"Clown Prince" Says He Is On Way Back To Top

Auckland Star, Volume LXXII, Issue 3, 4 January 1941, Page 3 (Supplement)

"Clown Prince" Says He Is On Way Back To Top

MAX BAER'S LIFE STORY-No. 1

They reckoned I was through when Joe Louis whipped me, but they aren't so certain about it now.

Irn on the way back for a crack at Joe Louis' title. Certainly I suffered a setback when Lou Nova stopped me, but a few setbacks are nothing to Maximilian Adelbert Baer,

T DISPOSED of that Galeuto pretty effectively, and I reckon I'm the one man likely to give Louis sonic trouble. Yes, I'm ."1 years old and I've led ■i fnirly hectic existence. Dut Sehmeling wiw 31 when he knocked over Louis. And I am a reformed character. It. niny surprise you to know that the "Clown Prince' , of the ring—dint's what 1 hey call me— -hua been doing some thinking. I admit 1 never bothered to figure anything out fur the first two-thirds o£ my career. There wasn't any need to—my war-club right fist took care of everything. Dut a lot of things have happened to me in the last couple of years, and I kind of grew up in a hurry, and while I honestly have few regrets about the roaring times of my ris-e to fame, it is a very different Max Baer who ducks between the ropes nowadays. I'm a man with a purpose.

There must have boon something symbolic about tho violence of the blizzard on the night when I was ushered into the world. February 11, 1900, was the date. Ohama, Nebraska, in the dead of winter, was the place. The snow-drifts were five feet in height, and my old man went out into the teeth of a frozen gale and fought hie way 011 hand and foot to bring the medicine that the doctor had said might save my mother's life. The old man made it and they wrapped me up and stuffed me behind the stove because it was close to zero and not warm enough in 'bed. Cattle Killer Had No Freaks. At that moment a great negro fighter by the name of Jack Johnson was heavyweight champion of the world, and 25 years later old .Jack was to be sitting at the ringside when that wailing infant was to wrap the same cloak around his own shoulders. Funny life, isn't it? Still, a lot of things had to happen before then. Alv father was boss of a cattle-killing plant, and he sure looked the part. He wa6 a tremendous man. Over Oft tall, with shoulders, as wide as the side of a house, and the strength of .the bullocks he killed. He was well matched physically with my mother, so that Buddy, my kid brother, and my6elf and our sisters are no physical freaks. Now my mother was very interested in boxing, which is pretty peculiar for a woman. But it was young Buddy yho was going to be heavy-weight champion of the world, not me. I was just going to be a good cattle-rancher like ■my father—by that time we had moved out to California, and the old man had his own place—and for a long time it looked just that way. I went to school, liked sports fairly well, loved to ride, but never did learn to swim. And I never did any fighting at school. It wasn't that boys wouldn't fight me, it was that I wouldn't light them! I just used to run away. I never hit anybody, and I was scared of being hit. Actually, my big sister Frances ÜBed to fight most of my battles for me, and I got a local reputation of being just a big, overgrown, faint-hearted kid who could be licked by anybody. I can remember one mock-fight, however, between Buddy and mj'self on the day Carpentier fought Dempsey. We staged a "championship fight." Buddy was the Frenchman and. I was Dempsey, whom I idolised. Hopping around the living-roorn I stepped off the carpet in my stocking feet and ran a splinter into my foot. And that was that. I sure was no fighter.

But, although I wasn't a fighting man, at 16 I was holding down one of the toughest jobs a grown man could have. I was a cattle-killcr. From 10 to 14 hours a day- I would swing a huge cleaver, killing perhaps 10 hogs and 12 calves. Then I'd dress them. Swinging a short meat-axe, I'd bite clean through muscle, sinew and bone, and this was the work that gave me my right-hand punch. I loved it. Up to my knees in gpre, I had the glorious feeling of physical power, and afterwards the satisfactory fatigue from a tough job well done. Glorious Feeling Of Physical Power. although doing a man's job, I was pretty naive in other ways. I didn't know how to dance until after I was 20, and I certainly had no girl friends I was frightened of them, which is the truth, although when I told this later on to Jean Harlow, June Knight, Myrna Loy, Dorothy Dunbar, and dozens of others of my glamorous <Wrl friends, they just laughed at me. In our small section called Twin Oaks, just outside the town of Livermore, the big social event was the weekly dance. A bunch of youngsters U«ed to go together and usually take a big bottle of wine to share during the festivities. ' On this memorahle night a few of my gang found a large jug of wine in the b«tek of a car belonging* to a steeplejack. The wine soon disappeared—and then the steeplejack appeared. In fact, he came along just as the dregs were gurgling down a thirety throat, and as h« was a six-footer and pretty husky with it, he waded into us, yelling vengeance. I was the biggest of our crowd, and he singled me out while the others beat a hasty retreat. I tried to get away, too, but I was trapped between the car and the wall.

lii that fraction of a second my whole lite ehangcd, because fear just dropped from me, and I knew that as long as I lived I would never be scared by another man. As this conviction took possession of inc. the strength flashed through my musi-les, and T threw back my head and laughed out loud. I lie steeplejack dropped his hands in •' puzzled way. lie. wondered what I was laughing at. But lie didn't wonder long. I drew hack my right hand, eienchrd it an if I were gripping the butt of my axe. and whirled it over and down as if I were in the slaughter yard. It caught him on the side of the head, and he dropped senseless. . . . And that was my first fight. I tore home at once, found my father, and told him I was through with ranching, and that I was going to be a fighter. He just laughed. My mother said nothing. One Punch Fixes Tough Cowboy. The news got around locally that Max Baer was training to be a lighter, and the information was treated with considerable amusement. One evening a party of tough cowboys came around, and one of them said he'd like to put the gloves on with mo. That was okay. One punch fixed him. They thought there was some fluke about it, and one of liis pals stepped in—and fell out again in roughly half a minute. Of course then, and, T must confess, for a long time afterwards, I was wild as the wind in my punching. Accuracy was a foreign word to me. but what did that matter? I knocked them down and usually out wherever I hit 'cm. I discovered that I possessed superhuman strength in that right fist, granite knuckles, and arms of whipcord. And I was just aching to hang that fist on the chin of professional fighters. To that end I left home for a spell, and went to Oakland in search of fistic fame. At first it was very disappointing. Xobody would give me a fight because I hadn't a record. I asked one promoter for a chance, and he said, "Who are you, and who did you ever beat?" I replied: "I'm Max Baer, next heavy-weight champion of the world, and I've licked three cowboys and a steeplejack." "Aw, go home," he answered sourly. "You tight-crazy kids give me a pain." One afternoon, in a gymnasum, I asked Ray Pelkev, at that time a pretty well-known light-heavy-weight, if he would help me get a fight, and perhaps manage me. I told him the story of my victories, and he told me to get to hell out of it! "All right, then, take a crack at me," said I. "Take a real crack at me, and I bet you can't disturb the parting in my hair." "Will you go away before I do take a crack at you," said Pelkey, "because I don't want to have to answer any manslaughter charges." By this time I was good and mad. and I kept taunting him until he put on the gloves and we sparred around. He pulled his punches at first, but deliberately I stuck my chin out at him and made him hit it."The harder he hit, the louder I laughed, until Pelkey was sweating from the effort to knock me cold. He didn't know he had met a man born with a jaw of reinforced concrete. And that's the truth. I have never been knocked out, and I don't think the man is alive who can send me to sleep with his fists. Finally Pelkey stopped and looked wonderingly at me. "You're nuts," he sighed. "You should be in a sanitarium, or else I've lost my punch in this last five minutes!" Full-Fledged Prize-Fighter. I Nevertheless, Pelkey agreed to do something for me. Actually it all came to nothing, because he went away soon afterwards, and I was left high and dry, working in an engineering factory for a few dollars a week. But that was a break, it turned out, because J. Hamilton Lorimer, one of the bosses, who was also interested in fights, happened to see me at work in the gym. one day, and said he would try to get me a match.

That sounded grand. I had a manager at last. All I wanted now was a fight, and then I was a full-fledged prizefighter. I think if I hadn't pestered Lorimer he might have forgotten all about me, but I hung on to his ear for so long that he finally fixed me up with a four-round contest with an Indian lighter named Ohief Caribou, who wa» a familiar figure in Californian rings. I was raring to go on the night of the fight. All my friends and enemies were at the ringside—particularly my enemies, who were licking their lips over the prospect of seeing me good and truly belted. In the dressing rooms it was infernally hot, and I sent out for a dozen bottles of soda-pop which I poured down my throat. Indian Chief Tough as Forbears. By the time we were both in the ring I was feeling pretty queasy in my stomach. It wasn't fear—it was. the soda-pop. I knew I would have to finish this fight quickly, and I sailed out with both gloves flying. The Indian could box more than a little, and he made me miss by feet. Suddenly I caught Chief Caribou on the side of the head with a despairing haymaker. Down he went. I prayed that he'd stay down, but he was up before the count, and, although I knocked him down twice more in that first round I was the guy who staggered rubber-legged to my corner, feeling sick to death and ■wishing I were back home on the ranch. I managed to answer the bell for the second round, and the Indian came at' me and.hit me very hard in the stomach. I groaned alotid and swiped back. Luckily I caught him and he bit the dust. But he was as tough as hie forbears must have been. ~ .

Honestly, I scared to deatii. Jly fieart pumped furiously, I shivered in fright. The steeplejack grimly advanced, and as in a dream I saw him pull beck his chunky fist and let one go. It caught me smack on the chin. And I had the greatest eurprise of my life. I had been hit with e. punch that would have put most, men out for the night, but I was still standing, and my brain was clear.

Stakes All On One Punch. A left-hook had him down, and he still got up. Finally I put all I had into a last punch. I knew it -was a last punch because I was going to die afterwards, die in fearsome agony. This final gesture was lucky, and Chief Caribou lay scalped on the floor for the full count. Thus my firet fight was scarcely a glorious victory. Lorimer wasn't frightfully impressed. "You've got the punch, Max, but you know nothing of boxing. You've just got to learn." "Learn ? Learn, nothjng," I replied. "What do I want to bother learning for? I've got the hardest punch in the world. Tn any light of any length I'm bound to hit a guy with it once, and that's all I need —one crack, and they go." Anyway, Lorimer engaged Bab McAlister, who tried to instil some boxing wisdom into me. "You're crazy, Max," he tokl me, "'you're crazy in about ten different ways, but worst of all you're righthand crazy. It's either kill or get killed with you, and I've got an idea that one or the other will happen some day." McA" »ter little knew how prophetic were his words. I couldn't see his point of view at all. If my right hand did the work and nobody could hurt me with either fist, why bother about the left? So I just went ahead in my own way and knocked out nineteen opponents. And I started to live. The first thing I discovered was women—or rather, one woman. Olive Beck was her name, and she was a high i-chool girl who had become a waitress. Olive was a very nice little girl, indeed, and although I had a lot of ground to make up, as she was the first girl friend I'd ever had, I found myself to be quite a smart mover in this direction. After I was married to Dorothy Dunbar, the actress, little Olive popped up and sued roc for breach of promise, for a quarter of a million dollars—and collected a fortieth of it! Bowls Them Over Rapidly. It took me about a year to hit the headlines on the Pacific Coast. Lorimer got me a match with Sailor Leed«. He lasted a couple of minutes, and my end of the purse was 40 dollars. I got 100

dollars for creasing A 1 Lcadford in the. second; nest I tapped a gentleman by the name of Tilly Taverna on the whiskers and 1 had 120 dollars to spend before the second round was over. However, Leadford, Tave.rna and our old friend Chief Caribou all took a lot of learning. They weren't satisfied and they insisted 011 return fights—and out they went in the second, second and first rounds respectively. And on I want from there, strewing the Californian rings with the limp bodies of all the featherweights around. I was in my 21st year, the most confident kid in the world, sure of my destiny as a prize-fighter and not giving a hoot for anybody. However, it' was when I traded punches with one of Doc Kcarns' fighters that I understood that there was a little more to it than light-hearted larruping. The fighter was called Ernie Owen. Owen was a crafty, cagey boxer, who knew a thing or two about footwork and had a nice little dig. He started digging into my face with left jabs from the first gong, and although I shrugged ofT his punches I found it difficult to nail him. He was always just out of distance. 1 put on a bit of speed and cranked up my right hand, and Owen put on a little speed, too, and just managed to get away from it. I became a little, irritated and turned on the pressure. However, instead of backing away from me, as most of my rivals had done after sampling the weight of my blows, Ernie stepped right in and nailed me with a right hook clean on the left e3'e. Eike a shutter a huge bruise swelled and closed down over my sight. That was a nice situation. Even with two eves I could never be sure of where one of my punches was going to land, so you can imagine what the. situation was with only one optic available. The fans, of course, were yelling for the usual kill, and abo.ut the seventh round I almost obliged them when I knocked Owen into the ropes. The bell rang before I could finish him off, however. As usual, I w\s kidding to the crowd and waving to «iy friends. However, Owen wasn't feeling friendly, nor was he disconcerted. He just boxetl ! craftily, making me miss a lot of blows. All efforts had proved unavailing to open my eye, and Owen was trying to close the other one. However, from the seventh round onwards I made a real strpet-fight of it, and if only one of mv punches landed in a dozen, that one. was a lulu. In fact, Owen was in difficulty

many times even though he was a swell boxer, and the wind up was that I got the decision.

Linkliorn had piled up some impressive victories on the Pacific Coast, and the Civic Auditorium in San Francisco had them hanging from the rafters when we squared off. Linkhorn started the ball rolling when the bell rang, rushed over to me and hammc-red me downstairs. I laughed and pushed him off. Then he came at nie again. As lie started his rush I took the brake off my right fist and I clipped him neatly in the kisser with such force that he nearly made a hole through the canvas. Then they carried him away. 1 From that minute's work there was pressed into my hand crisp and clean notes, dirty and damaged notes, soiled and stained notes, amounting to nearly 10,000 dollars. It is very curious about this money question. I threw it away, I gave it away, I spent it, but never for a moment did I have any doubts that there would be more to come—much more. After the Linkhorn fight I knocked ovp.r a few more rivals, and, owingr to carelessness, lost decisions to Tiny Adams and Tx*s Kennedy. But in return fights I exploded my dynamite before the bouts were over and levelled matters oil.

Finance Gets Him. Still, my pride was slightly scarred, in addition to my face, because a man had pone the distance with me~ Vet it was pretty nice to have nearly 0000 dollars in notes tucked into my pants pocket. Ihe fact that Jess than a week later there wasn't five dollars there reallv isn't the point. In addition to women, I had discovered finance, or should I say that finance had discovered me. In my own mind I knew I was on the way to becoming heavyweight champion, but I already claimed the title of the world's fastest spender. How I could make, money disappear! It was wonderful, and I never regretted a cent of it. Id been killing cattle for a dollar a (lay, sometimes working 14 hours a day as I told you. In that period I would make scores of downward cuts with the cleaxer. Xow all I had to do was t-o make, one or two to earn thousands. Like, when I fought Jack Linkhorn. . . .