Chapter 1 A Lucky Man
Madison Square Garden, New York, November 30, 1928
There were nineteen thousand boxing supporters around the
center ring in Madison Square Garden, and most were waiting
for just one thing—for one fighter to murder another. Tonight
they were waiting for Gerald "Tuffy" Griffiths, the "Terror from
out West," to destroy New Jersey's Jim Braddock.
At the sound of the bell, Braddock stood under the hot lights
and watched Griffiths rush out into the ring. Tuffy Griffiths had
come to New York after winning fifty fights. He had won his last
fight with a knockout in the first round. Everybody knew that
he would do the same to Braddock—everybody except Braddock
and his manager, Joe Gould. Gould believed in Braddock.
A sudden jab from Braddock knocked Griffiths back. The
fighters started moving around the ring, throwing and blocking
punches. Griffiths threw the same punches that had easily beaten
his other opponents, but Braddock stayed on his feet. Blood and
sweat poured into his eyes.
None of the reporters around the ring expected the New Jersey
boxer to reach the end of the second round. But by round two,
Braddock had timed his opponent's rushes. Within one minute,
he hit Griffiths with his big punch—his right cross—and Tuffy
went down. The crowd stood, shouting. But the referee had only
counted to three before Griffiths was back on his feet and the
fight continued.
Time stretched for Braddock now, and his opponent's slightest
move seemed enormous. Braddock paid no attention to the
screams of the crowd, to the pain he felt. This was his chance to
finish Griffiths. He threw his big right punch again, and again
Tuffy was on the floor.
1 
"One . . . two . . . three . . . four . . ." the referee counted.
For a second time, Griffiths got to his feet. But Braddock was
ready, stepping in close and throwing punch after punch. Then
his right hand flew forward and found Griffiths' chin for the last
time. The big fighter hit the floor again. He tried to stand, but
his legs were like rubber. No more punches hit him, but he went
down—and stayed down.
"And from the great state of New Jersey, by a knockout,
tonight's light heavyweight winner . . .Jim Braddock!"
The crowd was back on its feet. The local boy had won!
Braddock had been born in Hell's Kitchen, a poor neighborhood
of New York just a stone's throw from Madison Square Garden.
Braddock punched the air in celebration. He looked at the crowd,
at the men in their suits and ties and the women with their
fashionable haircuts and expensive clothes. It was Friday night, the
world seemed to be having a party, and Jim Braddock's win was
one more reason to celebrate!
Griffiths was Braddock's eighteenth knockout since his first
professional fight in 1926. His twenty-seventh win. The fight
organizers had had big plans for Griffiths. After this surprise win,
maybe Braddock would have his chance to fight for the title of
heavyweight champion. That was every boxer's dream.
Inside the ring, Joe Gould rushed out of the corner and jumped
onto his boxer's back. Both men looked at the crowd and listened
to its shouts. Jim smiled. He was a winner . . .
•
The tall boxer and his manager stepped out through the side
entrance into a crowd of about a hundred well-dressed supporters.
"Just sign your name for a few of them," said Joe. "Leave them
wanting more."
"Do you want to sign my name for me, too?" Jim asked his
manager with a smile.
2
People crowded around Jim. He liked them; he liked the fact
that they loved him.
"You win some, you lose some, Johnston," said Joe.
Jim looked up. His manager was talking to a big man who had
come out of the same side entrance. Jimmy Johnston organized
the fights at Madison Square Garden. No boxer fought there
without his permission. Johnston and men like him ruled the
world of boxing. Tonight Johnston had wanted Griffiths to win
the fight. Braddock was supposed to be an easy win for Griffiths.
Jim touched his manager's arm. "Leave it," he said.
But Joe continued talking. "Maybe you support the wrong
guys? Griffiths was heavier than my boy, and what happened? Jab,
cross . . ."
"Actually, it was jab, jab, cross," said Jim. He didn't like to see Joe
arguing with a man as powerful as Johnston. But the little manager
had always supported Jim, and the fighter couldn't let his manager
stand alone now.
"Jab, jab, cross!" repeated Joe. "And then your boy's out! So
maybe no one's a loser? Right, Johnston?"
Loser. Jim hated that word. Some people had said that his early
opponents were no good. Easy fights. Losers. So what did that
make Jim? But after tonight. . . after Griffiths . . . what could
they say now?
Joe Gould and Jimmy Johnston stared hard at each other. Just
like inside the boxing ring, time seemed to stretch. And then
Johnston turned and walked to his waiting car.
Jim shook his head. His little manager had no control over his
mouth. "I'll get us a taxi," he said.
But Joe pointed to a big, shiny new car across the street. "You
have to show you're doing well," he said. The manager organized
his life by this belief—expensive clothes, the best restaurants, and
now this car. A uniformed driver opened the back door, and the
two men got in.
3 
Through the car's windows, New York seemed alive. The city's
bright lights shone and people laughed and talked as they went
to shows and clubs. It was an exciting time to live in the city. Tall
buildings were going up everywhere, and everybody seemed to be
getting rich. Jim Braddock and Joe Gould wanted a piece of that
success, too. They had even started their own taxi company.
"Let's go to a club," said Joe. "You should be seen in the right
places . . ."
But Jim just said, "Home, Joe."
With a shake of his head, Joe told the driver, and the car turned
toward New Jersey. This had been Jim's home since soon after his
birth. His parents had moved from Ireland to New York, looking
for a better life. Later, for the same reason, they had moved their
family across the Hudson River to New Jersey.
Here Jim had grown up a typical American boy. By the time
he stopped going to school, his older brother had started to box.
One day he and Jim began to argue, and soon they were fighting.
Although his brother was bigger and had much more experience,
Jim didn't do badly. That's when he realized—-maybe he could be
a winner in the boxing ring.
Not long after this, he had first met Joe Gould in a local gym.
Joe needed someone to train with one of his boxers, and he
offered five dollars to the tall teenager. Jim had gone into the ring
and given Gould's boxer a lesson. The manager had stayed with
Jim since then, through one hundred amateur fights, and then
through all his professional fights.
Now the car turned onto Jim's tree-lined street in a nice, quiet
neighborhood of Newark, New Jersey's biggest city. Joe pulled
some cash out of his pocket and began to count out Jim's share of
the prize money.
'Do you want to come in?" asked Jim as the car stopped
outside his house. "The kids would love to see you."
Joe paused. "Are you still married to the same girl?"
4
"I was this morning," answered Jim.
"I'll come in another time," said Joe. "And tell her I didn't
charge you for the towels."
As Jim climbed out, he forced himself not to laugh. Joe Gould
was afraid of nothing in the world of boxing, but he turned and
ran from Jim's wife, Mae, with her hard questions about the prize
money and Jim's share of it.
The front door of the house was open now, and there, in the
golden light of the hall, was Mae. Her pale face was serious as she
waited. From the first time he had met her, Jim had loved her.
He moved toward her now, telling himself he was a lucky man to
have a wife like Mae.
When Mae Braddock saw her husband, the dark cloud of worry
disappeared. She could breathe again. Feel again.
Fight night was always like this for Mae. In the afternoon,
Jimmy kissed her goodbye. Then she just watched the clock and
hoped that he was safe. The long hours full of fear only ended
when Jim came home.
She knew that men died in the ring. Not often, but it
happened. And if they didn't die, they were hurt, badly. Mae didn't
understand the sport. To her it was a world of pain and danger. But
she loved her husband, and so she tried to support him.
Mae Theresa Fox had grown up near the Braddock family in
New Jersey. She had always liked big Jim Braddock, and he loved
Mae from the time he first met her. But Jim was shy, and it took
him a long time to ask Mae to marry him. He said that he wanted
to wait until he had enough money to buy a nice home. When he
had $30,000 from his prize money—a small fortune—he finally
asked. As he waited nervously for her answer, Mae noticed the
sweat on Jim's face. She couldn't stop herself from laughing. The
money didn't matter to her—of course she would marry him!
5 
Now Mae looked at her husband. She knew that Griffiths had
been expected to win tonight's fight. Her eyes asked the question,
and Jim's answer was a slow shake of the head. Mae looked away.
She hated to see Jimmy in pain—that's why she never went to the
fights—and she hated to see him like this. But then she looked up
and saw Jimmy smile. He had won!
"I could kill you," said Mae, kissing her husband.
Jim's two sons ran into the hall. They jumped around their
father's legs, shouting with excitement.
"Daddy, did you win?" cried four-year-old Jay.
Howard, who was only three, was just happy that Daddy was
home. Jim picked the boys up and kissed them. My little men, he
thought. His eyes met Mae's. My little family.
Jim told them all about the fight, acting it out punch by punch.
It wasn't easy for Mae to put the boys to bed after that. When she
had checked their sleeping baby girl, Rosy, she sat down to eat
dinner with Jimmy.
"So did Griffiths have a big punch?" she asked.
"You could come and watch me fight," suggested Jim.
But Mae looked away. "You get punched, and it feels like I'm
getting punched. But I'm not as strong as you . . ." She forced
herself to