Stadium lost money but Jacobs demonstrated that he controlled the fistic
market by turning out a galaxy of stars to perform for him that night.
The Garden directors were convinced and on October 27th of that year
Jacobs moved into Madison Square Garden with Henry Armstrong topping his
initial card.
Armstrong came out punching to knock out Petey Sarron in six rounds and
win the featherweight crown, the first of his three titles. Here’s the
story of how Armstrong got his chance and the part I played in arranging
the fight.
Petey Sarron was in Johannesburg, South Africa, with Freddie Miller.
On July 31, 1937, he had lost in ten rounds to Miller, from whom he
previously had won the world championship. Then another bout was arranged
for September 4 of that year—this time a twelve-round title bout—and
Sarron retained the crown.
Petey and his manager, Jimmy Erwin of Texas, were anxious to get back
to the States. They had been gone a long time and were homesick.
Furthermore, they couldn’t get any lucrative bouts and cabled me asking
if I could obtain a title contest with Armstrong, who at the time had
become a national fistic hero because of his whirlwind style of fighting.
After an exchange of cables, I was given the power of attorney to sign
for Sarron, provided he could get a guarantee of $15,000 for a title
defense.
I approached Mike and his Board of Directors. They were keenly interested
and regarded this as an opportunity to start the ball rolling in the
first Garden venture of the Twentieth Century Sporting Club with a
championship mill. We arranged a conference the next day with Armstrong’s
manager, Eddie Mead. Eddie and I were friends of long standing, and he
was willing to have Armstrong fight for the crown, but he wanted more
than the twelve-and-a-half per cent that Jacobs and his board of strategy
(headed by his matchmaker, Al Weill) had offered.
After almost a week of haggling, I finally induced Jacobs to raise the
ante and Mead accepted a fourteen-and-a-half per cent guarantee, with the
announcement:
“I’m doing this only for Nat. He’s worked hard to put the match over
and I’m convinced, as he is, that Sarron is ready to be taken. So I’ve
accepted.”
Sarron, informed of the arrangements, accepted the deal I put across and
started back to the States to defend his title.
Following the fight, Sarron and his manager visited my office and offered
me ten per cent of Petey’s guarantee for having arranged the bout, but I
turned it down. As on other occasions when I had an opportunity to cash
in on deals I had engineered, I told them that I was not an agent in the
true sense of the word. What I did for fighters was done in the interest
of the sport.
But Petey, like Henry Armstrong on another occasion, wouldn’t take no
for an answer, and the next day he returned with a beautiful gold belt
containing thirteen panels. It was given to him by the Johannesburg
Express after he whipped Miller. He asked me to accept it. I took the
trophy, and since then have placed in each panel the name of every
featherweight king from Sarron to Saddler. The belt now rests in _The
Ring_ Museum.
As for Armstrong, shortly after he stopped Sarron to win the
featherweight crown, he beat Barney Ross for the welterweight
championship and outscored Lou Ambers to acquire the lightweight title.
Thus, I was able to figure importantly in presenting him with the
opportunity to become a triple champion, the only man in the history of
boxing to hold three world titles simultaneously.
* * * * *
Before moving into the Garden, Jacobs took over the New York Hippodrome
for fights, and I joined his publicity staff. One day, Damon Runyon
approached me and asked me to a special conference with Farnsworth and
Uncle Mike. It was an executive directors’ meeting and Uncle Mike spoke
up:
“You know, Nat, we’ve been losing a lot of money in our boxing promotion
here. We’ll have to let some of our help out.”
Before he could say any more, I realized what was coming and told him
that so far as I was concerned, he could forget the $75 per week I was
getting to act as radio contact man. He and Runyon were very pleased and
thanked me profusely. Then a thought came to me.
“I’ve got a proposition, Mike,” I said. “How would you like to have a
sponsor for your fights? I think I can arrange it.”
Runyon and Mike didn’t believe it could be done.
“Nobody will pay to have our fights put on the radio,” said Jacobs.
“I disagree with you,” I replied. Whereupon Jacobs, after a short
conference with his colleagues, made me a proposition.
“We have arranged eighteen fights for the Hippodrome but might run
twenty-six. If you can get a sponsor to buy the radio rights for $5,000
you can have ten per cent, and we’ll keep you on our staff and continue
to pay your weekly salary of $75 so long as the broadcasts continue.”
“That’s too cheap,” I replied. “I’m sure I can get you twice as much.”
“If you can,” Jacobs quickly answered, “we’ll continue your salary and
give you twelve-and-a-half per cent of the gross.”
I accepted and we shook hands on the deal. I left the office, and the
next morning returned with a report that I had sold the broadcast rights
to Adam Hats at $1,200 per fight for the first eighteen shows, and at
$750 for each fight over that number, with the stipulation that my buddy,
Sam Taub, be assigned the broadcasting job. Thus I had arranged for
the first paid sponsorship of boxing bouts in the world. My report was
greeted enthusiastically by Jacobs and the press.
Mike called in his partners and that afternoon Sol Strauss, his lawyer,
drew up the contract which was brought to Elias Lustig of Adam Hats, and
the deal was completed. Uncle Mike asked if I wanted a contract to bind
his deal with me, but I told him I would take his word—no contract was
required. However, as in other business deals between us, Mike reneged
soon after the broadcasts got under way.
He was that way. He never went back on his word when it came to
transactions he had made with fighters and managers, but in private
affairs I found that he was far from the honorable gentleman the press so
often made him out to be. For several weeks he paid me my salary but not
a penny of my commission on the radio deal. And when I pressed the issue,
he let out a roar such as only he could make when angered.
“You’re through,” he shouted. “The fights are drawing nothing here with
radio. We don’t need you any more for publicity. We are scarcely pulling
in enough to meet expenses.”
“O.K., Mike,” I replied. “But what about my Adam Hats commissions? You
can’t back away from that.”
But he did. He had no scruples and was out to save what he owed me in an
honorable business deal.
“There’s nothing due you on the Adam Hats contract,” he snapped. “I could
have gotten that without your help.”
I was flabbergasted. Runyon was present and I asked him if he thought the
deal I was getting was fair.
“Certainly not,” he answered. “You are entitled to every penny due on
that contract.”
Damon fought my case but without success. So did the other two
partners—Bill Farnsworth, sports editor of the New York _Journal_, and Ed
Frayne, sports editor of the New York _American_—but Mike had his way and
I left in a huff.
Mike and I were not on speaking terms for many months, but I wouldn’t
sue because I had been his friend for three decades. On one occasion he
encountered me in Childs Restaurant near the Hippodrome and sat down at
my table.
“Nat, you and I have been friends for many years,” he said. “Why not
continue?”
He held out his hand to bind our reconciliation, then took ten one
hundred dollar bills and placed them before me on the table.
“Take these and let’s call it quits. There’s no reason for us being
enemies,” he remarked.
“I don’t want your money, Mike. You went back on our agreement.” I shoved
the bills toward him. “You probably need that money more than I do,” I
said quietly as I left the table.
I took our break as one of those things that happen now and then between
friends and decided to forget it and start anew. Although there was
plenty of good in the make-up of this world-famous promoter, there was
much that could be held against him. He wasn’t what I would call a man
of honor. On the other hand, in all my business dealings with Rickard, I
never once knew him to renege on a promise, though he did cross me on the
Garden building proposition.
Despite his shortcomings, I liked Jacobs, I got a thrill out of his
promotions and enjoyed his company on the many trips I took with him,
strange as that may seem in light of our unhappy business relationship.
Between what he owed me on the Adam Hats contract, and what was due me
on the agreement we made on the Farr-Louis match, I figured Uncle Mike
reneged on close to $30,000.
* * * * *
The story of how Tommy Farr got a chance at the heavyweight championship
is the perfect example of the science of manipulation expertly applied.
Mike’s shrewd chessboard play enabled him to outguess and outsmart his
rivals by such a wide margin that, in the parlance of the sports world,
it was “no contest.” What he did was well within the law, although his
maneuvering did bring about court action. The results, however, were in
Jacobs’ favor.
Farr was sitting pretty. He was the undisputed heavyweight king of the
British Empire with victories over Walter Neusel, Max Baer, Bob Olin and
Tommy Loughran. He had gained an international reputation and had reached
the stage where the big money ordinarily starts flowing in. But this was
not the case.
Tommy, a Welshman with a keen commercial sense, was becoming restless. He
thought that his manager, Ted Broadribb, was not getting him his proper
share of worldly goods and the British papers were harping on a possible
break between the pair. Sports editorials commented on the fact that
Broadribb was suing Tommy before the British Boxing Board of Control to
compel him to live up to their agreement.
Broadribb and I were on friendly terms. He wrote to me about his
troubles, asking if there was something I could do.
I wrote an editorial praising Farr as the best British heavyweight in a
quarter of a century, and I told how Broadribb had brought him along in
easy stages to the high position he now occupied in fistic circles.
The article pleased Farr immensely and he wrote me that his differences
with Broadribb were not too great to iron out. He also asked if I would
use whatever influence I had to get him a title bout in America.
His letter launched me on a plan that gave me great satisfaction after it
had been consummated, for it developed into the greatest event in British
pugilism since Charley Mitchell fought John L. Sullivan.
* * * * *
Let’s trace the episode from the start. Max Schmeling had been shunted to
the sidelines to make room for Joe Louis to fight Jimmy Braddock for the
world heavyweight title. Schmeling, realizing his position, decided not
to remain in America for the outcome of the Chicago battle, but to return
to Germany and seek the support of European countries in his claim for
championship recognition.
He decided to do a little manipulating himself, and I couldn’t blame
him. I supported his contention that he, not Louis, was entitled to get
the first shot at Braddock’s crown, but Mike Jacobs was a great obstacle
in his path. Mike had both Louis and Braddock under contract through
a shady deal by which Braddock and his manager, Joe Gould, were to be
handsomely rewarded for breaking their contract with Madison Square
Garden to fight for Jacobs.
Schmeling was informed through the press that Jacobs was dickering for a
fight between Louis and Farr in the event that Louis gained the title,
something Jacobs regarded as a foregone conclusion.
Uncle Mike approached General Critchley and Syd Hulls, who were operating
Wembley Stadium in London, and a deal was in the making whereby
with Jacobs they would promote an international match for the world
championship. Jacobs told me that he would take a party of seven New
York reporters to cover the fight as his guests, and that I would be in
charge. But he failed to consider the man whom he had thrust into the
background when he arranged the Louis-Braddock fight.
Schmeling, confident that he could whip both Louis and Farr, got the
jump on Jacobs by making a tentative agreement with Broadribb for a
Farr-Schmeling bout. Ted said he would give his consent provided the
bout was staged in London, and when Max agreed, Broadribb got in touch
with General Critchley and Hulls and offered them the contest. Since the
British promoters could do nothing without Farr, they decided to ignore
Jacobs and deal with Broadribb and Schmeling instead.
I learned of the new deal and commented on it in my broadcast from
Chicago over the NBC network, and the report caused considerable unrest
in Jacobs’ camp. Mike found himself stymied. He tried to get Schmeling
to return to America to fight Louis. He offered Max a title bout but
Schmeling ignored the offer.
Max figured that with Farr on his side, he could dictate the terms
to Jacobs for a fight with Louis. He regarded himself as the world’s
outstanding heavyweight, since through the German government he had
obtained the support of the British Board of Control and the French
Boxing Federation.
Jacobs was furious but not yet defeated. In desperation he called the New
York Commission on the telephone and requested that a cable be sent to
Schmeling asking if he was prepared to accept an offer from Mike to fight
Joe Louis in New York for the world title. Schmeling ignored this cable
as he had the one from Jacobs.
His plans for a championship fight up in the air, Mike called upon me,
knowing that I had made many trips to England and was well known there
and on the continent.
“How close are you to Tommy Farr and his manager?” Jacobs asked me the
day after Louis beat Braddock.
We were in the Morrison Hotel in Chicago, headquarters of the New York
sport writers. It was eleven o’clock at night when Jacobs was informed of
Schmeling’s deal with Critchley and Hulls, Jacobs’ supposed partners in
the British venture, and he was naturally upset.
“I’m very friendly with both,” I told Mike, “especially with Broadribb.
What’s wrong?”
“Schmeling hasn’t answered my cable, and I’ve got to act quickly. He’s
trying to prevent the Louis-Farr fight which I have planned. Schmeling
is determined to fight Farr and get European countries to recognize the
bout as a world championship fight. See if you can reach Broadribb on
the telephone and get a low-down on the situation. If you can get Farr
to fight Louis for me, I’ll give you ten per cent of my profits,” Jacobs
said.
I had received such promises from him before, and they really meant
little to me. I was willing to help in order to get the bout in America
and not because of Mike’s business proposition. I waited until one
o’clock in the morning, and then put in a trans-Atlantic telephone call
to Broadribb in London.
At four in the morning, while Trevor Wignall, British writer, was sitting
in my room with me awaiting the call, so that he could obtain a beat for
his paper, the phone rang. It was Broadribb calling.
“Hello, Ted,” I said. “Sorry to disturb you. I’m calling to get the
low-down on the Farr-Schmeling fight. Have you signed? Mike Jacobs wants
to give your man the chance that no British champion has had since
Charley Mitchell’s days—an opportunity to fight here for the real world
title. Will you accept?”
“Sorry, old man, but I can’t do it. What would they think of me if I
should suddenly say that I don’t want the Schmeling fight after I’ve told
them to go ahead and get the German for Tommy?”
“Ted,” I replied, “you knew right along that we were coming to London in
a few weeks for a Farr-Louis match. Weren’t you told that?”
“I read it here in Wignall’s column, but didn’t know definitely. Had I
been sure, you know that nothing would have stood in the way. It would
have been different. That’s the one fight we want and we would grab it.”
“Well, Ted,” I answered, “it isn’t too late. You haven’t signed, and
Schmeling is simply doing this in order to bolster his stock overseas.
If he licks Farr he figures he’ll strengthen his claim to the title he
thinks is his. Can’t you see that?”
“I can’t say any more,” concluded Broadribb. “Let the matter rest until
tomorrow. Your proposition looks good to me but I must confer with Hulls
and Tommy.”
With that he rang off and the first step in the negotiations that made
English boxing history had been completed. We had set the stage for a
heavyweight championship bout in which a British champion would come to
American soil to fight for the title for the first time in thirty years.
I told Jacobs of our conversation. He had been down in the dumps, but was
somewhat cheered by the progress I had made.
“I won’t let Schmeling cross me after what I was trying to arrange for
him. He’ll either agree to fight Louis for the championship under my
control in August or Farr will get the chance no matter what the cost.
Call him again tomorrow.”
I did, and at midnight the second day I again put in a call for
Broadribb, this time with Jacobs sitting at my side. To what he had
already told me, Broadribb now added:
“I have been advised that the German Boxing Commission, the French
Federation, and the British Boxing Board of Control have helped Schmeling
by recognizing him, not Louis, as the champion, so that our fight will be
for the title. How do I know that a Farr-Louis fight will be recognized
as a world championship bout under such conditions?”
“Ridiculous,” I answered. “Ted, you’re too smart to be fooled that way.
Louis is the champion, and if you defeat Louis you’ll have realized your
ambitions. If you have already signed, then I won’t dicker with you any
longer. I don’t want to be a party to a broken agreement. Though my
sympathy is with Schmeling, who got a raw deal, we can’t get away from
facts—Louis is the world titleholder.”
“I have no contract,” replied Broadribb. “Hull has an option on our
services but unless he can get Schmeling and he meets the terms upon
which the tentative arrangements have been made, there’ll be no fight
with Schmeling.”
“What are the terms?” I asked Ted.
“He has offered Farr $30,000, and will advertise the bout for the
championship and the fight must take place in London.”
“How would you like to get double that sum, Ted?” I asked.
“Do you mean that, Nat?” he inquired in surprise.
“Yes, Ted,” I said. “Mike Jacobs is sitting here with me, and Mike told
me to offer you double any sum you’ve been offered, if you have not
signed yet. If you have, he says to call everything off.”
Broadribb could scarcely speak. His voice quivered as he asked me to let
the matter ride for another day.
“I’d like to say yes, Nat,” he told me, “but I’m honor-bound to protect
Hulls and General Critchley, and unless they fail to do what they have
promised, I’m afraid I’ll have to say no until after Farr beats Schmeling
which I tell you he’ll surely do.”
“That’ll be too late, Ted,” I answered.
With that, we said good-night, and I waited for two more days before I
again heard from Broadribb. This time he called me.
“Nat,” he said, “Hulls has violated our agreement. He was sworn to
secrecy on the amount he was to pay Farr for Schmeling, but instead he
has given out the story telling what Farr is to get, and that has riled
Tommy. I don’t blame him. He’s raising havoc here, saying he’s worth
every penny as much as the German, and not, as Hulls announced, half as
much. I’ve told Hulls it’s all off. I’m ready to take on Louis for Mike
if you say I should.”
Jacobs was again at my side, and I told him the news.
“Clinch the match!” he said. “You’ll share in my promotion.”
And I closed the fight for Mike. I informed Broadribb that we would give
Farr $60,000 guarantee, four round trip tickets, and 25 per cent of the
movie and radio rights. That news flabbergasted the British manager, who
remarked:
“You mean that, Nat? That’s wonderful. Regard it as a deal. The bout
is on. I’ll let you handle all matters for me. Tell Mr. Jacobs that he
should cable the money for the tickets as soon as I notify him.”
Thus the bout for Farr was arranged. After Broadribb had given his
consent, Jacobs wanted me to go to London with Sol Strauss, his lawyer,
to sign for the fight, and also to aid Ted and Farr in getting out of
the country, as court action was threatened by Syd Hulls and General
Critchley. I told Mike I couldn’t make it. Sol Strauss went alone and
brought back Farr, and because of that he took all of the credit for
making the match. Neither he nor Jacobs would have gotten to first base
with Farr, had it not been for me. Farr and Broadribb confirmed that when
they arrived for the bout.
Farr, the day after Broadribb had agreed to accept on Tommy’s behalf,
called me on the telephone and thanked me. He was overjoyed at the
prospect of coming to America, and before we rang off, he said:
“Nat, I’ll lick Louis. I’ll be the next champion. You did me a good turn
and I shall not forget it. I’m eagerly awaiting your coming with Mr.
Strauss to sign the contract. There’s no chance of a slip-up, is there,
Nat?”
I told him that I was not going to England and assured him there wasn’t a
chance of a slip-up. Tommy added:
“The opposition here has a story from Germany which is plastered all over
the papers, saying that I’m a fool for agreeing to go to America to fight
Louis, because only New York, of all the States, has recognized the Negro
as champion. The story says that all the commissions except New York have
decided that Schmeling is the real titleholder because he had complied
with his terms of the agreement for the Braddock fight and Braddock had
run out on him.
“If that’s the case,” continued Tommy, “then I don’t want to fight Joe.
It’s the champion that I want and whoever he is, Louis or Schmeling, he’s
the chap I’m going to fight. Make certain that Louis holds the title
before you have Strauss come over to sign me for the fight.”
“Rest easy, Tommy,” I replied. “That story is a phoney. I give you my
assurance that every State in the country, New York included, accepts
Louis and not Schmeling as the champion. They have placed Max as the
leading contender but give the title to Joe. If you think I’m spoofing
you, I’ll have a story cabled over by the National Boxing Association
within two hours. Cable me when you see it in the papers. If it doesn’t
come, then we’ll forget the fight here and you can close the Schmeling
deal.”
I immediately called up the Rhode Island headquarters of Ed Foster,
executive secretary of the National Boxing Association, and asked him
to contact, at my expense, the various executive heads in each state
in the N.B.A. as to whom they considered champion. Foster notified the
Associated Press, United Press, and all of the other news services within
an hour and a half that an executive telegram vote showed that every one
of the thirty-one states in the N.B.A. supported Louis. This was cabled
to Europe, by the various news agencies, and in about three hours from
the time I had talked to Farr, I was on the telephone again, this time
with Broadribb, who informed me that all the papers were carrying the
correction.
That’s how the Farr-Louis match was clinched. Can you blame me for
feeling proud of the fact that it was through my efforts that a British
fighter had an opportunity that no Englishman had had since the
Corbett-Mitchell fight in 1894?
* * * * *
The Schmeling forces accused me after that of having double-crossed Herr
Max, with whom I was “supposedly” very friendly. That was not true. I
had always been friendly toward Schmeling and still am, as a matter of
fact, having recently visited him in Hamburg. No American writer had
done as much as I had editorially to bolster his case before the public
and to get him the chance at the title I believed he had earned. When I
upset his plans by inducing Farr to come to America, I did so because
Max had received ample opportunity to accept a fight with Louis for the
championship, but had made no effort to accept. He apparently wanted to
get universal recognition without fighting the man who had won the crown
by stopping Braddock. He out-smarted himself by ignoring the cables
offering him the match, and when he did decide to accept, it was too
late, and only if he could receive the champion’s end of the purse, which
he knew full well would be unacceptable to Louis and Jacobs.