xt7ngf0msx6r https://nyx.uky.edu/dips/xt7ngf0msx6r/data/mets.xml West, Tommy. 1918  books b92-41-26782911 English s.n., : [S.l. : This digital resource may be freely searched and displayed.  Permission must be received for subsequent distribution in print or electronically.  Physical rights are retained by the owning repository.  Copyright is retained in accordance with U. S. copyright laws.  For information about permissions to reproduce or publish, contact the Special Collections Research Center. West, Tommy. Boxers (Sports) United States Biography. Long, long trail in the world of sport  / by Tommy West. text Long, long trail in the world of sport  / by Tommy West. 1918 2002 true xt7ngf0msx6r section xt7ngf0msx6r 

     Dedicated to My Friend


King of Louisville's Tobacco Breaks

 This page in the original text is blank.


              ItENRY    B. (aKpING)  (OlRI N,
lslic-ri as Ksing oif louisville's l'I:obacco Breaks for Years.

 This page in the original text is blank.


Long, Long



World of Sport



 This page in the original text is blank.



     This little book was compiled by me at leisure
moments and its contents are more on the order of a
diary. There is practically no fiction within its
covers and most of these narratives are personal
experiences and while many of them may border on
the sensational they are all nearly true. There may
be some little exaggeration in some of the details,
but as to the persons connected with the stories they
were and all are real, live human beings. Many of
the persons connected with the stories in this pub-
lication have passed, but they were all my friends
and when they departed from this troubled old earth
I was not the only one that missed them. Most of
them were nature's noblemen and persons who had
good, red blood flowing through their veins. Like
myself, they could give and take a joke and had the
happy faculty of looking upon the world and its hap-
penings, philosophically. I was not blessed with much
of the world's goods at my birth, nor had I the
advantages of much of an education, therefore I have
displayed what literary knowledge I possess in these
stories. From my youth I have inclined to be some-
what of a rover, taking most of the world for my


playground. Not having a strong constitution I
have managed to keep fairly good health by constant
exercise. I became an adept at boxing in my early
boyhood and by constant practice became fairly
efficient in the art of self-defense. While I never
was cut out for a professional pugilist, I attempted
to pick up a living at that sport with meager success
until I struck the top-notchers, then I realized that
the prize ring was not in my line. Trusting these
reminiscences will recall personages with whom the
reader has met and may bring pleasant memories I
leave to the captious literary critic any strictures he
may see fit to make, knowing myself that I have done
my best to put into print some experiences ranging
over a decade of a typical American boy's life.

                                 TOMMY WEST.


The Long, Long Trail in the

         World of Sport

              CHAPTER I.
              AT THE DOWNS.

Young, Parrent, Winter,
Jimmy Collins. About

BACK in the year
B   1901 I spent the
     winter at Hot
Springs, Ark.  I was
snoozing around with my
friend Col. Jim Whallen,
of Louisville, Ky., and the
old Boston Red Sox team,
which was training at
that famous resort. The
advance guard that year
included Bill Dineen,
Buck Freeman, Cy
Stahl and the then famed
the first of March they



left the Spa for their training grounds down in Texas.
The day they left I went over to Memphis to wait for
the opening of the race meeting there, which at that
time was about the best spring meeting in the West.
      On the opening day of the meeting I ran into
Bill Douglas, then sporting editor of the "Courier-
Journal," of this city. Bill was one of the best friends
I ever had, for he had practically put me on the map
in the boxing world. With Douglas was Bob Gray,
the Louisville boxing promoter, and Col. John Hop-
kins, prominent in the theatrical world.
Puts Bee in My Bonnet.-Douglas said to me the
night he was returning to Louisville, just after the
running of the Montgomery Handicap, "Tommy,
why don't you come up to Louisville for the Derby
and get a leg-up in the Gentlemen's Cup Race It
would be a good advertisement for you to win that
race and would help you in your ramblings around
Europe." I had just told Douglas that Paul Sorg, the
noted tobacco manufacturer of Middletown, O., was
going to take me across the big pond during the follow-
ing summer. Col. Hopkins also spoke up at the time
and told me if I won the cup race he would give me
a fifteen weeks' engagement on his theatrical circuit.
     After seeing the Louisville contingent off I
went to my hotel and dropped a letter to Lyman



B oml l   \ Ad.sTr
July 14. 1'318.
Age 6  elS.

 This page in the original text is blank.



Davis, who was then secretary of the New Louisville
Jockey Club. I signed my correct name, knowing
that that was the only name Lyman knew me by.
In a few days I got a lette-r from Lyman saying my
application had been accepted and for me to get a
mount for the cup race.
Secures Mount for Race.-I wired Douglas and he
secured me a mount on Senator Beveridge, a horse
belonging to Col. Hazelip. I grabbed a rattler for
Louisville the night before the Derby and was met
at the depot by a few of my friends who had been
wisened up that I was going to have a mount in the
cup race. I went out to the Downs the next day
and was introduced to Col. Hazelip as well as to my
mount. The Colonel wanted to see if I knew any-
thing about riding horses before he would consent to
let me have the mount. I showed the Colonel in
short order. He remarked, "Why, this kid is a
ringer and I guess has been ruled off somewhere."
I had been an exercise boy with a stable of horses a
few years previous.
Sees Visions of "Killing."--The friends who had
watched me work out Senator Beveridge were in
great glee, for it looked a cinch with my mount and
experience I could easily trim all the other entrants.
I went into quarters at the Rufer Hotel, a great




hostlery in those days for the sporting element. At
night we would play a social game of cards and I was
kept pretty well under cover. Every morning I
would go to the Downs and put my mount through
the paces. He was in fine fettle and up to a bruising
     The day of the Cup race came. It was an ideal
Spring day and I spent about 20 wiring to my many
friends over the country to have a good bet down on
Senator Beveridge. I never went out to the Downs
until after the first race was run. I did this in order
to avoid seeing anyone who might tip me off. I
I waited until all the riders in the Cup race had
weighed in. The Harthill boys, who had mounts,
knew me and I was afraid they would let out a
squawk. Just as the last one had weighed in I
bobbed into the scales' room, colors on, hurried like.
Fighter, No Society Man.-Judge Will Shelly, then
clerk of the scales, shouted to negro Dave, who
worked in the scale room, if all the gentlemen jocks
had weighed in. Dave replied, "No sah, here is
Mistah West." Shelly never as much as looked up
when I got on the scales, but he set the die and said
to Dave, "Hand him them boxing gloves over in the
corner." Shelly then said to me without cracking a




smile, "You're a fighter, not a society man. Go up
to the stand, the Judges want to see you."
      I put on a raincoat over my colors and started
in a run for the Judges' stand, passing through the
betting ring. Just as I got in the center of the ring
I heard some one shout, "Scratch Senator Beveridge
twenty minutes for a new book." I then knew it
was all off as far as my having a mount in the race
was concerned.
Gets No Encouragement.-I reached the Judges'
stand where I saw Judge Price waving me back and
Charlie Grainger looking over the railing said to me,
"To what society do you belong" I replied that I
was a member of some of the best clubs in Memphis.
Shelly had got to the stand by this time and said
to me, "Why I know you are a fighter." Then I
said, "Judges, if you can show me where I ever won a
fight, then I won't ask you to let me ride in this race. "
I meant every word of it, for up to that time, I had
never been better than second in any contest in
which I had ever engaged and that was many a one.
Mount Heavily Backed.-Books were on in those days
and they had opened Senator Beveridge at 20 to 1.
The newsboys and all my friends like to have mobbed
the "bookies" trying to bet.  The Senator was
backed down to 8 to 5 before the scratch announce-



12          THE LONG, LONG TRAIL

ment came. It looked like an old-fashioned hog
killing was going to come off. And I am confident
to-day that if I had been allowed to ride there would
have been many a missing bank roll among the book-
makers at the Downs when the smoke had cleared
away after the cup race.
     The gentlemen riders went to the post without
me. Four of them fell off before going a quarter of a
mile; three of them were as good as left and but three
finished. The race was run two seconds slower than
I had worked Senator Beveridge. If they had let
me ride it would have made a big difference to me
and my friends in a financial way, but I have never
been a squawker, and it may be as well that my
career as a gentleman rider was never begun.



               CHAPTER II.

              MANY ATTEMPTS.
                              AFTER my
                              AV60 bloomer
                                   in  t he
          mu; A;/ Gentleman's
                              Cup race I wvent
                              to New  York,
                              where  I  met
                              Barney Furey, a
                              knight of  the
                              squared circle of
                              some note sev-
                              eral years ago.
                              He  was   then
                              down at the
                              training  camp
                              of Kid McCoy.
He showed me several letters that he had re-
ceived from the Gas Belt of Indiana telling him
there was some soft coin there for clever boxers.




We both decided to take the rattler out for the
Hoosier State. After sojourning around Muncie
and Alexandria for a few weeks in company with
five other ring professionals we went to East St.
Louis, Ill. In the crowd were Furey, the Bezenah
boys, Milt Kinney, Jack Cullen and myself, and we
all locoed at the same hostelry.
Go to East St. Louis.-The incentive for going to
East St. Louis was, the dusky fighter known as
Chappie Jones was meeting all comers at that
"burg." He had a few weeks before we landed in
there fought a fifteen-round draw with Bobby
Dobbs, at that time about the best negro light-
weight in America. Local boxers will remember
Dobbs in his defeat of Dick Case in a couple of
mills at the old Music Hall, on Market street,
in Louisville, Ky., along in the late nineties.
Chappie had a record a yard long, winning fights
from dubs, but he had defeated some good second-
raters. Our crowd of glove swingers had some
trouble getting on a match with Chappie, as most of
them were stalling, and I could tell easily that I was
to be the fall guy, for we were then in what is
known as the "Hotel Stakes." The whole five of us
owed a long tab to the tavern proprietor, and some-
thing had to be done and done quickly. The match-



            IN THE WORLD OF SPORT             15

maker said he would give 200 to any good light-
weight that would take on Chappie, win, lose or
draw. Like a sucker, I grabbed this opportunity
and said: "Give me this bird; I can trim him sure."
The rest of the gang all fell in with the bull and
said: "Why certainly, West can beat that dinge."
Known as Blue-Gum Negro.-They all knew he
was a tough man with the gloves, and it was up to
me to be a fall guy for the hotel bill and take an
awful beating from a black that a charcoal mark
would show almost white on his phiz. He was
what is known to Southerners as a blue-gum negro,
and had hands on him like canvased hams.
     The gang all helped to get me into condition
for the contest, for they expected me to get an awful
trimming, and they wanted me physically fit for
the ordeal, thinking that I could go a few rounds
with the negro, anyhow, and in that way earn the
200 bucks. They, however, continued to convince
me that I could beat the black. There was a big
bunch of glassblowers from over in the Gas Belt
that came over the night of the fight, and the gang
had them bet a lot of money at 2 to 1 that I would
land the sleep wallop on the dinge.
Fight Held on Barge.-The fight was held on a
barge. A steamboat was attached to the barge



and pulled up the river a few miles. The lights
over the ring were controlled from the deck of the
steamer by a drop switch. When it came time for
me to leave my dressing room, which was in a cabin
of the boat, I walked over to the ring and Chappie
was already in his corner smiling and looked as if
he was going to eat me up. The barge was crowded
and all my friends except Andy Bezenah were
around my corner. Jimmy Ryan, a noted railroad-
er and sporting man was the referee. After getting
on my gloves I called Fred Daley, who was match-
maker of the club, and asked him what was the
arrangement for Chappie and his end of the fight.
Daley said he was giving Chappie 300 to win or
draw and 200 if he lost, and also said if I beat him
he would give me 300, as I would be a big drawing
card for his next show.
Wants Winner Take all.-Chappie and I and all
the seconds on both sides went to the center of the
ring to get instructions from Ryan how we were to
box. Then I said to Chappie, "We will make it
winner take all." That would make the winner
get 500 and the loser nothing. My crowd com-
menced to shout, "No! No! No! Remember we are
in the Hotel Stakes," but I let it go at that. This
proposition made Chappie look a bit frightened,





 This page in the original text is blank.



but his manager said, "All right, let the winner take
all." I told Daley to pay over the entire 500 to
the winner and in case of a draw split the money.
My seconds were sore. They called me a boob and
said I did not have a chance, and that the match
was only made for the losing end and that they had
a lot of suckers betting on me just to get a better
price on Chappie's end. But it was too late to
change the agreement and the gong sounded for
the opening round.
In for an Awful Beating.-We shook hands in the
middle of the ring and sparred for a moment or
two, then Chappie began with a deadly left jab.
I don't think I laid a glove on him in the first
round and he was cutting me to ribbons. In the
second round he blacked both my eyes and my nose
was bleeding profusely. He could have easily
knocked me out if he had taken the chance, but he
was still leary, thinking that I was one of those
one-punch fighters who could put him out with a
blow, so he contented himself by continuous jab-
bing.   I began to realize that the gang had
framed-up for me, but at the same time I had
hooked them and they were in just as bad as 1,
only they were not getting the trimming dished
out to me by Chappie.




Frame-up on Negro.-When I got back to my
corner at the end of the second round my chief
second, Furey, was not there. But I saw him back
in the crowd talking earnestly to Andy Bezenah.
I was able to take the punishment that Chappie
handed to me in the third. As the bell sounded
at the end Furey jumped into the ring and brought
me back to my chair and whispered in my ear, "How
do you feel, old pal" I told him I was about all
in and guessed we would have to walk out of town.
Barney whispered to me, "Can you feint that dinge
over into your corner If you can you have a
chance." I said I believed so, for I can't last much
longer. So when we hooked up at the beginning
of the fourth round I made a feint at the negro and
back-stepped toward my corner, and he followed me
closely. Just then the lights went out and I heard
the sound of a breaking bottle, and as the lights
came right on again to my surprise Chappie lay
in my corner dead to the world.
What Happened to Chappie-"What happened to
Chappie" said Referee Ryan to me. "Well," I
said, "you see him, and I think I hit him the stiffest
blow I ever delivered in the squared arena. It was
right on the solar plexus and you can begin to count."
Ryan looked at the negro and saw a big gash in his



            IN THE WORLD OF SPORT             19

forehead, but he tolled off the fatal ten. The
referee again said to me, "What is that broken glass
doing around Chappie" I said that he must have
fallen in my bucket when I dropped him. I was
declared the winner, but there was a lot of squawk-
ing before the bets were all paid off.
     This was my hundredth fight and got me out
of the maiden class, as it was the first victory that
I had ever chalked up. It was reported that a
few days after this mill Chappie ended his life by
jumping off a boat down at Memphis, Tenn.



              CHAPTER III.

            BADEN POOLROOM

                              AFTER get-
                            -A  ting all
                                 the  boys
        K    1'A)Zfoou   t of the hotel
                            stakes at East
           iat      ,       St. Louis, with
                            plenty of dough
                            in my jeans, we
                            all returned to
                            the Gas Belt
                            where I was
                            carded as the
                            coming light
                            weight cham-
                            pion. My vic-
                            tory over Chap-
pie Jones had put me up in the front ranks as a
"comer." I was matched at Muncie, Ind., with a




tough-looking lightweight from Chicago who fought
under the name of Fay Bryant. A big house greeted
us, but I'm sorry to say, Bryant put it all over me
and again I got the loser's end of the purse. It
seemed as if I needed a dark house to win a victory-
but the lights failed to go out.
     With a fair-sized bank roll left I departed with
my sparring partner, Barney Furey, for West Baden,
Ind., to play the horses in the pool room at that
place run by one Ballard. This pool room had been
hammered by every known device to beat it from
"Chappie" Moran's wire-tapping gang to "single-
outers" and "double-uppers," but it had stood the
ordeal and Ballard had a bank roll left that would
choke an elephant. When Furey and I arrived it
was announced we were training for a big battle
that was soon to take place in Louisville.
Puts Scheme to Work.-The first day at the Springs
I received a long-distance call from "Rudy" Books
a telegraph operator, at Louisville. He asked me
how they were handling the bets in the pool room
there. "They never close until they are off," I
told him, "and many bets were taken a few min-
utes after post time." I told Books they were us-
ing a fake call at the Ballard place and the results
were received at the branch telegraph office in the




hotel and brought over to the pool room by a mes-
senger boy. Then Books told me we had a chance
to put over a "speedy," as he was getting the re-
sults just as they were run. He said he would send
his friend, Henry Hackmann, over to the Springs,
and for me to meet him at the train that night.
Hackmann arrived on time, and we figured out a
scheme of signals, which would give us the winner
two or three minutes before the pool room could
get it.
Buy Twenty Pennants.-I went over to French Lick
the next morning and bought about twenty pen-
nants of different designs and colors. Every pen-
nant represented a number on the form sheet. I
had explained to Hackmann how I would stand on
the steps of the hotel, just out of the long-distance
telephone office, and when I got the winner from
Books would wave the right pennant for the horse
and he could see plainly from a window in the pool
room without having to leave the place. Of course
we went to the woods and practiced the signals and
had them all down pat before we ever attempted to
turn a trick. There could be no mistake. We even
tried out a winner before beginning operations.
Hackmann made a few fake bets the next day after
post time, and, of course, lost.




We Put a Few Over.-The next day we decided to
put in the "work." I had my pennants all in shape
and was posing as a pennant peddler. Few people
knew me and everybody thought that was my
"graft." The plan for the flash was that I was to
carry the pennants under my left arm and flash the
winner with one in my right hand. I had Books
rigged up to call me in certain races where he
thought the send-off would be quick and there
would be no delays at the post. We were not going
to try over one or two a day.
     In the afternoon when the time came for the
races to begin Hackmann went over to the pool room
and I laid at the long distance telephone booth like
a cat at a rat hole. In the second race I got the
flash that Bearcatcher had won. I walked out on
the steps and saw Hackmann standing in the win-
dow of the pool room. I waved the Turkish flag
with a red crescent. That was number three, ac-
cording to our code. Bearcatcher was third down on
the form sheet. Hackmann bet the money taker 20
on the horse. It was two minutes after that I saw
the messenger boy taking over the winner to the
pool room from the branch telegraph office. Bear-
catcher was the winner, all right, and he was four to
one. We never attempted another flash that day.




Put Over Two in One Day.-The next day we put
over two flashes and they both came down all right.
One of these winners was Clifton Forge and the other
was a horse called Death. Hackmann had cleaned
up about 500, and the proprietor had begun to get
a little leary, as Hackmann was betting late.
     I will never forget how the blow-off came.
Nothing was attempted the next day, but on Sat-
urday, two days after our late play, Hackmann in
an excited manner made it too strong. He was look-
ing for the flash from me and had forgotten to look
at the prices of the horses on the board. I got the
flash over the phone from Books in the fourth race,
and the horse was BLUE BLAZES. The code sig-
nal for Blue Blazes was the Irish Pennant, with the
harp in the center.
How Hackmann "Bulled It."-When Hackmann got
the horse he rushed excitedly to the money taker
and said: "I want to bet you 50 on Blue Blazes."
The bookmaker looked at the board and Blue Blazes
was quoted at 50 to 1. He said: "We can't take
that large a bet on a 50 to 1 shot unless Mr. Ballard
says so." Ballard was called and said: "Not for
me; you've got something on this game and it is a
little too late," being about two minutes past post
time. Ballard asked "Bub," the operator, if they




were off yet. "Bub" replied that it was a little late,
but he had not received the winner. During the
argument the boy rushed in with a message, and
sure enough Blue Blazes had won.
My Flag Tipped It Off.-Hackmann was stand-
ing by the window at the time and Ballard came up
to him and looking out the window still saw me wav-
ing the Irish flag. He remarked to Hackmann, "I
guess that boy's flag means that Blue Blazes won."
Then it was all off. Hackmann, Furey and myself
all made a quick get-away from West Baden. We
had to stay up half the night at Orleans to get the
Alonon into Louisville the next morning.
     When we reached Louisville Books met us and
gafe Hackmann an awful roasting for pulling such
a "bone" as attempting to bet 50 on a 50 to 1 shot.
But we all parted in good humor over our little joke
on the stony-hearted pool-roomer. I still have the
Irish flag pennant at home and think of the oc-
currence nearly every time I look at it.




              CHAPTER IV.

             BOUT TWICE WON.

                               A FTER the
                                  AWest Ba-
                                    den pool
                               room   incident
                               my sparring
                               partner, Furey,
                               and myself took
                               a little reconnoi-
                               tering trip up to
               V             Cinci nnati, Fu-
                              rey's stamping
                              ground.  Both
                              of us had about
                              fried  all  the
                              grease out of the
fighting game around that burg, but we thought that
we would hang around there a few days to see if we
couldn't pick up a "live one." Sure enough, it was
not long before we "snaked" a fellow-I will call




him Cliff-who seemed to have plenty of dough.
Furey and I gave him a taste of high life in the
blight light district and Cliff suggested he take both
of us under his managerial wing and go down to Hot
Springs and match us for some bouts.
Furey Hooks a "Sucker.'"-Furey seemed to have
hooked a sucker stronger than I, so it was agreed
that Cliff and Furey were to go to the Springs at
once and leave me to follow later. I didn't like that
proposition, but Furey gave me the rush and said
he did not have time to pack his trunk as he was
leaving at once, and asked me to express his Sara-
toga to the Springs, adding that Cliff would leave
me a sack of dough and I could come on down in a
few days. I went to the train to see Cliff and
Furey off, and incidentally to get my sack of dough.
     Just before they left Cliff handed me a sack
filled with coins. It felt as if at least fifty bucks
were in it. After the rattler pulled out I repaired
to the favorite hang-out of the gang. I throwed my
dough bag on the counter and asked all the boys
up to take a drink. I opened it and counted out
267 pennies. They all gave me the laugh, the bar-
keep accusing me of robbing a penny-in-the-slot
machine. I was sore, but said little. I tumbled in




a minute that Cliff, our new manager, was nothing
but a cheap grafter.
Sent Trunk Full of Bricks.-The following night I
received a telegram from Furey to send his trunk at
once. I went to his room and had a couple of " hus-
kies" carry his trunk to the hang-out, distributing
all Furey's belongings to the hangers-on, stuffed it
full of old newspapers and bricks, then sent it by
express to Furey at Hot Springs, C. 0. D.
     I followed the trunk to the Springs in a few
days. When I landed there a friend " wisened " me
Furey had paid five bucks to get the bricks. I
found Furey and Cliff in a pool room trying to beat
the horses with the few dollars they had left. Cliff
found out that to manage fighters he had to have
a bank roll and as he had lost the latter he dropped
the managerial role and became a " rubber " for both
of us.
Get Match With "Cyclone" Kelly.-Tommy Ryan,
of Syracuse, was at the Springs at the time and in
ill health. He had just fought a big dub called
Cyclone Kelly from the Pacific coast a fifteen-round
draw. Ryan told Furey that Kelly would be easy
for him, so in a few days Furey was matched to
meet Kelly.




     Andy Mulligan, who had managed Dick Case
and other fighters around Louisville twenty years
ago, was running the club and he told Furey if he
could beat Kelly there would be many other matches
he could get around the springs. I told Furev
Kelly could not be such a rotten fighter if he stood
Ryan, champion middleweight of the world off for
fifteen rounds. Ryan, though, said to Furey if he
defeated Kelly, which he thought he could, they
could stage a bout at Little Rock and make some
easy money. I fell in with the gang and had Furey
"bulled" into believing Kelly was going to be easy
picking. That was the same stuff Furey and the
boys had given me at St. Louis a few months pre-
vious in the Chappie Jones affair.
Get Down to Training.-After the agreement was
signed Cliff and myself put Furey into vigorous
training. We only had ten days to get him ready
and that was a pretty hard job, as Furey had been
going an awful clip for some time. There was
plenty doing at the Springs in those days, but Furey
was strictly a " green chatter " and " bright lighter, "
and it was hard to get him to train. We rounded
him into pretty fair shape, however, by the night
of the fight. Furey had the advantage of Tommy
Ryan's advice in his training and he was also one




of Furey's seconds. Ryan told me if Furey won
they would split a couple of thousand dollars in
their Little Rock show.
Kelly Was a Big Husky.-Kelly was ten or fifteen
pounds heavier than Furey and was in the pink of
condition. Furey was what is known as a "get-
there-first" fighter and could go about three rounds
as fast as any boxer in the country. He was also
clever and could hit like a trip-hammer, but had
little stamina on account of his habits. It was a
great chance for Furey and as we were both broke
I could see visions of having plenty of dough again.
     The night of the fight came. Pat Early was
referee and Bat Masterson timekeeper. Early had
no particular liking for Kelly and he showed it
throughout the bout, but Kelly was about the
toughest proposition at that time in the ring,
although he had no science. In Furey's corner was
Tommy Gilfeather, Tommy Ryan, Jimmy Duffy, once
a famous jockey, and myself. I was to handle the
sponge and give the instructions during the melee.
Furey Looked Easy Winner.-When the bell called
them to the center of the ring in the first round,
quick as a flash Furey caught Kelly flush on the
jaw and down the cyclone went. Furey lost his
"nut" and kicked Kelly while he was down, but




Early did not disqualify him. He sent both men
back to their corners and gave them a five-minute
      Both men came together with a rush in the
second round, but Furev beat Kelly to it and
smashed him again on- the jaw, Kelly going down
and Furey opened up his French attack for the
second time.
     Again Referee Early refused to disqualify
Furey. Kelly got up in a dazed condition before
the count and after the gong sounded was taken
to his corner. Another five minutes were given the
Kelly Finishes Strong.-Kelly came back fresh in
the third and Furey went right after him, but
failed to connect this time. Instead Kelly caught
Furey back of the neck with a "Mary Ann" and
dropped him like a log. Furey rose to his feet and
began battling, but not for long, as he was soon put
to his knees with a stiff left jab. He gave me the
distress signal to throw in the towel, but I told him
I didn't have any. He came up at the count of
nine, and Kelly smashed him right in the mouth
and scattered his gold teeth like so many grains of
corn over the ring. Furey officed me, being nearly



out, to throw in the sponge. I made out like I
did not hear him.
Furey Yells For Help.-Then he came up again, and
Kelly hit him flush on the jaw. He went down
near his corner, and while the referee was tolling
off the count, slowly, Furey yelled at me: "For