 Hello there. This is Jimmy Powers coming your way with another story from The Tumult and the Shouting. Hey there. This is Jimmy Powers ready to bring you in first person another chapter from The Tumult and the Shouting. In the last episode I told you about the Dempsey-Firpo fight. Now I'd like to tell you about the first Dempsey-Tunney fight, which was held at the municipal stadium in Philadelphia on September 23, 1926. Fight camps in those days were colorful and they handled more daily paying customers than the average television fights do today. Tunney went into heavy training at Speculator, New York about 40 miles west of Saratoga. His camp was pitched near a small river amid gorgeous scenery. Lardner and I went up for a visit. As we arrived, Gene was coming over the Brava Hill with a fat book under one arm. He could have passed for a young college athlete studying for his masters in English. Tunney was in fine physical shape and looked wonderful. As for Dempsey, banging away behind closed doors, well, he didn't look nor move like the Dempsey of the Firpo fight four years earlier. Wealth, opulence, a bride and revamped nose hadn't exactly brought Jack anything approaching comfort. Besides, he was in a legal battle with his old manager, Kearns. I'd been fighting a cold all that week with hard deadlines and no sleep. The night before the fight, McGee and I were headed back to the hotel when one of us recalled a roulette wheel less than two blocks from City Hall. Along about 2 a.m. I was $1,200 ahead. McGee and was 800 behind. Let's get out of here, I said, and get some sleep. No, sir, replied McGee and I'm going to get even. At 5 a.m. we had just enough between us for taxi fare to the hotel. When I awakened about noon, I was still only 48 years old but felt more like 88. On the sidewalk downstairs stood Tex Rickard with his famed Malacca cane. He was talking with Billy Gibson, Tunney's manager. The day was foggy and Rickard was worrying about rain and the possibility of postponement. Suddenly a writer came swinging through the door. Heard the latest Tex, he said, we just got word that Tunney's flying into town for the weigh-in. Flying into what, stammered Rickard nearly swallowing his cigar. He's flying in jeans in the air now. Rickard turned to a dumbfounded Gibson who had left everything in readiness back at Stroudsburg for Tunney to travel into town by automobile. That crazy bloody devil exploded Rickard, whacking his cane on the pavement. What's he trying to do to me? What's he trying to do to you, countered McGee and what about himself? I couldn't blame Rickard, but you see, this is what happened. Casey Jones, the stunt flyer and instructor, had flown his little biplane up to Stroudsburg and landed it on the golf course the morning of the fight just after Gibson had left. Casey could smell out a promotion stunt quicker than the next man. Gene had never been in a plane, but Jones convinced him that it would be far easier and quicker to fly down the Delaware River to Philly than it would be to drive. To prove his point, Casey agreed to take Gene aloft for a five-minute trial spin. Tunney agreed, climbed aboard, and off they went into the wild blue yonder. Once airborne, however, the golf course and all surrounding country became obscured by a low ceiling. Jones couldn't land, so he pointed his nose towards Philadelphia and drilled into a fog bank. I could have reached over that open cockpit and touched the Delaware water gap with either hand, said Tunney later. It was that close. It took us about an hour and 20 minutes to cover 80 miles. I think we came by way of California. With a crowd of 135,000 contributing to the first $2 million gate, Gene Tunney, a superbly cool and efficient boxer, marched out of his corner at the opening bell and hit Dempsey the fighter with a high, hard right hand. That blow sealed Dempsey's doom. It started to rain in the fourth round, and by the tenth and final round it was a deluge. At the end, Dempsey's face was a bloody, horribly beaten mask. Blind by the final bell, Dempsey grabbed one of his seconds and said, Take me to him. I want to shake his hand. Due to the rain, it was impossible to use a typewriter. I dictated the description of the fight to my wireman. With me that night were Lardner and Benny Leonard, the lightweight champ from 1917 to 1925. Back at the hotel, a raging sore throat and a hangover had me in bad shape. Take a slug of bourbon and lie down, said Lardner. I'll file your overnight. Leonard, a Dempsey man, told Lardner that he suspected the fix had been in for Tunny to win. The story appearing next day under my byline blistered the hide off both Tunny and Dempsey. Neither spoke to me for several months. I couldn't blame them either, but I couldn't open my mouth. The second Dempsey-Tunny fight in Chicago exactly one year later was pretty much a repetition of the first, except for that long count. Tunny boxed beautifully, his straight left jab and combinations jarring Dempsey, but not hurting him particularly. I was thinking of my overnight lead in the seventh round, when, lo and behold, Dempsey landed a right cross over Tunny's left lead. It landed like a bomb on the left side of Tunny's jaw. The lights in Tunny's mind flickered as a second right to the jaw knocked Jean into the ropes. As Tunny came off the ropes, clearly dazed, Jack caught him with a short and crucifying left hook, then a right, a left, and a right. Tunny went down on the canvas, his left hand clutching the middle rope near one corner. In the space of two seconds, Soldier Field became a bedlam. As Tunny hit the deck, referee Dave Barry signaled Dempsey to that farthest neutral corner. How many seconds elapsed between the time that Tunny fell and Dempsey reluctantly reached the far corner, I'll never know. I do know that when Barry started his count and reached seven, Tunny was on one knee, listening attentively, and was up at nine. That was Dempsey's last chance, the only round of the ten I could score for him. Now this is Jimmy Powers again, about to bring you a real treat, Jack the Manassemaller Dempsey. Jack Dempsey, Granny's book states that the first time he laid eyes on you was at Toledo in 1919. Do you remember your first meeting with Granny? I certainly do. That was the time we were out there to fight Jess Wellard for the title. Did you feel that he felt that you were going to win? Well, I don't think he really knew, and I thought I knew, but I wasn't sure. I think he was impressed with me because I liked myself, but at the same time he thought maybe I was bragging a little bit what I was going to do with this big fellow. Jack, one of Granny's all-time ringside thrills was your fight with Furpo. Now, he says that you fell on top of Jack Lawrence, did you, or do you recall it? Well, I don't recall that, because after the first fight, Jimmy, I didn't know that I was in a fighter foot race. Matter of fact, I was out, I never remember being out of the ring, but from all accounts I must have fell on this typewriter. And got the dents to prove it. That's right. Capital letters. Say, Jack, how about Furpo? Was he a good fighter? Well, I'll tell you about Furpo. Jimmy, Furpo was a good fighter. It took a good, I mean, not that I was a great fighter, but it took a good punch at Lickerman, like Furpo, because he was a big fellow, he was tough and he was awkward, he was a very fast puncher. And if he hits you, it was just too bad. And unfortunately, I got hit that night. I should never have gotten hit, but I did. And if you're fighting a puncher, you never know what's going to happen. Any time two punchers are going to ring, you never know who's going to come out first. And that's the type of fighter Furpo was. I wouldn't say he was a good fighter, but it took a good punch at Lickerman. Did anybody ever hit you any harder than Furpo did? Well, I don't think so. I sit hard enough, because I didn't know what I was doing on that first round. I came to about, I suppose, about 10 seconds when I was starting with the second round, and I thought I'd been knocked out. Current said, no, you just slipped. Well, I just hope I don't slip again. Jack Dempsey, according to Nat Fleischer's Ring Record Book, your first pro fight was with Kid Hancock in 15, and your final one was in 40. That's 25 years later in Charlotte, North Carolina with Ellis Bashara. Is that right? That's right. That's 25 years. 25 long years. And how many fights would you say you've had in that space? Oh, a couple of hundred. And that's what I say about the fight game of the age. You guys don't have the experience and the background to know what to do. I think the longer a fighter goes, the better he gets. Of course, when the legs go bad, you're finished, but I think experience means a great deal. What did you get for your first fight? I think 50 cents, Jimmy. And what did you get for your Tony fight at the second one in Chicago? The second fight in Chicago, I got about, I think, 800,000. I'm not sure. And I got a million dollars for the first fight. Jack Dempsey, what do you think could improve the fighters today? Well, I think one thing we need, Jimmy, is more experience for these fellows in small clubs, where they have an opportunity to get on top and know what they're doing before they have to fight these 10-round fights. And on the old days, we had the four-arm days out in San Francisco, and I think that did a great deal to develop the fighters. In other words, they could set their pace and keep it. Watching these fellows fight today, they haven't had the background and experience to keep going and know what to do. So I think we had a few more clubs. It would be a lot better for everybody. Jack, I noticed that you're a darn good referee, and you've refereed some very important fights. Do you think that the people watching a fight really know how to referee it? That is, score it? Well, I don't think so. Of course, we all have our personal opinions, and I don't say because I'm a fighter that I should know anybody else, but I think the proper way to judge a fight is three ways. The man that does the damage, the man that finishes the strongest, the aggressor, that's the three most important things that makes a fight, and that's the way a fight should be judged. Well, Jack, it's quite a thrill interviewing you. It's been wonderful chining with you over Granny's book, and I have a hunch he was present at this little session in spirit anyway. Well, he's a wonderful man. I want to say he was a great friend of mine. I admired him so much. Not only as a man, but as a great writer, and a man who always told the truth and wrote what he thought. And when a man does that, I must admire him. We all make mistakes, but Granny, there's only one, and we'll never be another. Wonderful man, and a wonderful family. Thank you very much, Jack Dempsey. Well, that's it for today. This is Jimmy Powers transcribed saying, So long for now.