JONH L. SULLIVAN

Evening Star, Issue 18714, 16 August 1924, Page 10

JONH L. SULLIVAN

HOW HE WAS DISCOVERED. Any stories about John L. Sullivan are interesting, for he was a wonderful figure in the world of boxing, known throughout tho universe. Percy N. Stone, writing in the New . York * Herald Tribune,’ tells how John L. wss discovered, in the following interesting way : “Doctors, trainers, and seconds were working frantically over the inert body of a prizefighter named Flood. Slow, hesitant breathing indicated a persistent though weak dutch on life; but the heart was trembling through an irregular measure, and a doctor’s finger counting tho syncopating pulse felt frequent punctuating pauses. “ Tho body was lying on the floor of a barge in the Hudson River, while a tug boat’s captain, under orders from the barge, was making pitifully slow timo dragging the trailer to New York. The orders were issued because on the- barge was a temporary bar, charging carnival prices, willingly paid by scores of thirsty, excited men. Tho arrival of the barge at New York would mean hospital attention for the unconscious Flood; but it would mean, too, tho end of tho profitable whisky sales,, and these sales seemed most important. “ Near Flood, but not among those tending him, was a young man named John L. Sullivan. His eyes were focused constantly on the group of doctors, for it was a blow of his that had brought Flood closer to death than that fighter ’had ever been before. Sullivan knew that if Flood should die it would mean prison for him. “ Just as the barge was hauled to a dock consciousness returned, and John L. Sullivan was safe from gaol for whatever else the future might hold. “Ypu can talk about bard-hitting fighters, but the blow that put Flood to sleep on that barge was the most terrific punch ■ 1 have seen, and I guess I’ve watched 6.000 fights in my life,” was 1 lie I'erainiscent comment of Edward M’Avny, who was telling this story of ■tohn L.’s early days. “Sullivan had aimed for the jaw, but the punch landed on tho neck—not a vital spot. Flood hit the floor 6ft away asleep. “ I was frightened. I knew I had a champion under ray wing, and it Hooked for a while like I was going to lose him. If Flood had kicked in that would have boon the end of tho ‘ Boston strong boy,’ and I would have lost tho prize of my fighting stable. “It’s funny how I found Sullivan. He came to his long championship from a street fight, Billy Madden made more money out of John than I did, but if I hadn’t seen him in a Boston brawl Mad; den probably would never have known that Sullivan was alive.

“ Back in Boston in those days I was managing a few fighters, and dodging the police to do it. Fights weren’t allowed, and it was a risky business. One day I saw a crowd on tho street, and wormed in, to eee a boy about seventeen years old whaling a,way at a man who weighed 201 h more than he did. It was John, and, as usual, ho came out of the scrap a. winner. He showed lots of strength and more nerve, and being interested in that sort of person I stood looking at him when the fight was over. “ Just then a four-horse team came down the street with a truck, and one of the horses humped Sullivan. John shouted to the driver, and in about two minutes another fight was on, with .Sullivan again the younger and smaller of the mixers. Again he won, hut in doing it ho picked up a beautiful eye. “ ‘ 1 can’t go home with this,’ ! heard him. say; so I butted 'in and told him I could fix it; that it was part of my business, with a bunch of fighters in my care. I told him my name, and he knew who I was, so wo started off together.A couple ox leeches from the drug store and a piece of beef from the butcher’s, and John’s eye was O.K. “ I walked home with him, and saw where John got tho stuff that made him champion. His strength came from his mother, and his nerve from the cl her side of the family. Mrs Sullivan was 6ft tall—a big husky creature w'ch tremendous power. John’s dad did well to measure Sin more than sft, but he ran the house like a kaiser. When he opened his mouth his wife listened and obeyed. She was his slave, though she could have turned him over her knee and blistered him without any trouble at all. “ Even John was scared stiff of Ids ‘old’ man.’ That’s why he -was afraid to go homo with a ‘shiner.’ Ho could have chucked his father out of the house without knowing lie did it, but that father’s tongue had him stepping soft and easy all the time.

“ That night Mr Sullivan didn't get home from his digging until after I was there. Ho appeared in workman's clothes, with the old red undershirt blazing out, and a tin bucket in his hand. Ho to lay down the law to Mrs Sullivan because be didn’t like a piece of tough beefsteak she had put in bio lunch. Lord, what ho said to her as he threw his hui.ket into a corner! And she took it like a lamb, hogging his pardon, and promising it would never happen again. There was the source of John's courage. "The Boston strong boy was a roughneck. as all fighters were in those days. He was a tough in appearance and conduct.. Yet, queenly enough, to that man goes the credit for making the lighting game the more respectable thing it is to-day. I know there will bo Jots of people to quarrel with mo when I say the game has been lifted, but those of us who saw it in the old days know that it was a harder proposition than it is now. Tho police were against it, and saloon and dive owners had to be looked to to produce the money for the purse. “ Take that Sullivan fight on the barge. The gate receipts were enough to pay Sullivan the l.OOOdnl he got for winning the fight; but more money than, that rolled in over tho bar that was built on tlie barge. Tho fight was more to sell whisky than to stand per se, as the lawyers say. The boat left New York shortly after nightfall, and we didn’t begin to fight until inidnight. Then it was hours before we got bade. The fight lasted only four rounds, and all the rest of tho night the owner of that bar, who put up the l.OOOdol purse, was selling liquor. That is what the game used to be.

“ I took the colored boy, Peter Jackson, under my wing. There was a beautiful lighter who had no trouble cleaning up everything in sight. He was made an idol in England, receiving the highest social honors, I guess, any fighter ever o-ot over there—and he was colored, too. “ I don’t know what would have happened if he had met Sullivan before John started to drink so much. They both seemed unbeatable, and it would have been a. classic battle—Sullivan with his strength. and Jackson with the perfect use of both mauling arms. But Jackson never had a chance at John L., even after the Boston .Strong Boy had begun to slip. I had to take the blame for that. “After I came back from Europe with Jackson, who had beaten the champions of England, Franco, Germany, and Austria, I met John on the street. lie asked me about my colored wonder, and I told him that with the liquor ruining the champion Jackson would put him out. John believed me, because I never had lied to him. He knew that Jackson could take his belt. J “ When we began talking about a fight between the two, Sullivan drew the color line. He refused absolutely to meet my man, just because I had told him Jackson was the better of the two. I am sure that is what kept them _ apart, though later Sullivan always said it was a matter of skin.”