William Harrison Dempsey, a.k.a. Jack Dempsey after an earlier Middleweight Champion, a.k.a. the Manassa Mauler after his Colorado hometown, was a poor kid who lived in hobo camps and learned to box in barroom brawls. He became Heavyweight Champion of the World on July 4, 1919, right after World War I.
He was a polarizing figure, a devastating puncher known for his early knockouts, but also for being called a "slacker," because he had worked in a shipyard and continued to box during the war. Evidence was produced showing that he had tried to enlist, but had been classified 4-F. Still, it was held against him, just as it would for another seemingly super-strong athlete, Mickey Mantle, during the Korean War in the early 1950s.
He was no stereotypical gruff "leatherneck" (an old term for Marines). He decided to treat boxing as a science. The term "the sweet science" had not yet been used, but Tunney treated it as such. He even preferred to call it "pugilism" rather than "boxing" or even "prizefighting."
Part of the reason Dempsey didn't fight for 3 years was that he had fired his manager, Jack "Doc" Kearns, for denying him his fair share of the "million-dollar gates" his fights, and Kearns' publicity, had generated.
Another reason is the controversy over whether he was willing to fight the top black heavyweight fighter of the time, Harry Wills. After winning the title in 1919, keeping in mind the fuss made over 1908-15 Champion Jack Johnson, Dempsey said he would never fight a black boxer. But in 1924, he changed his mind, and said he was willing to fight Wills. It never happened, for reasons beyond his control.
Dempsey had been beaten before he became Champion. So had Tunney, but only once, by Light Heavyweight Champion Harry Greb. They fought 4 times, with Greb winning 1, 1 being a draw, and Tunney winning the other 2, although neither man had yet won a title.
On September 23, 1926, Dempsey finally got back into the ring, with Tunney at the gigantic horseshoe that had just opened in South Philadelphia, part of the World's Fair celebrating the 150th Anniversary of the Declaration of Independence being signed in Philly. The crowd was listed at 120,557, which is still the highest official total for a prizefight, ever, anywhere in the world.
At the time, the facility was known as Sesquicentennial Stadium. That was hard to say, and in 1931, the city changed the name to Municipal Stadium. In 1964, it was renamed John F. Kennedy Stadium. It hosted mostly football games and prizefights until the Beatles played it in 1966, then it was mostly concerts, including Live Aid in 1985, until it was condemned as unsafe in 1991. The following year, it was demolished, and the arena now known as the Wells Fargo Center was built on the site.
Dempsey was not in shape, and was incredibly rusty. Tunney sensed this before the fight, and saw his suspicions confirmed during it. He managed to stay away from most of Dempsey's big blows, which were considerably slower than they were earlier in the decade. It started to rain in the 7th round, and it was pouring in the 9th. The fight went on, through the 10th, and, for the 1st time ever, the Heavyweight Championship of the World changed hands on a decision.
Ordinarily, this would have been unsatisfying. But no one doubted that Tunney had dominated the fight, not even Dempsey, who embraced Tunney at the end. When his wife, actress Estelle Taylor, asked Jack what happened, he said, "Honey, I forgot to duck." (This would be used by President Ronald Reagan to his wife Nancy after he was shot in 1981.)
A rematch was in order. Dempsey tuned up once, knocking out eventual Heavyweight Champion Jack Sharkey at Yankee Stadium. Then, thinking he was ready, he negotiated with Tunney for a rematch, and it was set.
*
This is what the world was like in late Summer and early Autumn of 1927, as Dempsey and Tunney prepared to fight again:
There were 16 teams in what we would come to call Major League Baseball, none further south than Washington and Cincinnati, and none further west than St. Louis. The American League had teams in Philadelphia, Washington and St. Louis. The National League had a team in Boston. There were no Black players, and no Asian players. There had been Hispanic players, but only white Cubans. No stadium yet had lights, or artificial turf, or a roof. Only 2 in use then are still in use: Fenway Park in Boston and Wrigley Field in Chicago.
The previous year's World Series was won by the St. Louis Cardinals, over the Yankees, thanks in part to Grover Cleveland Alexander's 7th inning, bases-loaded strikeout of Tony Lazzeri in Game 7. The Stanley Cup was won by the Ottawa Senators. The New York Giants won their 1st NFL Championship. There was no National Basketball Association.
Joe Louis was 13 years old. Archie Moore was 10. Or 13. Or maybe older. Like Dizzy Dean and Satchel Paige, it was in dispute. Sugar Ray Robinson was 6. Rocky Marciano was 4. Muhammad Ali and Joe Frazier and George Foreman wouldn't be born for years.
Aside from the Olympic Games, there was no tournament that could be called a world championship for soccer. The Olympics had yet to debut their Winter format. The Games have since been held in America 7 times; 3 times each in Germany, Japan, Italy and Canada; twice each in Switzerland, France, Austria, Norway, Australia, Britain, Russia and Korea; and once each in the Netherlands, Finland, Mexico, Bosnia, Spain, Greece, China and Brazil.
There were 48 States. There were 19 Amendments to the Constitution, the newest giving women the right to vote. There was no banking insurance, no Securities & Exchange Commission, no Medicare, no Medicaid, no Environmental Protection Agency, no OSHA, no Title IX. There had not been a Civil Rights Act since 1875. The ideas that abortion and same-sex marriage would ever be legalized weren't even being considered.
The President of the United States was Calvin Coolidge. Former President William Howard Taft was now the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court, the job he had wanted over the Presidency. Herbert Hoover was Secretary of Commerce. That year, Coolidge's predecessor, Warren Harding, was exposed by one of his former mistresses, Nan Britton, when she published a memoir, The President's Daughter.
Franklin Roosevelt was working his way back into politics after being stricken with polio. Harry Truman was presiding judge of Jackson County, Missouri, which includes Kansas City. Major Dwight D. Eisenhower was a battallion commander at Fort Benning in Georgia. Lyndon Johnson was attending what's now known as Texas State University. Ronald Reagan was 16 years old, Richard Nixon and Gerald Ford were 14, John F. Kennedy was 10. George H.W. Bush was 3, and Jimmy Carter was about to be. Bill Clinton, Barack Obama, Donald Trump and Joe Biden had not been born yet.
The Governor of New York was Alfred E. Smith; of New Jersey, A. Harry Moore; and of Illinois, home State of the fight, Len Small. The Mayor of New York City was James J. Walker, the flamboyant and corrupt "Beau James"; and of Chicago, the massively corrupt "Big" Bill Thompson.
There were still living veterans of the Mexican-American War, the European Revolutions of 1848, and the Crimean War. There were still living survivors of the Trail of Tears of 1839 and the Donner Party of 1847. There were still living players from the 1st professional baseball team in 1869, the 1st American college football game in 1869, and the 1st English FA Cup Final of 1872. Phonograph and light bulb inventor Thomas Edison and Wild West figure Wyatt Earp were still alive.
The Nobel Peace Prize had been awarded to Aristide Briand, Foreign Minister of France, once and future Prime Minister; and Gustave Stresemann, Foreign Minister of Germany, for their negotiation of the Locarno Treaties, designed to further reduce tensions after "The Great War." For all the good that ended up doing.
The Pope was Pius IX. The Prime Minister of Canada was William Lyon Mackenzie King, and of Britain Stanley Baldwin. The Monarch of both nations was King George V. There have since been 16 Presidents of the United States, 4 British monarchs, and 8 Popes. The FA Cup was won by a non-English team, Cardiff City of Wales; and the Football League by Newcastle United. Neither of those occurrences have ever happened again.
Major novels of 1927 included Elmer Gantry by Sinclair Lewis, Death Comes for the Archbishop by Willa Cather, Steppenwolf by Hermann Hesse, The Bridge of San Luis Rey, and Oil! by Upton Sinclair, which would be turned into the Academy Award winner for Best Picture of 2007, There Will Be Blood.
J.R.R. Tolkien was teaching at Pembroke College of Oxford University. He had published 34 books of poetry. He had recently met and formed an eventually famous friendship with another Oxford professor, C.S. Lewis, who had published 2 books of poetry. But neither, as yet, had written any novels, fantasy or otherwise.
Superheroes and comic books as we would come to know them did not yet exist. Superman creators Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster, Batman creators Bob Kane and Bill Finger, Flash creator Gardner Fox and Star Trek creator Gene Roddenberry were children. Wonder Woman creator William Marston was a young psychologist. James Bond creator Ian Fleming was studying at the University of Munich.
The Jazz Singer, starring Broadway star Al Jolson, would be released 2 weeks after the Long Count Fight, and it would be recognized as the 1st "talking picture." Stan Laurel and Oliver Hardy first appeared onscreen together. But neither the Marx Brothers nor the Three Stooges had yet made the transition from stage to film. Bob Hope made his Broadway debut. A few weeks later, Show Boat would become the 1st modern Broadway musical, featuring former Rutgers football star Paul Robeson singing "Ol' Man River."
Earlier that year, the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences would be founded by Douglas Fairbanks Sr. Two years later, it would host its 1st Academy Awards ceremony, honoring the best films of 1927 and 1928. The 1st "Oscar" for Best Picture, and the only one ever to go to a silent film, was for Wings, released on August 12, 1927, and starring Clara Bow and Charles "Buddy" Rogers -- who would later marry Fairbanks' ex-wife, Mary Pickford.
No one had yet heard of Mickey Mouse, Buck Rogers, Popeye, Sam Spade, Betty Boop, The Shadow, Dick Tracy, the Lone Ranger, Perry Mason, Nero Wolfe, Flash Gordon, Scarlett O'Hara, the Dead End Kids, Bugs Bunny or Philip Marlowe.
It was a big year for what became known as the Great American Songbook: "Ain't She Sweet," "Among My Souvenirs," "The Best Things In Life Are Free," "Blue Skies," "Funny Face," "(I Scream, You Scream, We All Scream For) Ice Cream," "The Lonesome Road," "Me and My Shadow," "My Blue Heaven," "Side By Side," and "The Varsity Drag."
Duke Ellington and Louis Armstrong were already stars. Paul Whiteman, a white bandleader, led the most popular orchestra in America. He had recently fired a young singer for a poor performance. Whiteman would end up virtually forgotten. The young singer would not: His name was Harry Lillis "Bing" Crosby. Frank Sinatra was about to turn 12 years old. Hank Williams was 4. Chuck Berry was 1. Johnny Cash and Elvis Presley were years away from being born.
Inflation was such that what $1.00 bought then, $14.33 would
buy now. A U.S. postage stamp cost 2 cents, and a New York Subway ride a nickel.
The average price of a gallon of gas was 21 cents, a cup of coffee 22 cents, a hamburger 25 cents, a movie ticket also a quarter, and a
new house $7,145. Ford Motor Company had just retired the Model T, and replaced it with the Model A, costing $385. The Dow Jones Industrial Average closed that day at 195.42.
The tallest building in the world was the Woolworth Buildingin Lower Manhattan. Less than half of all American homes had telephones. Most American homes did not yet have air conditioning. Most of the places that did were either bars or movie theaters. There were no photocopiers. Nor were there computers. Alan Turing was in high school. There were no credit cards or automatic teller machines.
Artificial organs were not yet possible. Transplantation of organs was not possible. The distribution of antibiotics was not possible: If you got any kind of infection, you could easily die. There was no polio vaccine. There was no birth control pill, but there was no Viagra, either. Robert Goddard had begun to experiment with rockets, but space vehicles were still the product of imagination.
In the weeks leading up to the Long Count Fight, Adolf Hitler held the 1st Nazi Party National Congress in front of 80,000 people in Nuremberg, Germany. Heinrich Himmler founded the Schutzstaffel (SS). And Sparta Praha of Czechoslovakia defeated Rapid Wien of Austria to win the Mitropa Cup, the 1st attempt at a large-scale European soccer tournament.
In Asia, the Chinese government put down Mao Zedong's Autumn Harvest Uprising. A collision of 2 Japanese Navy ships killed 119 sailors. The Nagpur Riots killed 22 people outside Bombay (Mumbai), India. A Korean ferry capsized, killing 280 people. And a tsunami killed over 1,300 people in Japan.
In North America, the Peace Bridge opened between Buffalo, New York and Fort Erie, Ontario. Work began on carving the Presidential faces on Mount Rushmore. The Terminal Tower opened in Cleveland. Nicola Sacco and Bartolomeo Vanzetti were executed for murder, despite massive demonstrations affirming their innocence. A hurricane hit Canada's Maritime Provinces, killing 56 people.
In Youngstown, Ohio, Tony De Capua shot and killed his wife, his 4 daughters, his 2 grandchildren, and a neighbor. He also shot and wounded his daughter-in-law, a passerby, and a policeman, who still managed to arrest him.
Charles Lindbergh continued touring America in the wake of his pioneering Atlantic crossing flight. The company that would become United Airlines was founded. Babe Ruth hit the 400th home run of his career, and inched closer and closer to breaking his own single-season home run record, which he would raise to 60. The Columbia Broadcasting System (CBS) was founded, following the National Broadcasting Company (NBC) the year before. And Philo Farnsworth built the 1st fully electronic television set.
Leonard Wood, and Marcus Loew, and Isadora Duncan died. Rosalynn Carter, and Peter Falk, and Althea Gibson were born.
That's what the world was like in the days leading up to what became known as the Long Count Fight.
*
And so, on September 22, 1927, Heavyweight Champion Gene Tunney (with a record of 64 wins, 1 loss and 1 draw) and former Heavyweight Champion Jack Dempsey (64 wins, 5 losses, 9 draws) climbed into the ring at Soldier Field in Chicago in front of 104,000 people.
Most media outlets favored Dempsey -- apparently, not having seen film of the previous fight. That fight had been scheduled for Chicago, but was moved to Philadelphia because of rumors that Chicago crime boss Al Capone would try to fix it. This time, Capone bet $50,000 on Dempsey for the rematch -- about $728,000 in today's money. The crowd of 104,943 produced a gate of $2,658,660, a new record -- nearly $39 million today, far and away a record. (Tickets for big prizefights have always been more expensive than those for other sports.)
This was the 1st title fight broadcast coast to coast on radio, as NBC (the National Broadcasting Company), America's 1st radio network, had been founded in between the 2 Dempsey-Tunney fights. It is believed that 15 million people listened. In Boston and Washington, D.C., amplifiers in major public spaces carried the radio broadcast.
According to Michael Horsley in an anniversary article for the Chicago Tribune, more than 25,000 people called the new Tribune Tower for updates on the fight. The paper also chartered a speedboat, so reporters and photographers could bypass the massive crowd out of the stadium, and walk over to Lake Michigan, and get to the Tribune Tower and file their stories within a few minutes.
It was a heady time for Chicago: Not only did Capone flout tax and Prohibition laws, but, in a span of a little over a year, 1924-25, Soldier Field, the Tribune Tower, the Wrigley Building and Union Station were all built. The Chicago Blackhawks were founded in 1926, and Chicago Stadium opened in 1929, becoming their home, and, eventually, that of the NBA's Chicago Bulls.
Two things to keep in mind, one favored by either fighter. Dempsey preferred a 16-foot ring, which offered opponents less space to maneuver. Tunney insisted on a 20-foot ring, which would tend to favor the fighter with the superior footwork. The range of 16 to 20 feet became standard.
The other factor is a new rule, one which Dempsey himself had recommended, in the interest of safety. Dempsey had been known to stand over a fighter he'd knocked down, wait for him to get up, and then start pounding away at him again. Boxers dying as a result of injuries sustained during fights has never been common, but it had already happened a few times, and older boxers and retired boxers becoming "punch-drunk" -- later called dementia pugilistica, or chronic traumatic encephalopathy (CTE) -- was already known.
So a rule was set: When a fighter was knocked down, the referee would order the standing fighter to retreat to a neutral corner. Only when the standing fighter did so would the referee begin the count. The State of Illinois had already adopted this rule by 1927. The State of New York, including the new Madison Square Garden (opened in 1925, and eventually known as "the old Garden"), the Polo Grounds and Yankee Stadium, did not yet have it.
The referee was Dave Barry, then 44 years old. Like Dempsey and Tunney, he was of Irish descent. Like Tunney, he had New York roots. But he was born in Montreal, and his family moved to Chicago when he was 12. He played football at Northwestern University, became a lightweight boxer, and in 1910 moved to become "the third man in the ring." By the time of Dempsey-Tunney II, he had officiated about 600 fights.
The 1st 6 rounds of the 2nd fight went much the way of the 1st fight, with Tunney dominating on points. There was nothing to indicate it would be any different from the 1st fight: A decision in Tunney's favor.
Soldier Field, as it would have appeared shortly after its opening in 1924.
The north end would be blocked off with a new bleacher section in 1971,
and the stadium, except for the south gate and the Doric columns,
would be completely replaced from 2001 to 2003.
Most media outlets favored Dempsey -- apparently, not having seen film of the previous fight. That fight had been scheduled for Chicago, but was moved to Philadelphia because of rumors that Chicago crime boss Al Capone would try to fix it. This time, Capone bet $50,000 on Dempsey for the rematch -- about $728,000 in today's money. The crowd of 104,943 produced a gate of $2,658,660, a new record -- nearly $39 million today, far and away a record. (Tickets for big prizefights have always been more expensive than those for other sports.)
This was the 1st title fight broadcast coast to coast on radio, as NBC (the National Broadcasting Company), America's 1st radio network, had been founded in between the 2 Dempsey-Tunney fights. It is believed that 15 million people listened. In Boston and Washington, D.C., amplifiers in major public spaces carried the radio broadcast.
According to Michael Horsley in an anniversary article for the Chicago Tribune, more than 25,000 people called the new Tribune Tower for updates on the fight. The paper also chartered a speedboat, so reporters and photographers could bypass the massive crowd out of the stadium, and walk over to Lake Michigan, and get to the Tribune Tower and file their stories within a few minutes.
It was a heady time for Chicago: Not only did Capone flout tax and Prohibition laws, but, in a span of a little over a year, 1924-25, Soldier Field, the Tribune Tower, the Wrigley Building and Union Station were all built. The Chicago Blackhawks were founded in 1926, and Chicago Stadium opened in 1929, becoming their home, and, eventually, that of the NBA's Chicago Bulls.
The other factor is a new rule, one which Dempsey himself had recommended, in the interest of safety. Dempsey had been known to stand over a fighter he'd knocked down, wait for him to get up, and then start pounding away at him again. Boxers dying as a result of injuries sustained during fights has never been common, but it had already happened a few times, and older boxers and retired boxers becoming "punch-drunk" -- later called dementia pugilistica, or chronic traumatic encephalopathy (CTE) -- was already known.
So a rule was set: When a fighter was knocked down, the referee would order the standing fighter to retreat to a neutral corner. Only when the standing fighter did so would the referee begin the count. The State of Illinois had already adopted this rule by 1927. The State of New York, including the new Madison Square Garden (opened in 1925, and eventually known as "the old Garden"), the Polo Grounds and Yankee Stadium, did not yet have it.
The referee was Dave Barry, then 44 years old. Like Dempsey and Tunney, he was of Irish descent. Like Tunney, he had New York roots. But he was born in Montreal, and his family moved to Chicago when he was 12. He played football at Northwestern University, became a lightweight boxer, and in 1910 moved to become "the third man in the ring." By the time of Dempsey-Tunney II, he had officiated about 600 fights.
But in the 7th round, Dempsey made a breakthrough, and got Tunney against the ropes. The Mauler smashed 2 right hands and 2 lefts into Tunney's chin, and he was staggered. Four punches later, and Tunney's knee had hit the canvas. For the 1st time in his boxing career, Gene Tunney had been knocked down.
Now, suppose for a minute, Dempsey had immediately gone to his corner, and Barry had immediately started the count, and Tunney had not made it up before the count of 10. Or, suppose that he had, but whatever difference it would have made meant that Dempsey could go in for the kill, and win by knockout. What would have changed?
Probably not much. Dempsey was 32 years old, Tunney 30. There would likely have been a 3rd fight, probably in front of as many people as could cram their way into Yankee Stadium in September 1928, during a Yankee roadtrip. Knowing what we know about Tunney, he would have intensely studied the film of the 2nd fight, to see where he went wrong, and he could have known what to do, and won the 3rd fight. Perhaps Dempsey would be held in higher historical esteem, but nothing else really would have changed.
Except Dempsey did not immediately go to his corner when Tunney went down. As he had usually done in his previous fights, he just stood there. Barry remembered the rule, and told Dempsey to get to a neutral corner. Dempsey still didn't do so: He just stood there, watching Tunney, waiting for him to get up.
Finally, Barry seemed to give Dempsey a little push, and point, and Dempsey got the hint. Only then did Barry turn back to Tunney, and swing his arm down, with his index finger pointed, and yell, "One!"
The fight was filmed, and, at some point, an early expert in film graphics put a graphic of a stopwatch in the corner of the screen. From the moment Tunney's knee hit the floor until Barry counted, "One!" it was a full 5 seconds. In other words, Tunney got 4 seconds more than he should have.
On the film, at the count of, "Four!" Tunney can be seen looking closely at Barry's hand. And through, "Five!" and onward, his head bobs up and down with Barry's arm. This was not an example of that classic phrase for a knocked-down fighter, "He doesn't know where he is!" Tunney was clear-headed and clear-eyed, and he was going to stay down until the count of, "Nine!" so that he could get all the rest to which he was legally entitled.
Having done exactly that, Tunney got up before Barry could bring his arm back down and yell, "Ten!" He had spent a total of 14 seconds down, 4 more than the usual limit.
Dempsey came right back at him, to, as they would say in the video game Mortal Kombat, "Finish him!" Knowing Dempsey would do this, Tunney "got on his bike," and danced away from Dempsey's big blows, and saw the round out, thus giving himself a little more time to recuperate without a big-gloved Colorado fist plunging into his head.
In the 8th round, Tunney managed to knock Dempsey down. Interestingly, Barry began counting without checking that Tunney had reached a neutral corner -- and he hadn't gotten there yet. Dempsey got up, and finished the round and the fight, but it was no contest.
When the bell rang to end the 10th and final round, Dempsey knew he'd lost. He lifted Tunney's arm, and said, "You were best. You fought a smart fight, kid." ("Kid"? Tunney was just 2 years younger, although all of Dempsey's bar, camp and mine fighting before he turned fully professional, plus his hard-living 3-year layoff, had left him an old man in fighting terms.)
Dempsey's fans, and people who may not have liked him much but bet money on him, were furious. It became known as "The Long Count Fight." At the time, there was a federal law prohibiting the transportation of boxing movies across State Lines, meaning that most people never actually saw the fight until years later. People who heard the legend of the Long Count presumed it was true, based solely on hearsay, not on seeing the film.
And people who didn't previously like Dempsey began to sympathize with him. The sense that he may have been treated unfairly actually helped him: He had lost the fight, but won over a lot of fans, many of whom began appreciating him more in hindsight than they did when he was knocking out Jess Willard, Georges Carpentier and Luis Firpo.
Shirley Povich of The Washington Post, better known for his baseball writing, wrote, "In defeat, he gained more stature. He was the loser in the battle of the long count, yet the hero."
When the law was repealed, people could see the version with the stopwatch graphic. Dempsey is in the dark trunks, Tunney in the light trunks. And the number of people saying Dempsey was robbed began to decline.
Yet his popularity remained. When the Great Depression came, and the 1930s cranked out less exciting fighters like Max Schmeling, Jack Sharkey, Primo Carnera, Max Baer and Jim Braddock (until Joe Louis came along), the 1920s became a target for nostalgia considerably sooner than most decades do, and Dempsey became a beloved figure, even though he hadn't officially fought since 1927.
He opened a restaurant in 1934, on Broadway at 50th Street, a block away from Madison Square Garden (a.k.a. "the Mecca of Boxing") and at the northern edge of Times Square, and it was quite popular, until the old Garden closed and was replaced by the new Garden in 1968, several blocks downtown.
Jack Dempsey's closed on October 31, 1974, the day after Muhammad Ali regained the Heavyweight Championship by knocking George Foreman out. At the time, people still held Dempsey in high regard, putting him in the conversation with Joe Louis, Rocky Marciano and Ali for the title of the greatest Heavyweight Champion ever.
A lot of Dempsey's popularity did stem from the fact that he was "robbed." But was he? Did referee Barry really unfairly deny him a regaining of the title?
Top 5 Reasons You Can't Blame Referee Dave Barry for "the Long Count"
This was an episode that the 2005-07 ESPN series The Top 5 Reasons You Can't Blame... advertised in its opening montage, but never got around to doing. So, on this anniversary, I've decided to do it.
Before I get to the top 5 reasons, here are a couple that didn't make the cut: The Best of the Rest.
Doc Kearns. Dempsey fired him as his manager and trainer in 1923. Kearns was unquestionably a con man. But he knew boxing as much as any man of his time. He would go on to manage 6 World Champions: Dempsey, 1920s Lightweight Champion Benny Leonard, 1920s Welterweight and Middleweight Champion Mickey Walker, early 1930s Welterweight Champion Jackie Fields, and, much later, the 2 men who held the Light Heavyweight Championship in the 1950s, Joey Maxim and Archie Moore.
Kearns would have found a way to keep Dempsey fighting and fresh, And there's no way he would have let Dempsey forget about the neutral corner rule.
Dempsey's layoff. Dempsey may not have gotten fat like Babe Ruth, or like earlier Heavyweight Champion John L. Sullivan, when those men got bored between their competitions. But, like both of them, he enjoyed the good life, and too much. He simply wasn't ready to take on a fighter as good as Tunney.
Now, the Top 5:
5. Illinois. Dempsey himself, the greatest beneficiary of the old rule, had enough sportsmanship to insist on the new one. That's why the fight was held in Chicago: Because the State of Illinois had accepted the rule, while the State of New York and the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania, the locations of Dempsey's 2 previous fights (against Sharkey and Tunney, respectively), had not.
4. Tunney worked the count. He said after the fight that he was ready to get up at the official count of 2. On the film, he can be seen clearly following Barry's hand from the official count of 4 onward, so I believe him. Yet he stayed down until Barry counted 9, and then got right up with no trouble.
If the official count of 4 was the real count of 9, Tunney could have gotten up. Whether Tunney would have been able to hold Dempsey off had he gotten up at the count of 4-but-it-should-have-been-9, we will never know.
3. Dempsey blew it. On top of firing Kearns, on top of his 3-year layoff, on top of not being in good enough shape, and on top of having apparently learned nothing from his previous fight with Tunney, Dempsey simply forgot about the rule for which he had advocated.
In a memoir, he said, "It's hard to stop what you're doing, standing over a guy and waiting for him to get up." He simply did what he had done 100 times before, instead of doing what he should have done. If you want to blame anyone for Dempsey losing the fight, blame Dempsey himself.
2. The roar of the crowd. People listening on the radio told reporters that, once Tunney went down, all they could hear was the 100,000+ people in Soldier Field yelling. They couldn't hear the announcer. It's entirely possible that Dempsey didn't hear Barry's order to go to a neutral corner.
The roar of the crowd has also been blamed for the 2 gaffes at the Superdome in New Orleans that gave Dean Smith his only National Championships at North Carolina: The bad pass by Georgetown's Fred Brown to James Worthy in 1982, and Michigan's Chris Webber not hearing coach Steve Fisher tell him they were now out of timeouts in 1993. It has also been blamed for Robin van Persie not hearing the referee's whistle, thus kicking the ball out of bounds after the whistle, thus getting sent off, in Arsenal's loss to Barcelona at the Camp Nou in the 2011 UEFA Champions League.
1. Tunney was better. He dominated both fights, winning 19 of the 20 rounds, all but the 7th round of the rematch, when Dempsey knocked him down. It's worth pointing out that Tunney knocked Dempsey down in the 8th.
Jack Dempsey was one of the greatest punchers in boxing history, maybe the greatest. But Gene Tunney was a better boxer. There is a difference, which Tunney appreciated, and Dempsey, at least at the time, did not.
VERDICT: Not Guilty. Barry did his job, which was to enforce the rules. Tunney did his job, which was to follow the rules and outbox Dempsey. Dempsey did not do his job: He made a mistake which meant he didn't follow a particular rule, and he did not outbox Tunney.
Dempsey never fought another officially sanctioned bout, although he did fight some exhibitions. Tunney defended his title once more, a TKO 11th round win over New Zealand fighter Tom Heeney at Yankee Stadium on July 26, 1928, and retired.
Now, suppose for a minute, Dempsey had immediately gone to his corner, and Barry had immediately started the count, and Tunney had not made it up before the count of 10. Or, suppose that he had, but whatever difference it would have made meant that Dempsey could go in for the kill, and win by knockout. What would have changed?
Probably not much. Dempsey was 32 years old, Tunney 30. There would likely have been a 3rd fight, probably in front of as many people as could cram their way into Yankee Stadium in September 1928, during a Yankee roadtrip. Knowing what we know about Tunney, he would have intensely studied the film of the 2nd fight, to see where he went wrong, and he could have known what to do, and won the 3rd fight. Perhaps Dempsey would be held in higher historical esteem, but nothing else really would have changed.
Except Dempsey did not immediately go to his corner when Tunney went down. As he had usually done in his previous fights, he just stood there. Barry remembered the rule, and told Dempsey to get to a neutral corner. Dempsey still didn't do so: He just stood there, watching Tunney, waiting for him to get up.
Finally, Barry seemed to give Dempsey a little push, and point, and Dempsey got the hint. Only then did Barry turn back to Tunney, and swing his arm down, with his index finger pointed, and yell, "One!"
The fight was filmed, and, at some point, an early expert in film graphics put a graphic of a stopwatch in the corner of the screen. From the moment Tunney's knee hit the floor until Barry counted, "One!" it was a full 5 seconds. In other words, Tunney got 4 seconds more than he should have.
On the film, at the count of, "Four!" Tunney can be seen looking closely at Barry's hand. And through, "Five!" and onward, his head bobs up and down with Barry's arm. This was not an example of that classic phrase for a knocked-down fighter, "He doesn't know where he is!" Tunney was clear-headed and clear-eyed, and he was going to stay down until the count of, "Nine!" so that he could get all the rest to which he was legally entitled.
Having done exactly that, Tunney got up before Barry could bring his arm back down and yell, "Ten!" He had spent a total of 14 seconds down, 4 more than the usual limit.
Dempsey came right back at him, to, as they would say in the video game Mortal Kombat, "Finish him!" Knowing Dempsey would do this, Tunney "got on his bike," and danced away from Dempsey's big blows, and saw the round out, thus giving himself a little more time to recuperate without a big-gloved Colorado fist plunging into his head.
In the 8th round, Tunney managed to knock Dempsey down. Interestingly, Barry began counting without checking that Tunney had reached a neutral corner -- and he hadn't gotten there yet. Dempsey got up, and finished the round and the fight, but it was no contest.
When the bell rang to end the 10th and final round, Dempsey knew he'd lost. He lifted Tunney's arm, and said, "You were best. You fought a smart fight, kid." ("Kid"? Tunney was just 2 years younger, although all of Dempsey's bar, camp and mine fighting before he turned fully professional, plus his hard-living 3-year layoff, had left him an old man in fighting terms.)
Dempsey's fans, and people who may not have liked him much but bet money on him, were furious. It became known as "The Long Count Fight." At the time, there was a federal law prohibiting the transportation of boxing movies across State Lines, meaning that most people never actually saw the fight until years later. People who heard the legend of the Long Count presumed it was true, based solely on hearsay, not on seeing the film.
And people who didn't previously like Dempsey began to sympathize with him. The sense that he may have been treated unfairly actually helped him: He had lost the fight, but won over a lot of fans, many of whom began appreciating him more in hindsight than they did when he was knocking out Jess Willard, Georges Carpentier and Luis Firpo.
Shirley Povich of The Washington Post, better known for his baseball writing, wrote, "In defeat, he gained more stature. He was the loser in the battle of the long count, yet the hero."
When the law was repealed, people could see the version with the stopwatch graphic. Dempsey is in the dark trunks, Tunney in the light trunks. And the number of people saying Dempsey was robbed began to decline.
Yet his popularity remained. When the Great Depression came, and the 1930s cranked out less exciting fighters like Max Schmeling, Jack Sharkey, Primo Carnera, Max Baer and Jim Braddock (until Joe Louis came along), the 1920s became a target for nostalgia considerably sooner than most decades do, and Dempsey became a beloved figure, even though he hadn't officially fought since 1927.
He opened a restaurant in 1934, on Broadway at 50th Street, a block away from Madison Square Garden (a.k.a. "the Mecca of Boxing") and at the northern edge of Times Square, and it was quite popular, until the old Garden closed and was replaced by the new Garden in 1968, several blocks downtown.
Jack Dempsey's closed on October 31, 1974, the day after Muhammad Ali regained the Heavyweight Championship by knocking George Foreman out. At the time, people still held Dempsey in high regard, putting him in the conversation with Joe Louis, Rocky Marciano and Ali for the title of the greatest Heavyweight Champion ever.
A lot of Dempsey's popularity did stem from the fact that he was "robbed." But was he? Did referee Barry really unfairly deny him a regaining of the title?
Top 5 Reasons You Can't Blame Referee Dave Barry for "the Long Count"
This was an episode that the 2005-07 ESPN series The Top 5 Reasons You Can't Blame... advertised in its opening montage, but never got around to doing. So, on this anniversary, I've decided to do it.
Before I get to the top 5 reasons, here are a couple that didn't make the cut: The Best of the Rest.
Doc Kearns. Dempsey fired him as his manager and trainer in 1923. Kearns was unquestionably a con man. But he knew boxing as much as any man of his time. He would go on to manage 6 World Champions: Dempsey, 1920s Lightweight Champion Benny Leonard, 1920s Welterweight and Middleweight Champion Mickey Walker, early 1930s Welterweight Champion Jackie Fields, and, much later, the 2 men who held the Light Heavyweight Championship in the 1950s, Joey Maxim and Archie Moore.
Kearns would have found a way to keep Dempsey fighting and fresh, And there's no way he would have let Dempsey forget about the neutral corner rule.
Dempsey's layoff. Dempsey may not have gotten fat like Babe Ruth, or like earlier Heavyweight Champion John L. Sullivan, when those men got bored between their competitions. But, like both of them, he enjoyed the good life, and too much. He simply wasn't ready to take on a fighter as good as Tunney.
Now, the Top 5:
5. Illinois. Dempsey himself, the greatest beneficiary of the old rule, had enough sportsmanship to insist on the new one. That's why the fight was held in Chicago: Because the State of Illinois had accepted the rule, while the State of New York and the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania, the locations of Dempsey's 2 previous fights (against Sharkey and Tunney, respectively), had not.
4. Tunney worked the count. He said after the fight that he was ready to get up at the official count of 2. On the film, he can be seen clearly following Barry's hand from the official count of 4 onward, so I believe him. Yet he stayed down until Barry counted 9, and then got right up with no trouble.
If the official count of 4 was the real count of 9, Tunney could have gotten up. Whether Tunney would have been able to hold Dempsey off had he gotten up at the count of 4-but-it-should-have-been-9, we will never know.
3. Dempsey blew it. On top of firing Kearns, on top of his 3-year layoff, on top of not being in good enough shape, and on top of having apparently learned nothing from his previous fight with Tunney, Dempsey simply forgot about the rule for which he had advocated.
In a memoir, he said, "It's hard to stop what you're doing, standing over a guy and waiting for him to get up." He simply did what he had done 100 times before, instead of doing what he should have done. If you want to blame anyone for Dempsey losing the fight, blame Dempsey himself.
2. The roar of the crowd. People listening on the radio told reporters that, once Tunney went down, all they could hear was the 100,000+ people in Soldier Field yelling. They couldn't hear the announcer. It's entirely possible that Dempsey didn't hear Barry's order to go to a neutral corner.
The roar of the crowd has also been blamed for the 2 gaffes at the Superdome in New Orleans that gave Dean Smith his only National Championships at North Carolina: The bad pass by Georgetown's Fred Brown to James Worthy in 1982, and Michigan's Chris Webber not hearing coach Steve Fisher tell him they were now out of timeouts in 1993. It has also been blamed for Robin van Persie not hearing the referee's whistle, thus kicking the ball out of bounds after the whistle, thus getting sent off, in Arsenal's loss to Barcelona at the Camp Nou in the 2011 UEFA Champions League.
1. Tunney was better. He dominated both fights, winning 19 of the 20 rounds, all but the 7th round of the rematch, when Dempsey knocked him down. It's worth pointing out that Tunney knocked Dempsey down in the 8th.
Jack Dempsey was one of the greatest punchers in boxing history, maybe the greatest. But Gene Tunney was a better boxer. There is a difference, which Tunney appreciated, and Dempsey, at least at the time, did not.
VERDICT: Not Guilty. Barry did his job, which was to enforce the rules. Tunney did his job, which was to follow the rules and outbox Dempsey. Dempsey did not do his job: He made a mistake which meant he didn't follow a particular rule, and he did not outbox Tunney.
Dempsey never fought another officially sanctioned bout, although he did fight some exhibitions. Tunney defended his title once more, a TKO 11th round win over New Zealand fighter Tom Heeney at Yankee Stadium on July 26, 1928, and retired.
George "Tex" Rickard, who had built the 3rd Garden, and had promoted all of Dempsey's big fights, promoted this one as well, and wrote Tunney a check for his share of the gate: $970,000. Tunney told Rickard to tear it up, and wrote him a check for $30,000. Now, Rickard owed Tunney a cool million. Tunney really, really wanted to have a check for $1 million, and once it was canceled, he had it framed and hung on a wall in his home. (In 2017 money, about $14.3 million.)
Dempsey never held the defeats against Tunney, and they remained friends until Tunney died in 1978, at age 81. Dempsey followed in 1983, at 88. Of the Golden Age's "Big Five," he had outlived all but Red Grange, who lived on until 1991: Babe Ruth died in 1948, Bill Tilden in 1953, and Bobby Jones in 1971.
This is not unusual among great boxers. Joe Louis and Max Schmeling remained friends until death came between them. So did 1940s Middleweight Champions Rocky Graziano and Tony Zale, who fought 3 times, with Zale winning 2. So did 1940s Featherweight Champions Willie Pep and Sandy Saddler, who fought 4 times, with Saddler winning 3. So did 1950s Middleweight Champions Sugar Ray Robinson and Jake LaMotta, who fought 6 times, with Robinson winning 5.
Tunney and Dempsey, flanking Tunney's son,
Senator John Tunney, Democrat of California
This is not unusual among great boxers. Joe Louis and Max Schmeling remained friends until death came between them. So did 1940s Middleweight Champions Rocky Graziano and Tony Zale, who fought 3 times, with Zale winning 2. So did 1940s Featherweight Champions Willie Pep and Sandy Saddler, who fought 4 times, with Saddler winning 3. So did 1950s Middleweight Champions Sugar Ray Robinson and Jake LaMotta, who fought 6 times, with Robinson winning 5.
Even Mike Tyson and Evander Holyfield seem to have made peace with each other. The occasional falling-out between Muhammad Ali and Joe Frazier was an exception rather than the rule. George Foreman stayed friends with both Ali and Frazier until they died.
Jack Dempsey and Gene Tunney lived to be old men, and much-admired. Dave Barry wasn't so lucky: He only lived until 1936, dying of liver failure. He was only 53. And, today, he is remembered for only one thing, a mistake -- which he didn't even make. That's a shame.
Jack Dempsey and Gene Tunney lived to be old men, and much-admired. Dave Barry wasn't so lucky: He only lived until 1936, dying of liver failure. He was only 53. And, today, he is remembered for only one thing, a mistake -- which he didn't even make. That's a shame.
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