BOXERS AT THE FRONT.

New Zealand Illustrated Sporting & Dramatic Review, Issue 1299, 18 March 1915, Page 28

BOXERS AT THE FRONT.

The apotheosis of cowardice and brutality achieved by the German raiders in their attack upon the East Coast of England makes me wonder if those amiable humanitarians who in the past so ardently sang the song of German culture and scorned the debasing influence of British boxing reflect upon what it really means to be a pugilistic nation (writes Stephen Black in the London “Daily Mail”). There is no need to detail the chivalrous actions of forbearance and courage daily performed at the front by the boxing lovers of Great Britain and France. I think that these may test be told by the Germans who fall into our hands, but it is as well to emphasise the fact that those nations who have so often been laughed at for their devotion to games and to boxing have abundantly proved in the field how these things make men strong not only in achievement but also in restraint. Boxing does not teach massacre and brutality. The other day Jem Driscoll, the famous boxer, joined the army. The fact aroused attention. It need not have done.

Soldier boxers are the rule rather than the exception. When the number of Association footballers and their followers are compared with the number of boxers serving at present with the French and English armies I believe the percentage will be enormously in favour of the boxers. Boxers are a small, athletically select class. It takes only two good boxers to struggle gloriously for well over an hour, while 22 or 30 men (according to the code) are required for a game of football. There should be an incalculable superiority of footballers with the arimes and fleets, but the proportionate advantage is easily with the boxers. FAMOUS SOLDIER BOXERS. A few names of boxers recently prominent in the English ring occur to me:—Pat O’Keefe, Sergt. Basham, Bill Ladbury, Bandsman Rice, Gus Platts, Sgt. McEnroy, Sgt. Jack Meekins, Pvte. Maskill, Bob Scanlon, Corpl. Fullerton, Dick Smith, Pvte. Braddock, Pvte. Voyles, Pvte. Stout, Corpl. Jones. All these men are serving their country. Three of them are holders of Lonsdale Belts. Harry Smith, the Boer boxer, writes to say he is anxious to fight for the land of his adoption. The extraordinary distribution of boxing-gloves to men in the Fleet and Army by “Boxing” shows what a large number of minor pugilists are doing their duty." An article by Carpentier was published a fortnight ago, and we thus got a glimpse into the life of the champion. But often I have wondered what all the other brave fellows are doing whom one saw a few months ago battling in the rings of Paris? Some light has been thrown on their deeds by “Boxing” in recent issues. Bernard, like Carpentier, immediately volunteered for service and has been promoted. Stuber, not quite so famous as either Bernard or Carpentier, killed twelve Germans at Sezanne and was raised to the rank of sergeant. Randall, another of the lesser lights, led a handful of French soldiers into a trenchful of Prussians who were duly annihilated. Wounded in the feat, Randall was made an adjutant. Gramey was promoted two grades for distinguished conduct at Roye. Marcel Thomas has been promoted, too; Adrian Hogan, once reported dead, has recovered from severe wounds, and is now knocking out more Germans. Degand and Blazy are doing the same, and so is Auguste Moulier, the wellknown amateur. Jeannot, the flyweight, saved his sight by ducking the spur which a cultured Uhlan tried to kick into his eye and later daringly escaped. Joannin, the French military featherweight champion, has performed one of the greatest feats of the war by punching a German standardbearer on the jaw and march ng off with the cherished colours. For this the boxer has received the military medal for valour. THE DEATH OF CHARLES LEDOUX. A number of brave champions have died on the field of honour. It is a

poignant thought that one of these is Charles Ledoux, in his own way as great a little glove-fighter as the world has produced. Gentle, soft-voiced, olive-skinned, girlish almost to look at, Ledoux could in a few minutes destroy the resistance of the strongest bantam. How well I recall the amazing speed and strength this companion of Carpentier’s displayed against Beynon, Hughes, and Walker. There was no German in the world fit to live Within sixteen feet of Ledoux, but a fragment of shell fire, perhaps from 6000 yards, or a bullet has done its work, and sportsmen mourn the loss of one of the world’s greatest fighters.

It was not very long ago that we saw at the Ring in London a sample of German courage and skill when opposed to a resolute opponent. A Mr. Otto Flint, the heavyweight champion of Germany, met Terry Kellar, an Irish-American; and of all the varied champions who have come to England to win fame and money proved the greatest coward —perhaps the only one. He was well matched, and possessed an excellent chance of

victory; but once his opponent began to punish him the German champion retired from the contest in the most flagrant manner possible. I duly recorded Mr. Flint’s achievement in the “Daily Mail” at the time, so that this is no attempt to dispraise him because of his nationality. No, we may justly be proud of the fact that England is the motherland of boxing, that America and our Colonies possess the same healthy love of fist-fighting, and that the French are our most celebrated and ardent disciples of the good English game. And may I, at the risk of being considered priggish by peaceful pro-Germans, express equal pleasure that the Germans scorn pugilism and take pride in the fact that they are “not” a boxing nation?

In referring to the forthcomingworld’s heavyweight championship at Juarez, 'Mexico, between Jack Johnson and Jess Willard, (the American giant boxer), W. F. Corbett has much of interest to say regarding the men who have aspired to dethrone the black champion. When Jack Johnson laid the pugilistic idol of America, Jim Jeffries, low at Reno four ,and a half years' ago, (he remarks) the whole world was staggered for a week or two, and when it recovered a wail of anguish went up. The black man had to be ousted from his position by a Caucasian at any cost, even if pugilism as a sport ended there and then. Men who had never previously been

noticed at a ringside nor heard of in connection with the game led the way of the search for the David who was the coloured Goliath, and possible Davids sprang up from everywhere, much to the delight of nearly 100, 000,000 people. The whole nation appeared to be engaged in the quest. First one and then another looked the goods, and promised exceedingly well. As these toppled each other over until the best of them stood out the days during which Jack Johnson would continue to reign were fixed. Only the brief period mentioned has passed, and the white hopes have gone back to the farm, cattle ranch, to the mines, and to other places whence they came. Each individual of them had every physical essentia], and none lacked grit, but the long apprenticeship and its attendant experience was not theirs. The fl ng fighter to become great must go right through the mill. He must be caught young, and gradually seasoned to what is required by being kept in active service as’ continuous-

ly, within reason, as possible. There can be no sudden pugilistic champions, even in these decadent boxingtimes, and more than there may be masters at short notice in other fields. This the rise and the fall of the white .hope movement has brought home to the world convincingly.

Jess Willard, the man to face Jack Johnson in his next battle, is the one while hope now left to us, (continues the writer) and though his' is a case of survival of the fittest, he is by no means all wool and a yard wide. Willard’s march to the height (such as it is) attained by him has not been free from close shaves and repulses, also the ridicule of the crowd, as well as its' occasional applause. If he does not rise to requirements, and Johnson continues to ignore the existence of 1 one Sam Langford, the present heavyweight champion of the world will be beaten only by Father Time. The original white hope was Carl Morris; the Oklahoma giant, whose father was an Irishman and his' mother a Cherokee Indian squaw. Willard is much more entitled to be called a giant. He stands' 6ft. 7in. high—three inches taller than the product of the onetime Oklahoma reservation. MoiTls looked the most promising of the lot. He was big and proved game, but no more. Brooklyn, New York, produced Jim Stewart, who had size and

some skill. Weak sight and a glass jaw, however, soon pulled him down from prominence. Al Balzer, the young German-American lowa farmer, here happened along, another giant, possessing remarkable strength and full of ferocity, but lacking grey matter. Early successes and fondness for the night side of American life settled his chance. Next came Luther McCarty, with no specCajl weakness and no good qualities that stood out. He worked to the forefront because the opposition was poor. Arthur Pelkey, in some way or other never satisfactorily explained, proved in the ring the 'instrument of McCarty's end, and the fact brought him considerably notortety. How poor he was rated as a champion Australia saw when Bill Lang beat him. Gunboat Smith was the lightest of all the hopes now blighted. We are told that at his best he provided spectacular fighting. Arching swings and vigorous aggression caused him to cut a wide swath in opposing thirdrate forces whose defences were unworthy the name. Frank Moran’s

joke affair with Jack Johnson at Paris last June will be easily recalled. He never won the right to be set up against the big black. That Johnson himself selected Moran for an opponent the world had ample evidence afterwards. Willard is the only prominent heavyweight white man left. Nothing in his record suggests that he may succeed where Tommy Burns failed, unless the fact, that he is the biggest and probably the hardest hitter of all the white hopes may give him a pull. But Johnson is big enough for anything in a fist-’fighting connection, and the attention he gives to defence before anything else will perhaps preclude the possibility of Willard landing more than once in a way. So far as I have been able to ascertain, this latest challenger for the world’s championship has never really been hurt. His friends look to him to give and take just as freely as Johnson. All the same my money would go on the black if I dared indulge in a bet. Human skyscrapers never made good as ring fighters, game and all though some of them were. Sydney saw two of the breed in opposition when Dick Barker and Dutchman Placke met at Foley’s Hall, Woollahra, several years ago.