a huge billboard God only knew how many feet high, ‘stubbs versus sharkey.’ ‘Jeez, ain’t that a goddam thing?’ He had already picked up a lot of American slang and everything was ‘Jeez, Ed’ this and ‘Jeez, Ed’ that. Ed muttered that he’d got it wrong, it wasn’t ‘Jeez’ but ‘gee’, like in ‘gee whizz’. Freedom continued to get it wrong, and in the end Ed also found himself saying, ‘Jeez, will you look at that goddam billboard, you could be a movie star.’

  Tex played on Freedom’s uncanny likeness to the film star Rudolph Valentino to the hilt. He also made much of Freedom’s long hair and gypsy blood. On many of the boards, in huge red letters, were the words, ‘The Gypsy King’; another favourite was ‘The Wild Man’. All of them, like circus posters, were in brilliant colours, showing Freedom with his gloved hands held up, his hair flying out behind him.

  The hired limousine was piled to the roof with gifts, many of them toys for Edward. Ed had tried hard, but in the end he had given way and let Freedom have some of his winnings, more than he would dare tell Evelyne. Freedom had gone on one of his wild spending sprees -suits, hats, coats, dresses, jewels, and, of course, a rocking horse, a drum and miniature boxing gloves for his son. For once, Ed had also been spending money like water and was loaded down with gifts for Freda. Also, both of them had bought the.lightweight, light-coloured suits that were all the rage.

  The elegance and superb tailoring of the clothes Sir Charles had had made for him were rejected for the flashy style favoured by their idol, Dempsey. They both sported loud floral silk ties with matching handkerchiefs and dark glasses.

  Sir Charles’ new-found friend, Jack Kearn, had taken him to an airstrip, where they inspected a second-hand light plane. Kearn was amazed to hear the usually thrifty Englishman giving instructions for the plane to be elaborately fitted out in red leather. He also wanted certain improvements on the control panel. Kearn paled when he heard how much it would cost, but Sir Charles was ecstatic, and they departed in high spirits. Kearn puzzled over the Englishman’s eccentric behaviour, one moment fussing over five or ten dollars and the next spending thirty thousand as if it were no more than a couple of bucks.

  All day Evelyne and Freda had waited, running to the gate every few minutes, eager to see their men. The car eventually drew up outside at five in the afternoon, and Ed and Freedom hopped out with all their bags and boxes of gifts.

  The reunion was feverish, everyone talking at once, unwrapping their presents with shrieks of delight, and Freedom throwing his son up in the air and catching him.

  Evelyne sensed that Freedom was slightly evasive, kissing her lightly without removing his dark glasses. She felt uneasy with him, knew there was something wrong.

  When Freda and Ed went for a walk on the beach, Evelyne said, ‘I think the boxing gloves are a bit big, we’ll put them away until he gets bigger.’ She was reluctant to tell Freedom that she didn’t want Edward to be enc
ouraged to fight.

  ‘I see you’re bigger now, how you been, all right?’ Freedom asked.

  She felt a distance between them. She was aware of how fat she had become with the baby, and felt unattractive, even ugly. She always forgot how tall he was, how handsome. His presence filled the room and made her self-conscious. She picked up all her gifts and thanked him.

  ‘You see all the posters of me, then, love?’ . Evelyne hadn’t; as neither she nor Freda could drive they had hardly left the villa. She studied Freedom. The pale linen suit, she thought, was not too bad, but the silk tie with the painted flowers was utterly tasteless. ‘You look very fancy.’

  She could have bitten off her tongue as he looked into the mirror with a hurt expression and examined his tie.

  ‘Not to your liking? Well, you can use it as a bandanna.’

  She wished he would take the glasses off, not seeing his face unnerved her. She reached out to take them off, but he backed abruptly away from her. She withdrew her hand, her feelings hurt, but as he slowly removed them himself she understood why.

  Both his eyes were bruised and swollen, and beneath his left eye was a gash with fresh stitches. The bridge of his nose was swollen and his cheek was puffy. The sight of him made her feel faint, and she steadied herself on the edge of the table. She knew she mustn’t let him see the effect his injuries had on her, and she forced a smile. ‘I’d better see if we’ve got some steak in the icebox, that’s what they use, isn’t it? Now, come here and let me have a good look at you.’

  She could feel the relief in him, feel him relax, and as she took his face gently between her hands she couldn’t stop the tears coming into her eyes. She kissed his bruised, hurt face softly.

  Freedom gathered her into his arms and returned her kisses, murmuring that his face was fine, and he was just desperate for her. He laid her down on the bed and loosened his flowered tie. She unbuttoned her blouse, and he could see her breasts, swollen but still beautiful. He pulled his shirt open to reveal heavily strapped ribs. His body, like his face, was marked with deep, dark bruises. He sat close to her and helped her off with her blouse, and she kissed his chest, touched the tape.