Chapter 1 A Lucky Man

Pearson Education Limited

Edinburgh Gate, Harlow,

Essex CM20 2JE, England

and Associated Companies throughout the world.

ISBN-10: 1-4058-0642-7

ISBN-13: 978-1-4058-0642-8

This edition first published by Penguin Books 2006

Text copyright © Penguin Books 2006

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Acknowledgement

Photograph page: viii © ® Estate of James J. Braddock

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Edinburgh Gate, Harlow, Essex, CM20 2JE

Contents

Introduction

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Activities

A Lucky Man

Hard Times

An Embarrassment

A New Life

Broken Promises

One Fight Only

Back in the Ring

A Second Chance

Not the Same Guy

Night in the Park

Face to Face with the Champion

The Big Day

The Hopes of the Crowd

The Luckiest Man

Page

V

Introduction

As Jim Braddock stepped out into the bright lights, the crowd became

silent. The ring seemed so far away. Between him and it were thousands

of people—Jim's people. He knew the looks on their faces—people who

saw no chance of a future. Some had spent their last dollar to be here,

but tonight they all held their heads high. Their eyes followed him with the

wild hope that the story of the Cinderella Man would have a happy

ending.

The story of heavyweight boxer James J. Braddock—the

"Cinderella Man"—is a true one. It begins in New York City in

the late 1920s. The 1920s had seen good times in the United

States. The rest of the world watched as taller and taller buildings

were built in cities like New York. More and more Americans

were buying Henry Ford's cars, and Hollywood was making

movies that were seen around the world. In the country's big

cities, it was a time of new fashions, new machines, and exciting

new music.

President Herbert Hoover thought that the good times would

never end, but he was wrong. The country was producing more

than it needed, and many historians believe that this was the cause

of the problem. There were still many poor people in the United

States—almost half the population—and these people couldn't

afford to buy new things. At the same time, the country's rich

people couldn't continue to buy things they already owned. The

end came suddenly, in October 1929, when the whole system

crashed. The economy failed, banks closed, families around the

country lost their money, and millions of people lost their jobs

and their homes. In 1932, the country voted for a popular new

president, Franklin Delano Roosevelt, who worked hard to solve

the country's problems. There were no quick answers, though—in

v

1933, there were 15 million people without jobs in the country,

one in every four working people—and the 1930s continued to

be hard for many Americans.

The true story of Jim Braddock was similar to the story of

many Americans. He made a lot of money in the 1920s as a

successful boxer, and he and his family had everything they

wanted. But for Braddock, too, the good times couldn't last.

He lost all of his money in 1929, and he experienced bad luck

in his professional life when he began to lose fights. Like many

Americans, Braddock had to take any work he could find. He had

to fight just to put food on the table for his family. Most people

believed that his life as a professional heavyweight boxer had

ended. The story of his second chance is one of the sport's greatest

stories.

It was a story that the writer and boxing supporter Cliff

Hollingsworth knew well. Thinking that it would make a great

movie, he spoke to Jim Braddock's sons in 1994. They told him

that their father had been a national hero, but that now most

people hadn't heard of him. Hollingsworth wanted to change that

situation so "this forgotten hero will be remembered once again."

Actor Russell Crowe became interested in making a movie

of Braddock's story. Crowe, who was born in New Zealand and

grew up in Australia, told how Braddock did everything possible

to support his family. "I just wanted people to hear this true

American story," said the actor.

Filmmaker Ron Howard learned more about the possible

movie when he made A Beautiful Mind with Russell Crowe.

Howard already knew about Braddock—when he was little, his

father had told him about the fighter.

It was clear to the filmmakers that Braddock's wife and family

were the most important things in his world, so they knew that

the character of Jim's wife, Mae, was very important to the movie.

Actress Renee Zellweger was interested in playing Mae because

Vi

Mae was a strong woman at a time when many women had no

voice at all. "She's never afraid to tell Jim what's in her heart, even

when it's not what he wants to hear," said Zellweger.

Before the movie could be made, Russell Crowe had a lot of

work to do. After his last movie, the actor weighed 103 kilograms.

Jim Braddock fought at 81 kilograms and he was taller than

Crowe, so the actor had to lose weight. He did this by methods

from Braddock's days—swimming, running, riding a bicycle, and

climbing.

He also had to study boxing, working long hours at the

punching bag and in the ring. He was helped by the most famous

trainer in boxing's history, Angelo Dundee, who has worked with

Sugar Ray Leonard, Mike Tyson, and the greatest champion of

them all, Muhammad Ali. The trainer helped Crowe to box, and to

box just like Jim Braddock. Dundee spoke of the actor's speed and

skill in the ring. "Best of all, he has learned to think like a fighter,"

said the famous trainer.

Crowe was also not afraid of pain. He was knocked down

several times and suffered loose and broken teeth; one week before

filming began, his shoulder was badly hurt. When the movie was

made, some of Braddock's opponents were played by real boxers,

who had to learn to throw punches that didn't hurt so much. They

didn't always remember! In one scene, boxer Mark Simmons hit

Crowe so hard that actor Paul Giamatti, playing Braddock's

manager, heard the boxing glove hit Crowe's head. Giamatti's

look of shock in the film wasn't acting! "I don't know how he

continued with the fight," said Giamatti.

In the end, Cinderella Man is not just a story about boxing. It is

the story of a family who stayed together in hard times—the story

of a man who fought for what he loved and believed in.

vii

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.

"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.

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.

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?"

"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!

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 smile. "And who wants newspaper stories about me

running out from a fight again?"

Jim remembered when this had happened. His opponent had

knocked him down that day, and Mae had seen it. Jim still

remembered the look of fear on her face. It didn't seem to matter

that Jim had won the fight in the end. After that, Mae bravely

continued coming to watch Jim box. He didn't know how painful

it was for her until a few fights later. Jim was having a bad night

and he took a lot of punishment. Not able to watch anymore,

Mae had run off before the final bell. A reporter saw her go,

and the story was in the newspapers. Mae never went to a fight

again.

Now she looked at her husband. "Were there any girls waiting

outside after the fight?"

"Maybe," said Jim with a smile.

Mae moved around the table. She spoke in a different voice

now, pretending to be one of the women. "Oh, Mr. Braddock,"

she said. "You're so strong. Your hands are so big."

Mae moved in close, and she wasn't joking now when she said,

"I am so proud of you, Jimmy."

That night, as he got ready for bed, Jim stood in the bedroom of

his beautiful home. He looked at their wedding picture. Then he

took off the gold cross from around his neck and kissed it, looking

at his own face in the mirror. It was the face of a lucky man. A

lucky man and a winner.

Chapter 2 Hard Times

Newark, New Jersey, September 25, 1933

Jim Braddock looked through the drawers below the same mirror

that had shown him the face of a lucky man. Dressing was quick

these days: he just put on what Mae had washed or fixed the night

before. He didn't have to kiss his gold cross for luck. He had sold it

years ago. Everyone's luck had gone now—even Jim Braddock's.

Something moved outside the window, probably a rat. This

was just a part of life when you lived in a single room in a dirty,

crowded apartment building. Behind Jim, his three hungry

children shared a bed in the cold family bedroom. Mae had hung

a blanket across the room to turn one room into two.

He looked again at his and Mae's wedding picture. In the last

few years they had lost their house and most of their furniture, but

they would always have this. In the picture, Mae looked beautiful;

Jim stood next to her, wearing a suit he didn't own now. The

couple in the photo smiled, not knowing the hard future that was

ahead. But Jim liked to look at the picture every day. It reminded

him of the good things in his life.

He stepped into the kitchen, where Mae was cooking breakfast.

She looked different now—thinner, with dark circles under her

eyes. But to Jim she was still beautiful.

"I can't find my socks," he said.

"Jim!" whispered Mae, but it was too late.

"Mom, I want to eat, too," said little Rosy, pushing through the

blanket. Mae began to cut another thin piece of meat.

"Sorry," said Jim.

Rosy couldn't remember living in a big house, surrounded by

nice things, with new clothes and plenty of food. The girl climbed

onto her father, and Jim held her close to him. He hated seeing his

children grow up like this; it was harder than any fight.

"We got a final bill," said Mae, "for the gas and electricity."

Jim's shoulders fell. He took down a jar from the shelf, where

they kept their money for a "rainy day." He shook it and listened

to the few coins in the jar.

"It's clearly been raining more than I thought recently," he said.

Mae picked up three dishes and put a thin piece of hot meat on

each one. Jim began to cut up his daughter's food.

"I'm fighting Abe Feldman tonight," he told his wife. He didn't

tell her that Feldman had lost only one fight in nineteen. Instead,

he told her what he would earn—fifty dollars, more than he could

earn in one whole week on the docks.

Mae couldn't hide the old fear in her eyes. Since hard times had

hit their family—and the whole country—she had started to hate

the ring, with its punishments and its empty promises.

"Mommy, I want some more," said Rosy.

Jim looked at Mae and Rosy with their empty plates. "Mae,

I had a dream last night," he said, standing from the table. "I

dreamed that I was having dinner at an expensive hotel, and I had

a big, thick steak." He put on his old coat. "I had so much food,

I'm just not hungry now." He spoke more quietly to his daughter.

"Can you help me? Mommy cooked this, and I don't want to hurt

her feelings."

Rosy wasn't sure whether to believe him, but Jim moved the

meat from his plate to hers. With wide eyes, the child immediately

began to eat.

"Jimmy—" Mae began, but he silenced her with a kiss.

You can't work on an empty stomach, her eyes said to him.

Jim's answer was simple. "You're my girls."

When Jim stepped outside, he remembered that things weren't

so bad for him and his family. Times were even harder for many

other people. He walked past old, broken cars next to trash can

fires. Those useless cars were homes now, homes to people with no

jobs and no hopes.

This part of Newark was very different from Jim's old leafy

neighborhood. Most of the dirty brown and gray buildings around

here had broken windows and paint coming off. Most of the

stores were closed, and garbage cans lay empty in the street. People

threw nothing away these days.

Ten thousand factories in the New York area had been closed

down. Everywhere Jim looked, he saw people without jobs.

Businessmen, teachers, office workers, lawyers, bankers . . . all were

looking for work. There were men in four-year-old suits, happy

to clean a yard for a dollar. Others stood in line at employment

offices from morning until night.

Disaster had struck on October 29, 1929. Some people called it

Black Tuesday, others the Crash. It was the end of America's good

times in the 1920s. The economy failed, and suddenly millions of

people were out of work. At first, Jim thought that the problem

wouldn't last long. But then his bank closed and his taxi company

went out of business. By 1932, the Braddocks had lost every cent

of Jim's boxing money

New York wasn't a city of bright lights and happy party-goers

now. The city was filled with a gray crowd of people without

hope. They stood in endless lines for soup or bread; they froze on

street corners; they looked for work and found none. Hungry,

empty, hopeless people.

Jim's only hope had been boxing. The prize money was less, but

boxing was still popular, cheap entertainment. But, after the crash,

Jim's success as a boxer had ended. In 1930, '31, '32—and now

1933—he lost more fights than he won. It was harder and harder

for Gould to get him good fights.

Jim had to look for other work. With so many factories closed,

he tried Newark's busy docks. Early every morning, he joined the

crowd looking for work there. In the dark and the cold, they

waited by the locked gate of a high fence.

At last, the foreman pulled open the gate. He looked at the

tired, hungry faces of the men there. This man had the power of

life or death; he could change the luck of every man here.

"I need nine men," he said.

Men began pushing forward—Me! Pick me!—as the foreman

counted out workers. "One, two, three . . ."Jim pushed forward,

too, but then:". . . nine."

Jim closed his eyes. After all of that waiting, it had ended in less

than thirty seconds. He hadn't been picked.

"I've been here since four o'clock," said a man's voice.

The man had stepped forward to complain. Jim had spoken to

him once. His name was Ben and, like Jim, he had a wife and three

kids to support.

The foreman began to turn away, but suddenly Ben was holding

a gun and pointing it at the foreman's heart. His hand shook and

his eyes were wild. "I was here first."

The foreman lifted his eyes from the gun to Ben's face. "My

mistake," he said. "I need ten men."

Ben stepped through the gate. Jim wanted to look away but he

couldn't. Ben had just put the gun away when several men fought

him to the ground. That was the end for Ben now. How could he

help his wife and kids from prison?

Jim spent the whole day walking from place to place and

looking for work, without luck. Hours later, he returned to the

apartment building. His eight-year-old son, Howard, was outside.

Jim gave his son a smile. How could a young boy understand that

one in four working Americans had no job? An eight-year-old

child didn't need to know that.

Suddenly, another child ran up to him. It was Rosy.

"Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!" she cried. "Jay stole!"

Jim carried his daughter to their apartment, where Mae was

standing over their oldest son. The ten-year-old's face was red.

Jim put Rosy down. "What's all this about?"

Rosy pointed at the meat on the table. "See?" she said.

There was enough to feed the family for a whole week.

"It's from the butcher shop," said Mae. "He refuses to say a word

about it. Don't you, Jay?"

"OK," said Jim to his son. "Pick it up. Let's go."

Jay looked up at his father and the message in his eyes was clear.

Don't make me do this. Can't you see that we need it?

"Right now!" said Jim.

Then he was out of the building and marching to the butcher

shop without another word. His son followed slowly behind, with

the stolen food in his hand. At the butcher's, Jay had to give the

meat back and apologize. Jim met the butcher's eyes. I am not

bringing up my son to be a thief.

The butcher nodded. Father and son left the shop. As they

walked, Jim was silent, giving his boy time.

At last, Jay spoke. "Marty Johnson had to go and live with his

uncle. His parents didn't have enough for them to eat."

Jim turned toward his son. "You were scared," he said. "I

understand that. But we don't steal. It doesn't matter what

happens. Promise me."

Jay managed a nod. "I promise," he said.

"Here's my promise." Jim was eye to eye with his son. "We're

never going to send you away, son."

The tears came pouring from the little boy's eyes. Jim pulled Jay

into his arms and held him as tight as he could.

Chapter 3 An Embarrassment

Mount Vernon, New York, September 23, 1933

The dressing room was a mess. The floor was dirty and the doors

were broken. The air smelled of old sweat.

"He's a slow guy," said Joe Gould. "My grandmother could beat

him! It'll be an easy fight."

Joe was wearing one of his usual fine brown suits. Jim knew

nobody else who hadn't been ruined by the Crash.

The manager was taping up Jim's hands before the fight. He

squeezed Jim's right hand, then saw the look of pain on the

fighter's face. He played with the hand, examining it carefully.

"This break needs a couple of weeks to get better," he said.

"Why didn't you tell me, Jim?"

Jim didn't look up. He had fought in March, although his right

hand was still hurt from a fight in January. His opponent was

good, and Jim, fighting with a bad hand, had lost in four rounds.

But he couldn't stop fighting because he needed the prize money

for his family. He fought several more times, hurting his right

hand again and again. By now he had to use drugs to control the

pain. There was never enough time for it to get better before the

next fight.

Joe Gould knew that it wasn't legal to let a boxer fight in this

condition. If something went wrong in the ring, it could mean the

end for both Joe and Jim.

"I can't get any work," said Jim quietly. "We need the money."

The little manager thought of Mae and the children. "OK," he

said. "I'll tape your hand double." Gould knew that double-taping

was against the rules, too. "Keep your left hand in his face and,

when you can, hit him with a big right. If you finish early, I'll buy

you an ice cream!"

He led the boxer past the crowd toward the ring. This crowd

was very different from the one at Madison Square Garden years

earlier. These people looked poorer and hungrier.

As Jim climbed into the ring, a radio reporter spoke into a

microphone. "Just five years ago, Jim Braddock was thought to be

ready to fight for the world heavyweight title. But he has lost ten

fights in the last year."

The crowd started to shout louder when Abe Feldman walked

toward the ring, punching the air.

"Now Braddock fights Feldman," continued the radio man, "a

young fighter who has won seventeen times and lost just once."

Jim froze. This was the boxer Joe's grandmother could beat?

Feldman was the crowd's favorite. He was young and

handsome, like Braddock had been years earlier when he had an

unbroken nose and two pretty ears. Braddock's gloves fell to his

sides.

Joe pulled Jim's gloves back up. "Jimmy, what are you going to

do?"

Jim closed his eyes and everything went away—the crowd's

shouts, Mae's worried looks, Ben's gun, Jay's silent tears, all the

mistakes of the last four years. He opened his eyes.

"I'm going to get an ice cream!"

•

Feldman's glove hit Braddock in the face, a hard punch. Jim tried

to hit back, but Feldman blocked his punches.

'Come on, Jimmy!" cried Gould from the corner. The manager

was sweating almost as much as Braddock, as he jabbed the air

and shouted advice. But Braddock could only think about the

pain of Feldman's punches. The younger man hit him again and

again, but none of Braddock's punches seemed to hit Feldman,

who danced around his opponent easily. Suddenly, Feldman threw

a combination of punches that threw Braddock back onto the

ropes. The crowd began to boo.

"Don't just stand there!" shouted Gould.

Braddock saw an opening in Feldman's defenses and threw a

right cross. It hit the fighter's chin and knocked him back. Jim

stepped in to finish his opponent, but Feldman put his head down

as Braddock threw his big punch. The leather glove hit the top of

Feldman's head. There was a sound of bone on bone. The pain

in Braddock's right hand was terrible. He held on to Feldman as

the bell announced the end of the round. The referee had to send

both fighters back to their corners.

Gould quickly took Braddock's right glove off. Even under all

the tape, he could see that the hand was really broken.

"I can't let you continue," he said.

Jim thought of the prize money. "I can use my left," he said.

"Don't let Feldman get too close," said Gould, quickly tying the

glove back up. "Do what you can with your left."

But Braddock had never had a left-hand punch. Now he

couldn't even block with his right, and his feet felt heavy and slow.

Punch after punch fell on him.

Time usually slowed down for Jim in the ring, but now it was

flying past. He began to throw out his left hand in wild jabs. These

missed, but then one punch hit Feldman on the chin and hurt

him. Again, the two boxers held on to each other. The crowd

began to boo again and shout insults: "Go home!"

Braddock decided that maybe he had one more good right

punch in him. He pulled his arm back and threw the punch. It

hurt Feldman, but the pain was much worse for Braddock. Under

the double tape, his right hand was completely broken. Feldman

hit him back, and again Braddock held on to his opponent. He

almost fainted from the pain.

The angry boos from the crowd were so loud that he almost

didn't hear the bell.

•

"An embarrassment! That's what it was. An embarrassment!"

Jimmy Johnston, the big fight organizer, was shouting angrily

at Joe Gould, 'who was unusually quiet.

Thirty minutes earlier the referee had ended the fight,

announcing that nobody was the winner because Braddock

wasn't fit to continue.

"OK, OK, so he's fighting while he's hurt," said Joe. "Maybe

your fighters can afford to have a month's rest between fights."

"He almost never hits his opponents any more," answered

Johnston. "And now the referee has to stop the fight. A fighter like

that keeps the public away. Ticket money will fall." The big man

paused. "We're taking away his boxing license. Whatever Braddock

was going to do in boxing, he's done it."

When Jim heard the bad news from his manager, he couldn't

move, couldn't breathe. The dressing room was small and dirty, so

Joe led his boxer back into the hall. The lights threw long shadows

on the empty ring. Joe began taping a piece of wood to Jim's

broken hand. "Until you get to the hospital."

As he taped the hand, Joe couldn't hold back the memories, all

the fights and all the dreams. All the hopes that Jim Braddock

would be champion one day. Now those hopes lay as broken as

the fighter's hand.

Joe cleared his throat. "Jimmy . . . sometimes you just can't

change things. I'm telling you . . . It's finished."

The boxer didn't jump up, shout, or scream. He was quiet for a

long time. His face was wet with tears. "Get me one more fight,

Joe," said the fighter. "We're down to our last dollar."

"I . . . I'm sorry, Jimmy."

After all they had been through together, Joe really was sorry.

They had stayed the best of friends through good times and bad.

Now it really was the end. Tonight. This was goodbye.

Jim didn't even look up as his manager walked away, leaving

him on the seats beside the dark ring. Alone.

Chapter 4 A New Life

"Oh, dear God . . ."

Jim knew that this was the last time he would see this look on

Mae's face after a fight. "I don't have the money," he said, too tired

to find the words to make it easier. "They refused to pay me, took

away my license. They said that I'm finished as a boxer."

The fear in Mae's eyes turned to anger. She didn't care about

boxing licenses or fight rules. She only cared about her husband.

"Jimmy, what happened to your hand?"

"It's broken in three places."

Mae wasn't thinking about boxing now. "If you can't work, we

won't be able to pay the bills, buy food . . . We'll have to send the

children to stay with my sister."

"Mae, I can still work," Jim said. "Get the black shoe polish

from the cupboard. Nobody will give me a job if they see this cast

on my hand, so we'll cover it up."

Mae saw it in her husband's eyes then—Jim Braddock wasn't

going to be beaten. "I'll cut your coat so you can put it on over

the cast," she said, opening the shoe polish and spreading it on the

white cast. "Now we just need a piece of steak for your face, Jim

Braddock!" she laughed.

Six-year-old Rosy's face appeared around the blanket. Jim

smiled at her, deciding, not for the first time, that he was a lucky

man to have Mae as his wife.

•

It was early morning and Jim was standing outside the familiar

locked gate at Newark docks. As the sun appeared in the east, the

foreman, Jake, walked up. Jim put his broken hand behind him.

The doctor had said it would be useless for months.

"One, two, three . . ." As usual, Jake walked along the group,

pointing to the workers he wanted. " . . . five, six, seven . . ."Jim

stood tall.". . . eight. . ."Jake's eyes fell on Jim, then the foreman

pointed at him: "Nine."

A win! Jim stepped forward, knowing that he was one of the

lucky few who had work that day.

Minutes later, Jim was meeting his new partner. The young,

handsome man introduced himself as Mike Wilson.

"What happened to you?" he asked Jim, staring at the black and

blue marks on his face.

"I got into a fight," Jim told the man.

Together the two men had to move a mountain of sacks from

one area to another. It took two strong men to lift each sack, using

big hooks to pick the sacks up.

Jim found the work very difficult. He had never really used his

left hand for anything. It was really hard using the hook with it,

while trying to hide the cast on his right hand.

"There was a fighter called Jim Braddock," said Mike. "I

listened to his fights on the radio. There's another fighter using the

name now, but this guy's no good."

Jim saw the smile on Mike's face. He almost laughed himself,

but then the sack fell from the hook in his hand.

Mike saw Jim's cast. "This isn't going to work," he said. "You

can't do this job with a bad hand, and you can't slow me down.

I need this job."

Jim gave his partner a quick look. "Listen, I can do this."

Suddenly, a new voice shouted, "What's happening here?" It

was the foreman, and he was staring at Jim's bad hand.

Instead of trying to explain, Jim sank the hook back into the

sack with his left hand. Then he waited, unable to do anything

until his partner moved. After a few terrible seconds, Mike sunk

the hook into his end of the sack. The two men lifted the heavy

sack together and carried it across the dock. Then they moved for

another sack, then another, and another.

Jake, the foreman, stood there with arms crossed, watching

every move. Finally, he walked away

Jim lifted his face to Mike. "Thanks," he said.

•

It was raining hard, but Mae didn't move. Her place in this soup

line was too valuable. Hundreds of people were ahead of her, but a

lot were behind her, too. They were all waiting for free soup and

bread from the truck at the head of the line. Mae held Rosy in her

arms. The two boys ran around playing.

"You need to stand for a few minutes, Rosy," said Mae.

"I don't want to!" cried Rosy. "The sidewalk's wet!"

"Who's making all this noise?"

Immediately, Rosy's crying stopped. Her father appeared beside

her, big and strong and with a smile on his face for her.

As he lifted Rosy, Jim told Mae, "I got a job at the docks."

Mae noticed something inside Jim's coat. His boxing shoes. She

wasn't surprised to see them. A few boxing organizers in expensive

suits couldn't stop her husband from fighting, even if they had

taken away his license.

"Are you training today?" she asked him.

"I was thinking of selling them," said Jim. "Then we can pay the

grocer by the end of the week."

Mae didn't know what to say. At last she said, "Don't take less

than a dollar, Jim."

He saw the tears in her eyes. "Go home. I'll stand in line."

She handed him the empty pot and took the children home.

Jim's eyes followed them, and then he looked forward again,

turning his collar up against the wind. The soup truck seemed far,

far away, but Jim had become good at waiting.

Hours later, familiar sounds greeted Jim's ears—-jump ropes

hitting the wooden floors, leather gloves hitting punching bags.

This was the gym that Jim had trained in for years. It was the place

where he had first met Joe Gould. Even now, part of him wanted

to get into the ring and fight.

As he entered the gym, the usual smell of leather and sweat hit

him. He looked at all the boxers training hard.

"Jimmy!" said a friendly voice. "Have you come to train?"

It was Joe Jeannette, the owner of the gym. The old fighter had

never been a champion, but he had always been a hero to Jim. A

great boxer with quick hands and a knockout punch, Jeannette

had been one of the best heavyweights in the country. But he was

a black man, and few white boxers agreed to fight him. Jeannette

never had the chance to fight for the title. But Jeannette couldn't

stay away from the fight game. He had become a referee, and he

had opened this gym. He was never too busy to give advice to a

young boxer.

Jim tried to return Jeannette's smile, but he couldn't. He put the

soup pot down and pulled his boxing shoes out of his coat.

A few minutes later, Joe Gould stepped onto the gym floor. He

was here to see a new boxer, not Jim Braddock. Joe watched as Jim

handed his boxing shoes to a young, black boxer, who paid Jim ten

cents. Then Jim picked up his soup and bread and turned toward

the front entrance.

Joe Jeannette looked up and saw the manager standing at the

back of the gym. His eyes held a question for Joe, but Joe just

shook his head and stepped behind the door.

It's better for both of us if Jim doesn't see me, Joe thought.

Date: 2016-01-14; view: 998