Jim's name wasn't even on the sign, but he didn't care. Two
hundred and fifty dollars and the chance to punch something real
were the only things on his mind.
Joe Gould didn't know what to think about the fight. The
manager had tried to get Braddock back in the ring since the time
Jim had walked around the boxing club with his hat in his hand.
Joe had pushed his way into Jimmy Johnston's office again and
again, trying to get Jim a fight.
He had been outside Johnston's office when the fight organizer
got the bad news about Griffin's opponent, just two days before
the big fight. This left Johnston with a problem. Griffin was a
promising young star in the boxing world, and Johnston wanted
to get the New York sports world interested in him. The young
Southern boxer needed to beat a fighter in the city who had once
been a big name. Now it seemed that Jim Braddock was the right
choice—especially as Braddock's manager was waiting outside
Johnston's office.
Joe had accepted the offer, but now, on fight night, he was
worried. He knew that Jim hadn't fought in over a year. Except
for today, he hadn't trained in a long time. He had even sold his
boxing gloves and shoes. Joe had to borrow some so that his boxer
could fight.
31
As the manager bent to tie up his boxing shoes, Jim smiled. "We
both know what this is, Joe. It's a chance for me to earn some
money for my family. And it's a chance to say goodbye to boxing
in a big fight in front of a big crowd."
Suddenly, there was a loud noise from Jim's stomach.
"What was that?" cried Joe.
"We got to the soup line too late this morning," said Jim. "The
food was all gone."
Joe jumped to his feet. "How are you going to fight with an
empty stomach?" he shouted. He ran from the room and appeared
a few minutes later with a bowl of thick meat soup in his hand.
"Eat fast," he said.
"Where's the spoon?" asked Jim. He began to put one hand
into the bowl.
"Stop!" cried Joe. "I don't have time to tape your hands again.
I'll find a spoon!"
Joe rushed out again, but Jim couldn't wait. He pushed his face
into the bowl and began eating. He didn't notice the changing
room door opening.
"I don't believe it! Am I seeing a ghost?" said a voice. Jim
looked up, with food on his chin. A young man at the door was
giving Jim an unpleasant smile. "Isn't that James J. Braddock?
When I saw the name, I thought it must be a different guy." The
man stepped into the room and took out a reporter's notebook.
"How's your right hand now, Jim?"
Jim's eyes narrowed as he recognized the reporter. He said the
man's name: "Sporty Lewis."
Jim remembered what Lewis had written about his fight with
Tommy Loughran. He repeated the reporter's words to himself:
"Loughran destroyed the unskilled New Jersey fighter. The fight
was a funeral with the body still breathing."
Lewis saw the look in Jim's eyes and stopped smiling. "I don't
fight the fights, Braddock. I just write about them."
32
Jim stepped up to Sporty, toe to toe and eye to eye. "Save that
garbage for your readers," he said.
Suddenly, the door opened and an official pointed at Jim. "It's
time," he said.
Jim left the room, keeping his eyes on Sporty Lewis's. Sporty
stared after him, pale and shaken.
"That guy," he said to the official. "What a loser!"
Minutes later, Sporty was back in his seat by the side of the
boxing ring. A young reporter next to him asked, "Who's Jim
Braddock?"
"Get your pencil out, kid," Sporty Lewis said. "I have your story
for you: 'The walk from the changing room to the ring was the
only time tonight that Jim Braddock was seen on his feet.'