The Memoirs of Émile Vylé

An early 1900s French ring announcer reveals behind the scenes wrestling details.

In my opinion, the memoirs of Émile Vylé are one of the two most fascinating exposés on the inner workings of early 1900s European professional wrestling (the other one being Petr Yaroslavtsev's 1913 Russian book "How Wrestlers Deceive the Public"). Vylé really paints the picture of how things were done back then and does it in greater detail than anyone else not named Yaroslavtsev.

Émile Vylé was perhaps the most well-known French wrestling and boxing ring announcer from the first quarter of the 20th century, and he also did some work as a wrestling referee. He got his start in wrestling either at the end of 1900 or at the start of 1901, working with the Greco-Roman pro wrestling troupe run by the Frenchman Leon Dumont. Soon thereafter Dumont became partners with Paul Pons, the biggest French pro wrestling star of the era, and the troupe became the Pons-Dumont troupe. For a few years this was one of top wrestling troupes in Europe, possibly the very top one, until early 1905 when Pons and Dumont had a bitter split. Later on Vylé also worked with the Swiss wrestler/troupe manager Maurice Deriaz and was the announcer for the major Championship of Champions tournament in 1913 (won by Wladek Zbyszko).

The memoirs of Émile Vylé were published as a weekly series in the French sports magazine “Le Miroir des sports” from 20 December 1932 to 23 May 1933. Below I've shared only the first 1/3 of them. The other 2/3s are about boxing and cycling. I've also included some of the photos published in the magazine and added a few additional ones as well. Full disclosure: I did not translate the memoirs from French myself. It's an automatic translation and I've only made some small edits to improve it in certain spots. I've also added some clarifying comments by me and they're in [brackets].

In his memoirs Vylé talks about the worked nature of pro wrestling and exactly how it operated, certain shoot matches, crowd riots, etc. He covers events that took place in France, Algeria, Russia and Spain. Paul Pons, Ivan Poddubny, Jimmy Esson, Jack Johnson, Maurice Deriaz and a bunch of other popular wrestling stars are discussed. I don't know if I believe every story that Vylé told, but they're all quite interesting.  

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"THIRTY YEARS IN THE LIFE OF AN ANNOUNCER" 
By ÉMILE VYLÉ 

Émile Vylé (in the suit) and some wrestlers looking on as Anastace Anglio and Javier Ochoa face off
(1912, Madrid)

To my friends, the wrestlers of France and… elsewhere! My dear friends, I hope that after reading these memoirs, you will not hold any grudge against me for my frankness and the care I took to tell the whole truth! Therefore, I will open this preamble for your benefit to tell you this. 
 
The magnificent sport of wrestling has been lost in France through the fault of a few merchants, who, taking advantage of the complete absence of governing sporting powers and, consequently, of official regulations (as possessed by other sports such as cycling and boxing, which will be the subject of the second part of these memoirs), have commercialized your athletic profession and deceived the public! 
 
I am therefore convinced that I am doing sound work and that I am defending your cause by revealing, in my modest memoirs, the abuses and the injustices of the past! And, if I have the courage to write the whole truth, it is in the hope that wrestling will soon relive its former glory days! It will live again, the beautiful, sincere wrestling, for the major reason that it is now regulated and governed by a powerful and respected federation [he's referring to FFLP - Fédération Française de Lutte Professionnelle], and that the quid pro quo of yesteryear can no longer be tolerated today! Also, wrestlers, my dear friends, think again, if you believed, for a single instant, that by publishing my memories, I wanted, as they say in the profession, to pull your leg! No, my only concern was to recount real-life anecdotes and to tell the whole truth.

I was born in Reims on 25 September 1864. I can still see the good old house of my childhood at 38 rue de Vesle. The quiet little provincial life! My parents ran a novelty shop. Was I myself going to become a "calico" [shop clerk]? My father spoke about it quietly, in the evenings, around the family table. 
 
In the meantime, I was admitted to the small high school in Reims, and I would spend all my youth there. I remember my classmates, who all left one June evening, fleeing the old high school to enter into life. Fernand Laborie, the grand master of the bar, the famous lawyer in the Zola trial; the surgeon Doyen, Pol Neveux, of the Goncourt Academy, who was curator of the National Library; Doctor Robière, and how many others, whom I met around all the rings of France and Europe. 
 
At seventeen, I left high school, refusing to continue my studies, as my parents had wished. My father then suggested that I help him, join him in his business, but I had no taste for provincial life; I dreamed of new horizons. For great are the joys of the traveler; the scenery of life changes before he has time to tire of it. I dreamed of distant cities where one is amazed by the color of the trams and the new language of the signs, cities where one feels all alone and ready for the greatest adventures. I evoked, without knowing it, a foggy London evening, with the double-decker buses and Piccadilly Circus, the center of the world. There would be painful days, feverish days in hotel beds, in cities so detached from the world that it seems one could never return, but would come from worrying and beautiful adventures in unimaginable settings. 

A year passed in this way. One day, my father sent me to see one of his clients in Lille, and he gave me two hundred francs for my trip. I could think of nothing better than to go and gamble this small sum, I lost it; I had to return home and confess my escapade to my parents. The next day, my father took me to the recruiting office to enlist. I signed up for five years and did fifty-one months of service. Assigned to the 11th Chasseurs à Cheval at Saint-Germain-en-Laye, I spent all my time there and left the regiment with the rank of brigadier. 
 
At that time, I had no idea about sports, either as a practitioner or as a spectator; on the other hand, I went to the theatre and the café-concert as often as possible. Finally, I was freed, I returned to Reims. My father made me a new offer to collaborate on his business. I still hesitated, but I ended up throwing myself into this crazy adventure that was my life, an adventure of a thousand different acts and which would have had as its theatre all the cities of the world. 
 
Easter 1888. The Easter celebrations in Reims gave rise, and still give rise today, to very important ceremonies. Theatre troupes were engaged, there was dancing, there was fun, the brave people of Reims were in jubilation for three weeks. That year, the Grand Théâtre Municipal gave a series of thirty performances of a fairy tale called “Rotomago”. I was so excited that I went to the Grand Théâtre every evening and finally managed to make the acquaintance of some actors. I was caught in the spiral. 
 
The hearth tried to hold me back, the wood fire glowed softly; beside it were the book, the lamp, and the tender crystal vase full of violets. The familiar portraits spoke of tranquility, of curtains drawn against the night; but at the same time rose the tumult of the festive city… And I turned my head away; the calm life of a sedentary person would never satisfy me. I went to look at the bottom of a wardrobe for my old flat suitcase, my traveling coat, my hat, and I left. I left the door ajar and went off, without looking back, towards the harsh joys of adventure. 
 
I won't tell you how, following the troupe in its peregrinations, I managed to get hired at the Théâtre Royal of Liège, and to get myself accepted as a young third role. I will simply admit that nepotism had something to do with it. And I made my debut in Alexandre Dumas' “La Jeunesse des Mousquetaires” [The Youth of the Musketeers]. I've never been as confident as that evening. The unconsciousness and inexperience of the young beginner I was had given me tremendous aplomb. We performed a different play every week, throughout the theatre season, and I received 150 francs a month.

Then the tours began. The following year, I was hired as a leading role (head of the line, leading role of a traitor) at the Grand Théâtre of Saint-Etienne. I was twenty-four years old, and it was the first time such a young actor had been hired as a leading role. Life seemed beautiful to me, and we traveled across France, jostled on the benches of trains that didn't go very fast at that time, rehearsing in the afternoon to play in the evening.

My last season (in the provinces) took place in Toulon, the year of the Russians. I played the role of Ivan Ogareff in “Micheal Strogoff”, and I achieved considerable success one evening when a private performance was given to which the Russian and French military establishments were invited. The Russian Admiral Avelane attended this evening with his entire staff. The newspapers talked about me, and, on returning to Paris, I received a summons from Mr. Rochard, director of the Ambigu, who royally offered me 150 francs a month to play the drama in his theatre. I refused, and I was engaged by Mr. Hollacher at the Théâtre of Belleville; and, for my Paris debut, I created “La Goualeuse”, with Eugénie Buffet. I played the role of Pierre Duchemin, an extremely likeable bartender for the good little guys of Belleville. My success was still considerable, and yet I would only return to the stage as an announcer. From ham, I would become a barker and hold this role, this time, for thirty years. 
 
The season ended, summer passed, then autumn, without me being able to find a job. I spent melancholy days at the Café de l'Eldorado where unemployed artists met. It was then that I had the idea of writing songs; from an actor, I would become an author. 

Bibi Poirée - The Savior 

 
The meeting that would decide my definitive vocation took place at Café Achille. The Eldorado Café being closed for renovations, the entire clientele had crossed the Boulevard de Strasbourg and filled the benches of the Café Achille. There, as I said above, one could meet artists, singers, and also wrestlers, because wrestling was already beginning to enjoy a certain vogue. 
 
I was supposed to go the day before to audition with Antoine, who was at that time directing at the Théâtre Libre, but the letter had reached me too late, and I had missed the appointment. I was ruminating over gloomy thoughts over a café-crème when I felt a formidable grip land on my shoulder. It was Bibi Poirée, a good wrestler, but above all an admirable weightlifter. He held the world record for the left arm straight, and this performance had earned him the nickname "the most beautiful arm in France". Bibi had applauded me at the Belleville theatre, and to explain his slap, he sat down next to me on the bench: 
 
- You have a voice, Vylé, I know you have no commitment, I've come to offer you one. Would you like to present a troupe of wrestlers, who will leave on tour tomorrow, starting in Nancy. Will you be our "announcer"? [The French term is "speaker", but I'm translating it as announcer to make it more understandable.]
 
I hesitated for a moment, and then Bibi set me the conditions: 15 francs a day, travel paid, I accepted. An appointment was made for the next day: departure from the Gare de l'Est with the whole troupe.

Charles Poirée 

Before going any further, I'll give you some details about this troupe of wrestlers, typical, moreover, and which gives a good idea of what professional wrestling could be like.

The Troupe of Wrestlers 

The tour director was Léon Dumont, who would later become the great impresario of wrestling in France. Dumont was a former student of the Joinville School and presented a fine strength act. His job consisted of breaking chains and carrying a piano on his stomach, the pianist on his stool, and four people. This last feat did not fail to greatly impress the spectators, who made Dumont a great success. 
 
The tenor [top star] of the troupe was Aimable de la Calmette, whom I will discuss elsewhere. 
 
Jean Schackmann was presented as the German champion; in reality, he was from Alsace and Lorraine. He played the role of a traitor, that is, he had to voluntarily use all the forbidden blows to create an atmosphere and make the crowd roar.

Louis Chorella (his real name, Chorel) passed himself off as Spanish, when he was simply from Saint-Etienne. 
 
It was necessary, in fact, to give the troupe an international appearance, and Dumont naturalized his men according to the needs, cities, or desires of the public. 
 
The troupe also included François le Farinier, a former flour porter at Les Halles. François le Farinier was generally pitted against Schackmann, and these so-called matches gave rise to the finest tricks and the most improbable schemes I have ever seen. 
 
Bartholomeo, a brave Marseillais, presented as Italian, and a Lyonnais, Louis Walford, who, for the public, was English, completed the foreign element. 
 
Four other French wrestlers were engaged: Quiénard, Raoul de Cahors, Bibi Poirée, whom we have mentioned, and Emil Peyrouse.
 
Raoul de Cahors was the first to wrestle the famous Youssouf [The Terrible Turk] at the Folies-Bergère. Raoul was, moreover, pitifully beaten; with a tirade to the back of the neck, Youssouf made him cross the stage and sent him backstage, to the boos of the crowd. 
 
As for Peyrouse, he was nicknamed the "Lion of Valence." He was gifted with Herculean strength, but he was as lazy as a log. 
 
I was about to forget Carlos, the only real foreigner in the house. He was a Belgian, a former acrobat, who had preferred the well-padded wrestling mat to the dangerous ring of the circus. 
 
The referee Lusson and I brought up the rear. There were fourteen of us in all. 
 

The wrestler turned troupe manager Léon Dumont

Before telling you about my beginnings in Nancy, I must say a few words about the referee of these wrestling matches. At that time, there was no federation, and Lusson was an unofficial referee, employed by Léon Dumont. Since all the results were known and prepared long in advance, the referee was hired solely to give spectators the illusion of witnessing real tournaments.

So here we are in Nancy. We were due to start that same evening at the Municipal Theatre. Léon Dumont had a formal contract, signed by the town hall secretary. We were about to drop off our luggage at the theatre when the concierge stopped us at the door, telling us that the mayor was formally opposed to wrestling demonstrations. Despite all of Dumont's protests, the exhibition of his contract remained with the municipality, as the specifications prohibited any performances other than those in the theatrical repertoire. We were forced to return to Paris; I had been unlucky in my debut. But it was only a postponement.

Léon Dumont arranged to obtain another venue, he came to an agreement with Armand Bel and, on the following Saturday we began, for real, this time at the Eden in Nancy. Despite my great familiarity with audiences, I was, I must admit, very impressed when I made the inaugural presentation. For the first time in France, on a stage, the wrestlers were going to be presented with a staged presentation. The curtain rose. The men were lined up in a circle around the ring, bare-chested, wearing black jerseys and a scarf in the colors of the nationality attributed to them… 

The orchestra was playing because there was a Sambre and Meuse orchestra, and, at the first chords, I entered the stage. I was in a tuxedo, and the seriousness of the presentation did not fail to impress the audience. The wrestlers came forward when their names were called - I introduced them by proclaiming their different and imaginary titles. The man remained there for a moment, then returned to his place. I then proceeded to draw lots, from which the order of the matches would emerge: twelve numbered ballots being placed in a hat, I explained to the public that number 1 would wrestle with number 2, etc… In reality, the twelve ballots were blank, and the entire program was carefully arranged in advance. Each wrestler, however, drew his number from the hat with great seriousness; appearances were preserved. 
 
The order already fixed, I began reading the rules of the matches: 
 
- Ladies and gentlemen, so that there is no dispute on the part of the public or on the part of the gentlemen wrestlers, I will read to you the rules of the matches: 
 

• ARTICLE 1: The referee is the sovereign master of the distribution of matches; any decision made by him regarding the matches is final.
• ARTICLE 2: Any wrestler who, for whatever reason, abandons the matches, may, automatically, be declared defeated.
• ARTICLE 3: The referee may, at any time, stop the match when he deems it necessary. It is resumed in the position in which the wrestlers were when the referee interrupted them.
• ARTICLE 4: For a competitor to be declared the winner of a match, his opponent's shoulders must simultaneously touch the mat for a significant period of time. Rolls do not count. 

- Mr. Raoul de Cahors and Mr. François le Farinier will show you the prohibited moves, which are as follows: finger twists, leg trips, leg passes, arm twists (called American-style arms), the force collar. 

At the call of each forbidden move, the two wrestlers performed them. I also informed the audience that the cravate was permitted. Then, with a "Thank you, gentlemen," the orchestra resumed the interrupted "Sambre et Meuse," and the wrestlers filed back into the backstage. 
 
The highlight of this first evening was Schackmann's wrestling, whose role, as I have already told you, consisted of using all the forbidden moves; the Alsatian was roundly booed by the entire audience. The officers and soldiers of the Nancy garrison made a fine ruckus; but Schackmann, despite the small bills and coins raining down on the stage, did not want to leave the stage. The theatre police had to intervene, and everything returned to order. Schackmann had fulfilled his role well, and, on the following evenings, each time the supposed German champion was announced on the program, the hall was packed.

The wrestling villain Jean Schackmann

 
We stayed seven days in Nancy, and we turned people away at every performance. One afternoon, while strolling through the streets of the capital of Lorraine, we met the famous giant Simon Antonitch. This brave, tall fellow, 2.22 m tall [7'2"], had just been let go by his manager [Antonio Pierri], and, to occupy his enforced leisure time, he was selling peanuts to the people of Nancy! Dumont hired him immediately, and the giant helped us achieve success. Raoul le Boucher, Peyrouse the Lion of Valence, and Antonitch were, moreover, the three men who contributed to the fortune of Dumont and Paul Pons, who went into partnership a little later.

How the Tours Were Organized 

 
Every year, we followed the same itinerary, settling for a few days in the main cities: Lyon, Marseille, Bordeaux, Toulon, Nimes, Perpignan, Saint-Étienne, Carcassonne, Dijon, Nantes, etc., etc. I've already told you that Lusson acted as a referee, but he was also employed as a publicity agent. He left the city two days before the troupe to prepare for our arrival, reserve rooms, and, above all, take care of our publicity. During his absence, I was responsible to replace him as referee. 
 
We stayed about seven days in each city, and two weeks in large cities like Lyon or Marseille. We traveled third class, and upon arrival, the work began. Two wrestlers were assigned to set up the ring, two others were on duty to fetch sawdust, as there weren't always mats, and we often had to make do with makeshift installations; and two others were responsible for distributing leaflets throughout the city. The tournaments were always advertised as the International World Wrestling Championship [not true, he's exaggerating]. Never in any sport have so many world championships been contested as in wrestling. Paul Pons, who had just joined forces with Dumont, played the role of unbeatable world champion. 
 
But let's get to Lusson's preliminary preparation of the performances given in each city. Dumont had the excellent idea of entering in the tournaments men reputed to be the strongest in all the countries we traveled through. Lusson was responsible for recruiting these amateurs, and this allowed the spectators to exercise their local chauvinism. The strong man in question was entered under the following conditions. He had to wrestle and beat the troupe's least brilliant opponents, in fixed bouts, until the semi-finals. Once there, he would feign a dislocated wrist or shoulder and give up while retaining all his prestige. In this way, the final could take place between Paul Pons and another wrestler from the troupe. You know the winner. Everything was fixed, carefully studied. Such and such a wrestler knew that he had to fall in the sixth minute of the second round. The evening schedule was established and followed very scrupulously. The amateurs received a reasonable fee when they had worked as required, and they would repeat the same charade the following season.

I remember that in Rouen, they hired a butcher named Lion. He was an obese monster, weighing 110 kilos [242 lbs], although short in stature. He was so fat that, when he was on the ground, face down, we had to find two men to lift him up. But sometimes we came across some bad applies, enemies of any kind of scheme; they didn't remain qualified for long, because the wrestlers in the troupe knew the holds, more or less regular, capable of quickly eliminating the troublemakers. 
 
A word about the wages of the wrestlers: they earned from 20 to 50 francs a day, depending on their value. The performances took place in the city's finest establishments, and ticket prices ranged from 1.50 francs to 6 francs. 
 
And now, let's go on tour. 

A True Challenge

First of all, here is Marseille… Marseille! To Marseille! Gateway to the Orient where the whole clique of undesirables swarms and festers, as Gustave Coquiot wrote. Greeks, Maltese, Spaniards, Italians, Armenians, Egyptians, Arabs, Syrians swarm in Marseille - and run a shop selling everything from foodstuffs to carpets, boot shining, etc. I used to, when I arrived with the troupe in the Phocaean city, publish in the local newspapers that amateurs wishing to take part in the tournament could contact Mr. Vylé, from 2:00 p.m. to 4:00 p.m., at the "Brasserie Suisse." It was one of those pre-war cafes, those cafes so lively, so exuberant, and always filled with shouts and loud apostrophes. Friends would gather around a small rug, after having made their parsley on the quays of the Old Port and breathed in all the smells, all the tar, all the brine, all the fish landed, everything that comes from the Mediterranean Sea. 
 
So I had published the usual announcement, when, the next day, I saw a tall young man in a cap arrive at the Brasserie Suisse and ask me, with that indefinable accent that you only hear on the Canebière: 
 
- Say, are you the one who's putting on the tournament?

And when I answered affirmatively, he replied: 
 
- I'm going to take them all down... your wrestlers! 
 
I made him repeat his sentence twice, and I replied in turn: 
 
- But, you didn't come just to tell me that? 
 
- Well, no, I want to wrestle, of course! 
 
- Well, that's something else entirely. What's your name? 
 
- Marius Vial, known as “Le Borgne" (“The One-Eyed”). 
 
I raised my head and saw, under the shadow of the cap, a dull, lifeless eye, but the other, the good one, sparkled; and his gaze was unkind. But I wasn't much moved by it, and I continued my interrogation: 
 
- How tall are you? 
 
- One meter eighty-two [about 6 feet]! 
 
- How much do you weigh? 
 
- Eighty-six kilos [189 lbs]. 
 
- Well, I have an average weight wrestler who weighs 72 kilos [158 lbs] and is 1.72 meters tall [5'7"]; if you beat this one, you'll have others after.

- Any one, I'll take them all one after the other. 
 
- Understood, but, to start, you'll measure with Schackmann, the German champion. Then we'll see! 
 
And Marius Vial, known as “The One-Eyed”, left. He was going to tell the news to all his buddies, dockworkers like him at the port of Marseille. 

Dramatic Situation in Marseille 

The announcement of this match caused a sensation in the Old Port, and as soon as the ticket offices opened, the hall was stormed. The performance was taking place in a circus, which is now demolished. The audience was mainly made up of thugs, who had come to applaud the victory of one of their own, and, if necessary, come to his aid. But we had warned Schackmann, recommending that he take down this Marius Vial, without giving him time to see the color of the mat. Schackmann had grunted in response: 
 
- Every time you have a good-for-nothing loser, you always give him to me! 
 
The circus was packed when, at 9:00 p.m., Marius Vial, along with three companions, made his entrance. His comrades gave him a standing ovation, and it was in relative silence that I introduced the two adversaries. I also fulfilled the role of referee and blew the whistle marking the start of the bout. Schackmann rushed forward, and, before Marius Vial could break free, the pseudo-German grabbed his waist and then held his adversary upside down. It was the "ceinture à rebours" [reverse belt hold], a classic hold, but very dangerous, because it ends by violently throwing the man to the ground, who, don't forget, is upside down at this point. If you try to resist this hold, you're very likely to break your spine. Otherwise, the man only has to lower his head and he immediately falls on both shoulders, without any harm, but beaten. This hold is, moreover, perfectly legal. Schackmann had therefore taken Marius Vial in a reverse belt. Fearing an accident, I shouted to the German champion:

- Whatever you do, don't “plant” him! 
 
But Schackmann, at the same moment, “planted” the Marseillais with all his strength, and Marius Vial did not get up. Then, in the hall, there was a terrible uproar: the ring was invaded and we had to flee through the back doors. All the benches were pierced with knives; finally, the thugs withdrew. This incident was to have an unusual epilogue.

The hold in question: ceinture à rebours
(demonstrated here by Constant le Boucher and George Hackenschmidt)

The next morning, we received a summons from the police commissioner. Léon Dumont and I went to the meeting, not very reassured, and fearing that our authorization to give new performances in Marseille would be revoked. But, to our great surprise, the commissioner received us very kindly, and, after congratulating us on having rid the city of one of its most dangerous troublemakers, he encouraged us to persist in this sanitation work that we had begun so well. 
 
- We still have many like this Marius Vial, and we will do our best to get you one every evening," concluded the commissioner as he saw us out. 
 
And the performances continued in Marseille.

I’m One-eyed, I’m Half-sighted...

 
Our wrestling tours also extended abroad, but we changed nothing in our presentation, always surrounding ourselves with athletes from the countries we crossed. Leaving Marseille, we embarked for Algiers. There, I remember being approached by a carpenter from Mustapha, who told me more or less the same things as Marius Vial. As with the Marseillais, Schackmann was pitted against the local, and he threw the carpenter into the orchestra pit, where he broke his back on the bass drum. These were the risks taken by amateurs who refused to obey the house rules. 

In Oran, we organized tournaments at the Municipal Circus. One evening, I was at the ticket booth with Mrs. Dumont when a little local boy appeared, carelessly tossed ten cents onto the cash box, and tried to enter the circus. Mrs. Dumont called him back, pointing to the placard where the ticket prices were posted: "Hey kid! It's twenty cents!" But the Arab turned around and replied without a smile: "I'm blind in one eye, I only see half the show." And we laughed so hard that we let him go in.

The Arabs were sneaking around twenty-five years ago; you see, we haven't invented anything new. In Sidi-bel-Abbès, the event was such a success that they had to turn people away. The hall was packed, and the locals were so tightly crammed into the galleries that the floor collapsed. There were no injuries, but the organizers were forced to have the repairs done themselves, and the evening was interrupted. 
 
It was Antonitch who brought us all this success in Algeria. This brave 2.22 m giant was originally from Bosnia-Herzegovina [wrong, he was actually born in a town that was in Bulgaria then and is now in Serbia], and, observing the customs of his country, he wore a fez. The Algerians had mistaken him for a local, and there was always a group of Arabs to escort him in the street.

The giant Simon Antonitch and Léon Dumont

It must also be said that this was the first time that Greco-Roman wrestling had been presented in North Africa, and this tour was very fruitful for the organizers. 

Riot in Madrid 

 
Let us now leave Algeria for Spain. The troupe arrived in Madrid under the direction of Maurice Deriaz, and, as usual, an international world wrestling championship was organized [in 1912]. The tournament took place in an establishment located 4 kilometers from Madrid and called the Ciudad Lineal. It was a huge attraction, like the Crystal Palace in London or the Luna Park in Paris. Two performances were given there every evening. The first, from 8:30 to 11:30, was devoted to concerts; the second, which ended at 2:00 a.m., was reserved for us. 
 
The two stars of the tournament were Maurice Deriaz and a man named Javier Ochoa, the official Spanish champion. Three other Spanish athletes had also been entered, but the matches gave rise to scandals, because the decisions rendered did not always please the public. Finally, the tournament continued, and on the evening of the last session, the title of champion was at stake between Maurice Deriaz and Ochoa. It had been agreed that Ochoa should not fall to a regular hold. Indeed, it was with a rather brutal push that Ochoa was to be put on both of his shoulders.

Javier Ochoa (left) and Maurice Deriaz (right)

That evening, I was still fulfilling the dual functions of announcer and referee. So I whistled that the Spaniard has been defeated. It was always the same principle that was applied: there had to be a winner - the star of the troupe - who had to beat the star of the country, while leaving him his prestige and only obtaining victory by a move subject to dispute or by abandonment due to a simulated injury. But these combinations earned us indescribable uproar, and that of the Madrilenians that evening exceeded anything we had seen before. 
 
All the spectators, at the announcement of the decision proclaiming Maurice Deriaz the winner, stood up on the benches. The most diverse projectiles were thrown at the wrestlers' heads, and I myself had to dodge quite a few small benches. The hall was absolutely in a frenzy, and some of Ochoa's supporters wanted to set it on fire. After an initial police intervention yielded no results, the governor had the gendarmes point guns at the crowd, and we were finally able to withdraw. But if this drastic decision had not been taken, we would have risked serious accidents. 
 
But, for me, the incident was not over. The spectators held me responsible for the decision. I had to walk home and I had 4 kilometers to cover in the middle of the night. I had been walking for a good ten minutes when I heard footsteps behind me. I quickened my pace without looking back, but my mysterious followers approached, and one of them took my arm and asked in Spanish: "Did you fix the tournament?" I didn't reply and tried to free myself, but the three individuals jumped on me and I was about to be in a sorry state when a wrestler, Jimmy Esson, who was following the same route, rushed to my aid. He grabbed one of the Spaniards by the shoulders and sent him rolling into a ditch; the other two, seeing this, fled at full speed. Jimmy Esson, whom I will talk about again later, and who was a wrestler of incredible strength, had saved me from a good beating that night. You see that the referee's job was not always easy, because he was often taken as the instigator of all the combinations. 

Scandal in Saint Petersburg 

I will end the story of these foreign tours with another international world wrestling championship, which took place in Russia, in Saint Petersburg [in 1904]. The big star of the tournament, after Paul Pons, was the Russian Ivan Poddubny, who had been hired locally. Poddubny was to make the semi-final with Raoul le Boucher, beat him in a fixed match, then meet Paul Pons in the final and let himself be defeated by the world champion.

Raoul le Boucher

On the evening of the semi-final, Raoul le Boucher and Poddubny failed to reach an agreement. The match began well behind schedule, and when the bell struck midnight, marking the end of the show, it was announced that the match had produced no result and that the two opponents had drawn. All theatres in St. Petersburg were to close their doors precisely at midnight, and all the city's bells rang twelve times. The next day, however, Poddubny was chosen to compete with Paul Pons in the final. 
 
I forgot to tell you that posters had been plastered everywhere, announcing that the final was taking place for the title of world champion [not true, this tournament was not advertised as a World Championship] and that the winner would receive 5,000 rubles. That evening, before the matches began, Poddubny was asked how many minutes he wanted to last against Paul Pons. But the Russian wrestler replied: 
 
- I will not lose, sir! 
 
And despite everything that was said to him, he persisted in wanting to defend his chance. Paul Pons was informed of Poddubny's decision, and as there was no other way, they wrestled for real. It was a splendid match, the two opponents were terribly angry with each other, and, for once, we witnessed a sincere match. The bout ended in the second round, during which Paul Pons was pinned on both shoulders. 

Ivan Poddubny

It was at this moment that a unique incident in the annals of wrestling took place. Poddubny stepped into the ring, approached the front of the stage, and, addressing the audience, he improvised the following short speech: 
 
- My brothers, I am the undisputed world champion, since I have just lawfully defeated the title holder, but that's not all. You may have read on the posters that the tournament organizer announced that a purse of 5,000 rubles would be awarded to the winner. If you leave the hall before I am paid, I will never receive a penny of what is owed to me. 
 
The audience had listened to Poddubny in reverent silence. Murmurs of approval were heard, and although the performance was over, not a single spectator left their seat. The organizers therefore had to bring the promised 5,000 rubles to the stage. But Léon Dumont swore never to set foot in Saint Petersburg again. [Actually, not only did Dumont return to St. Petersburg a few years later but he was also partners with Poddubny at that time]. 

Marseille - The King of Salesmanship

 
If we take wrestling before the music halls took it over to put on shows, which never had anything to do with sport, we must go to the funfairs where the two undisputed masters were Aimable de la Calmette (the father) and Marseille. Father Aimable de la Calmette ran a wrestlers' booth and toured all the towns and villages of the South. The stars of his troupe were his own son, who was to become a tenor [top star] of the mat, and the famous Emil Peyrouse, known as the Lion of Valence, of whom we have already spoken. This Peyrouse was as strong as he was lazy, and every possible stratagem had to be employed to prevent him from lying down. With Father Aimable, he usually worked downstairs, that is, in the crowd. He served as a sidekick and demanded the glove when Aimable asked for an amateur to wrestle with his son.
  
 - “Me, sir!”, shouted the “Lion of Valence”. 
 
- “What, you again?”, Father Aimable exclaimed comically and indignantly. “So you want to kill him, poor thing?” Meanwhile, the booth was filling up, and my Peyrouse, after a formidable and well-combined fight, was put on both shoulders in the second or third round. 
 

Aimable de la Calmette, father and son 

Then we had Father Marseille, nicknamed the king of salesmanship, who set up his wrestling arena at the Paris fairs. He presented his wrestlers as Roman gladiators: peplums and buskins, which, in the light of the oil lamps, gave it the air of a masquerade. Wrestling was, at that time, like all new things, very popular, and the "Fridays" in Marseille were very popular. At the Foire du Trône, one could see personalities from the world of arts and literature who came there out of snobbery. Wrestling was fashionable; you had to be seen there on certain days, like at a dress rehearsal or an opening.

Marseille also had, in the parade, a pleiad of wrestlers who would later become the great stars of the mat. The parade preceding the matches was worth the whole spectacle in itself. An orchestra, composed of four musicians, trombone, piston, flute, and drums, made a hell of a racket to attract as many people as possible. When Marseille judged his audience sufficient, he began his spiel: 
 
- Here, ladies and gentlemen, this is our last performance before the lights, he said in the matinee. 
 
- At this performance, Mr. Adolphe de Lion will lift the 80-kilo dumbbell and, in a single blow, throw it at arm's length to then catch it on his forearms... like this… Then, you will witness the exercises with the deadly axe performed by Miss Marseille and, to finish, you will see Greco-Roman wrestling as it is practiced in the towns of the South. From the head to the belt, you can squeeze, there's no complaining. We invite any amateur or professional wrestler, provided the man is not drunk. If there are any amateurs among the honorable society who wish to wrestle, hands up! 
 
There was always, among the crowd, a soldier, most often an artilleryman, who wanted to wrestle. Marseille would send him a glove and ask: “With whom?” The artilleryman would point out one of the wrestlers on parade. Other amateurs introduced themselves, and, after explaining to them that Greco-Roman wrestling must be fair, a recommendation the brave comrades listened to without a smile, Marseille finished his announcement: 
 
- Ladies and gentlemen, there is no more music, no more parade; the musicians move to the orchestra and we begin immediately. For this performance, we have very good seats at 2 francs and 1.50 francs. The popular ones, 50 cents! Take your seats... take your tickets... We begin! 
 
Marseille, since then, has set a precedent; who has not heard this spiel at least once?
 

Wrestling at the Folies-Bergère 

 
Let us now move on, to return to it later, from wrestling in the fair booths to the luxuriously commercialized wrestling in the music halls of the capital. A few years before the war, wrestling was the only combat sport that attracted large crowds, and tournaments were organized that were pompously described as international. Unfortunately, these tournaments were organized by people for whom sport was a dead letter and who were primarily concerned with the revenue and the profits they could make. It must also be said that the public demanded a spectacle and that all the spectators at wrestling tournaments only applauded the fixed matches. The rare sincere matches that took place were met with the boos of an audience that cried "Fake!".

The Folies-Bergère was the first establishment in Paris to organize wrestling tournaments. The Folies-Bergère was then directed by Mr. Marchand. Mr. Marchand hired a full troupe of wrestlers who were directed by an impresario. This troupe was composed of all the leading wrestlers, most of whom had been recruited from the towns of the South, where wrestling was highly valued. At this first championship, one could see Paul Pons, Laurent le Beaucairois, Aimable de la Calmette, Emil Peyrouse, Fernanrd Sabès, Maurice Gambier, Fénelon, Francois Fournier, Raoul de Cahors, Bibi Poirée, Emile Vervet, etc. All these men were marvelous athletes, capable of having magnificent real matches, but they marched to orders. The tournaments were, in fact, authorized by the prefecture only under certain conditions: the list of winners had to be communicated before each evening. However, this so-called championship was a financial triumph for the organizers. Wrestling was launched into the general public and, from that moment on, championships were held every year at the Folies-Bergère, the Casino de Paris, the Moulin-Rouge, and the Apollo. But this new goose that laid the golden eggs had to be killed. The public finally understood certain combinations and grew tired of it. This beautiful sport was to fall by the wayside. Whose fault is it? The organizers', you might say! But yours too, you especially, gentlemen wrestlers, who agreed to march to commands.

The Truth About Paul Pons 

 
Yes, the fault of athletes like you, Laurent le Baucairois, Raoul le Boucher, who were capable of sportingly defeating Paul Pons, the boss of the company, and whom you obeyed, agreeing to let yourselves be beaten, even though you were his superior. 
 
I don't want to say that Paul Pons wasn't a great champion. In truth, we never knew exactly the extent of his abilities. Paul Pons beat second or third-rate men with the greatest ease; but, when he was dealing with athletes capable of giving him a run for his money, we could rightly doubt the sincerity of the encounter. I told you above how Paul Pons suffered his final defeat in Saint Petersburg, and you are wondering, like me, whether all of Paul Pons's encounters were not either easy victories or battles arranged to suit the needs of the cause and its revenue. 
 

Paul Pons, on the left, wrestling the German Heinrich Eberle at the Folies-Bergère

Witzler's Wickedness 

 
I would also like to tell you about an incident that took place at these same Folies-Bergère. Régnier, de Ponthieu's father, was a jiu-jitsu teacher and he presented a demonstration number of this special wrestling, which was then completely unknown in France. So I announced every evening that professor Ré-Nié - who had added exoticism to his name - was going to repeat the different jiu-jitsu holds in front of the spectators and that he was challenging the strongest men in the world. The wrestlers immediately were moved by such competition. Their stupid self-esteem made them commit a very nasty act. 
 
Paul Fons and Raoul le Boucher designated a man named Witzler , who was part of the troupe, to take up Régnier's challenge. Witzler was one of the most wicked men I have ever known in my entire career. His end was, moreover, dramatic: he was killed by a wrestler named Deville, who had been nicknamed “The Gunner”. Following a quarrel, the gunner shot him dead with two revolver shots.
 
This Witzler, therefore, had taken his place in the hall, and when I announced Regnier's challenge, he offered to accept it. He was brought onto the stage. Régnier watched for a moment, as if he suspected the plot, and asked him if he hadn't already seen him in Bordeaux. Witzler replied:

- I don't know if you've seen me before, but I'm going to defend myself.

As you can see, this answer was not exaggeratedly frank.... They made him put on the jacket, which is necessary for certain jiu-jitsu holds, and, after reading the rules, stipulating that kicks and punches were prohibited, the assault began. Witzler jumped up, grabbed Régnier by the jacket, and threw two formidable headbutts that split his skull open. Régnier collapsed, and I had to intervene to hold Witzler down, who wanted to finish off his opponent with heel strikes. 
 
This lamentable scene had barely lasted a minute. The entire room was on its feet and howling with indignation. Witzler claimed that they had omitted to mention that headbutts were forbidden. In reality, the blow was prepared in advance, and Witzler knew very well what he was going to do. Régnier, who was a professor and a loyal and sincere sportsman, was a hundred leagues from suspecting that his opponent was going to use a steep blow.

Witzler [real name: Gustav Adolph Virtzeler]

 
Régnier always held a grudge against me for this incident, wrongly imagining that I was the instigator, when I was unaware of the preparation of the combination engineered entirely by Raoul le Boucher and Paul Pons. 
 
Régnier, moreover, demonstrated remarkable courage. That same evening, he was to give an exhibition in Tabarin. He insisted on fulfilling his commitment and left with his head bandaged. But, during this second assault, his wound reopened; he fainted, and had to be taken to the hospital, where he was forced to stay for four months. 
 
A sad and lamentable period that would mark the beginning of the decline of wrestling in France. These were blows from which this beautiful sport would suffer more than any other. We will see, in relation to the last major wrestling tournaments, which took place in 1913 at the Nouveau-Cirque, how wrestling finally collapsed.

World Championship of Catch-as-Catch-Can 

 
I will now tell you about the first evening of this famous competition, which should have been the apotheosis of wrestling in France, both because of the quality and number of the champions entered and the prominent Parisian figures who made up its official organization. However, due to the cynical "sham" that presided over the majority of the matches, it was nothing more than a lamentable collapse and the "Waterloo" of this beautiful sport in our country. 
 
Indeed, since that famous date - 15 October 1913 (almost twenty years ago!) - wrestling has completely disappeared in France, and it was not the rare and very small attempts that were made at various times that were likely to raise it from its 1913 grave. And yet, everything was done that day by the organizing committee, composed of sincere and competent men above all suspicion, to ensure that this unique competition in the annals of combat wrestling [the French name for catch-as-catch-can wrestling back then] would take place under regular conditions.

The "Tied" Cigars 

 
The day before the premiere of the Championship of Champions, Mr. Charles Debray, owner of the Nouveau-Cirque and organizer of the competition, had invited officials, journalists, and numerous wrestling aficionados to a grand dinner. When paying the bill the next day to the manager of the grand restaurant, he was unpleasantly surprised to see 3,000 francs worth of cigars on it, and pointed this out to the butler of the hotel, whom he knew. The latter replied, laughing: 
 
- Mr. Debray, on the bill, there are not only cigars that were smoked in the dining room after dinner, but also the numerous boxes that were "tied" and "belted backwards" by some of your guests, who know a thing or two about wrestling.

And Debray, a good prince, could only laugh at this joke, appropriate to his organization.

The Parade 

 
15 October 1913. The big night has arrived. It is 8:30 p.m. The most formidable freestyle wrestling competition is about to begin. The circus is packed with a thrilled crowd. In the small boxes on the first floor and in the ringside seats, all of elegant Paris is seated, awaiting, with feverish impatience, the clash (which they believe to be sincere) of the wrestling giants. On the stage, facing the artists' entrance, the jury is in full session behind a large table with a green carpet. The large chandeliers in the flyover, with their cut crystal slats, shine with light and join the ten thousand electric lamps hung in profusion around the vast enclosure. The referee, Doctor Phélan, waits standing in front of the jury's table; I am at his side. Suddenly, a religious silence replaces the hubbub of the crowd. The orchestra vigorously attacks Sambre et Meuse. And then begins the most extraordinary parade of athletes that any stage in the world has ever seen. 
 
In a long ribbon of muscle and flesh, which cannot be entirely contained in the ring and which unfolds far back in the wings of the circus, 103 magnificent athletes (the greatest wrestlers in the world) parade onto the mat! I introduce them one by one, stating their names, their nationality, their titles, and their weight, to the tremendous cheers of an electrified crowd. The Dane Jess Petersen, the Pole Stanislas Zbyszko, the Scot Jimmy Esson, the Swiss Maurice Deriaz! But they would all have to be named. 

Alas! Why must the development of the championship have been unworthy of this grandiose presentation? Out of respect for the beautiful sport of wrestling, I will not describe in detail the evenings of this championship, which should have been its apotheosis and which was its tomb. I will only tell you that faced with the cynical gimmickry that presided over almost all the matches, one by one, the personalities who had lent their voluntary support to this sporting event, which they believed to be sincere, left the arena, never to return. It was first the first referee, Doctor Phélan, then the late Emile Maitrot, second referee, and all the members of the jury, who did not want to be involved in this farce. Following numerous incidents and unprecedented disturbances, this famous championship ended badly and in front of empty seats.

Will You Lose to Me? 

 
The famous black man had been entered among the last, with a few other wrestlers. Among the competitors, no one wanted to wrestle with him, except the excellent Scottish champion Jimmy Esson. The night of the match, Jack Johnson, not very good at catch-as-catch-can, but proud of his worldwide reputation as a boxer, came to find Jimmy Esson in his dressing room and said to him: 
 
- Are you going to lose to me tonight, Jimmy?

The Scotsman replied: 
 
- How much are you paying for that?

The black man, offended, retorted: 
 
- What, a poor little wrestler like you, you don't want to lose to a champion like Jack Johnson! 
 
At that moment, Jimmy Esson's wife, who was in the dressing room, approached her husband and said to him: 
 
- Jimmy, if you let yourself be beaten tonight by that "colored man", don't come home again! 
 
And that evening, after a few minutes of a “shoot” [real wrestling], in which boxing was most often involved, Jimmy Esson masterfully pinned the enormous black man on both shoulders with a superb front belt. You can imagine the applause! Jimmy was able to go home: the door was wide open.

French newspaper clipping: Jimmy Esson vs. the former boxing World champion Jack Johnson

But this sincere match - one of the few in the tournament - came within a hair's breadth of causing me a personal catastrophe. Jack Johnson, in all his outings, was always accompanied by many supporters of his own kind, and that evening, they were particularly numerous. Furious at the fall of their idol and convinced that I, along with Maurice Deriaz, was the one responsible for this defeat, they searched for me everywhere in the circus, trying to do me a disservice!

Warned in time with Deriaz, we owed our salvation only to a hiding place, in a loft in the attic of the Nouveau Cirque, where we remained motionless until 3:00 a.m. This anecdote is one of those I will never forget. I can assure you of that!
 
I told you earlier that the Jack Johnson-Jimmy Esson match was one of the rare sincere matches of the tournament; among these, we must also mention the magnificent game of "shoot", which lasted three and a half hours [no, it lasted 90 minutes], between the two marvelous lightweights of the time, the Canadian Jean-Baptiste Paradis and the Englishman Billy Wood. According to experts, it was a beautiful match, full of finesse and science, and whose interest was intense from start to finish. To everyone's surprise, the Canadian champion Paradis, considered at that time as the champion of the world in his category (lightweight), was masterfully beaten by the English champion, whose reputation had not until then extended beyond the confines of his country.

A Misfortune 

 
Another match that was, alas, necessarily sincere due to its brutal outcome, was the one between Maurice Deriaz and the Swiss champion Zonca. Taken down in a reverse belt by Maurice Deriaz, the Swiss champion, who didn't want to lose, landed on his head, instead of presenting his shoulders in contact with the ground. The impact was so violent that Zonca's spine was broken and he died a few moments after his fall. [This accident happened in June 1914 and while Zonca did die as a result of the injury, this did not happen right away in front of the audience - he passed away later in the hospital.]

This poor Maurice Deriaz, although not at fault, was literally mad with grief at being the involuntary cause of his comrade's death. He was, moreover, never troubled by this accident, but despite the many years that have passed since, it is with infinite sadness that he speaks of this terrible wrestling bout.

Zonca

Last Attempt 

 
The last Greco-Roman [professional] wrestling tournament in Paris, organized by Jess Petersen, took place in November 1925 at the Empire. Despite all the efforts of this brave Jess to revive wrestling in France, this competition achieved no success. 
 

Jess Pedersen

The winner of the tournament was an Estonian named Jaan Jaago, but a new match between Henri Deglane, the current world champion of combat wrestling, and his winner, Jaago, took place on 1 January 1926, at the Cirque d'Hiver. The Estonian offered 5,000 francs to the athlete who would resist him for an hour. Henri Deglane managed to stand up to his opponent, much to the despair of the latter's manager, Doctor Meyer. The Swiss Pignet refereed this match with as much firmness as competence, but nothing helped. The beautiful wrestling was in jeopardy due to the fault of a few people who did not understand that for a great sport to exist and last, it is essential that its competitions be sincere and fair. 
 
I learned very recently, from this week's newspapers, that a professional wrestling federation is being founded in Paris. Bravo! A thousand times bravo! The names I see listed in this new federation, among which I note that of my good friend André Margot, a specialist in this sport, are a guarantee of the sincerity of professional wrestling to come. May this federation revive in France this beautiful sport of wrestling.

From Wrestling to Boxing 

 
My readers can see, from what I said in the first part of these memoirs, that the vast majority of wrestling matches were devoid of any sincerity. I had the opportunity to announce more than eighty wrestling tournaments counting for the title of world champion; none of these championships were fair, and each time, the winner was known to the organizers before the competitions even began. 
 
Fortunately, this is not the case in boxing. Since 1906, I have announced more than 24,000 fights, and, apart from a few rare exceptions, I have never witnessed a rigged match. Most of the time, the combinations existed only in the minds of the spectators, when a too-quick victory or an involuntary low blow made people believe a combination was possible. 
 
Certainly, the exception confirms the rule: there were fixed fights, but fixed before the match, and nine times out of ten, the combinations collapsed during the fight; this is how all the world heavyweight championships that were established before the war were fixed. All these fights saw the challenger's promises to let himself be beaten in the appointed round not fulfilled. Indeed, the title contender desperately wanted to face the champion; the latter, while recognizing some value in his future opponent, was not at all keen to meet him, at the risk of losing his title. The only way left to organize the championship was to make the challenger promise that he would let himself be beaten. The managers would agree, the combination would be established, and the match would be concluded. But, when it came time for the fight, the challenger realized he had everything to gain and nothing to lose: if he won, it was the title of world champion with all its moral and, above all, financial advantages; if he lost, a defeat at the hands of the title holder would not disgrace his record. Armed with this reasoning, the challenger would fight fairly and often dominate a man who little expected such a turnaround. 
 
Thus, it had been agreed that when Jack Johnson met Jim Jeffries, he would lie down in the middle of the seventh round. On the day of the fight, when the black man entered the ring, he went to shake his opponent's hands and said: 
 
- Mr. Jeffries, you may never have had a sincere fight in your life. You're going to have one right now. So be ready. 
 
Forty-five minutes later, Jeffries was down for the count!

Another fixed fight was the match in Paris between this same Jack Johnson and the white hope Frank Moran. It had been agreed between Moran's manager and Jack Johnson that the white hope would fold in the middle of the fourth round. Armed with this guarantee, the world champion had hardly trained. But when it was time to enter the ring, unpleasant news awaited him. Indeed, Frank Moran advanced towards him and explained that it was impossible for him to keep his commitments regarding the combination they had both worked out. As arguments began, Moran's manager explained that French law prohibited any prearranged match and that if it were ever discovered, they would all risk going to prison. Under these conditions, it was better to fight fairly. The head of the black man, who, completely unprepared to fight twenty rounds, anxiously wondered what would happen next. Fortunately for him, the champion had undeniable class; he got out of this predicament, but was forced to go to the limit of twenty rounds to obtain the victory on points, whereas in good form he would have made short work of his opponent.

Another mixed fight was the match at the Vélodrome Buffalo, on 24 September 1922, for the titles of French, European, and World Light Heavyweight champion, Georges Carpentier, the title holder, against the black man Battling Siki, the challenger. The latter had put himself in the spotlight, thanks to a few victories over honest European boxers. And as people were looking everywhere for an opponent to oppose Georges Carpentier, they thought of the Senegalese. But the latter admired Carpentier, and he viewed the talks for this encounter with a very dim view; in a word, he wanted nothing to do with fighting his idol. It took all the diplomacy, all the pleading, all the arguments of his manager Hellers, who promised him that Georges would not hurt him, to convince the black man to get into the ring. His manager hadn't lied to him, because he went to find Descamps, explained the situation, and asked him to tell Georges to let his man last until the fourth round. At that point, Siki would lie down and the trick would be done. Descamps accepted and briefed his protégé on the combination, but the protégé didn't bother to train. 
 
At the beginning of the fight, everything went very well. Georges didn't press his punches, Siki displayed terrible stage fright and kept a respectable distance from his opponent's fists. But, suddenly, in the third round, the black man launched a swinging right; this blow hit the world champion right on the tip of the chin. The black man realized what had just happened, saw his opponent stunned, and, forgetting all the arrangements, he rushed at his former idol, harassing him with quick and precise blows from both hands. The result was not long in coming; untrained, short of breath, disoriented by the suddenness of this attack, the winner of Battling Levinsky lost his footing and was counted out after the sixth round.

...