American History Reform

Chapter Title: COLORED CHAMPIONSHIP AND COLOR LINES Book Title: I Fight for a Living

Book Subtitle: Boxing and the Battle for Black Manhood, 1880-1915

Book Author(s): LOUIS MOORE

Published by: University of Illinois Press

Stable URL: https://www.jstor.org/stable/10.5406/j.ctt1vsk8nk.8

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4 coLored chaMpIonShIp

and coLor LIneS

On December 7, 1882, nearly eight hundred sporting men packed Harry Hill’s notorious saloon in Brooklyn to watch Morris Grant—the colored champion of New York—and Professor Charles Hadley—the colored champion of Con- necticut—battle for the colored championship.1 Born in 1837 in St. James, South Carolina, Grant honed his pugilistic skills while working as a bouncer at one of New York’s “popular dives.” During his fighting career, Grant had appeared in a number of sparring benefits, an occasional prizefight, and had “beaten all men of his color who had dared to face him either with the gloves off or on,” but he could not beat Charles Hadley.2 His rival, “Profes- sor” Charles Hadley, coveted the colored championship. From 1880 to 1883, he was the best black bruiser in the business. His honorific moniker, “Pro- fessor”—he always went by Professor—told others he was a skilled pugilist trained in the manly art of self-defense. To be sure, his insistence on being called Professor also represented a reminder to himself, and others, about how far he had come in life. Born a slave in Nashville, Tennessee, in 1846, at a young age Hadley reportedly escaped slavery and migrated to New York. Once free, he worked as a bootblack and then moved to Louisville in 1862 to jockey for the famed race horseman, Capt. T. G. Moore. In 1868, Hadley moved to Bridgeport, Connecticut, where he started taking boxing lessons. A year later, he had his first bare-knuckle fight against Edward Harrick.3 Although Hadley had been boxing since 1869, he did not get his big break until he faced Grant for the championship. When the bell sounded for the Grant–Hadley match, “Hadley rushed at his man, hitting left and right, and driving Grant all over the stage, pound-

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col or e d ch a mp ionship a nd col or l ine s · 93

ing and thumping him with no intervals until Grant fell all in a heap on the floor.” In the second round, Hadley continued his furious fighting and knocked Grant out of the ring. Brave, but badly beaten, the boxer continued to battle. Hadley dropped him three more times. Grant’s corner man, Charles Cooley, tried to stop the fight by sitting Grant on his stool, but the crowd wanted more action and yelled at Hadley to “give it to him.” The Professor obliged. But before Hadley could finish Grant, Grant fell off his stool to avoid the knockout. Referee Harry Hill declared Hadley the winner and the new colored champion.4 But the night’s festivities were not over. After the fight, Cooley stood in the center of the ring and yelled, “I can lick any 180 pound nigger in the world for $500.” An imposing figure, at 5'11" and 195 pounds, Cooley had limited boxing experience, but a tough attitude. More of a street fighter than a pugilist, he had “distinguished himself in many ‘skirmishes’ about town with men who had some pretensions to fight.”5 But he could not lick a trained fighter like Hadley. The Professor coolly walked over to his adversary and decked him. Cooley got up, and Hadley knocked him down again. During the ruckus somebody handed Cooley a revolver; fortunately, before Cooley could shoot, the police grabbed him and threw him out on the street.6

The roots of the Colored Championship started a year prior, from a chal- lenge involving honor, boxing, and black manhood. On January 6, 1882, Professor Hadley sent a letter to the New York Herald about a recent slight he had received from “several colored boxers.” Hadley wrote, “seeing a challenge from several colored boxers to meet me, I take this method of informing them that I will be at Johnny Saunder’s benefit, on Thursday afternoon, January 12, at Harry Hill’s Theatre, prepared to spar any of them, [Morris] Grant or [Charles] Cooley preferred.” He signed his letter, “Champion Colored Boxer of Connecticut.”7 Hadley’s challenge had all the signs of the manly bravado of the sporting culture and prizefighting. He demonstrated the importance of publicly responding to a challenge, named his potential opponent, and coolly let his adversaries know where he wanted to fight. Because Hadley called out Morris Grant, the best black heavyweight in New York, Grant had to show up prepared to fight or risk being shamed as a coward. As expected of him, Grant arrived. He demanded the two men battle for $25. Hadley had to put his money where his mouth was.8 This was a business meeting. The two “Black Buffers” fought an entertaining four-round draw. Two weeks after the first Grant–Hadley bout, Richard K. Fox of the National Police Gazette established the Colored Championship Tournament. The rules were simple;

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the boxer who defeated three opponents during the year would receive a gold medal worth $100 dollars and claim the championship. But Fox had another motive behind starting the tournament. Fox had revenge on his mind and wanted to create a black foe for a white man. The previous year, John L. Sullivan, a heavyweight contender at the time, embarrassed Fox at a sporting saloon when he denied Fox’s request to drink with him. Fox never forgave that slight. From the moment Sullivan won the championship in February 1882, Fox used his newspaper to bring down the Boston slugger. He looked for, and promoted, black challengers to defeat Sullivan.9 What better way was there to disrespect a racist Irish American pugilist then to find a black man to challenge his claim to masculine author- ity? Thus, from its inception, the colored championship stood as a challenge to white manhood. And the black fighter understood this. From 1882 to 1908, the black champions—Charles Hadley, George Godfrey, Peter Jackson, Bob Armstrong, Frank Childs, and Jack Johnson—represented the best black bruisers in the business. Although denied true social equality, black pugilists used the colored championship, and the pursuit of that title, to prove their equality with white men. Challenging the white champion sig- nified a front to white supremacy in the ring and American society outside the ropes. Getting the white champion in the ring, however, was a difficult process. White men hid behind the color line. The color line in boxing indicated who had and did not have racial privi- leges. In 1882, when Sullivan won the title, he knew enough about race, power, and privilege to proclaim that he would never fight a black man. As Sullivan once told Godfrey, “George, when I get ready to fight rats, dogs, pigs and niggers, I’ll give you the first chance.”10 Sullivan’s racist stance established the valuable link between whiteness, privilege, and sports, and his preju- dice built an insurmountable barrier for black boxers. He used his cham- pionship status to achieve what historian Gail Bederman has called “public power.”11 While many sportswriters questioned his stance on the color line, scribes also sympathized with Sullivan’s racial rights. As one white writer put it: “Suppose John should go down before black fists—but that cannot be thought of. The American eagle would go off and starve itself to death.”12 In short, the heavyweight championship stood for white supremacy, and if a white fighter lost the title, it would cause a racial upheaval to social order. Every white heavyweight champion followed Sullivan’s lead, until 1908, when Tommy Burns sold his privilege for $30,000. After Johnson beat Burns for the championship, in a well-known story, the white press searched for a white hope to defeat Johnson. By 1912, however, without any credible white

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fighters save the race, white sportswriters subsequently turned black pugilists Joe Jeannette and Sam Langford into black hopes. Although their presence would persist in threatening white masculinity, Jeannette and Langford had so-called “good black” qualities that whites could momentarily live with until a white man could regain the crown.

george godFrey, John L. SuLLIvan, and racIaL authorIty

Hadley’s championship status made the Professor a marked man. Cincinnati’s Henry Woodson, Boston’s George Godfrey, and Saginaw, Michigan’s C.A.C. Smith descended on New York to fight Hadley. Unlike Sullivan, Hadley un- derstood that his role as champion was to face all worthy challengers. For his first title defense, he easily defeated Woodson. Woodson, who won the first round and surprised Hadley with his defensive dexterity, lost stamina by the third round and had to quit the fight to avoid a brutal beating. After the fight, Hadley boldly yelled, “Fetch on some more niggers and I will down them all.”13 Assuming that Hadley actually called his opponents “niggers,” it is important to ask, what did he mean by “fetch on some more niggers”? As a noted professor of pugilism, did Hadley make a class distinction between himself and other black fighters? Was he appeasing a white audience? Did a white writer embellish this part? That part is not clear. But his insistence on fighting black men is clear. Hadley had been around boxing long enough to know that white men cowardly hid behind the color line. The last time Had- ley challenged a white fighter—Troy’s Dick Egan in March 1882—the fighter refused to fight him or any black man.14 The Professor understood that in the business of boxing, it was easier to arrange fights with black men. He wanted the money, other black men wanted his title, and so he was prepared to “down them all.” But his determination to “down them all” would be his downfall. He only held the title for two months. George Godfrey came calling. The racial symbolism of the Godfrey–Hadley championship fight in Febru- ary 1883 was pronounced and prophetic, as it foreshadowed the powerless- ness the black champion had in the face of white racism. As the two black boxers battled for the championship, John L. Sullivan, in his white power, privilege, and prejudice, performed as the peacekeeper. The racist Sullivan relished the role of referee and the authority the title brought, knowing full well that he would never give either man a chance at his championship. Sul- livan declared Godfrey the winner that night, but Godfrey could not have known the depth of Sullivan’s racism. He still believed he had a shot at the title. Three years prior, when both he and Godfrey were up-and-coming

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96 . ch a p t e r 4

fighters in Boston, the two men had been in the ring ready to battle, when police stopped the fight for suspicious reasons. Godfrey remembered, “the place was full at $2 a head, and after Sullivan had been rubbed down one of Sullivan’s friends went out and brought in a policeman from Howard St. . . . The policeman said to Sullivan ‘I know you, you are a South end fellow, and if I were you I would not spar.” After his conversation with the policeman, Sullivan surprisingly left the building.15 Sullivan would referee black fighters, where he stood as a symbol of au- thority, but he would never give a black man a chance at true equality. In July 1883, for example, when he heard people making a fuss about C.A.C. Smith as his new challenger, Sullivan told a newspaper, “I won’t fight a darky for there is no credit in licking a coon.” White sportswriter John B. McCormick took Sullivan to task for his attitude. McCormick believed boxing helped define white power, and he argued Sullivan had to establish the “superiority of the Caucasian race over the negro race.” McCormick also remarked, “By the way, if Sullivan’s reply to the darky Smith who wants to fight him for the championship is correctly reported John L has queer ideas on the subject of his ‘rights and privileges.’”16 But as a white champion, Sullivan knew exactly what his “rights and privileges” were. He did not have to fight black men. As champion, Sullivan even took the racial and social authority that de- rived from his physical prowess to determine who was and was not black. And that meant trouble for Mervine Thompson, an octoroon who was passing as white. Not much is known about Thompson’s life prior to his first visit to Boston in June 1883, when, as a Canadian wrestler named Patrick O’Donnell, he tried to pass as a white man and entered in a wrestling tournament, but available documents provide glimpses into his “colored” past.17 According to the 1870 census, he was born in 1854 in Virginia—it is not known whether slave or free—and Thompson, who claimed he lost his dad and his brothers in the Civil War, lived with a white man, James Webster, in Pavilion, New York, laboring as a farmer.18 The census enumerator, who had special instruction to “be particularly careful in reporting the class Mulatto . . . because important scientific results depend on the correct determination of this class,” marked Thompson as black.19 Ten years later, however, Thompson’s racial status had changed, and the enumerator had marked him as a white man before chang- ing Thompson’s designation to mulatto.20 Even Sullivan was confused by Thompson’s racial ambiguity. In February 1884 after Thompson, “the only man in the country to-day to have a chance to successfully meet Mr. John L. Sullivan,” challenged the champion, Sullivan said he had to wait for confirmation before accepting the challenge, because he

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had heard a rumor that Thompson had “negro blood in his veins.”21 Sullivan only had a rumor to go on, but that was enough for him to delay a battle. If Sullivan broke his stance on the color line, especially to a supposed octoroon, it would destroy both the social capital he owned as the champion and the mystique of whiteness. Despite the fact Sullivan had initial reservations about Thompson’s race, most of the sporting public saw him as a white man. Thompson used fighting to pass, and knew that battling black boxers high- lighted his whiteness.22 Thompson’s first fight against a black opponent oc- curred in March 1884 against C.A.C. Smith. After he beat Smith, the Boston Globe’s headline read, “Knocking out a Negro,” while the Cleveland Plain Dealer reported, “Colored Champion Knocked Out.” The New Orleans Pica- yune labeled the match “Thompson, the Cleveland Sullivan, Knocks Out the Colored Champion,” and the San Francisco Bulletin’s headline read, “A Glove Fight and a Butting Negro,” in reference to reports that Smith tried to head-butt Thompson. While some headlines treated Thompson as racially ambiguous, that is to say they did not label his color, others treated him as a white man. The St. Paul Globe’s title read, “Smith, the Negro has Grit, but was no match for the White Bruiser.” The Omaha Bee said “A White Knocks out a Negro at Cleveland,” and the Fort Worth Gazette’s headline labeled the fight, “A Rough and Tumble Sparring Match in Ohio between a White Man and a Negro.”23 With his thrashing of Smith, Thompson was well on his way to becoming a celebrated white figure—a god that history would not for- get—but Sullivan had the championship title, and thus the social capital. On May 3, 1884, despite a public that had already accepted Thompson as a white man, Sullivan publicly charged Thompson with being black. In an interview with the Louisville Courier Journal, the reporter asked Sullivan if he would “lick” Thompson in the street. Sullivan replied, “That’s a d——d lie. I have never done anything like that in the seven years that I’ve been in the profession and I ain’t going to begin now. I’ll meet that nigger anytime he wants to meet me but on the street I would pass him by, just the same as I would pass the dirt on the street.” The idea that Thompson was a “nigger” caught the reporter by surprise, and he followed up by asking if Thompson was a “Nigger.” Sullivan answered, “I’ve never seen him, but one of the boys seen him in Boston when he was wrestling there and they say he’s a nigger. He’s been charged with it and never denied it. In Boston he went by the name of O’Donnell, but they say his real name’s Thompson.”24 Charging somebody with being black without proof was considered libel, but Sullivan, the cham- pion, had the power to act on a mere rumor, and his authoritative assertion had a long-lasting impact on Thompson’s life.25

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98 . ch a p t e r 4

This was the type of man Godfrey was up against when he claimed the colored championship in February 1883 and sought to fight Sullivan for the world championship. A man so staunch in his racism, he would go to great lengths to assert and determine someone’s masked blackness. Godfrey had no chance of getting into the ring with Sullivan. Sullivan’s racism notwithstanding, Godfrey would much rather fight white men. After all, as he once claimed, “I am satisfied to fight white men. They are easier whipped.”26 But getting a white man to fight him took some doing. White men could always hide behind the color line. To get a white fighter into the ring, Godfrey relied on the idea that publicly challenging his mas- culinity would push him to fight. In 1887, during Godfrey’s negotiations with Jack Ashton, Ashton kept insisting on fighting for $1,000, despite the fact Godfrey wanted to battle for $500, the largest amount he could find back- ing for. Sensing that Ashton was avoiding the match, Godfrey went to the Police Gazette to draw him out. Godfrey argued, “I learn that Jack Ashton won’t fight me for less than $1,000 a side and $1,000 gate receipts. I also see that in the same papers he offers to meet Pat Kilrain and other fighters for $1,000 a side alone. Now what is the difference? Why can’t he meet me on those terms? He is either afraid to fight me or else hasn’t got any money. I have all the money I want and would like to have a go at him.”27 There could not have been a worse insult than for a black man to question the manli- ness of a white man. Although it took another two years to get Ashton into the ring—and a year after Godfrey lost his colored championship—when Godfrey and Ashton battled in 1889, the Black Bostonian knocked him out in the fourteenth round to win $1,200.28 After the Ashton victory, although no longer the champion, Godfrey con- tinued to see his fight purses against white sluggers soar. In 1890, he faced the talented Patsy Cardiff and the credible “Denver” Ed Smith, and he won $1,500 and $1,800, respectively. The following year he battled his old nemesis Jack Kilrain in San Francisco for $8,500. Although Godfrey lost a hard-fought forty-four-round battle, he earned $1,000 for his troubles. Because he fought gamely, he still could command a fair price for his skills, and in 1892 he bested Joe Lannon for $2,200, and he lost to the Jewish American star Joe Choynski in a $5,000 match. In 1894, the Irish champion Peter Maher knocked him out, and Godfrey took home the losers’ share of a $1,200 contest.29 For white men, the aged Godfrey was still a credible contestant, but not as dangerous a proposition as other black fighters, so many felt they could lift their color line to battle him. As the colored champion, Godfrey only defended his title three times against black men. He battled McHenry Johnson twice—once in 1884 for

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$250 and another time in 1888 for $750—and lost to Peter Jackson, the “Black Prince,” in 1888 in a $1,400 contest. Jackson was too big, fast, and skilled for Godfrey. He had his man by twenty-five pounds and used his weight advan- tage and fistic prowess to pummel Godfrey for nineteen rounds. After he won the championship, Jackson had no desires to defend his title. He only engaged in exhibitions against black men and did not give them a shot at his championship. Jackson wanted the world heavyweight championship. He wanted to fight white men.

the BLack prInce and whIte prIvILege

For four years, Jackson tried to get Sullivan into the ring, but the white cham- pion did not budge. Jackson even had members of the white press supporting his cause. A writer for the New York Sun argued, “there must be no bigotry in champions’ methods. They cannot be choosers anymore than can beggars. There can therefore be no professional tolerance of Mr. SULLIVAN’S refusal to contest the fistic palm with the Australian black man, Jackson, who has just wiped the Pacific Slope with JOSEPHUS McAULIFFE.” According to the Sun writer, not only had Tom Cribb famously fought the black Ameri- can Tom Molineaux in 1810 for the heavyweight championship, but he also added, “the whole history of warfare shows that it admits of no color line. White men have not only fought face to face with negroes, as in the case of the British against the Zulus at Isandlwana, but they have fought shoulder to shoulder with them, as at the recent battle of Suaka [sic], where the black troops were particularly mentioned for bravery.” The writer continued with his diatribe, reminding readers, “the Constitution forbids any discrimina- tion against the dark skin.”30 Sullivan did not care about the Constitution; he cared about his white privilege. Despite his black skin, Jackson’s disposition made whites momentarily content with his potential championship. Speaking about a potential fight between Jackson and Sullivan, the Inter Ocean gleaned, “There can be now no question that Sullivan is the finest specimen of brute strength in man at pres- ent time in America, unless the exception be made in favor of Peter Jackson, whom, forsooth, the champion refuses to meet, because he is a colored man.” But unlike Sullivan, Jackson was “a temperate, sober, unassuming fighter and not a drunken bully who frequently disgraces and degrades the nobles fight of nature.”31 In other words, he was a “good black,” a black man with a white soul, many said. Whites believed they did not have to worry about Jackson challenging white superiority, because he knew his place. White writers fre- quently regarded Jackson with having black skin, but a white soul.32 Trevor

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100 . ch a p t e r 4

Wignall, a white boxing writer from the 1920s, reflected, “Even to-day he is frequently called the whitest black man who ever lived.” On another occa- sion Wignall concluded, Jackson “was black only in hue; otherwise he was as white as snow.”33 But a white soul was not a white skin, and character only counted for so much. Sentiments could not trump Sullivan’s feelings of racial privilege. The only way he would fight Jackson, Sullivan concluded, was if he could “fight the nigger with nothing but a baseball bat.”34 Jackson did not have any rights that Sullivan needed to respect. Sullivan’s overt racism toward Jackson, however, irritated the respectable sensibilities of the black press. In comparing Jackson to Sullivan, the India- napolis Freeman remarked, “Peter Jackson, unlike our country’s blowhard and ‘ham’ actor, John L. Sullivan, is a gentleman and a fighter.” The editor also argued, “MR. JOHN L. SULLIVAN, the ‘bean eating’ gladiator, of Boston, objects to standing up before a Negro. All right, nobody objects but coming from a man instead of an animal, how silly and purile [sic] such an objection would seem.”35 They saw Jackson as a middle-class black hero, and the black press hoped that one day their class would trump their race. If Jackson could get over on whites, then so could the black middle class. Sullivan’s ardent racism, however, reinforced to the black middle class the unbendable power of the color line. In hopes of enticing Sullivan into the ring, Jackson kept fighting the best white fighters.36 In May 1891, Jackson fought one of the most critical con- tests of his career when he contested San Francisco native “Gentleman” Jim Corbett for $10,000. Although, for three years, Corbett had drawn the color line against Jackson, Corbett momentarily sidestepped his personal Jim Crow system, because he believed that a victory over Jackson would net him a match against Sullivan. He was right. Corbett’s sixty-one-round no-contest with Jackson—the club stopped the fight because neither man had enough energy to finish off his opponent—convinced white fans that Corbett was worthy of a title shot. In September 1892, Corbett outclassed Sullivan to win the championship. Jackson wasted very little time in challenging the new champion. Jack- son believed that Corbett had forfeited his racial privileges when he fought him the first time, and thus he could not cite the color line. Jackson told a London reporter, “If Sullivan had worsted Corbett I would have nothing to say, for I know that Sullivan declines to meet colored men. But it is not so with Corbett . . . I am willing to fight anywhere except in towns where the color line is drawn.”37 For his part, during a shouting match with Australian heavyweight Joe Goddard, Corbett claimed he was not hiding, and he told

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Goddard, “I’ll fight Jackson, as soon as he gets ready, for any amount he wants.”38 In July 1893 Jackson’s manager, Parson Davies, signed articles of agreement with Corbett for a match to take place after Corbett’s battle with white contender Charles Mitchell. The articles also stipulated the fight had to be above the Mason-Dixon line.39 The following January, Corbett knocked out Mitchell, opening the gate for the Jackson bout. Whiteness had its privileges. A few months after Corbett defeated Mitchell, Corbett reminded Jackson about the limits of a black man’s racial rights in the ring. In an interview, Corbett stated, “in view of what has passed in pugilism, Peter Jackson, on account of his color, ought to feel highly flattered that I ever recognized him as a fighter.”40 But Corbett was not done yet. The cham- pion claimed he would fight Jackson, but insisted on battling in Jacksonville, Florida. He knew Jackson feared the possibility of southern racial violence and would not fight in the South. If Jackson changed his mind and agreed to fight in the South, Jim Crow would constantly embarrass the proud black man. In the end, on account of his racial pride, Jackson refused to fight. He told a reporter, “It is pretty plain that all this is merely an advertising dodge of Corbett’s. I am tired of being a party to it, and I quit right here.”41 Corbett, however, used Jackson’s prideful refusal as an opportunity to label Jackson as an uppity black man. “The truth of the matter,” Corbett said, “is that this man hates Americans because he is not allowed to pose and strut about and be looked up to and worshipped as he is on the other side of the water.” After more character-damaging words, Corbett concluded, “Peter is a coward.”42 Waiting for Corbett to fight, however, effectively ended Jackson’s career. The distraught Jackson did not fight until 1898 when he needed the money. In the interim, his muscles grew soft, dissipating from heavy drinking. He died in 1901 of tuberculosis.

BoB arMStrong, Frank chILdS, and whIte Fear

During Parson Davies’s tenure as Jackson’s manager, Davies learned that he could make money by marketing a muscular black man as a white champion’s foe. At the peak of Jackson’s career, Jackson was one of the most marketable fighters on three continents. Everywhere he went fans—white and black— mobbed him. During the 1890s, only three other fighters—Jim Corbett, Bob Fitzsimmons, and George Dixon—could match Jackson’s appeal. Davies be- lieved that a credible black fighter in Jackson’s mold could re-create that star power. In 1895, Davies found a new man to do the trick and crowned Iowa’s Bob Armstrong the colored champion.

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Like other black champions, Armstrong had a tough upbringing. Born the son of ex-slaves in Rogersville, Tennessee, in 1873 his family abandoned a Tennessee plantation and a life as sharecroppers and migrated to Wash- ington, Iowa, where his dad, Roger, found work on a farm. In Washington, Armstrong attended school until the fourth grade when he got “‘too big’ to go to school.” He found work helping with the trotting horses, and he labored at the racetracks in Des Moines and Minneapolis until he realized he could not make a living working the tracks. “Finding that ‘swiping horses’ wasn’t a profitable occupation,” Armstrong claimed he “took one of those side door sleepers [empty box cars] and proceeded to Des Moines. That’s where my career as a fighter started.” Desperate for money, he had his first prizefight in 1894, when a white man, Bill Crockett, walked into a bar and challenged any man to a fight. The $1.50 Armstrong earned after he whipped his white opponent convinced Armstrong to change his career path.43 Armstrong’s size, 6'3" and 200 pounds of ripped muscles, deservedly caught the media’s attention. He reminded whites of Peter Jackson. After his knock- out victory over black Chicagoan Will Mayo in 1897, the Chicago Tribune glowingly wrote, “The big colored man is a copy in some respects of Peter Jackson; has a low guard, a piston rod movement of the arms, and is especially

The Los Angeles Herald mocks the color and size of Bob Armstrong as a typically skinny Sambo character. At the time, Armstrong was known for his muscularly defined body. (1898, Los Angeles Herald)

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quick at whipping in the right at close quarters.”44 Ex-fighter Dan Creedon added, “If I ever told the truth in my life it wouldn’t surprise me a bit to see this Armstrong come to be champion heavyweight of the world.”45 In an ar- ticle entitled, “Parson Davies’s Colored Hercules,” the San Francisco Call told readers Armstrong “is a wonderful human structure, built on the same lines as Peter Jackson, whom he resembles greatly in features. He is not so clever as Peter, but he is shifty and is apt in learning.”46 Unfortunately, too much press, and excessive fawning over his physical prowess, hurt Armstrong’s potential profits. White fighters got scared. The real revenue was in fighting credible white men, but the more press a black pugilist received, the more his chances of reaping financial rewards diminished because he became a threat to a white manhood. Top white fighters who believed they were on the cusp of fighting for a championship would not risk their luster against a credible black foe. As a Philadelphia pro- moter acknowledged, when top white fighters “found out they were to meet Armstrong they immediately drew the color line.”47 In 1897, at the height of Armstrong’s fame, Davies complained, “As to Bob Armstrong, my colored heavyweight, he cannot get a match on account of the color line being drawn. Big Jim Jeffries of California, and Ruhlin, the ‘Dutch’ giant of Akron, O., have drawn the line of color. Jeffries has fought colored men, but they were not as big or good as Armstrong. You can readily see why these pugilists draw the safety line.”48 In fact, Jeffries—an up and coming heavyweight during Armstrong’s short reign as colored champion—did not fight Armstrong until after Armstrong lost his championship. The color line forced Armstrong to face tough black competition if he wanted to make a living fighting, and black men were always ready to take on the challenge, especially Frank Childs. On January 29, 1898, Davies matched Armstrong with his sparring partner, Childs. Childs, whom the San Fran- cisco Chronicle once described as “strong as an ox and his muscular devel- opment around the chest and arms is something out of the common,” had been a popular boxer in New Mexico and in California before making his way to Chicago in 1893.49 But Childs struggled to find meaningful work in the ring and had to settle for work as Armstrong’s sparring partner. As the supposed “sure loser” in his championship bout with Armstrong, in Janu- ary 1898, Childs only earned $20. To everyone’s surprise, “The local pugilist shattered the newspaper fame and pugilistic aspirations of ‘Parson’ Davies’ world challenger.” The next month, Childs and Armstrong had a rematch in Cincinnati. At that time, the city was using boxing, much like it used base- ball, to booster its reputation, and the Childs–Armstrong match was center- piece to those plans. Before the match, a local writer described Armstrong,

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admiring, “His enormous height is apparent only on contrast, so perfectly is he proportioned. He is on the greyhound order, but superbly muscled.”50 He was five inches taller than Childs, but his left jab, the only punch he seemed to have the night of their rematch, could not get in. Childs spent six rounds ducking under the jab, getting inside, throwing lefts to the breadbasket, and then coming upstairs with a well-placed right to the jaw. In the sixth round, desperate to improve his chances, Armstrong rushed his man, but Childs caught him with a perfect punch. Armstrong “staggered and wabbled [sic] sideways to the ropes. He was like a crippled rooster in the pit. He went fly- ing around the ring, first leaning to one side and then on the other.” When he stood up, Childs caught him with a left and wobbled him again. His manager “humanely threw up the sponge.” With that defeat, Armstrong’s hopes at the heavyweight title “collapsed” like “a toy balloon punctured with the point of a needle.”51 As the new colored champion, Childs’s victory should have produced profits, but race restricted his revenue. White men feared him too. Accord- ing to a Chicago writer, Childs “never had a chance—that the fact that he is black and poor without the fight of talk or a clever manager had kept him down fighting for what little he could pick up around the city.” The paper also noted, “Childs is a powerfully built, very black, good-humored negro, standing about 5 feet 9 ½ [inches], weighing 165 pounds. . . . He is a comedian and a clown in the ring and seldom seems to exert himself in battle.” The re- porter continued, “All his clowning, however, is but a mask for a punch that is as hard as a cannon-shot, as quick as a flash of lighting. If he would settle down to business, train hard and fight with care, the man could whip the best of them at his weight, barring Joe Choynski.”52 Childs went undefeated in the ring from 1895 to 1902, and held the colored championship for four years, but he never received the financial windfall he deserved.

Jack JohnSon eraSeS the coLor LIne

There was something about the skinny kid from Galveston, Texas, that cap- tured boxing writers’ imagination. In 1900, for example, after seeing Johnson beat the black fighter Josh Mills (Ohio) in Memphis, a local reporter described the action: “Hammer and tongs are naught. Sledge hammers and pile-drivers and catapults are nearer to the mark.” In that bout, Johnson, a 10–3 favorite, knocked his man down in every round, and twice in the sixth round. From the opening gong, Mills, while clever and aggressive, had no answers for Johnson’s defense and counterpunches. Johnson was, even at that green stage of his ca-

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reer, a skilled defensive fighter that most heavyweights could only hope to be. Johnson, the reporter sized up, “is a threat against any negro heavyweight in this country.” A month later, after Johnson defeated “Klondike” John Haines in Memphis, the same writer announced, “Johnson is likely to become the best colored heavy-weight in the country,” and added, “For a negro he has an intel- ligent face.”53 The writer, however, also cautioned that Johnson would have to be more aggressive in the ring, a common critique of Johnson throughout his career. “Johnson lacks but one thing that is useful in his business, and that is a knockout blow. He will have to develop one before he achieves distinction in the ring. If his hands were as fast as his feet he would be a dangerous con- tender for the championship honors.” To be sure, Johnson’s counterpunches and precise uppercuts were worse than a one-punch knockout for his opponents. The barrage of punches, combined with his impregnable defense, suffocated and smothered his opponents. In his Memphis fight with “Klondike,” Johnson closed his opponents’ eye early in the fight and continued to wallop Haines in the eye, forcing the young black fighter to quit. Johnson finally received his coveted chance at the colored championship in 1902. Coming into his match against Frank Childs in Los Angeles, most local experts did not give Johnson a chance. “Built on the plan of an ebony Hercules, possessing a bull neck and tremendous biceps,” Childs had not lost a fight in seven years. The Los Angeles Express reasoned that “when a man who has not made any more of a national reputation than Johnson, be he ever so good a fighter, goes against the colored champion of the world, it is to be expected that he will be on the short end of the betting.”54 But Johnson was ready for this fight. This one was personal. When Johnson first started in the business, and had traveled to Chicago in the late 1890s, Childs hired Johnson as a sparring partner. “Frank didn’t have a dollar to pay me, but he bestowed on me the title of ‘head trainer,’ which had a nice ring to it! Since we didn’t have enough money to rent two rooms, I slept in the bed with Frank.” One night, however, when Childs’s wife arrived in town, Childs put Johnson out in the snow. Johnson remembered, “I didn’t have enough in my pocket to pay for a five-cent bed. I spent the rest of the night wandering the streets, in the rain, sometime stopping in a doorway for a bit of shelter until I heard a policeman’s footsteps. Then I would start walking again.” Johnson never forgot that moment. When he faced Childs for the championship in Los Angeles, he was “merciless.” “I gave it to him good for a full thirteen rounds, hitting him like a hammer hits an anvil,” he said. Johnson won.55 No colored champion understood his economic worth more than John- son. He first asserted his economic power and privileges when he negotiated

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his second title defense against Sam McVey. Their first contest in February 1903—a victory for Johnson—received a lot of fanfare, and the public clam- ored for a rematch. “In the Johnson-McVey fight,” the Los Angeles Express reasoned, “the public will be given the greatest card in the pugilistic world today, with the possible exception of a fight between Jeffries and a white man who is in his class. But such a man is not to be found at this time, so the Johnson-McVey contest follows as the next highest on the card.”56 Johnson recalled that after the first McVey fight, “several critics went so far as to say that the two of us had been equal and that only chance could have made the scales tip in favor of one or the other. . . . This opinion put forth by certain journalists encouraged Sam and his partisans. From the minute they heard it, they were eager to sign for a rematch with me.” Knowing this, Johnson “waited only for the necessary funds to be raised to offer me a sufficiently large purse.”57 Although the local promoter, “Uncle Tom” McCarey, believed he had a sure deal with Johnson, Johnson turned to clubs in San Francisco to create a bidding war until McCarey guaranteed to pay for both fighters’ expenses and guaranteed $4,000 for the fighters to split. Johnson got what he wanted.58 Like his predecessors, Johnson wanted to use the colored championship as a springboard to take on the white champion. During his reign as champion, Johnson battled some of the best black fighters in the history of the sport, but he also believed it was his right to fight Jeffries for the championship. By 1903, a number of writers on the West Coast supported Johnson’s challenge. The Los Angeles Times claimed, “The public, through the daily newspapers, demands a fight for the championship on behalf of Jack Johnson. Jeffries must heed the call.”59 A local writer predicted, “A match between [Johnson] and Jeffries would attract the attention of the entire world.”60 San Francisco promoters also tried to persuade Jeffries to fight Johnson. In December 1903, San Francisco’s leading fight promoter, “Sunny Jim” Coffroth, traveled to New York to convince Jeffries to cross the color line. Coffroth told Jeffries that Johnson was the only man San Francisco sports wanted to see him battle; however, the champ did not budge.61 Two months later, Jeffries told a reporter, “You can’t make it ‘too strong.’ I don’t think the public wants me to defend my title against any one but a white man. Don’t think I am afraid of a negro. I’m not. They can be licked just as easily as anybody else. I simply have promised myself that I would fight only white men, and I won’t break my word.”62 Although Jeffries had battled black fighters in the past—Hank Griffin, Peter Jackson, and Bob Armstrong—Jeffries stayed true to his word. He retired in 1905, after he dispensed all suitable white men.

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The two white champions that followed Jeffries, Marvin Hart and Tommy Burns, failed to carry the mantle of white greatness. Hart, a lackluster heavy- weight and a Kentucky native, who earned a controversial decision over John- son in March 1905 before he won the championship, told fans in Louisville, “Johnson can keep on challenging till he is white in the face. That is all the good it will do him. I never wanted to fight a black man, but was forced into a meeting with him and then defeated him soundly. Johnson will not get any other chance.”63 Luckily for Johnson, Hart talked better than he fought. His reign as a champion was short-lived. He lost his title to Burns the follow- ing year. Burns, a Canadian, coveted the money more than the champion- ship. In a well-known story, Johnson chased the elusive championship until 1908, when Burns finally dropped the color line. Johnson easily demolished Burns.64 Like his white predecessors, Johnson had no plans to fight black men. He only wanted white foes.

whIte preSS, BLack hopeS

Between 1908 and 1912, Johnson’s ability to defeat all credible white oppo- nents put the white press in a bind. No white man could beat him. When white hope Frank Moran lost in 1911 to a second-rate white fighter named Joe Savage, the New York Times dejectedly wrote, “The army of the ‘white hopes’ suffered another drop in its membership roll last night when Frank Moran of Pittsburg drew his discharge papers and qualified as a bona fide member of the Order of Exploded Phenoms.”65 To pile on the problem, white heavyweights could not defeat any of the top black challengers, Sam Langford, Joe Jeannette, and Sam McVey. R. H. Cain of the Philadelphia Record point- edly stated, “This agitation over the heavyweight championship among the white heavies may develop some really good man, for the reward for effort in that line is well paid nowadays, but there will always be shivers running down the backs of these ambitious heavy-weights as long as Sam Langford is running loose.”66 Knowing this reality, some writers argued that white hopes “should not go any further than the white race.”67 In 1911, Boxing, a weekly magazine in London, nervously reported, “We [white people] don’t seem to have advanced much further in our investigations as to the identity of the white man who is to wrest the crown of supremacy from the colored race.” The writer declared, “We want a real good man, too and we want him badly. With Sam McVey making almost an even break of it with Langford, the four top places must be conceded to the representatives of the colored race. . . . Either could almost certainly have disposed, with ease, of the very best white

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man in the world, and the conclusion is not a very gratifying one.”68 A New York Globe writer weighed in on the situation and complained, “It will not be long before the white hope class will be as hopeless as it was the evening that Jim Jeffries took the count at Reno. Over the big stretch of the world there does not appear a white man who is capable of giving Jack Johnson even a little bit of a run for his title.”69 For the black press, the whole ordeal of the white hope was laughable. Lester Walton wrote, “Finding a ‘white hope,’ one who will be able to pro- vide Champion ‘Jack’ Johnson at least several rounds of lively entertainment, seems to be a hopeless task these days.” Walton continued, “Each week ush- ers in a new ‘white hope’ who, after he has given an exhibition of his fistic prowess, is ushered out of the back door in a woeful state, both mentally and physically, and with all the aspiration he once possessed relative to some day being Johnson’s antagonist shattered and as badly damaged as the ambitious one’s physiognomy.”70 Another black writer joked, “It is a hard pill for some of these weak kneed sore headed white sports to swallow, but what can they do? There is no one in sight to beat Johnson and besides, we have several other dangerous blacks who can beat any of the present white hopes.”71 In their mockery of the white hope, one headline for the Philadelphia Tribune read, “White Hopes Not Safe Until Langford in Jail,” while another headline mocked, “Other Black Boxers Better Than Pale Skins.” In the latter article, the writer concluded, “And another thing sticks out prominently when we are told to hope for the early return of supremacy of the white race. There are exactly three large clouds on the horizon that must be taped before such a situation can be brought about. These clouds are labeled Jeannette, Lang- ford, and McVey . . . but alas and alack, there isn’t a white person in sight who stands the ghost of a chance with them.”72 Without a quality white hope on the horizon, what options did whites have? The white press saw the same racial reality. In a 1912 article entitled “Jack Johnson’s Successor Will Probably Not Be a White Fight,” Cleveland Plain Dealer writer J. P. Garvey argued that McVey, Langford, and Jeannette were the best fighters, and “the white hopes are not experienced enough to beat either of these stellar negroes.”73 In hopes of wresting the title away from Johnson, whites demanded that Johnson fight one of these fighters. When Johnson drew the color line, so to speak, the press called him a coward for assuming the same rights and privileges white champions had assumed. But Johnson dictated the terms, he had all the power, and Johnson, the son of ex-slaves, would decide who he would fight and for how much money. He made it clear that if promoters wanted him to fight a black man, they would have to offer the same price they gave him to fight a white man, $30,000.

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What did the white press see in Jeannette and Langford that softened the press on the race issue? Like Peter Jackson before him, Jeannette had respect- able qualities that whites could live with. “Although some people look down upon Negroes, no white man ever conducted himself better in any branch of the sport than Joe Jeannette,” reasoned one white writer. Jeannette had “the good will of the white people” and was a credit to his race.74 The New York Sun noted that Jeannette’s features “are more of the Hindu or North American Indian type than the full blooded Negro. His skin is a rich nut brown and when he is in perfect condition it flows with health, which, together with his wonderful muscular structure makes him a sight worth more than a second glance.” Their description of the light-skinned pugilist prompted the black writer Lester Walton to argue, “that Johnson is a Negro without any question of a doubt has always been a source of gratification to me; for had he been even of a dark brown in hue long ago some white writers would have sought to prove that he was other than of Africa extraction.”75 For his part, Jeannette played the role of black hope well. On several oc- casions Jeannette called Johnson a coward, a “moving picture fighter,” and noted “this hop, skip, and jump affairs will not do. He is afraid to meet me because he knows he cannot whip me over a long route.”76 Besides calling out Johnson, Jeannette frequently attached himself to the next great white hope, like Frank Moran, and trained them to battle Johnson. If one of his fighters lost, he found himself another white hope to train.77 Jeannette was not an “Uncle Tom,” but his constant persistence to train white hopes fit the personality type that whites wanted to see in blacks. The sight of a big black man sacrificing his championship aspirations for a white fighter reminded whites of the old loyal Negro. This concept of a loyal Negro also rang true with Sam Langford, the “Bos- ton Tarbaby,” who, although vicious in the ring, had a nickname that conjured up images of the old plantation days of the docile Negro. And Langford played the part. At one point, for example, Langford suggested, “I may be colored, but I’ve got a white heart.”78 The press took note. As one Los Angeles writer noted, “Sam Langford has often been called ‘demon’ the ‘cave man,’ the ‘giant killer.’ Judging from these terrible names one might believe to meet Samuel would be taking one’s life in one’s hands. But two-minutes’ conversation with him would dispel the fears of the most timid. Sam is nothing but a real, live, jolly, good-natured man and a real one at that. . . .” “As for being a demon or anything else of that kind,” the writer continued, “that is simply press agent talk. He would not harm a child, he loved children too well.”79 Langford and his white manager, Joe Woodman, smartly used Langford’s first southern venture, a trip to Memphis in January 1910 to fight the “Dixie

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Kid” Aaron Brown, to also make the case about the anti-Johnson black man. They wanted to show that he had the power to defeat Johnson and the docil- ity to be the proper black champion. In the Memphis ring, Langford proved he had the stuff. The white press could not help but to fawn over his body: “When Langford strips, one is surprised at the breadth of his shoulders and his depth through the chest. About the shoulders he’s probably just as big as Jim Jeffries today.”80 Jeffries was nearly five inches taller than Langford. In the ring, Langford proved all business. Against “Dixie Kid” he was so domi- nant and dangerous, the “Dixie Kid” fell down several times in the fight to avoid punches. In the third round, the former welterweight champion was so defeated he tried to stay down for good, but referee Dave Berry kicked him and forced him to his feet. He only lasted two more rounds. But proving his worth in the ring was only half the battle. They had to show white southern- ers that Langford knew his place. Woodman told the Memphis Commercial Appeal that Langford and Johnson were two different types of blacks. Under the byline that read, “Negroes but Different,” Woodman convinced the press that Langford saved his money while Johnson would die a pauper. The paper also noted that Langford bought a house for his black wife in Cambridge, Massachusetts, whereas Johnson was an urban vagabond never willing to settle in his proper place.81 Remarks like that played perfectly in the South. The local writers took notice. One writer observed, “Langford is really the idol of the negro race. He is looked up to in ability fully as much as Johnson, and he is liked better by his race, for he has shown none of the disagreeable traits of the Galveston negro. He is reputed quiet and unassuming, with never a thought of ever being on equal with the white men.”82 If the white hope Jeffries failed, they had their man. For the white press, the issues of race, sex, and marriage were never far from the conversation in context of Johnson and the black hopes. As cham- pion, Johnson laid public claim to his manly authority and openly flaunted the white women in his life. He dressed them lavishly and dared anyone to say anything about his love life.83 If it was true that only another black man could beat Johnson, then that black man had better know his place. Langford knew his place. In 1910, after rumors in Memphis circulated that Langford tried to stay at a white hotel, Woodman claimed, “Langford knows his place. He didn’t try to stop at a white hotel, and even had he wanted to, I wouldn’t have allowed him to queer us by trying to get a room in a big hotel here . . . I was fixed up at the Arlington and he went down to Beale.”84 On the subject of race, thrift, and marriage, a writer for the Picayune noted, “There has been more scandal connected with Jack Johnson since he became prominent in

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pugilism than there was with the names of all the other negro boxers put to- gether.” “Take the case of Jeannette and Langford,” the writer observed, “they are both married men who follow fighting for the sake of earning enough to keep their families as comfortable as they can.” The writer finished by noting that Johnson’s “private life has been such that it has often been wondered that any well-regulated community would stand for him, and he has done more to turn people against black fighters than all the men of his race put together.”85 The quest to make Langford into a black hope, however, did not sit well with the black press. Walton of the New York Age noted, “After searching every nook and corner of the earth for a ‘white hope’ to give Champion Jack Johnson a serious argument at fisticuffs, and all to no good purpose, those most active in this world-wide search have hit upon another plan of

Canadian-born Sam Langford in a fight pose. (1910–1915, Library of Congress)

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attack—to try and recapture the championship title through a black hope.”86 Even though Langford reportedly lived clean and harbored their middle-class values, blacks did not trust Langford as champion. In short, they feared he would be a race traitor. After hearing a rumor that Langford would dope Johnson if they fought, and then let a white man beat him, a writer for the Defender remarked, “To think such a villainous plot should be hatched against our noble Jack, and for one of his own race to participate in it, gives us much pain.” The paper further suggested that Langford had a lot to learn about being a race man, and that “if he will but walk in the noble footsteps of the first colored champion of the world, he will teach these petty whites that the time for buying and selling a Negro has long since passed.” In 1914, after Johnson said he would fight Langford, the Chicago Defender claimed blacks were afraid of Langford and would “have no particular love for him.” The writer also added that rumors suggesting Langford would let a white fighter beat him “make even their [blacks] regard for him grow less.”87 But black contempt toward Langford only lasted until Jess Willard defeated Johnson in April 1915. Soon after Willard became the champion, the Defender promoted Langford as a championship challenger. When whites did not need Langford, however, he went back to being the same savage whites had portrayed him as. Unfortunately for Langford, Willard drew the color line. Even if Willard had not drawn the line himself, the white press would never let him tangle with Langford. In reality, he too presented too many racial problems for white America.

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