BOOK THREE (continued 2)

I did, and at midnight the second day I again put in a call for Broadribb, this time with Jacobs sitting at my side. To what he had already told me, Broadribb now added:

“I have been advised that the German Boxing Commission, the French Federation, and the British Boxing Board of Control have helped Schmeling by recognizing him, not Louis, as the champion, so that our fight will be for the title. How do I know that a Farr-Louis fight will be recognized as a world championship bout under such conditions?”

“Ridiculous,” I answered. “Ted, you’re too smart to be fooled that way. Louis is the champion, and if you defeat Louis you’ll have realized your ambitions. If you have already signed, then I won’t dicker with you any longer. I don’t want to be a party to a broken agreement. Though my sympathy is with Schmeling, who got a raw deal, we can’t get away from facts—Louis is the world titleholder.”

“I have no contract,” replied Broadribb. “Hull has an option on our services but unless he can get Schmeling and he meets the terms upon which the tentative arrangements have been made, there’ll be no fight with Schmeling.”

“What are the terms?” I asked Ted.

“He has offered Farr $30,000, and will advertise the bout for the championship and the fight must take place in London.”

“How would you like to get double that sum, Ted?” I asked.

“Do you mean that, Nat?” he inquired in surprise.

“Yes, Ted,” I said. “Mike Jacobs is sitting here with me, and Mike told me to offer you double any sum you’ve been offered, if you have not signed yet. If you have, he says to call everything off.”

Broadribb could scarcely speak. His voice quivered as he asked me to let the matter ride for another day.

“I’d like to say yes, Nat,” he told me, “but I’m honor-bound to protect Hulls and General Critchley, and unless they fail to do what they have promised, I’m afraid I’ll have to say no until after Farr beats Schmeling which I tell you he’ll surely do.”

“That’ll be too late, Ted,” I answered.

With that, we said good-night, and I waited for two more days before I again heard from Broadribb. This time he called me.

“Nat,” he said, “Hulls has violated our agreement. He was sworn to secrecy on the amount he was to pay Farr for Schmeling, but instead he has given out the story telling what Farr is to get, and that has riled Tommy. I don’t blame him. He’s raising havoc here, saying he’s worth every penny as much as the German, and not, as Hulls announced, half as much. I’ve told Hulls it’s all off. I’m ready to take on Louis for Mike if you say I should.”

Jacobs was again at my side, and I told him the news.

“Clinch the match!” he said. “You’ll share in my promotion.”

And I closed the fight for Mike. I informed Broadribb that we would give Farr $60,000 guarantee, four round trip tickets, and 25 per cent of the movie and radio rights. That news flabbergasted the British manager, who remarked:

“You mean that, Nat? That’s wonderful. Regard it as a deal. The bout is on. I’ll let you handle all matters for me. Tell Mr. Jacobs that he should cable the money for the tickets as soon as I notify him.”

Thus the bout for Farr was arranged. After Broadribb had given his consent, Jacobs wanted me to go to London with Sol Strauss, his lawyer, to sign for the fight, and also to aid Ted and Farr in getting out of the country, as court action was threatened by Syd Hulls and General Critchley. I told Mike I couldn’t make it. Sol Strauss went alone and brought back Farr, and because of that he took all of the credit for making the match. Neither he nor Jacobs would have gotten to first base with Farr, had it not been for me. Farr and Broadribb confirmed that when they arrived for the bout.

Farr, the day after Broadribb had agreed to accept on Tommy’s behalf, called me on the telephone and thanked me. He was overjoyed at the prospect of coming to America, and before we rang off, he said:

“Nat, I’ll lick Louis. I’ll be the next champion. You did me a good turn and I shall not forget it. I’m eagerly awaiting your coming with Mr. Strauss to sign the contract. There’s no chance of a slip-up, is there, Nat?”

I told him that I was not going to England and assured him there wasn’t a chance of a slip-up. Tommy added:

“The opposition here has a story from Germany which is plastered all over the papers, saying that I’m a fool for agreeing to go to America to fight Louis, because only New York, of all the States, has recognized the Negro as champion. The story says that all the commissions except New York have decided that Schmeling is the real titleholder because he had complied with his terms of the agreement for the Braddock fight and Braddock had run out on him.

“If that’s the case,” continued Tommy, “then I don’t want to fight Joe. It’s the champion that I want and whoever he is, Louis or Schmeling, he’s the chap I’m going to fight. Make certain that Louis holds the title before you have Strauss come over to sign me for the fight.”

“Rest easy, Tommy,” I replied. “That story is a phoney. I give you my assurance that every State in the country, New York included, accepts Louis and not Schmeling as the champion. They have placed Max as the leading contender but give the title to Joe. If you think I’m spoofing you, I’ll have a story cabled over by the National Boxing Association within two hours. Cable me when you see it in the papers. If it doesn’t come, then we’ll forget the fight here and you can close the Schmeling deal.”

I immediately called up the Rhode Island headquarters of Ed Foster, executive secretary of the National Boxing Association, and asked him to contact, at my expense, the various executive heads in each state in the N.B.A. as to whom they considered champion. Foster notified the Associated Press, United Press, and all of the other news services within an hour and a half that an executive telegram vote showed that every one of the thirty-one states in the N.B.A. supported Louis. This was cabled to Europe, by the various news agencies, and in about three hours from the time I had talked to Farr, I was on the telephone again, this time with Broadribb, who informed me that all the papers were carrying the correction.

That’s how the Farr-Louis match was clinched. Can you blame me for feeling proud of the fact that it was through my efforts that a British fighter had an opportunity that no Englishman had had since the Corbett-Mitchell fight in 1894?

The Schmeling forces accused me after that of having double-crossed Herr Max, with whom I was “supposedly” very friendly. That was not true. I had always been friendly toward Schmeling and still am, as a matter of fact, having recently visited him in Hamburg. No American writer had done as much as I had editorially to bolster his case before the public and to get him the chance at the title I believed he had earned. When I upset his plans by inducing Farr to come to America, I did so because Max had received ample opportunity to accept a fight with Louis for the championship, but had made no effort to accept. He apparently wanted to get universal recognition without fighting the man who had won the crown by stopping Braddock. He out-smarted himself by ignoring the cables offering him the match, and when he did decide to accept, it was too late, and only if he could receive the champion’s end of the purse, which he knew full well would be unacceptable to Louis and Jacobs.

I know that at one time Jacobs offered Schmeling thirty per cent of the gate, Louis to get the other thirty, but Max scoffed at the terms. Therefore, I can safely say that in this transaction there was nothing that violated the spirit of fair play, no conniving or underhanded dealing. Farr got the match only because Schmeling wouldn’t take it.

Conceded by only a handful of followers to have the semblance of a chance against the Brown Bomber, Farr on August 30, 1937 in the Yankee Stadium surprised all by harassing the champion with a continuous bombardment, something no one other than Schmeling had been able to do throughout Louis’ professional career.

Tommy fought the battle of all true-hearted, courageous Welshmen, but lost the verdict because of Louis’ superior boxing ability. It was the kind of fight that American sportsmen had been accustomed to see when such stalwarts as Jem Driscoll, Freddy Welsh, Jimmy Wilde, and Owen Moran appeared in this country.

As for Jacobs’ agreement with me, he forgot all about his promise after he had Farr signed. Not only did I not share in the profits, but I didn’t even collect what I had spent on trans-Atlantic telephone calls and cables, and on wires to and from the N.B.A. executives.

In many respects Mike Jacobs had a Jekyl and Hyde personality. He was cruel, inhuman at times to his help, particularly when things didn’t turn out the way he had hoped and planned; yet on other occasions, especially when he entertained at home, he couldn’t do enough to make his guests comfortable. I found him a complex character, to say the least. Though he lacked a formal education, he would come up with a knowledge of affairs that many a college professor might envy. A man of ideas, he knew publicity, fights, the stage, and people.

If you decided Mike was too ardent in his pursuit of money, you learned of his many contributions to charity. If you made up your mind that he was just a tough Broadwayite, a graduate of the streets of New York, you discovered after a short stay at his magnificent Rumson Estate—one of the show places of New Jersey—that he loved the country, was proud of his farming, was wild about flowers, and had furnished his home with the very best that money could buy.

Jacobs’ delight in horticultural pursuits and the furnishing of his home provided a striking index to his character. His sumptuous estate was located at Fair Haven, in the exclusive section of the Rumson colony of New Jersey. My brother Jack, who at the time was president of the National Auctioneers Association, had purchased the Shadow Lawn estate of Mr. Parsons, vice-president of the Woolworth Company.

The contents of this luxurious home were put on public auction, and Mike and I visited the estate to make some purchases. To my surprise, he outbid the professionals in buying the cream of its contents, including a forty-foot-long Persian rug worth $30,000, some huge Grecian statues, and several oil paintings. Mike asked me to bid with him against the professionals, and when the bidding was concluded, he had obtained the beautiful rug for $7,800.

“Know what I’m going to do with this?” he asked me. “I’m going to have enough cut off this rug to fit my living room, then I’m going to sell the rest. I’ll get back all I spent here.”

This he did, to the horror of the aesthetes. And when the new deal was completed, Mike had all he needed of the rug in his living room cost-free, while selling the remainder of it for $12,500.

The bathrooms of the Shadow Lawn estate had gold fixtures. Mike bought those to place in his home.

“What was good enough for that house is worth putting in mine,” he told me. “Nobody in Rumson will have anything on Uncle Mike.”

But he never made use of the fixtures. He disposed of them also at a huge profit without moving them. As a result of his shrewd bargaining, Jacobs fitted his home with the best that was in the Parson’s mansion without any cost to himself.

Almost everything Uncle Mike put his hands to seemed to turn to gold. Only a few of the ventures into which he entered failed to return a handsome profit.

When Farr came to America, Mike asked Tommy, Ted Broadribb, several British writers and myself to visit him at Fair Haven. Proudly he took us on a tour, showing us the rare gladioli with which he had won top prizes at the State Fair; beautiful peonies and thousands of the rarest type of American Beauty roses. Just as Mike began to explain how he grew these flowers and why he was so fond of farming, a bulldog belonging to a neighbor, to whom he rented a house, tore out across the garden of roses in pursuit of a cat.

The owner stopped to apologize to Mike.

“You keep that hound leashed or find yourself a new place to live. Those roses are far more important to me than your rent,” Jacobs shouted.

We were on our way to Chicago—Jacobs, Hype Igoe, Murray Lewin, Jimmy Dawson, Jack Miley and myself. Mike held court in his pullman drawing room. There were midnight sandwiches, drinks, card playing, and general conversation until about three o’clock in the morning, when the party broke up and we went to our separate compartments.

At six, there was a knock at my door. It was Mike.

“I’m surprised you’re sleeping so late,” he said. “We’ll pull into Chicago in about three hours. Come on, let’s have some coffee.”

I protested that I had only just gotten to bed.

“You left my room at three didn’t you? Well, it’s six now,” he roared.

I dressed and went to the diner with Mike. The chef was not ready for us, but Jacobs had no difficulty convincing him that it was in his interests to get that coffee up in a hurry, and he did.

Getting up early and going after his coffee was a regular habit with Jacobs. Two nights before the Louis-Braddock fight in Chicago he was jittery and couldn’t sleep. I remained with him until about four in the morning, when I finally broke away and got to my room. Scarcely had I undressed when the telephone rang.

“You’re not in bed yet, are you, Nat?” asked Mike. “Come down and we’ll have some breakfast.” I protested that I was sleepy and had three broadcasts that day and needed some rest.

“What’s the matter with you guys?” he shouted. “You sleep your years away.”

I yawned my way down into the coffee shop where Mike was sitting waiting for me, and we had our breakfast but no sleep.

Yes, a complex character was this many-sided guy off the Coney Island beats. And no matter what my grievances were against him, I always had a fond spot in my heart for him. It’s not likely that we’ll have his like again in the promotion field for many years.