Chapter 11 Face to Face with the Champion

Madison Square Garden, March 24, 1935

Jim Braddock and Joe Gould smiled for the cameras. Then it was

time for the reporters' questions.

"Jim, do you have anything to say to our readers?"

"Not everybody gets a second chance," answered Jim. He

looked at Mae, who sat at the front in a new yellow dress, smiling

nervously. "I have a lot to be grateful for."

A second reporter stood. "Can you tell our readers why you

gave your relief money back?"

Jim nodded. "This great country of ours helps a man when he's

in trouble. I've had some good luck, so I thought I'd return the

money."

Another reporter stood. "Max Baer says that he's worried he's

going to kill you in the ring. What do you say?"

Mae looked down at her hands. Jim looked the reporter in the

eye. "Max Baer is the champion," he said. "I'm looking forward to

the fight."

The next question was from a familiar face. Sporty Lewis stood

and turned toward Mae. "Mrs. Braddock, how do you feel about

the fact that Max Baer has killed two men in the ring?" Mae

could find no words. "Mrs. Braddock, are you scared for your

husband's life?" continued Lewis.

A camera appeared in front of Mae's face. Jim jumped to his

feet. "She's scared for Max Baer!" he shouted.

Joe Gould lifted his arms like a referee. "OK, OK, one more

question . . ."

While Jim answered the last question, his eyes searched for Mae.

She refused to look up, not wanting him to see the doubts and fear

in her eyes.

When Jim Braddock and Joe Gould entered Madison Square

Garden's boxing club, Jimmy Johnston was waiting for them. The

rich, powerful businessman waved a newspaper at the fighter and

his manager.

"It says here that this fight is as good as murder," Johnston said,

stepping close up to Braddock. "This is my business, and I'm going

to protect myself. You will know exactly what Baer can do before

you get in that ring."

A door opened and a small man in a suit entered the room. This

was Johnston's lawyer, and he was followed by a secretary.

Johnston went to a machine and began to show a film. It

showed two boxers getting ready to fight. One was Max Baer.

Johnston said the other man's name. "That's Frankie Campbell . . .

A good fighter who knows how to take a punch."

The fight began. Johnston turned to Braddock. "Is Campbell's

style familiar, Jim? It's like looking in a mirror, isn't it?"

"He doesn't need to see this," complained Joe.

"He'll see it or there'll be no fight!"Johnston warned.

On the film, Campbell stepped forward with a good left jab,

almost as good as Jim's. Baer blocked it easily, then hit back with

his right. The punch was too fast to see, and it had a strange,

terrible power. Campbell just stood there in confusion, with his

gloves down by his side. The second punch hit the side of his

head. And then Campbell was down, his legs wide, his eyes open

but seeing nothing.

"It was the second punch that killed him," said Johnston.

"You've warned us," said Joe. "Now stop the film."

"No," said Jim, surprising both Joe and Johnston. "Show it

again."

When the lights were back on, Johnston stared at Jim.

"Remember Ernie Schaff ? He was a good fighter. Ernie took

one of Baer's punches on the chin. He was dead and didn't know

it. In his next fight, the first jab killed him." He sat back in his

chair. "Do you want to think about this fight?"

Jim hit his hands on the desk angrily. "Do you think you're

telling me something I don't know?" he shouted. "How many

guys died because they didn't have enough food? Or because they

had to work long hours and dangerous jobs to feed their families?

I've thought about it as much as I'm going to."

"OK, then." Johnston looked away. "Why don't you both eat

here tonight with your wives?"

The fight organizer smiled, but there was something about the

look in his eyes that Jim didn't trust.

Later that day, the two men returned to the club's restaurant

with their wives. The four ate, talked, and laughed, as a piano

played quietly in the corner.

After the meal, Joe pulled a newspaper out of his pocket. He

turned to the sports pages and began to read. "Jim Braddock is

back from the dead to give hope to every American."

Jim was surprised. "Who wrote that?"

"Sporty Lewis. The newspaper is calling you the Cinderella

Man."

"Cinderella Man?" Jim didn't look happy. Cinderella was a

children's story. Wasn't Cinderella the girl who had to stay at home

and clean while her sisters went to a wonderful party at the

palace?

"I like it," said Mae, squeezing his hand.

Suddenly, an enormous man with two young women on his

arms walked in through the front door. Conversations died around

the room. The man had thick black hair and the brightest blue

eyes. He was wearing an expensive white jacket, but he looked

dangerous. As usual, all eyes in the room turned to him. This was

Max Baer.

Jim turned to his manager. "Do you think Johnston planned

this?" he asked angrily.

Joe nodded. "Sure. More pictures for the papers."

Physically, Baer was the perfect boxer. He had a narrow waist,

wide shoulders, strong legs, and long arms. He was young, too—at

twenty-six, three years younger than Jim. And he had the strongest

punch Joe Gould had ever seen—probably the strongest punch in

the history of boxing.

Joe knew that there were ways to beat the champion. His righthand

punch was so powerful that he hadn't really worked on

improving his left hand. But Joe couldn't forget the sight of Baer

destroying Primo Carnera. The big Italian had been knocked

down eleven times in that fight.

Joe's attention moved away from Baer when a waiter arrived

with a bottle of wine and four glasses.

"From the gentleman at the bar . . . Mr. Baer said I should wish

you good luck."

Jim looked at Mae. The blood had run from her face, leaving

her pale with worry. He stood. "Get the coats, Joe." Then he

began walking toward the bar.

Baer gave a big smile when he saw Jim coming. "Look, it's the

Cinderella Man!" he shouted.

Jim stood toe to toe with the champion. "You keep saying in

the newspapers that you're going to kill me in the ring. I have

three little kids. You're upsetting my family."

Baer moved closer. His voice was quiet as he said, "Listen to me,

Braddock. I'm asking you not to take this fight. People admire

you. You seem like a nice guy, and I don't want to hurt you. It's no

joke. They're calling you the Cinderella Man. Well, people die in

children's stories all the time."

Suddenly, a small crowd of reporters and photographers ran

into the club. Baer turned to face the cameras and smiled. His

voice was loud again as he started performing for the cameras. "If

you're smart, you'll fall over in the first round," he told Jim.

Jim's eyes met Baer's. "I think I'll try for a few rounds," he said.

Baer noticed Mae, standing behind Jim now. "You should talk

to him," he said. "You're much too pretty to lose your husband."

Jim squeezed his fist into a ball, ready to attack, but Baer

continued to look at Mae. "Maybe I can take care of you after he's

gone."

This time Joe Gould jumped, waving his fists at the champion.

Jim pulled him back.

Mae stepped up to the bar. Baer's bright blue eyes followed her

as she picked up his drink, then threw it in his face.

Baer just laughed as he dried his face. "Did you get that,

boys?" he said to the reporters. "Braddock has his wife fighting

for him."

Jim stepped up to Max Baer. The two boxers were nose to nose.

Then Jim turned, took his wife's hand, and led her away. As they

left, the sound of Baer laughing followed them into the street.

Chapter 12 The Big Day

"Keep your head down and give me a combination—left, right,

left."

Jim was teaching Jay and Howard how to box. Jay threw out

a right fist and lifted his chin. Jim reached forward and gently

hit his son's chin. "Don't take your eyes off your opponent,"

he said.

"That's enough, now," said Mae from the kitchen sink.

Jim looked at his boys proudly. "There's more than one fighter

in the Braddock family."

As the two boys continued to box, they knocked over a chair.

Mae turned. "I said that's enough!" she cried. "No boxing in

the house!" She pointed at her two sons. "You are going to stay

in school. Then college. You are going to have professions. You

are not going to have your heads broken in the boxing ring. Is

that clear?"

The boys froze. Before they could reply, Mae ran out of the

apartment. As she stood outside, she could still hear Sporty Lewis's

words in her head: Max Baer has killed two men in the ring.

She didn't turn when she heard Jim's steps. "When you boxed

before, sometimes I hoped that you would get hurt. Just enough

so you couldn't fight again . . . I always knew a day would come

when a fight could kill you. And now it's here." She looked her

husband in the eye. "Why? Why fight him?"

"This is what I know how to do," said Jim simply.

Mae waited for Jim to take her in his arms, to say that he had

changed his mind, but he didn't. Part of him wished that he could,

but it was impossible. She didn't understand how it felt for men

like Jim or Mike Wilson—strong, hardworking men who were

told that they were useless. There were thousands of people like

this now, and they found hope in the fighter they called the

Cinderella Man. Jim had to fight, for them.

Mae's fear turned to anger. "I supported you until now," she

said. "But not for this, Jim. I just can't . . ." Her voice went cold.

"You find a way out of this fight. Break your hand again, if you

have to. But if you leave this apartment to fight Max Baer, I won't

support you."

•

As the day of the fight grew closer, Max Baer helped reporters fill

their sports pages. His latest demand was that there must be an

ambulance outside Madison Square Garden, ready to rush Jim to a

local hospital after Baer hit him.

Jim just continued training. Joe Jeannette chose good partners

for him to work with in the ring. Each one helped Jim improve

one skill—one partner helped him work on his hand speed;

another partner allowed him to practice dodging big punches;

another helped him move around the ring quickly.

Jim, Joe, and Jeannette also watched film of Baer's fights for

hours every day. "Watch him," said Jeannette, pointing. "His

punches are strong, but you can see them coming."

With just a few weeks to go, Braddock's training became even

harder. Joe and Jeannette started changing his boxing partners

more and more often, so Jim fought a fresh fighter every round.

One of the newspaper sports pages included something that Joe

had said: "Braddock is going to be really prepared for this fight, if

he lives through training!"

Joe laughed when he read that, until his wife reminded him that

Mae Braddock would read it, too.

•

Finally, the big day arrived. When Joe Gould arrived at the gym

that morning, Jim was sitting alone, with a jacket tight around his

chest.

"What's wrong with him?" the manager asked Joe Jeannette.

Jeannette shook his head. "He's fitter than ever, but he's old. His

ribs aren't strong since the Lasky fight."

Gould already knew about the problem with Jim's ribs, but

he thought there was something else wrong. Gould knew that

Jim's wife wasn't happy about his profession, and about this fight

especially. But whatever the problem was, there was no time to

solve it now. The fight was just hours away.

"The reporters will be here soon," he told Jim. "Take off that

jacket or Baer will see that you have a rib problem."

Jim climbed into the training ring as a crowd of sports writers

rushed into the room. He worked hard, but he still wanted to train

more after the last reporter had gone.

Joe Jeannette refused. "Go home and get some rest. You'll be

working hard enough in the ring tonight."

So Jim went home. He returned to a house that was empty

except for Mae. She stood silently, looking at the newspaper:

WORLD CHAMPION FIGHT TONIGHT

MANY WORRY FOR BRADDOCK'S LIFE

Without a word, she turned and walked away.

As the morning became afternoon, Jim lay in bed, unable to

sleep. A taxi came for him at four o'clock.

Mae followed Jim outside, where a small crowd of neighbors

was waiting: "Come home with that title!" "Knock him out!"

Jim kissed his three children. Then his eyes met Mae's. "I can't

win if you don't support me," he said.

"Then don't go, Jimmy."

Time seemed to stretch, with each of them waiting for the

other to say something. Then Mae turned and pulled the children

close to her. Jim watched as she pushed her way back through the

crowd. Then he climbed into the waiting taxi.

The taxi drove past the tall buildings of Manhattan, then crossed

the East River. Jim was silent, running the films of Baer's fights

through his head, remembering Jeannette's advice—anything to

help him forget the look on Mae's face as he left.

They reached the Madison Square Garden Bowl and Jim

looked out at the waiting crowd. He could see that these people

had known hard times. But there was something else, too, a

bright look in their eyes—hope.

Jim saw his own face in the glass of the car window. He had

beaten Tuffy Griffiths so confidently, but that man was gone

forever. He had passed his hat hopelessly around the boxing club,

but that man, was gone, too. No, he was looking now at the face of

every man who had ever been beaten down by hard times but

refused to stop fighting.

That's when Jim knew. No matter what happened tonight, he

wouldn't give up. He would die trying.

•

It was a hot day and getting hotter. Jim sat in his dressing room

waiting to go out and be weighed.

"Come on, champion," said Joe Gould when there was a knock

on the door.

"Wait a minute," said Jim. "The last time I looked, I was the

challenger, not the champion."

"I know what I said," replied Joe.

On his way to the weighing room, Max Baer had seen an old

trainer who had worked with him years before. There were angry

words and Baer hit out at the man. Cameras recorded the attack.

When there was peace in the room again, officials and reporters

watched the two boxers being weighed. It was very hot in the

crowded room.

Max Baer went first, stepping up with his fists above his head

and an ugly smile on his face.

"Ninety-five and a half kilograms," the judge announced.

Then it was Jim's turn. "Eighty-six and a half kilograms."

Max Baer was waiting for him when he stepped down. "How

does the story go?" said Baer, loud enough for all the reporters to

hear. "The clock strikes midnight, and then Cinderella loses her

skirt!"

People laughed and more photos were taken, but Jim didn't

care. He would have the chance to reply later, in the ring. He went

back to his dressing room to get ready for the fight.

Max Baer returned to his dressing room. His trainer was

waiting with something for the champion to watch—a film of

Braddock's fight against Art Lasky.

"Look, right there!" said the trainer, as Lasky hit Braddock in

the ribs, clearly hurting him. "Braddock's ribs are weak. If you can

hit them with a few good jabs, you'll really hurt him."

"I don't need to," answered Baer. "I can knock this loser down

any time. I just need to give the crowd a good show before I kill

him."

Baer's manager, Ancil Hoffman, came into the room.

"Did you get it?" asked the champion.

Hoffman nodded. "The ambulance is waiting outside. There's a

doctor there, too."

Max looked in the mirror. "That's all I can do for him. Now

Braddock's on his own."

•

Mae spent the rest of the day at her sister's house. As the children

played, she and Alice sat and talked, but they didn't discuss the real

reason for Mae's visit.

As the afternoon shadows grew longer, Mae became quieter.

At five o'clock, she stood. "No radio, Alice," she said. "I'll be back

soon."

Mae walked through the empty streets of Newark until she

came to the family's church. Father Rorick stood at the door.

There were crowds inside.

"Father?" Mae asked, confused by the crowd. "I came to say a

few words in church for Jim."

"All these people are doing the same," said the priest. "They

think Jim's fighting for them."

Mae looked at the crowd again. All of these people were beaten

down by hard times. They admired her husband. If he could fight

and win, maybe they could . . .

"Yes, I understand now," said Mae. She turned and hurried

down the street. She could hear radios through open windows

and doors. Everybody was getting ready to listen to the fight—

at the docks, in homes and bars, in Sam the butcher's. Beyond

Newark, too—across the country—people wanted the Cinderella

Man to win. They wanted him to become the prince, the king,

the champion.

•

Joe Gould was taping Jim's hands in the dressing room. They could

hear the sound of the crowd beyond. Suddenly, there was a knock

on the door and a small, familiar shape stood there—it was Mae.

"Excuse me for a minute," said Joe. He left, closing the door

behind him.

Finally, Mae spoke. "You can't win if I don't support you."

"I keep telling you that," said Jim.

Mae handed him a brown paper bag. "I thought it was going to

rain, so I used the money in the rainy-day jar." Jim opened the bag

and stared at the new pair of boxing shoes inside.

"Maybe I understand." Mae's eyes shone. The two kissed and,

smiling through her tears, Mae said, "I always support you, Jimmy.

Just you remember who you are! You're everybody's hope and your

kids' hero and you're the champion of my heart, James J. Braddock!"

It was almost fight time. "See you at home, okay?" Mae

whispered, as she moved to the door. "Please, Jimmy . . ."

Jim nodded. "See you at home."

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