Chapter 5 Broken Promises

Jim sat at the kitchen table reading out President Franklin Delano

Roosevelt's speech from the newspaper. He tried to find hope in

the President's words. According to Roosevelt, there was only one

thing for Americans to fear—"fear itself." Mae counted out coins

from the rainy-day jar.

Jim's week had become an unending string of gray mornings

and sweaty afternoons of hard work at the docks. Jim and Mike

worked together every day, and Jim did all the work with his left

hand. In the evenings, he had another job—more long, hard work

with only his left hand. Mae was usually asleep on the sofa by the

time Jim got home at night.

That night she was woken by the sound of coins dropping into

the jar. She saw her husband walk toward their bed.

Jim looked down at the clean, white sheets. He wanted nothing

more than to fall into them, but then he looked down at his own

dirty, sweaty body, and lay down on the floor.

"Jimmy," Mae whispered. "We can wash the sheets."

But Jim was already asleep. Mae pulled the covers off the bed

and lay down on the floor, beside her husband.

•

The winter of 1933—34 was one of the coldest in recent memory.

One morning, Mae and Rosy walked with the boys to school.

They were walking back down the snowy street when Mae saw a

shiny new car outside their building.

"Mommy, who's the man at our house?" asked Rosy.

Mae walked up to the man, whose uniform showed that he was

the gas and electricity man. "Can I help you, sir?"

"I'm sorry, ma'am. You haven't paid the bills, and I have to cut

your electricity off."

The man was in his thirties, but his eyes looked older.

"You can't," said Mae. "We have kids. Please."

"If I don't, I'll lose my job," said the man sadly.

Work at the docks finished early that day. Jim and his work

partner Mike started walking around local towns, looking for

work. There was none anywhere that day. Tired and cold, they

started for home.

"We have until tomorrow," cried a loud voice.

Jim's steps slowed. Across the street, a young man was arguing

with two city police officers. His wife stood beside him, fighting

back tears. The couple's furniture was on the sidewalk all around

them. The officers were moving them from their apartment.

The two officers wore fine, new uniforms. The younger of the

two was polite. The older man had heard every excuse before, and

he was tired of listening.

Jim watched as the young husband tried to pull a piece of paper

out of the officer's hand.

"This says we have another day," he cried.

"Come on," said Mike, pulling Jim's arm. But Jim was already

moving across the street and Mike went with him.

"You can't do this," the young woman was saying. "We'll never

get back in."

Her husband jumped in front of the officers as they moved to

fit a new lock to the building's front door. "Please, I'm starting a

factory job next week . . ."

The officers pushed him away and put the lock on.

"Excuse me," said Mike politely, then louder:"Excuse me!"The

officers stared at him. "Please can I have a look at that notice? The

law says that I'm allowed to." He stepped forward. "Let me just

have a look at the date on it. If everything's OK with it, we'll just

walk away."

"Or else what?" demanded the younger officer. The older

officer was looking at Jim.

Mike smiled. "You guys know Jim Braddock, don't you?"

The older officer's attitude changed immediately. "I've seen you

fight, Jim," he said.

Mike looked down at the document in the older man's hand.

"What do you say, guys? Mistakes happen all the time."

The officer nodded. "Maybe we got our days mixed up," he

said, removing the lock from the door.

As the two officers walked away, Mike and Jim began to help

the couple move their furniture back inside.

"So you're a lawyer?" asked Jim.

Mike shook his head. "A banker, but I hired enough lawyers to

have a good idea of the law. It doesn't matter now . . . I lost it all

in '29." He looked Jim in the eyes. "You know, there are people

living in Central Park. The government has failed us. We need to

organize. Fight back."

Jim shook his head. "Fight what? Bad luck? You have to trust

that the government will solve things in the end. I like what

President Roosevelt says."

"Forget Roosevelt!" shouted Mike. "He hasn't given me my

house back yet!"

Jim looked in surprise at the terrible anger in his friend's eyes.

•

The blanket didn't hang in the middle of the room. Now the

three children had it around them, as they lay in bed. Jim could

see their breath in the cold air. Every piece of clothing in the

apartment was piled on top of them.

He crossed the room and threw a piece of a wooden sign onto

the fire in the stove. Mae emptied the rainy-day jar onto the table..

She began to push the coins around.

"Six dollars and seventy cents," said Jim, joining his wife. "How

much would it cost to turn the electricity back on?"

Thirty-three dollars and ten cents," whispered Mae.

If I work twenty-six hours out of every twenty-four, it still

won't be enough." Jim seemed suddenly weaker. He looked at

Mae. "Think of all the other guys who wanted to marry you."

"What happened to those guys?" joked Mae, then she squeezed

his hand. "I married the guy I love."

A wet cough from across the room interrupted them. "It's

Howard," said Mae sadly. "He's been sick since this afternoon."

When Mae woke up the next morning, Jim had already gone

out into the terrible cold. She spent the morning trying to keep

the children warm, burning pieces of wood they had taken from

signs in the street. Howard lay close to the stove, his face red with

fever. Fighting back the tears, his mother held a glass of water to

his lips. The boy was getting sicker.

Not wanting her children to see her cry, Mae rushed out the

door and stood in the snow. Bitter tears ran down her face.

She cared only about keeping this family together. Jim was

killing himself trying to do this, but it wasn't working. Now they

had lost their heat and electric power. Mae knew what she had

to do. She rushed inside to dress her children warmly for the trip

across the river to New York City.

•

As Jim stepped through the door, the apartment was as cold as the

air outside. He met silence. No little bodies ran to him with open

arms. By the stove, Mae sat alone, staring into the dying flames.

She couldn't meet his eyes.

"Howard was getting worse," she explained. "Then Rosy

started to get sick."

"Where are they, Mae?"

"The boys are at my father's house. Rosy's going to stay with

my sister. We can't keep them warm, Jim."

Jim's emotions were almost too strong for words—fear, sadness,

anger. He pointed a finger at Mae. "You don't decide what

happens to our children without me."

Mae stood and held his arms. "Jimmy, if they get really sick, we

don't have the money for a doctor."

"If you send them away, this has all been for nothing," he said

angrily. "It means that we lost." He shook Mae's arms off. "I made

a promise to Jay, do you understand? I promised that we would

never send him away."

Without another word, he turned and walked across the

freezing room and out of the door.

Later that afternoon, he stood at the wooden counter of the

Newark relief office. An unsmiling woman counted out twelve

dollars and eighty cents, which she placed in a white envelope.

Jim's hand shook as he signed for the money, trying not to blame

himself for what he had done. Ashamed, he put the envelope into

his pocket.

He pushed his way through the unhappy crowd. They were

lawyers and dock workers, teachers and factory workers. Bankers

and builders. Now, unable to earn money themselves, they were

here to receive money from the state. Some were so ashamed that,

like Jim, they looked only at the floor. Others looked straight

ahead with empty stares.

After Jim crossed the river to Manhattan, he walked past all the

homeless people in the city who seemed to have no hope. The

story was the same everywhere: No work. No money.

At last, Jim reached the streets around Madison Square Garden.

There were no bright lights now, no people in expensive clothes

waiting outside. Instead, homeless people searched for anything

they could use.

Jim went to the familiar side door. The sign for the next fight

showed two boxers standing with gloves up. Jim remembered

when his picture had been on signs like this. He remembered the

fight with Tuffy Griffiths, the dream of that night when the future

looked bright for Jim Braddock.

But then another, less happy memory came to mind—the fight

against Tommy Loughran. It was July 1929—-just four months

before the Crash. Jim was fighting for the title of light

heavyweight champion, but it was the fight that turned Braddock

into a boxer of "failed promise."

The New York crowd had wanted Braddock to win, and the

fight had started well, too. But things changed in the second

round. Loughran began to dance around the ring, dodging

Braddock's punches easily. He had discovered Braddock's biggest

weakness—no left-hand punch.

In the rest of the fight, Braddock had hit the champion with a

few good punches, but it wasn't enough. The judges all decided

that Loughran was the winner. The newspapers weren't kind to

Braddock, who had looked slow in the last three rounds. His

dream of winning the title seemed to be at an end.

Now, years later, Jim stood in the shadows in Madison Square

Garden and said the same words that he had said after the

Loughran fight: "I don't know what went wrong."

He opened the side door and started up the stairs. The climb

to the Madison Square Garden boxing club was the hardest of his

life. The club was a place where the rich money-makers of New

York's boxing world could relax and do business. It wasn't high

above street level, but it was like another world.

At first, nobody noticed as Jim Braddock walked into the

smoky room. He went up to two men in the center of the room.

"Mr. Allen . . . Phil. . ."

The men looked up at the fighter. Others noticed and

conversations around the room died. Jim cleared his throat.

"I'm here because we can't afford to pay the heating bills. We

had to send our kids away . . . I just need enough money to get

my children back." Jim took off his hat and stretched it out.

The whole room was silent now. Mr. Allen put his hand in his

pocket. "Sure, Jim." He placed a few coins into Jim's hat.

"Thank you," replied Jim. Then he offered his hat to the others

around the room. Everybody gave some money—even Jimmy

Johnston, the man who had taken away Jim's license.

Finally, Jim stopped in front of Joe Gould. "I'm sorry, Joe," he

told his old manager.

"What do you have to be sorry about, Jim?" said Joe. "How

much more do you need?"

"One dollar and fifty cents, I think," whispered Jim. Joe placed

the exact amount in Jim's hat.

When Jim left the club, it was dark outside and streetlights lit

the icy sidewalks. Jim walked past a store that had gone out of

business. His face looked back at him from the dark glass of the

store window. He had seen that look before. It was on the face of

the man in his old suit selling apples on the street corner. It was on

the face of the banker waiting in line for hours at the Newark

relief office.

Jim had never understood how a proud man could sink so low.

Now, with the money in his pocket to get his children back, Jim

knew. He finally understood.

•

The next night, Mae opened the apartment door and turned on

the electric light. Jay and Howard ran inside, followed by Jim, who

was carrying the sleeping Rosy.

Jim was happy to see his family together and home again, but

he felt other emotions, too. He knew now how easily their world

could be destroyed.

He couldn't sleep that night. When the sun finally appeared, he

got up and dressed silently. Before he left for another long day of

work, he stood at the door and looked at his family. A boxer

entered the ring alone. If he was knocked down, he alone could

stand up and continue fighting. Jim was alone now, as he left the

house and went looking for work.

Chapter 6 One Fight Only

Spring had come to Newark at last, and the Braddock family had

joined other families at the local church. Once a month the priest,

Father Rorick, organized a birthday party for all the children

whose parents couldn't afford a party.

Jim and Mae watched as their children joined all the others

around a large wooden table with two big cakes. Everybody

starting singing, "Happy birthday to you . . . Happy birthday to

you . . ."

Jim put his hand around Mae, happy that the cast was off at last.

When it was time to sing the names, the different families all sang

a different name.

"Happy birthday, dear Jay," sang the Braddocks. "Happy

birthday to you!"

Howard pulled his father's arm. "It was better when we had our

own cake," he said.

Father Rorick heard him. "Do you know I boxed your father a

long time ago?"

Howard couldn't believe it. He looked at his father in surprise.

"You hit Father Rorick?"

"As often as possible," said Jim with a big smile.

Mae Braddock joined the two men. She looked worried.

"Jimmy . . ." She looked across the road. Mike, Jim's work partner

at the docks, was sitting at the end of a long table. His wife, Sara,

held their baby daughter in her arms and she was shouting at

Mike.

"You're always trying to fix the world!" she shouted. "Why

don't you fix your own family? What kind of father are you? Too

proud to let people know that our daughter can't have her own

birthday cake . . ."

Mike stared back angrily. "Are you joking, Sara?"

Everybody watched the argument. Even the children at the

party stopped playing.

Jim walked over and separated the angry couple. "Hey, where's

the referee?" he asked.

"This is between husband and wife, Jim," Mike said angrily.

"How can you call yourself that?" cried Sara.

Mike jumped up angrily, and Jim stopped him with a strong

hand in the middle of his chest.

"Calm down, Mike," he said. "Have a rest."

But Mike couldn't calm down now. He pushed Jim.

"There's no need for this," said the boxer.

"Jim Braddock, big fighter . . ." said Mike, and he threw a

punch at his work partner.

Jim knocked it away and then held Mike's arm. "Mike, I don't

want to fight you," he said.

"You couldn't do it in the ring . . ." said Mike angrily.

He rushed at Jim again. Jim pushed him to the side and Mike

fell, hitting his head on the sidewalk.

"Jim, no!" screamed Sara.

As Mike got to his feet, blood ran down his face. Sara went up

to him, still holding their baby. Mike pushed her away.

"Leave me alone," he said to her and Jim. He turned and ran

down the street.

When he had gone, Sara turned to Jim. Tears poured down her

face as she cried, "He wasn't going to hit me, Jim!"

Sara began to chase her husband down the street. Jim looked up

at Mae, who had tears in her eyes, too.

'Why was it so hard just to come over for cake?" she asked.

"Maybe he just needed a little time," said Jim angrily. "It's not

always easy . . . Maybe he just needed a little time!"

Mae shook her finger at him."Not at me, James Braddock!" she

cried. "Do you hear? I know it's hard. But don't get mad at me!"

•

Jim returned from work one afternoon and found his children

playing in front of the apartment building.

Rosy looked up at him. "Teach me how to fight," she said.

"I can't," said Jim. "I'll get in trouble with Mommy."

Rosy just looked at her father with the same stare that Mae

had. Jim couldn't say no to that look.

"OK," he said. "It's all about how you hold your body. Put your

right hand here and your left here . . ." Jim positioned her until

she was standing like a little boxer. Then she threw a punch,

which Jim caught in his big hand.

"Look at that!" he cried. "You have a better jab than I did!"

As he and Rosy laughed, a familiar car stopped outside the

building.

"You're a brave man," called Joe Gould.

Jim smiled. "Not really. Mae's at the store."

Rosy, who wasn't yet finished with her boxing lesson, threw

another punch. It hit Jim right on the chin.

"OK, Rosy," he said. "Good punch. Now go and box shadows

while I talk to Uncle Joe."

Jim looked at the manager's fine, new suit. "Still looking

fashionable, I see," he said.

"You have to show you're doing well," answered Joe. He gave

Jim a friendly punch on the arm. "Good to see you, Jimmy."

Then: "I've got you a fight."

Jim wasn't sure. "What about my boxing license?"

"The organizers will let you fight one time only," said Joe.

Jim asked the most important question: "How much?"

"Two hundred and fifty dollars," Joe replied. "You're on the

big show at the Madison Square Garden Bowl in Long Island

City . . ." He paused.". . . tomorrow night."

Jim turned and walked away. He couldn't believe that his old

friend and partner would play a joke like this on him.

Joe chased after him. "You fight Corn Griffin, Jimmy . . . the

number two heavyweight in the world. He needs a fight before

he boxes for the title."

Jim's eyes were dangerous. "Joe, this isn't funny."

"No one's trying to be kind to you. Griffin's opponent got cut

and can't fight. They needed someone they could throw in the

ring immediately. Nobody will take a fight against Griffin without

training, so . . ." Joe looked away. "I . . . told them that Griffin

could knock out a guy who has never been knocked out before

. . . You're meat, Jimmy . . . They just need somebody to stand

in that ring and be knocked out."

Finally, Jim smiled and put a hand on Joe's shoulder. Then he

looked his manager in the eye. "Joe. For two hundred and fifty

dollars, I'd fight your wife."

When Mae got home later, she wasn't happy about the news.

Jim talked more—about how it was only one fight, about how

long he would have to work at the docks for so much money.

In the end, Mae told Jim to take the fight. But that night she sat

on the sofa in the dark and watched her sleeping husband through

eyes red from crying.

•

The next morning, the three children were outside early, but they

didn't go out to play. They walked to the local butcher shop. Rosy

knocked on the window.

Sam, the butcher, looked down at the three children. "We're

closed today." His eye fell on Jay, remembering the time when the

boy had stolen from his shop. "Well, look who's here. Shall I lock

everything up?"

Jay's face was red, but he bravely stood by his sister, who walked

up to the counter.

"I need a piece of meat, please, sir," she said. "Steak."

"Do you have any money?"

Rosy shook her head and the look in Sam's eyes became softer.

"I can't just give the meat away."

"It's not for me . . . It's for my dad," Rosy replied. "He needs it

to win a boxing fight."

Chapter 7 Back in the Ring

Long Island City, New York, June 14, 1934

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.

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."

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.' "

•

"In this corner, Corn Griffin!"

Griffin jumped to the center of the ring and lifted his thick

arms above his head. The tall young boxer wore a confident smile

on his face. He was young and powerful, a natural heavyweight

with long arms and a big punch.

"And in this corner . . . from New Jersey . . .Jim Braddock!"

The crowd were silent.

When the bell rang, Griffin came out punching hard and

fast. Braddock danced and dodged, doing everything possible to

keep away from Corn's powerful punches. After thirty seconds,

Braddock decided that this fight was a bad idea. His opponent had

trained hard and was ready to fight. He timed his jabs and punches

to Braddock's body perfectly. Jim's only goal now was to finish the

fight without getting hurt. He had to be able to work at the docks

the next day.

Suddenly, a big left-hand punch from Griffin hit Braddock on

the side of the head. He went down. As he lay there, the clocks

seemed to stop.

"Braddock's down!" cried the announcer over the crowd's

boos.

"One . . . two . . . three . . ." counted the referee. Braddock

tried to get to his feet. "Four . . . five . . . six . . ."

Braddock was on one knee, but the referee continued counting.

"Get up and use your left!" Gould called to his fighter.

Finally, Braddock stood. The referee walked over to him and

checked his eyes and the cut in his mouth.

"It's finished, Braddock," he said.

Braddock looked across the ring at his opponent and joked,

"He doesn't look so bad." But the referee began to lift his hand to

end the fight. Jim held his arm with two gloved hands. "Please. Let

me fight."

The referee paused, looking hard at Jim, and then he stepped to

the side. The fight could continue!

Griffin was waiting to continue his attack. Braddock answered

one punch with a left-hand jab. It didn't hurt Griffin, but Jim was

surprised that he could throw a left-hand punch at all.

In the second round, Griffin continued to chase Braddock

around the ring. The young fighter wanted to win by a knockout,

and Jim had to keep moving to dodge Corn's punches.

At the end of the round, Jim sat heavily in his corner. Joe

poured water in the fighter's mouth. When it ran out again into

the waiting bucket, it was pink with blood. Jim hardly heard his

manager's words, though they were screamed into his face.

"He's half a step behind you!" shouted Joe. "Move to the side

and see what happens. Hit him with two jabs and then the big

punch."

The bell rang for the third round. Braddock moved out of his

corner slowly; Griffin came out punching. Remembering Gould's

advice, Braddock moved his shoulders to one side. Griffin didn't

see the move and Braddock hit him with a right that sent Griffin

to the floor. The referee started counting.

"That's it!" screamed Gould. The little manager started to dance

and throw punches in the air.

"Three . . ." The referee's count continued.

Joe's eyes, shining with happiness and surprise, met Jim's.

"Where have you been, Jimmy Braddock?"

Griffin was back on his feet, but now Jim was the one moving

with confidence. Braddock rushed forward, throwing punch after

punch.

Gould was screaming. "That's it! Send him home. Send him

back South or wherever he comes from!"

The punches didn't stop. They fell like rain on the soup line,

like snow on the Newark docks. Finally, Braddock delivered a hard

right punch and stepped away. The crowd just watched as Griffin

fell forward. He landed on the floor and stayed there.

In the silence that followed, Jim saw Sporty Lewis next to the

ring. The reporter's eyes were big with surprise. The next second,

the crowd went wild.

"I can't believe it!" the radio announcer was saying. "Corn

Griffin, the number two challenger for the heavyweight title, has

been knocked out by Jim Braddock in the third round!"

•

Before he left the dressing room with Joe Gould, Jim finished the

bowl of food.

"Imagine what I could do if I had steak," he joked.

On their way out, they paused to watch the end of the evening's

main event. The heavyweight champion of the world, Primo

Carnera, was defending his title against a strong, young boxer

called Max Baer. Baer's punch was so powerful that he had once

killed a man in the ring. This was the fight the crowd had really

come to see.

In the last round of the fight, Max Baer's powerful punches

were falling on Camera without end. Carnera fell to the floor.

"Imagine a punch like that hitting you," Joe said.

Camera was an enormous man, but Baer was much faster. All

night he had danced and dodged Camera's fists. Now, Camera was

bloody and beaten as he got to his feet, holding the rope with

one glove. Baer just laughed at the defending champion, knocking

away his weak punches easily.

"Primo Camera has been knocked down eleven times!" the

radio announcer was saying. "And Max Baer looks sure that he

will be the next champion!"

Camera moved his tired body toward his opponent for a final

attack. The challenger waited patiently with an ugly smile on his

handsome face. When Camera reached the center of the ring,

Baer decided to end the fight, throwing punch after punch at the

champion. It was so terrible that even Joe couldn't watch.

Chapter 8 A Second Chance

Jim stepped out of the car in front of his apartment house.

"Are you sure you won't come in and say hello?" he asked.

"Are you still married to the same girl?" asked Joe.

Jim gave the usual answer. "I was the last time I looked."

Joe smiled. "Good night, Jimmy."

The car drove off, and Jim stood outside the building. The

Braddocks had sold their radio, so Mae and the kids didn't know

the result of tonight's fight.

The door opened and Jay, Howard, and Rosy looked up at him

with hopeful faces. Mae stood silently.

"I won," he said.

The children screamed and rushed toward him. Rosy pulled on

his arm. "Daddy, Daddy, you have to see what I got you!" She ran

to the ice box. "Put it on your eyes," she said, pushing a thick steak

into her father's hands.

Jim looked at the meat. "Where did you get this?"

"They all went to the butcher shop," said Mae. "I tried to take it

back, but the butcher says he gave it to her."

"It's a steak," said Rosy. "It'll fix your face."

Jim held the thick steak up. He could almost smell it, hear it

cooking. He went down on his knees to speak to his daughter—

fighter to fighter. "Rosy, we have to eat this."

But Rosy shouted, "No! You have to put it on your face."

Jim knew that it was useless to argue. He lay back and placed

the cool steak across his eyes. He waited a few seconds, and then

lifted one edge of the meat.

Jay turned to his mother. "Do the announcer's voice, Mom."

"Come on, Mae," said Jim with a smile. "Do the announcer."

Mae's voice became loud. "Introducing the holder of the

amateur title for light heavyweight and heavyweight. . . from

New Jersey . . . the future heavyweight champion of the world

. . . James J. Braddock."

These last words were shouted. The kids went wild, laughing

and jumping around the room. Jim took the steak from his face.

"This really worked," he told his daughter."Let's eat!"

He crossed to the stove and started cooking the meat. Soon the

sound and the delicious smell filled the apartment.

"Jim," Mae whispered. "Is it really just one fight, or are they

letting you back in?"

Jim kissed her head. "It was just the one fight."

Relief swept through Mae. As she went to the stove to get the

steak, she said silent thanks that her husband would never step

inside the ring again.

•

The early morning walk to the docks was the same as usual, but

Jim felt different. His body ached, but his steps were quicker than

they had been in months.

He joined the group of men at the fence. Finally, the foreman

Jake appeared and began pointing to men.

"Six, seven, eight. . ." Jake's eyes passed Jim, then returned to

him. The foreman said Jim's name and everybody turned to look.

"Nine."

Jim closed his eyes in relief. As he passed through the gate, Jake

said to him, "I listened to the fight last night." He took out his

newspaper. Jim's eyes ran over the words:

BRADDOCK KNOCKOUT OVER GRIFFIN IN 3

Jim shook his head, not believing it. A few men crowded round

to hear what he had to say. They seemed surprised that he had

come to work today.

"It was one night only," explained Jim. "My share was a

hundred and twenty five dollars. We had bills of one hundred

and twenty to pay. That left me with five dollars."

Jake laughed. "That makes you a rich man." Then he said

seriously, "Good fight."

Jim could see that these men around him, with their old clothes

and tired faces, had found hope watching him fight. He had

fought something real, something he could see—they all wished

for that chance.

He joined his partner, Mike. Words weren't necessary. The two

picked up their hooks and began to work, moving the heavy sacks.

"Why didn't you tell me you were going to win again?" said

Mike. "I didn't put any money on you."

Mike smiled, but it wasn't the smile Jim remembered. It was

tired. Less happy.

"Come on," Mike said. "Talk me through that last round."

Jim started describing the events of the last round again. Since

the cast had come off his arm, he worked with both hands.

Without thinking, he moved the hook to his left hand and

continued working with smooth, strong movements.

•

A week later, Mae was walking back from the stores with Rosy

when she saw a shiny new car drive away from their apartment

house. Joe Gould's car.

She found Jim standing in the yard behind the building. He

looked so happy, so handsome and confident in the sun, with his

square chin and his bright eyes up to the blue sky. Then he turned

and Mae felt her heart stop. She saw it in his eyes—the old

excitement.

"Joe was here," said Jim. "He thinks they'll let me box again."

It was hard for Mae to speak. "You said it was one fight."

"It's my chance, Mae, to make you and the kids proud."

Mae fought to control her fear and anger. "I am proud . . .

and grateful. But what would we do if something bad happened

to you? Something worse than a broken hand, so you couldn't

work?"

She couldn't even tell her worst fear: What will happen if you're

killed?

"What would happen to us?" demanded Mae. "To the children?

We're hardly managing now."

Jim shook his head sadly. He waved a hand at the broken

building, the empty yard. Couldn't she see? He was already killing

himself-—and for what? A few coins at the end of a long day's

work? "I have to do better than I'm doing," he replied.

Mae stepped closer. "Things are better now. Please, Jim . . ."

He wanted to take her in his arms, but he stopped himself. He

had to think about the family's future. The strength was clear in his

voice. "I can still take a few punches. At least in the ring you know

who's hitting you."

Mae felt helpless as she watched him walk to the building's dark

back door. This isn't over, James Braddock, she promised.

•

The next morning Jim left early for the gym. Mae left the

apartment house, too. She took the kids to her sister's house, and

then she crossed the Hudson River to New York City.

She was going to the small part of the city known as the Upper

East Side. It was an area of beautiful houses, expensive apartment

buildings, and fine hotels. Some of the richest people in the

country lived on the blocks along the city's Central Park.

Two streets away, the buildings weren't quite so beautiful, but

they were still home to wealthy people. In front of each apartment

building, a uniformed doorman stood guard.

When she reached the tall building, she looked up, trying to

guess how many floors it had. She went through the beautiful

entrance hall to the elevator. On the fifteenth floor, she moved

down the line of doors.

She knocked on one and called politely, "Open the door,

Joe." There was no answer. She tried again, and again, but nobody

came to the door. "Joe, open this door now!" Mae shouted.

"You're not going to hide in your expensive apartment while

you turn my husband into a punching bag. I won't let you get

him hurt again!"

The door opened. "You'd better come in," said Joe Gould.

As she pushed past him, Mae's anger died. She had expected the

manager's home to be beautiful. But she looked around now at a

completely empty apartment.

Minutes later, she sat on a camping chair, drinking tea with Joe

and his wife Lucille. She hadn't expected this friendly welcome.

"Sorry," said Joe, pointing to the door. "People have to think

you're doing well."

"I thought. . ." said Mae.

"That's the plan," said Joe, touching his fine brown suit. "Show

people you're doing well, even if you're not. We sold the last of the

furniture last week," he continued, "so Jimmy could train."

"Why?" Mae asked.

"Sometimes you see something in a fighter, something to hope

for," answered Joe. "Jimmy's what I hope for."

Mae shook her head. "This is crazy. You don't even know if you

can get him a fight, do you?"

"I'll get him a fight," Joe said, "if it's the last thing I do."

Chapter 9 Not the Same Guy

The gym owner, Joe Jeannette, looked pleased. "You've been

training, Jimmy.''

"I've been working, Joe. Not training."

"Show me what work you did."

"I was lifting sacks at the dock," explained Jim. "We used a

hook, like this." He showed the movement.

"That's the perfect punching exercise," said Jeannette. "You've

been getting a powerful left hand, and you didn't even know it."

In the next few weeks, Braddock trained hard. After all those

months of hard work, it was like a vacation to train with Jeannette.

But the trainer pushed him hard. Every week there were new

exercises, new skills to learn and practice.

While Braddock worked at the gym, Joe Gould was busy in

other ways. At Madison Square Garden, he walked into Jimmy

Johnston's office and sat down.

"You're going to arrange a fight between Jim Braddock and

John Henry Lewis."

Johnston looked up from the papers he was signing. "Now why

would I do that?"

Joe smiled confidently. "Lewis is number two in line to fight

for the heavyweight title, and he's already beaten Braddock once

before. So put Braddock against Lewis. If Lewis wins, your boy has

had a good practice fight before his next opponent, and you make

some money. If, by some chance, Braddock beats Lewis, you have a

people's favorite, which means you make more money. Whatever

happens, you're richer with Braddock back in the ring." Gould sat

back. "So what do you say?"

As soon as he got an answer, Joe rushed back to the gym.

"I got you a fight," he told Jim from the ropes. "You're going to

fight John Henry Lewis again."

Jim climbed out of the ring. "I could kiss you."

Joe took a step back. "Please don't!" The manager became

suddenly serious. "I won't lie, Jimmy. You're in this fight because

you're meat. But if you win it, I can get you another one. If you

win the next, then everything changes."

Jim understood. He turned toward the heavy punching bag.

"Jimmy," Joe called.

Jim turned and saw the old fire in his manager's eyes.

"Win!" said Joe.

•

It was the afternoon before the fight. Jim was still at home.

"I know this isn't what you wanted," he said softly to Mae. "But

I can't win if you don't support me."

Mae put the pile of clean clothes down and stepped up to her

husband. "I always support you," she whispered.

While their parents were kissing, the three children took their

chance to run out of the apartment. They walked through the

small crowd that stood outside the building. Soon they stood again

in the butcher shop.

"What can I do for you today?" Sam, the butcher, asked.

"My dad's fighting a man who beat him badly once before,"

said Rosy anxiously. "What kind of steaks do you have?"

Down the block, Jim stepped out of the apartment house and

was met by a small crowd of neighbors.

"We're all supporting you," said an old man.

"Take him down, Jim!" cried another.

Suddenly, a familiar face appeared in front of Jim—Mike

Wilson. They shook hands.

"I put some money on you," Mike said.

"Mike, everybody expects Lewis to win," said Jim.

But Mike just gave a confident smile. "Do you need some help

in your corner?" he asked.

Jim shook his head. "I have my regular guys for that. You know

how it is, Mike."

Mike's shoulders dropped, but he tried to laugh. "Sure I do, Jim.

Now go and win the fight!"

•

The powerful jab pushed Braddock back against the ropes. John

Henry Lewis was a young black boxer with quick hands and a lot

of skill. His perfectly timed combinations of punches pushed Jim

on to the ropes again.

"Lewis is here to repeat his win over Braddock," said the radio

announcer.

For three rounds, the two fighters danced around the ring,

looking for the other man's weak areas. Then, in the fourth round,

the fight became serious. The fighters went toe to toe, refusing to

step back.

In his corner at the end of the round, Lewis looked confused.

"You beat this guy easily last time!" his manager screamed.

Lewis just shook his head. "He isn't the same guy."

In the opposite corner, Gould checked Braddock's face. The

boxer was tired and breathing hard, his body covered with sweat.

"He's even faster than I remember," said Jim.

Gould spoke into the boxer's ear. "He's fast, but he'll be slower

after a few more punches. Watch him—he always moves to the

right."

Both fighters started round five like mad animals. Leather

gloves flew, and neither man backed away. Suddenly, Braddock

hit his opponent with a powerful cross and Lewis was down on

one knee. When the fight continued, Lewis wasn't able to protect

himself, letting Braddock knock him back on to the ropes.

In the end, the judges gave the fight to Braddock. Some sports

reporters said that he had deserved to win. Others said that he had

just hit Lewis with a few lucky punches.

As Joe Gould gave Jim his share of the prize money, he said,

"Take care of yourself. Our luck has changed—I'm sure of it."

•

A month later, in December 1934, Jimmy Johnston made the

announcement that Joe Gould expected. He was going to

organize fights among the top heavyweight boxers. Finally, one

man would be chosen to fight the champion, Max Baer, for

the heavyweight title. Johnston had several boxers in mind, but

Braddock wasn't one of them. He didn't think that Braddock was

lucky—he was good. Johnston didn't want the New Jersey boxer to

stop another of his young stars.

But Gould refused to take no for an answer. Again and again he

went to Johnston's office, trying to get a fight for his man.

"How about a fight with Art Lasky?" he tried.

At first Johnston refused. But, after hearing how confident

Lasky's people were, he changed his mind. Braddock's next fight

was going to be with Art Lasky. He was a young fighter from

Minnesota who had won a few fights in the West. He wasn't as fast

as Lewis, but he was big and strong.

•

The Lasky fight started well for Braddock. In the early rounds, his

opponent couldn't get past Braddock's gloves. The boxer from

Minnesota took a lot of punishment and soon his nose was bloody.

Everything changed in the fifth round. Lasky started hitting

Braddock with punch after punch to the body. Fighting with new

confidence, he took the next few rounds from the New Jersey

man. In the eleventh round, Braddock found himself back on the

ropes, as Lasky's fists flew at him.

"Art Lasky is ending the story of Jim Braddock's second chance

in boxing," said the radio announcer.

A big punch hit the side of Braddock's head and his

mouthguard flew out. The crowd waited for Braddock to drop.

Instead, he stood there, eye to eye with Lasky. Then he calmly

walked over and picked up his mouthguard.

"I can't believe my eyes," said the announcer. "Braddock just

took Lasky's best punch and it had no effect on him!"

Braddock was a different fighter after that. He fought from a

distance, throwing jabs at Lasky's bloody face. In the fifteenth

round, Braddock's glove hit the other man's nose. Blood showered

the ring.

"This is unbelievable!" shouted the radio announcer. "Nothing

can stop Braddock now."

As Lasky moved with increasing difficulty, Braddock hit him

with a combination of punches that sent him into the ropes at the

side of the ring. Those ropes were the only thing that kept Lasky

on his feet.

"And the winner is . . .James J. Braddock!"

The shouts of the crowd reached the streets outside. By radio,

they reached across the country. They were heard in Branson,

Missouri, where Ancil Hoffman ran to another room in the hotel

he was staying in. He knocked at the door urgently.

Max Baer, the heavyweight champion of the world, opened the

door and looked down angrily at Hoffman.

"Jim Braddock just beat Lasky," said the champion's manager.

"He's the number one challenger for your title."

Baer replied with an ugly smile. "The guy's a loser," he said.

"Tell Johnston to find me somebody who can fight back." Then

he shut the door in Ancil's face.

Chapter 10 Night in the Park

The streets around Madison Square Garden were quiet, but as

soon as Jim stepped outside, a crowd of around fifty men closed in

around him and Joe. They were very different from the crowd that

had waited after the Griffiths fight years ago. These men looked

tired and hungry. But when they saw Jim Braddock, hope lit up

their faces and they stood taller.

"Just sign your name for a few," said Joe with a smile. "Leave

them wanting more."

"No, Joe. Tonight I sign them all!"

Jim moved among the crowd, shaking hands and signing his

name and talking for over an hour.

Joe did most of the talking on the drive to New Jersey. When

they reached the apartment building, Jim opened the door.

"Good night, Joe."

"Haven't you forgotten something?" asked Joe. He reached into

his coat for Jim's share of the prize money. He began to explain

how he had decided on the amount.

"I trust you, Joe," said Jim. "And Mae trusts you, too."

Joe pushed the money into the fighter's hand and waved

goodnight.

When Jim entered the little apartment, he put some of the cash

in the jar on the shelf. He put the rest in a white envelope.

Jim didn't sleep much that night and he left the apartment

before Mae and the children woke up. The sidewalks were empty

as he walked to the center of town. He joined the line inside the

relief office and waited patiently.

Finally, he stepped up to the counter and nodded at the

woman. He gave her the white envelope.

The woman was confused when she looked at the cash. "So

. . . you're giving us the money back?"

On the way home, Jim bought twelve roses for Mae. They were

very expensive, but he wanted to apologize for not waking her to

tell her about the Lasky fight. He hadn't wanted to celebrate until

he had paid back the money to the relief office.

But when he got home, it wasn't the time for celebrating. Mike

Wilson's wife, Sara, was sitting on the sofa with her baby girl in

her arms. Her eyes were red from crying.

"Mike's gone," said Mae seriously. "It's been three days now."

"About a week after you left the docks, Jim, the foreman

stopped picking him for work," cried Sara. "I went to stay with my

brother. There wasn't room for Mike, so he's been sleeping in

Central Park." Sara looked straight at Jim. "He said he was going

to do some work for you. We were going to meet last night, but

Mike never came."

Silently, Mae pointed at the jar that contained their money. Jim

nodded. "Listen, Sara, you and Mae go and get something for the

baby's cough."

But Sara was crying. "Something's wrong. I know it is!"

Jim moved toward the front door. "I'll go and find him."

Hours later, Jim entered Central Park. As the sun sank, he knew

that the enormous park wasn't as empty as it looked. Since the

Crash of 1929, tens of thousands of New Yorkers were living in

cars, or on the streets, or in the subway. A lot of people had started

living in Central Park. Some of them built huts or tents from

any materials they could find. Others slept wherever they could.

They ate any food they could find or catch or steal.

Jim had heard that there had been a lot of sheep in Central

Park. Most had been moved away. Now, as he searched for Mike,

Jim saw park workers guiding the last sheep into enormous

wagons. Jim watched until a policeman on a horse waved at him

to move away.

The shadows became longer as night came, and soon trash can

fires were the only lights in the park. Jim went deeper into the

park, past huts and tents. The sound of wet coughs filled the air.

"Mike! Mike Wilson?" he called.

Suddenly, two running policemen shouted at him to get out of

the way. He looked to see where they were going and saw a crowd

of people around several policemen on horses. Jim heard angry

shouts and saw flames. He ran to the crowd and had to push his

way through a wall of people to reach the center.

A group of men had fought the police here, turning one of the

sheep wagons over and burning huts. The police were in control

again and were guiding the men away like sheep.

There were two policemen on horses near Jim. "We were just

trying to move the sheep," one of them told the other. "But one of

these guys started shouting at us. He was angry, very political.

Then they attacked us."

Jim closed his eyes and remembered all Mike's angry talk. He

knew this must be Mike. He began looking for his friend among

all the fallen men on the grass. He got closer to the wagon that lay

on its side.

"A guy tried to free the sheep," a policeman was saying. "The

horses were scared and the wagon turned over."

There was someone with his legs under the enormous wheels

of the wagon. A group of men lifted the wagon up, and that's

when Jim realized that there was a second man under the wagon,

lying in a pool of blood. It was Mike.

Jim's friend wasn't dead yet. Jim moved the hair from Mike's

eyes.

"Did you win?" Mike asked. His voice was soft and filled with

pain.

Jim nodded. "You're going to be OK, Mike," he said.

Mike managed a weak nod. "I know i t . . ."

But, in the cold and dark of New York's Central Park, as the

smoke from the burning huts blew over them and took away the

last of the light, both men knew that this wasn't true.

•

Few people came to Mike's funeral. It was a work day and most

people couldn't afford to lose a day's money. Only Jim and Mae

Braddock and their three children stood with Sara Wilson and her

baby daughter as Mike's body was put into the ground.

Jim spoke of Mike's love for his family, his wife. He didn't say

what he felt—that Mike's death was a waste, a stupid, unnecessary

waste. Jim understood why people got angry, but Mike's anger

hadn't helped his wife or his daughter. Jim wished he had known

how bad things had become for his friend. He couldn't forget

how kind Mike had been to him when he started working at the

docks.

Mae's attention was on Sara, whose eyes were far away. She

seemed to be staring into the long future that waited for her

without her husband.

As she looked at Sara, part of Mae wondered if she was looking

into a mirror of her own future. Maybe not today or tomorrow—

but one day she might lose Jim.

Date: 2016-01-14; view: 1320