joe louis vs max schmeling. This espn article sums it up. ''Louis-Schmeling:
More than a fight
Boxing
It was only two minutes and
four seconds
'Fore Schmeling was down on
his knees
He looked like he was praying to
the good Lord
To 'Have mercy on me, please.'
--Bill Gaither
Blues singer and guitarist Bill
Gaither probably didn't sleep
much the night of June 22,
1938. He was too busy
celebrating and writing a hit
song he would record for Decca
Records the very next day.
Gaither called it "Champ Joe
Louis (King of the Gloves)," and
according to the lyrics, the
bluesman "Came all the way
from Chicago to see Joe Louis
and Max Schmeling fight."
Like the rest of the 70,043 fans
packed into Yankee Stadium that
night, Gaither's eyes were
riveted on the ring when
"Schmeling went down like the
Titanic." It was a magical
moment when all seemed right
with the world. True, it didn't
last long, but the memory is still
alive 75 years later, a lingering
reminder of what just might
have been boxing's finest hour.
As far as the fight itself is
concerned, Gaither's song pretty
much sums it up. It was,
however, the fight's cultural,
racial and political ramifications
that set it apart and led historian
Bert Sugar to label it "The
greatest sporting event of the
20th century." What is more, the
match foreshadowed a far
greater struggle yet to come and
shone an unflinching spotlight
on the evils of the world.
The fight also fanned the flame
of hope that was lit for millions
of black Americans when Louis
first became champion. There
was no instant paradigm shift in
race relations, but the second
Schmeling fight and Louis'
lengthy and highly successful
reign nudged more and more
people into reconsidering their
view of their black brothers and
sisters. If nothing else, Louis
gave people a reason and an
opportunity to change.
The basic story of the Louis-
Schmeling rematch is widely
known, even to non-boxing
fans: Louis was the first black
heavyweight champion since
Jack Johnson, but unlike his
controversial predecessor, Joe
was carefully marketed by
managers Julian Black and John
Roxborough, a couple of
sharpies who made their money
in the numbers racket.
Louis' carefully cultivated image
was that of a clean-cut country
boy, who loved his mother and
came to the big city to fulfill his
destiny. If you believe the press
releases, he was much like
Superman (who coincidentally
made his comic book debut in
June '38), fighting for truth,
justice and the American way.
Schmeling, on the other hand,
was the beetle-browed German
who had tea with Hitler and
gave the Nazi salute in the ring
after beating American Steve
Hamas in Hamburg. Two years
prior, when he knocked out
Louis in their first fight,
Schmeling was generally well
received in the United States. But
by 1938, Germany's
expansionistic foreign policy
and virulent anti-Semitism was
making Americans nervous, and
Schmeling, whether he wanted
to or not, became the sporting
symbol of the tyrannical Nazi
regime.
For the majority of Americans
the rematch was, and to a
degree remains, a simple case of
good guy versus bad guy,
freedom versus fascism, the
United States versus Nazi
Germany. It was, of course, far
more complicated than that.
White America didn't exactly
greet Louis' rise to the
championship with a rousing
chorus of hosannas. This was
especially true in the South
where Jim Crow still ruled and
bouts between whites and
blacks were illegal in most
jurisdictions. Typical of the time
was the Birmingham News'
Margaret Garrahan, who wrote
that Louis was a "tan-skinned
throw-back to the creature of
primitive swamps who gloried
in battles and blood."
Things were only marginally
better in the North, where the
majority of the white media still
harbored racist views. "The
northern press freely employed
demeaning language, including
the frequent use of 'darky' and
the black athlete's stereotypical
image ran the gamut from
'animal' to carefree 'sambo,'"
wrote Jeffrey T. Sammons in
"Beyond The Ring: The Role of
Boxing in American Society."
Then there were the Americans
with pro-Nazi sympathies, some
of who were regular visitors to
Louis training camp in Pompton
Lakes, N.J.
"Can you believe these were
white Americans agreeing with
what Hitler was doing?" wrote
Louis in his autobiography. "The
Bund had a camp up at
Speculator, New York, and they'd
come to my camp day after day
with Swastikas on their arms.
They watched me train and sat
around laughing like jackasses."
If anything, Schmeling's
situation was even more
complex. In order to accomplish
his goal of regaining the
heavyweight title, he had to walk
a tightrope stretched between a
dictatorial regime at home and a
rowdy democracy where he
worked. He had to placate both
Hitler and the American public,
no easy trick at a time when
events were rushing headlong
toward World War II.
Schmeling's cigar-chomping
manager, Joe Jacobs, was
Jewish, a situation that caused
quite a bit of tension between
Max and the Third Reich. To his
credit, Schmeling stuck by
Jacobs, but the fighter wasn't
above scurrying to Hitler for help
(and getting it) when he found
himself in trouble with the
Justice Ministry for having
contravened currency
regulations.
Louis was no saint, either. When
he went into training for the
first Schmeling fight, the champ
had just ended an affair with
Norwegian movie star Sonja
Henie, an Olympic ice-skating
champion turned actress. But
that didn't mean Joe, who was
married to Marva Trotter at the
time, was short of female
companionship.
"Girls were coming around like
flies," Louis recalled. "I
remember one time Chappie
(trainer Jack Blackburn) actually
took a stick and threatened
them. I found them anyway."
Women were not the only
distraction. Louis was cutting his
training short and heading to
the golf course.
"Instead of boxing six rounds,
I'd box three. Punch the bag one
round instead of two," Louis
said. "I had this idea that I was
going to do a lot of hard work
for nothing. I thought that I
could name the round that I
would knock Schmeling out."
In retrospect, knowing what we
now know about Louis' attitude
and preparation, it's not
surprising that the well-
conditioned and earnest
Schmeling gave Joe a severe
beating and inflicted the first
loss of his pro career, via 12th-
round knockout. The rematch
was entirely different. Joe, who
had beaten James J. Braddock
for the heavyweight title in the
interim, trained diligently, and
not just because he wanted
revenge. As he aptly put it, "The
whole damn country was
depending on me."
The political overtones
surrounding Louis' 1935 bout
with Italian Primo Carnera
prefigured his second fight with
Schmeling. Benito Mussolini's
Fascist regime had already
launched the second Italo-
Abyssinian War and would soon
occupy what is now known as
Ethiopia. It was machine guns,
artillery and tanks against
swords and spears, and
newsreel footage of the
slaughter sickened much of the
free world.
"The American press
emphasized the symbolism of
the boxing match in relationship
to what was happening in
Africa," wrote Patrick Myler in
"Ring of Hate." "Louis was seen
as representing the ill-equipped
black patriots bravely resisting
the jack-booted white
imperialist."
Carnera had been Mussolini's
propaganda puppet for years,
but by the time "Da Preem"
dragged his massive body into
the ring to face Louis, he was a
human punching bag and the
beating he absorbed was as
one-sided as Italy versus
Abyssinia.
The noxious mix of boxing, race
and politics was out of the bottle
and reached its peak three years
later with Louis-Schmeling.
Neither Louis nor Schmeling set
out to be avatars for opposing
ideologies. They were caught up
in a story far bigger than boxing
and had little choice but to play
the roles assigned to them by
history. Maybe the outcome was
an omen. Maybe it was just a
boxing match that was won by
the better fighter.
Whatever the story, Louis-
Schmeling II stands out among
millions of boxing matches, still
celebrated as a special moment
in time when there was no
doubt that the good guy had
won, even though the enemy
really wasn't the man in the
other corner.
