Tex Rickard Planted the Dempsey – Willard SuperFight in Toledo: Here’s Why

Published

6 years ago

June 30, 2019

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This coming July 4^th marks the 100^th anniversary of the Dempsey-Willard fight. More than a big fight, Dempsey vs. Willard came to be seen as the first big bang in the Golden Era of Sports, an era that eventually became synonymous with the Roaring 20s.

The fight was the handiwork of George “Tex” Rickard. America’s first great boxing promoter, Rickard had come to the fore in Nevada, first in 1906 in the boomtown of Goldfield where he was the chief architect of the lightweight title fight between Joe Gans and Battling Nelson, and then four years later in Reno where he manufactured (and refereed) a more historic event, the heavyweight championship fight between Jack Johnson and former title-holder James J. Jeffries.

Rickard’s third successful promotion was the March 25, 1916 heavyweight title fight between Jess Willard and Frank Moran at Madison Square Garden. Willard had dethroned Johnson the previous year, stopping the Galveston Giant in the 26^th round at a thoroughbred track on the outskirts of Havana. The gate receipts for Willard-Moran, Willard’s first title defense, were $151,254, the second-highest on record (surpassed only by Johnson-Jeffries at Reno), earning Rickard and his partners a tidy profit.

The fight would have produced an even larger gate if not for legal restraints. For one thing, the law then in effect in New York restricted fights to 10 rounds and outlawed official decisions. There were no judges and the referee lacked the authority to declare a winner. Bets were decided by designating a scorekeeper – typically a ringside reporter for a local paper – in the event that both combatants were still standing at the final bell.

The no-decision rule was hardly indigenous to New York. It was implanted in many other places during the first decade of the century when a wave of reform swept the land, devitalizing if not outright banning such “vices” as prizefighting and horse racing. Among other things, the rule was an incentive for champions to lollygag through title defenses as they could only lose their belt in the event of a knockout. Title fights were too often snoozers, an irritant that prevented boxing from reaching its full potential as a spectator sport.

After defeating Frank Moran, Willard sat on the title for three years, raking in big bucks in personal appearances that were often arranged in conjunction with a Wild West show. White folks flocked to see the champion pugilist of the world, the Kansas cowboy who had given the reviled Jack Johnson his comeuppance. And late in Willard’s decampment, Jack Dempsey shot out of the West like a comet, turning heads with a slew of fast knockouts. The high point was a 23-second blast-out of favored Fred Fulton on July 27, 1918 at a ballpark in New Jersey. Fulton, the Minnesota Plasterer, out-weighed Dempsey by 20 pounds.

It was clear that a fight between Willard and Dempsey would be a much bigger event than the Willard-Moran fight. But where to put it?

Ideally, it would bubble forth in a heavily populated area but New York was out as were Chicago and Philadelphia as the law in both jurisdictions mandated no-decision bouts no longer than six rounds. Forget San Francisco or, for that matter, anywhere else in California. In 1914, the voters approved a referendum that placed all boxing, amateur and professional, on the amateur plane, thereby restricting pro fights to four rounds.

The last remnant of old-time gloved fighting in the U.S. was found in New Orleans where the ceiling was 20 rounds. Rickard briefly considered placing Willard-Dempsey there but backed off because of climatic considerations; it figured to be awful hot and humid in New Orleans on the 4^th of July. True, the weather figured to be hot almost everywhere (and, as it turned out, it would be wickedly hot in Toledo), but Rickard was playing the percentages.

—

A community that wanted to host an important prizefight had to satisfy certain conditions. Foremost, the local organizers had to be willing to defray some of the promoter’s expenses. A big fight was a shot of adrenaline for a stagnant economy. Fight goers were conventioneers, of a sort, and had shown themselves to be the best kind of conventioneers; free spenders.

The spearhead of Toledo’s local organizing committee was Addison Thatcher. A gym operator and small-time boxing promoter, Thatcher had a thriving business that salvaged scrap metal from ships that went down in Lake Erie. A future Toledo mayor (running under the slogan “Feed the Poor and Don’t Ask Any Questions”) and a future failed candidate for Governor of Ohio, Thatcher was a man with considerable clout.

Through his sway, the city fathers agreed to put a 60-acre municipal park at Rickard’s disposal for his big wooden open air arena, leveling the ground where necessary to eliminate some of the prep work for Rickard’s construction engineers. (Addison Thatcher wasn’t motivated entirely by a sense of civic duty. He planned to cash in on the big fight by converting an empty warehouse into a dormitory and purportedly purchased 1,500 cots for this purpose.)

Equally important if taking a big fight into the hinterland (and from the standpoint of a New Yorker, anything west of Philadelphia was the hinterland), the place had to be easily accessible by rail. Chicago was America’s railroad hub and Rickard would eventually plant a big fight there (after the Illinois boxing law was liberalized to allow 10-round fights), but Toledo wasn’t too far behind. In fact, by some accounts, Toledo – roughly 55 miles from Detroit, less than 100 miles from Cleveland, and less than 200 miles from Cincinnati or Indianapolis — ranked second only to Chicago in passenger rail traffic. There were also ferries connecting Toledo to various points in Ohio and Michigan and to Windsor, Ontario, Canada, a short hop across the lake.

Another pre-condition, although this less overt, had to do with the culture. No out-of-town promoter would risk planting a big prizefight in a city with a distinct Victorian tone as he would inevitably butt heads with a strong anti-prizefighting lobby. Toledo wasn’t as libertine as New Orleans, or Denver for that matter, but it was relatively wide open, housing the most notorious red light district in all of Ohio. In the words of Ohio journalist Vince Guerrieri, Toledo appealed to Tex Rickard for its “moral flexibility.”

—

The Willard-Dempsey promotion turned a profit, but it was far less than what Rickard and his backers anticipated. The paid attendance was 19,650 in an arena built to house four times that number. The national heat wave and reports of price gouging by Toledo’s hotels and restaurants served to depress the turnout. But Jack Dempsey, a cruiserweight by today’s standards, slaughtered the six-foot-six, 245-pound Willard in such a spectacular fashion that he increased his stature a thousand-fold and Tex Rickard was off and running, soon to piggyback Dempsey into great spectacles that gripped the nation. (To illustrate what a big star Dempsey became, both of New York’s National League baseball teams postponed their home games on the day of Dempsey’s first fight with Gene Tunney in deference to it. An estimated 50,000 New Yorkers made the trek to Philadelphia to see the fight in person.)

It was the Golden Era of Sports, the Age of Wonderful Nonsense, and it dawned in the city of Toledo 100 years ago this Thursday. And let me take this opportunity to wish everyone a happy 4^th of July.

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Arne K. Lang

Related Topics:Addison Thatcher Arne K. Lang Boxing Frank Moran Fred Fulton Galveston Giant Jack Dempsey Jack Johnson Tex Rickard The Sweet Science Toledo Ohio TSS

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“Breadman” Edwards: An Unlikely Boxing Coach with a Panoramic View of the Sport

Published

9 hours ago

May 8, 2025

Arne K. Lang

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Stephen “Breadman” Edwards’ first fighter won a world title. That may be some sort of record.

It’s true. Edwards had never trained a fighter, amateur or pro, before taking on professional novice Julian “J Rock” Williams. On May 11, 2019, Williams wrested the IBF 154-pound world title from Jarrett Hurd. The bout, a lusty skirmish, was in Fairfax, Virginia, near Hurd’s hometown in Maryland, and the previously undefeated Hurd had the crowd in his corner.

In boxing, Stephen Edwards wears two hats. He has a growing reputation as a boxing coach, a hat he will wear on Saturday, May 31, at Mandalay Bay in Las Vegas when the two fighters that he currently trains, super middleweight Caleb Plant and middleweight Kyrone Davis, display their wares on a show that will air on Amazon Prime Video. Plant, who needs no introduction, figures to have little trouble with his foe in a match conceived as an appetizer to a showdown with Jermall Charlo. Davis, coming off his career-best win, an upset of previously undefeated Elijah Garcia, is in tough against fast-rising Cuban prospect Yoenli Hernandez, a former world amateur champion.

Edwards’ other hat is that of a journalist. His byline appears at “Boxing Scene” in a column where he answers questions from readers.

It’s an eclectic bag of questions that Breadman addresses, ranging from his thoughts on an upcoming fight to his thoughts on one of the legendary prizefighters of olden days. Boxing fans, more so than fans of any other sport, enjoy hashing over fantasy fights between great fighters of different eras. Breadman is very good at this, which isn’t to suggest that his opinions are gospel, merely that he always has something provocative to add to the discourse. Like all good historians, he recognizes that the best history is revisionist history.

“Fighters are constantly mislabled,” he says. “Everyone talks about Joe Louis’s right hand. But if you study him you see that his left hook is every bit as good as his right hand and it’s more sneaky in terms of shock value when it lands.”

Stephen “Breadman” Edwards was born and raised in Philadelphia. His father died when he was three. His maternal grandfather, a Korean War veteran, filled the void. The man was a big boxing fan and the two would watch the fights together on the family television.

Edwards’ nickname dates to his early teen years when he was one of the best basketball players in his neighborhood. The derivation is the 1975 movie “Cornbread, Earl and Me,” starring Laurence Fishburne in his big screen debut. Future NBA All-Star Jamaal Wilkes, fresh out of UCLA, plays Cornbread, a standout high school basketball player who is mistakenly murdered by the police.

Coming out of high school, Breadman had to choose between an academic scholarship at Temple or an athletic scholarship at nearby Lincoln University. He chose the former, intending to major in criminal justice, but didn’t stay in college long. What followed were a succession of jobs including a stint as a city bus driver. To stay fit, he took to working out at the James Shuler Memorial Gym where he sparred with some of the regulars, but he never boxed competitively.

Over the years, Philadelphia has harbored some great boxing coaches. Among those of recent vintage, the names George Benton, Bouie Fisher, Nazeem Richardson, and Bozy Ennis come quickly to mind. Breadman names Richardson and West Coast trainer Virgil Hunter as the men that have influenced him the most.

We are all a product of our times, so it’s no surprise that the best decade of boxing, in Breadman’s estimation, was the 1980s. This was the era of the “Four Kings” with Sugar Ray Leonard arguably standing tallest.

Breadman was a big fan of Leonard and of Leonard’s three-time rival Roberto Duran. “I once purchased a DVD that had all of Roberto Duran’s title defenses on it,” says Edwards. “This was a back before the days of YouTube.”

But Edwards’ interest in the sport goes back much deeper than the 1980s. He recently weighed in on the “Pittsburgh Windmill” Harry Greb whose legend has grown in recent years to the point that some have come to place him above Sugar Ray Robinson on the list of the greatest of all time.

“Greb was a great fighter with a terrific resume, of that there is no doubt,” says Breadman, “but there is no video of him and no one alive ever saw him fight, so where does this train of thought come from?”

Edwards notes that in Harry Greb’s heyday, he wasn’t talked about in the papers as the best pound-for-pound fighter in the sport. The boxing writers were partial to Benny Leonard who drew comparisons to the venerated Joe Gans.

Among active fighters, Breadman reserves his highest praise for Terence Crawford. “Body punching is a lost art,” he once wrote. “[Crawford] is a great body puncher who starts his knockouts with body punches, but those punches are so subtle they are not fully appreciated.”

If the opening line holds up, Crawford will enter the ring as the underdog when he opposes Canelo Alvarez in September. Crawford, who will enter the ring a few weeks shy of his 38^th birthday, is actually the older fighter, older than Canelo by almost three full years (it doesn’t seem that way since the Mexican redhead has been in the public eye so much longer), and will theoretically be rusty as 13 months will have elapsed since his most recent fight.

Breadman discounts those variables. “Terence is older,” he says, “but has less wear and tear and never looks rusty after a long layoff.” That Crawford will win he has no doubt, an opinion he tweaked after Canelo’s performance against William Scull: “Canelo’s legs are not the same. Bud may even stop him now.”

Edwards has been with Caleb Plant for Plant’s last three fights. Their first collaboration produced a Knockout of the Year candidate. With one ferocious left hook, Plant sent Anthony Dirrell to dreamland. What followed were a 12-round setback to David Benavidez and a ninth-round stoppage of Trevor McCumby.

Breadman keeps a hectic schedule. From Monday through Friday, he’s at the DLX Gym in Las Vegas coaching Caleb Plant and Kyrone Davis. On weekends, he’s back in Philadelphia, checking in on his investment properties and, of greater importance, watching his kids play sports. His 14-year-old daughter and 12-year-old son are standout all-around athletes.

On those long flights, he has plenty of time to turn on his laptop and stream old fights or perhaps work on his next article. That’s assuming he can stay awake.

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Arne’s Almanac: The Good, the Bad, and the (Mostly) Ugly; a Weekend Boxing Recap and More

Published

2 days ago

May 6, 2025

Arne K. Lang

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Arne’s Almanac: The Good, the Bad, and the (Mostly) Ugly; a Weekend Boxing Recap and More

It’s old news now, but on back-to-back nights on the first weekend of May, there were three fights that finished in the top six snoozefests ever as measured by punch activity. That’s according to CompuBox which has been around for 40 years.

In Times Square, the boxing match between Devin Haney and Jose Carlos Ramirez had the fifth-fewest number of punches thrown, but the main event, Ryan Garcia vs. Rolly Romero, was even more of a snoozefest, landing in third place on this ignoble list.

Those standings would be revised the next night – knocked down a peg when Canelo Alvarez and William Scull combined to throw a historically low 445 punches in their match in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia, 152 by the victorious Canelo who at least pressed the action, unlike Scull (pictured) whose effort reminded this reporter of “Cat on a Hot Tin Roof” – no, not the movie starring Paul Newman, just the title.

CompuBox numbers, it says here, are best understood as approximations, but no amount of rejiggering can alter the fact that these three fights were stinkers. Making matters worse, these were pay-per-views. If one had bundled the two events, rather than buying each separately, one would have been out $90 bucks.

****

Thankfully, the Sunday card on ESPN from Las Vegas was redemptive. It was just what the sport needed at this moment – entertaining fights to expunge some of the bad odor. In the main go, Naoya Inoue showed why he trails only Shohei Ohtani as the most revered athlete in Japan.

Throughout history, the baby-faced assassin has been a boxing promoter’s dream. It’s no coincidence that down through the ages the most common nickname for a fighter – and by an overwhelming margin — is “Kid.”

And that partly explains Naoya Inoue’s charisma. The guy is 32 years old, but here in America he could pass for 17.

Joey Archer

Joey Archer, who passed away last week at age 87 in Rensselaer, New York, was one of the last links to an era of boxing identified with the nationally televised Friday Night Fights at Madison Square Garden.

Joey Archer

Archer made his debut as an MSG headliner on Feb. 4, 1961, and had 12 more fights at the iconic mid-Manhattan sock palace over the next six years. The final two were world title fights with defending middleweight champion Emile Griffith.

Archer etched his name in the history books in November of 1965 in Pittsburgh where he won a comfortable 10-round decision over Sugar Ray Robinson, sending the greatest fighter of all time into retirement. (At age 45, Robinson was then far past his peak.)

Born and raised in the Bronx, Joey Archer was a cutie; a clever counter-puncher recognized for his defense and ultimately for his granite chin. His style was embedded in his DNA and reinforced by his mentors.

Early in his career, Archer was domiciled in Houston where he was handled by veteran trainer Bill Gore who was then working with world lightweight champion Joe Brown. Gore would ride into the Hall of Fame on the coattails of his most famous fighter, “Will-o’-the Wisp” Willie Pep. If Joey Archer had any thoughts of becoming a banger, Bill Gore would have disabused him of that notion.

In all honesty, Archer’s style would have been box office poison if he had been black. It helped immensely that he was a native New Yorker of Irish stock, albeit the Irish angle didn’t have as much pull as it had several decades earlier. But that observation may not be fair to Archer who was bypassed twice for world title fights after upsetting Hurricane Carter and Dick Tiger.

When he finally caught up with Emile Griffith, the former hat maker wasn’t quite the fighter he had been a few years earlier but Griffith, a two-time Fighter of the Year by The Ring magazine and the BWAA and a future first ballot Hall of Famer, was still a hard nut to crack.

Archer went 30 rounds with Griffith, losing two relatively tight decisions and then, although not quite 30 years old, called it quits. He finished 45-4 with 8 KOs and was reportedly never knocked down, yet alone stopped, while answering the bell for 365 rounds. In retirement, he ran two popular taverns with his older brother Jimmy Archer, a former boxer who was Joey’s trainer and manager late in Joey’s career.

May he rest in peace.

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Bombs Away in Las Vegas where Inoue and Espinoza Scored Smashing Triumphs

Published

4 days ago

May 4, 2025

David A. Avila

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Japan’s Naoya “Monster” Inoue banged it out with Mexico’s Ramon Cardenas, survived an early knockdown and pounded out a stoppage win to retain the undisputed super bantamweight world championship on Sunday.

Japan and Mexico delivered for boxing fans again after American stars failed in back-to-back days.

“By watching tonight’s fight, everyone is well aware that I like to brawl,” Inoue said.

Inoue (30-0, 27 KOs), and Cardenas (26-2, 14 KOs) and his wicked left hook, showed the world and 8,474 fans at T-Mobile Arena in Las Vegas that prizefighting is about punching, not running.

After massive exposure for three days of fights that began in New York City, then moved to Riyadh, Saudi Arabia and then to Nevada, it was the casino capital of the world that delivered what most boxing fans appreciate- pure unadulterated action fights.

Monster Inoue immediately went to work as soon as the opening bell rang with a consistent attack on Cardenas, who very few people knew anything about.

One thing promised by Cardenas’ trainer Joel Diaz was that his fighter “can crack.”

Cardenas proved his trainer’s words truthful when he caught Inoue after a short violent exchange with a short left hook and down went the Japanese champion on his back. The crowd was shocked to its toes.

“I was very surprised,” said Inoue about getting dropped. ““In the first round, I felt I had good distance. It got loose in the second round. From then on, I made sure to not take that punch again.”

Inoue had no trouble getting up, but he did have trouble avoiding some of Cardenas massive blows delivered with evil intentions. Though Inoue did not go down again, a look of total astonishment blanketed his face.

A real fight was happening.

Cardenas, who resembles actor Andy Garcia, was never overly aggressive but kept that left hook of his cocked and ready to launch whenever he saw the moment. There were many moments against the hyper-aggressive Inoue.

Both fighters pack power and both looked to find the right moment. But after Inoue was knocked down by the left hook counter, he discovered a way to eliminate that weapon from Cardenas. Still, the Texas-based fighter had a strong right too.

In the sixth round Inoue opened up with one of his lightning combinations responsible for 10 consecutive knockout wins. Cardenas backed against the ropes and Inoue blasted away with blow after blow. Then suddenly, Cardenas turned Inoue around and had him on the ropes as the Mexican fighter unloaded nasty combinations to the body and head. Fans roared their approval.

“I dreamed about fighting in front of thousands of people in Las Vegas,” said Cardenas. “So, I came to give everything.”

Inoue looked a little surprised and had a slight Mona Lisa grin across his face. In the seventh round, the Japanese four-division world champion seemed ready to attack again full force and launched into the round guns blazing. Cardenas tried to catch Inoue again with counter left hooks but Inoue’s combos rained like deadly hail. Four consecutive rights by Inoue blasted Cardenas almost through the ropes. The referee Tom Taylor ruled it a knockdown. Cardenas beat the count and survived the round.

In the eighth round Inoue looked eager to attack and at the bell launched across the ring and unloaded more blows on Cardenas. A barrage of 14 unanswered blows forced the referee to stop the fight at 45 seconds of round eight for a technical knockout win.

“I knew he was tough,” said Inoue. “Boxing is not that easy.”

Espinoza Wins

WBO featherweight titlist Rafael Espinosa (27-0, 23 KOs) uppercut his way to a knockout win over Edward Vazquez (17-3, 4 KOs) in the seventh round.

“I wanted to fight a game fighter to show what I am capable,” said Espinoza.

Espinosa used the leverage of his six-foot, one-inch height to slice uppercuts under the guard of Vazquez. And when the tall Mexican from Guadalajara targeted the body, it was then that the Texas fighter began to wilt. But he never surrendered.

Though he connected against Espinoza in every round, he was not able to slow down the taller fighter and that allowed the Mexican fighter to unleash a 10-punch barrage including four consecutive uppercuts. The referee stopped the fight at 1:47 of the seventh round.

It was Espinoza’s third title defense.

Photo credit: Mikey Williams / Top Rank

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