Bare Knuckles Boxing

Chapter XII- “Buffalo Beachers”

            

                                Bare knuckle boxing on the beach

 

Boxing was generally illegal in 19th century America, with fights held in secret locations. Bare-knuckle bouts were brutal, and could last for hours. Fighters could become famous, and some, peculiarly, picked up a political following. One bare-knuckles champion went on to serve in Congress.

 

But, legal or not, at the club fighting level, bare knuckle boxing continued. Like the rowing clubs, boxing was a sport that the immigrant Irish knew something about. Growing up in a tavern environment  inured them to the odd punch ‘em up, after words were exchanged, in a local tavern.

 

The young ones were encouraged to take up pugilism skills, as a means of defending oneself in an often-difficult environment. It was also an easy and inexpensive means of exercise and training. The lads would box one another in rough roped in rings along the beach. Some of the merchants might put up small sums as prize money to induce more involvement.

 

Boxing became both a popular spectator sport and a means of advancement for the poorer lads on the beach. They followed all of press clippings about their hero’s matches in the local papers. They would of course discuss them at Donovan’s with great vigor afterwards. The most famous bare-knuckle brawler of the era was John L. Sullivan of Boston. A newspaper article described him thusly: 

 

 

In 1889, John L. Sullivan, an international Irish-American boxing star from Boston, Massachusetts, came to train with William Muldoon in Belfast, N.Y. for the last bare- knuckle boxing championship. This match has been described as the most important fight of Sullivan's career. Muldoon set up training headquarters in two barns that he owned. Known for developing training techniques ahead of his time, Muldoon helped Sullivan get into the best shape of his life. And kept the creature for a time from Sullivan’s grasp.

 

On July 8, 1889, an estimated 3,000 spectators boarded special trains for the secret location, which turned out to be Richburg, a town just south of Hattiesburg, Mississippi. The fight began at 10:30, and at first it looked like Sullivan was going to lose, especially after he vomited during the 44th round. However, the champion got his second wind and was able to turn things around for himself. After a grueling beatdown, Kilrain's manager finally threw in the towel after the 75th round.

 

After the match was reported in the papers, the lads gathered around in Donovan’s to review the fight.

 

“Did you read about  that Sullivan lad’s match the other day?” asked Billy Sheehan of the assembled row of tipplers at Donovan’s one night.

 

“Aye,” said shovels McGuire. “They said the man went  seventy-five rounds with a tough gorilla named Kilrain, before he knocked the man flat. It took seventy-five rounds before the other lad tossed in the towel.”

 

“It must have been quite a match,” said Billy. “Sure, I wonder how the man holds up to all of that beating.”

 

“Tis said this man named Muldoon trained him daily, keeping the creature away from him,” said Shovels. “Sure, the creature is the death of the Irish.”

 

“Aye, I hope he keeps the bottle from John L.” said Billy, as he tipped another glass of stout into his gob.

 

The children learned more than fighting from these lads. Some would  escape the creature and its effects, some would not. 

 

Winning local boxing matches was a source of pride for the whole neighborhood. As the immigrants settled in to America, their boxing skills increased through training. They were able to venture into other neighborhoods in the City of Buffalo, to fight harder and more skilled opponents. It became a tradition that the second and third generation of beachers adopted. 

 

In July of 1892, one of the Beacher’s own and most famous pugilists,  James “Slugger” Ryan had managed to fight his way into contention with one of the welter weights from the St. James Athletic Club, in Buffalo. Their bout was scheduled for a balmy Saturday night at the Broadway Arena, near downtown Buffalo. It was the biggest match of Ryan’s career. At 5’10” and 185 lbs., he was a formidable opponent, with a hammer like right cross and a deadly left jab.

 

His opponent for the fight was: Henry “Hippo” Higgins, who at 5’8” 180 lbs., from the St. James Athletic Club, was more than a match for Ryan. Higgins was said to be able to “dance like the wind, and strike like a Rattler.”

 

         The papers had been playing up the match for weeks. Everyone on the beach wanted to go. Ticket prices kept some away, but many made the extra fishing run or worked longer hours at the mill, or unloading ships, to be able to go and watch the “pride of the beach” slug it out with Higgins.

 

         When the day arrived, Donovan’s was loaded from noon on. The lads were discussing the match with the first three rounds of beer.

         “Sure, Slugger will pound the man into submission,” said Bugger Malloy.

 

          “Aye,” said Doolie McGee, ”He will make short work of the lad. We should set out early to make sure we’ve the best seats in the Auditorium.”

 

           With that pronouncement, the whole crowd from Donovan’s set out with other Beachers for the Central Wharf area. Some used their own skiffs to ferry friends, others hired ferrymen to take them across. From the wharf, the lads all made their way up Main street and then down Broadway to the Auditorium. There was an electricity in the air from all of the fans who crowded into the Auditorium. To be sure there was some back and forth from the supporters of the two fighters but it was more good-natured than nasty. Only a few of the lads were run in for creating a public disturbance.

 

          After the announcer called for the two fighters to shake hands, the match began. Predictably, for the first few rounds, there was more dancing around the ring than actual striking, as the two pugilists tried to determine weaknesses in the opponents defense.

 

         It was in the fourth round, Ryan delivered a haymaker that stunned Higgins. You could watch the sweat explode from his face, as the blow struck home. Higgins staggered for a few steps as he recovered. The crowd gasped in support or surprise.

 

         From then on, it was a slug fest. First Ryan would connect with a mighty thrust, then Higgins would respond with his own sledge hammer blow. The crowd cheered with every strike, only imagining what that blow must have felt like.

 

      By the twelfth round, both fighters were visibly sagging. A half-closed eye on one face was matched buy a puffy nose and a battered ear on the other. Everyone wondered how long the lads could keep at it.

 

      In the fourteenth round, Higgins delivered a round house haymakers to Ryan’s jaw that would have stunned an ox. Ryan, tried to come back, but Higgins, sensing an advantage, waded on in with a series of right crosses to the face and body blows to the torso. Ryan tried hard, but was done. He collapsed in a heap on the ring surface. The referee counted him to ten and out. Mighty Slugger Ryan had struck out.

 

     Stunned, the lads gathered themselves and set out for the beach. Talking amongst themselves.

 

     “Sure, Slugger did us proud,” said Doolie McGee. “He put up a hell of a fight.”

 

      “Aye, he did,” said Billy Sheehan. “Higgins was just too tough for him tonight. Maybe Slugger will get him in the rematch.”

 

      The walk and ferry ride back to Donovan’s was subdued. They said one of their own had best beaten senseless.

 

    At Donovan’s one lad raised his glass and said loudly. “To Slugger Ryan and all of the gallant lads like him.”

The others raised their glasses and drank to a brave lad who had been raised among them.

 

It is with this third generation of Irish immigrants that one of Buffalo’s most famous pugilists developed. He was born in the nearby First Ward and was adopted as “one of their own” by all of the Irish immigrants in the area. When Jimmy Slattery started his meteoric rise in boxing, the beachers had been evicted and now lived in the First Ward alongside their own. A Wikipedia article on the great fighter described him thusly:

 

James Patrick Slattery was born on August 25, 1904 at 589 Fulton Street in the First Ward of Buffalo.  Jimmy or “Shamus” as his family called him was the son of a city fireman named John Slattery who worked at firehouse Engine 22.  

One of the earliest stories about the young, lanky Jimmy Slattery deals with his accidental start as a boxer.  Harp Griffin, a 210-pound neighborhood brawler, saw the young Slattery at the corner of Elk and Louisiana Streets with a box of chocolates which was Jimmy’s gift for his mother on Valentine’s Day.   Griffin, however, wanted the chocolates for himself so he stole Jimmy’s chocolates out of his hand.  Rather than back down, the much smaller Jimmy challenged the bully to a fight.  Witnesses say that close to two hundred people from the neighborhood gathered and watched Slattery, the budding pugilist, crush his much larger opponent in about thirty minutes in front of Gene Murphy’s gas station.   

Jimmy’s father recognized his son’s gifts, so he set up backyard boxing matches and took him to the First Ward Athletic Club.  Jimmy’s meteoric career to national fame was about to begin.

In 1921, at the age of sixteen, the 128-pound Jimmy Slattery’s pro career started with an impressive 35 straight wins against several boxers who were much bigger than him.  It is reported that he wore green trunks for every fight of his career to honor his Irish heritage.  On October 3, 1924, Slattery won a six-round decision—the fight was limited to six rounds because of Slattery’s age—against Jack Delaney at Madison Square Garden in New York City.  People outside of Buffalo were now taking notice of him.  A few months later on February 13, 1925, again at the Garden, Slats fought the 4-to-1 favorite Jack Delaney in a regulation match.  The 5’11” Slattery who danced on his toes in the ring and had one of the most effective left punches in the sport stunned the boxing world by beating Delaney again.  It was this fight that put Jimmy on the world stage of boxing.  

After a 17-1 record the following year, Slattery put himself into contention for the National Boxing Association title.  Finally, on August 30, 1927, in Hartford, Connecticut, Slats or the “Buffalo Harp” as some called him, defeated “Slapsie” Maxie Rosenbloom in 15 rounds to win the World Light Heavyweight Championship and sit alone atop of the world.  From accounts in the newspapers and memoirs, residents in the First Ward went crazy when the news of his championship arrived in the Ward.  
 
Meanwhile, across the country, boxing experts, sports writers, and his fellow boxers could not contain their praise for Slattery’s abilities.  He was the favorite boxer of Paul Gallico, the sports editor for the New York Daily News and another New York sportswriter referred to Slattery as a “darling of the gods.”   The champion James Braddock, also known as the “Cinderella Man,” in a 1959 interview, proclaimed that “the greatest boxer in my time was Jimmy Slattery.”   Braddock went on to say that “Joe Louis was a fine boxer, but Jim Slattery was far better.”  

In 1992, Boxing Illustrated ranked Jimmy Slattery the seventh slickest boxer of all time behind greats such as Sugar Ray Robinson, Gene Tunney, Muhammad Ali, and Sugar Ray Leonard.  Others even compared him to one of the greatest of all time: Jim Corbett.  The champion Tom Loughran stated that fighting Jimmy Slattery was like “fighting a ghost with three hands.”  Aside from being a darling of the press and his fellow boxers, fans loved him as well.  Slats regularly fought in front of sold-out crowds in Madison Square Garden and Yankee Stadium in the Bronx.  

But while his boxing prowess was incomparable, on a personal level all was not well.  With Slattery’s increasing success came a desire for the fast life of women and alcohol.  The latter would be a battle that Jimmy would face his whole life, and the demon that would eventually lead to his downfall.

While Jimmy enjoyed basking in the glory of national success, he never forgot his roots or the people in the Ward.  There are countless stories of his charity and magnanimity, which ranged from buying rounds of drinks for folks in his favorite taverns to giving away his cars to people in need.  When he was in town Slattery would go to one of his favorite places, like Kearn’s Tavern, and buy everyone drinks.   

Joe Marren, whose family roots are in the Ward and Valley, related two stories concerning Jimmy’s generosity.  The first one involves Joe’s grandfather, who owned a candy store in the Ward.  Apparently, Slattery had just purchased a new Pierce-Arrow automobile and he needed to get rid of his Cadillac.  Rather than sell it, he just gave the Cadillac away to Joe’s grandfather with no strings attached.  The other story involves Marren’s father, who suffered from polio.  Slats encouraged Joe’s father to work out for free with him at his gym to help strengthen his limbs.   

There are other stories of his donating a new altar for his church, buying books for an elementary school, and even dropping money out of his car during the Depression, for children to grab.  Some referred to him as a sucker for a good sob story and he regularly gave money for medical operations, shoes, coal for heating homes, and funeral expenses.   One First Ward memoirist referred to him as a “good Samaritan with a heart of gold.

 

                                      -30-

 

                             (2,311 words)

 

                          Joseph Xavier Martin