Harry Greb

[sonnyboyx2]

section taken from the book.....

A MAN MUST FIGHT

1931

written by Gene Tunney

supplied by the Lydon Cousins





(page 69)

I was given the decision and the title of light-heavy-weight

champion of America. I wanted all and sundry to know that the new

"champion" was ready to defend his important honours against any and all

contenders. Though not confident that I could beat either Harry Greb or

Tom Gibbons, I agreed to meet the winner of the match that had been

arranged between them. I felt, in all sincerity, that no man had the

right to call himself champion of his class unless he was the best man

in that class.

The night of the Greb-Gibbons fight in old Madison Square Garden I

was introduced by good old Joe Humphreys as ready to mee the winner. As

things later developed, it was fortunate for me that Greb won. Though

there is no telling now what would have happened if I had been asked to

meet Gibbons at that time rather than Greb, I believed then that I was

not seasoned or experienced enough for Gibbons. He probably would have

won from me by a knockout.

While training for the Greb match, which took place just four

months after the Levinsky match, I had the worst possible kind of luck.

My left eyebrow was opened, and both hands were sorely injured. I had a

partial reappearance of the old left-elbow trouble which prevented my

using a left jab. Dr. Robert J. Shea, a close friend, who took care of

me during my training, thought that a hypodermic injection of adrenalin

chloride over the left eye would prevent bleeding when the cut was

re-opened by Greb. At my request he injected a hypodermic solution of

novacaine into the knuckles of both hands as well. We locked the

dressing-room door during this performance.

George Engle, Greb's manager, wanting to watch the bandages being

put on, came over to my dressing-room and found the door bolted. He

shouted and ******. We could not allow him in until the doctor had

finished his work. Getting in finally, he insisted that I remove all

the bandages so that he could see whether I had any unlawful substance

under them. I refused. He made an awful squawk, ranting in and out of

the room. I became angry. Eventually I realized that Engle was only

trying to protect his fighter and, if I let it get my goat, that was my

hard luck. Moreover, his not being allowed into the dressing-room made

the situation look su****ious. I unwound the bandages from my hands and

satisfied George that all was well.

In the first exchange of the fight, I sustained a double fracture

of the nose which bled continually until the finish. Toward the end of

the first round, my left eyebrow was laid open four inches. I am

convinced that the adrenalin solution that had been injected so softened

the tissue that the first blow or butt I received cut the flesh right to

the bone.

In the third round another cut over the right eye left me looking

through a red film. For the better part of twelve rounds, I saw this

red phantom-like form dancing before me. I had provided myself with a

fifty-per-cent mixture of brandy and orange juice to take between rounds

in the event I became weak from loss of blood. I had never taken

anything during a fight up to that time. Nor did I ever again.

It is impossible to describe the bloodiness of this fight. My

seconds were unable to stop either the bleeding from the cut over my

left eye, which involved a severed artery, or the bleeding consequent to

the nose fractures. Doc Bagley, who was my chief second, made futile

attempts to congeal the nose-bleeding by pouring adrenalin into his hand

and having me snuff it up my nose. This I did round after round. The

adrenalin, instead of coming out through the nose again, ran down my

throat with the blood and into my stomach.

At the end of the twelfth round, I believed it was a good time to

take a swallow of the brandy and orange juice. It had hardly got to my

stomach when the ring started whirling around. The bell rang for the

thirteenth round; the seconds pushed me from my chair. I actually saw

two red opponents. How I ever survived the thirteenth, fourteenth and

fifteenth rounds is still a mystery to me. At any rate, the only

consciousness I had was to keep trying. I knew if I ever relaxed, I

should either collapse or the referee would stop the brutality.

After the gong sounded, ending the fifteenth round, I shook hands

with Greb and mumbled through my smashed and swollen lips, "Well, Harry,

you were the better man, to-night!" and I meant that literally.

Harry missed the subtlety of the remark, for he said, "Won the

championship," and was dragged from me by one of his seconds, who placed

a kiss on his unmarked countenance.

I discovered through the early part of that fight that I could lick

Harry Greb. As each round went by, battered and pummelled from post to

post as I was, this discovery gradually became a positive certainty in

my mind. I was conscious of the handicaps under which I had entered the

ring. They were not the things that led me to this conviction,

however. Many boxers upon entering important matches suffer from sore

hands, cut eyes, or something of that sort. There is nothing unusual

about that. But I realized that a broken nose and a four-inch cut

through arteries over the eye in the first round of a fifteen-round

match are at least uncommon and of sufficient seriousness to change

completely the current of events.

I left the ring and walked up the aisle toward my dressing-room.

This was negotiated only through nervous excitement. I climbed the

flight of stairs, each step getting higher and more difficult, and, as I

got near the top, the reaction set in. I collapsed; the top step was

impossible. I could not make it. The boys carried me into my

dressing-room and set me up on the rubbing-table. Immediately the hands

of support left me, I fell back with a thud, the back of my head

striking the table. I lay perfectly conscious of everything that was

taking place, but unable to move a muscle. Nature surrendered.

Everything but the right thing was done to stimulate me. All I

needed was a stomach pump to remove the mixture of blood, adrenalin

chloride, brandy, and orange juice. It was two hours before I had

sufficiently revived to be led out of the old Garden.

The day following the Greb match, I went down to the office of the

Boxing Commission to receive my cheque for 22,500 dollars, and placed on

a file a challenge to Greb for a return fight, backed with a cheque for

2,500 dollars.

My next consideration was to get my body and face restored to

normal after the pummelling and battering that I had received from Greb

during those fifteen bloody rounds. I did not recover as quickly as I

expected. The strain of the fight and the loss of blood left me weak

and exhausted. I was compelled to remain in bed for a week when I

returned to Red Bank. A blood tonic prescribed by Dr. Shea soon fixed

me up. In a few weeks' time I was again hale and hearty and ready for

renewed action.

[sonnyboyx2]

Chapter VI



I boxed Chuck Wiggins again at the Commonwealth Sporting Club in

Harlem in a twelve-round warm-up match for the second Greb fight. Chuck

sustained a few broken ribs on this occasion, but finished the twelfth

round fighting furiously. It was nine months since I had filed my

challenge for a return match with Greb. The Commission allowed but six

months to answer a legitimate challenge before declaring the title

vacant. Greb postponed the return match as long as he could.

I did not learn the circumstances surrounding the signing of the

contracts for the second Greb match until after the fight. George

Engle, who had been Greb's manager and who signed for the match,

disclosed to me the way in which it was done. George had learned from a

friend in Pittsburg, an intimate of Greb's, that Harry was going to

sever all relations with him. Greb and Engle were working on a verbal

contract. Learning of Greb's plan Engle telephoned Doc Bagley, who was

still my manager, to meet him at Madison Square Garden, where he had a

date with the Garden matchmaker. It was Sunday afternoon. The

contracts for the return Greb-Tunney fight were drawn and dated several

days ahead. They were put on file with the Boxing Commission the next

day. Harry had to give the manager's share of the purse to Engle,

though the match took place several months after they had parted.

Likewise, Bagley cut in on my purse, though Billy Gibson was actually my

manager when the fight took place. This was settled between Gibson and

Bagley.

Harry Greb feared no man. Sometimes business acumen dictated that

a certain match, from a professional point of view, might not result

advantageously. This was never an acknowledgment, however, that Harry

feared the physical results. So it is with many boxers, I met Harry

five times in all; three times in fifteen-round matches in old Madison

Square Garden, and two in ten -- one in Cleveland and the last in St.

Paul. I never knew Harry to funk it. Stalling was something he never

had learned about. The harder he was hit, though the blow smashed his

ribs, the more furious was his attack.

He could take an extraordinary amount of punishment and be fighting

hard at the last bell. The bigger they were, the less respect Harry had

for them. I have seen him virtually climb the bodies of opponents a

foot taller and bring them down to his size. He was tireless in battle,

though his method of training was peculiar. He worked enthusiastically

in the gymnasium and on the road and pursued his pleasures with equal

gusto. On his way to a boxing club to engage in a fight he never failed

to take along with his fighting costume a mirror, comb, brush, and a

powder puff. He always entered the ring with his hair brushed down with

slickum and his face powdered.

This was a curious pride in looks for a fighter to possess. Of all

the professions open to him, why should one of such peculiar quirk have

followed professional boxing, one might ask. The answer is Harry Greb.

Unfortunately, it was this vanity that, a year after retiring with

sufficient money to live in comfort for years, caused his death. He

died on the operating table of a plastic surgeon while having his nose

straightened.

To advance a step in my plan, I realized that I had to win the

return match with Greb. I knew that unless I could defeat Harry, no

serious consideration would be given me as a championship aspirant

period. Though this may seem to have been misguided determination -- a

futile waste of spiritual dedication that might have been put to better

advantage -- I entered the ring with Greb determined either to win or to

die in the attempt. I reasoned with myself that it would be much better

to die than to lose.

While training for this match I contracted influenza. It increased

as my training progressed. I could not call off the contest or ask for

a postponement. The Garden dates were filled. There could be no chance

of getting another match with Greb until the following autumn, so I had

no choice but to go through with it.

After doing well for the first six rounds, I suddenly became

physically exhausted. Greb relentlessly battered me about the ring from

the sixth to the eleventh round. They told me in my corner I was

losing, that if I wanted to win I would have to capture the remaining

rounds or knock him out.

In sheer desperation I came out at the start of the twelfth and

luckily hit Greb with a long right on the cheekbone that had everything

I had in it. It knocked him to the ropes. He slowed up considerably.

Fight, fight; hit, hit. I kept on repeating to myself -- and did. I

was given the decision at the end of fifteen rounds. It is only fair to

Harry to say that there was a great deal of disagreement as to the

accuracy of the decision. The judges, newspaper men, and spectators

were divided.

This re-won for me the light-heavy-weight championship of America.

Realizing there was some justice in Greb's claim of a bad decision, I

offered him a return engagement. We got together again in December of

that year -- 1923.

I vacated the American light-heavy-weight championship and declared

myself a heavy-weight. I never willingly made the light-heavy-weight

limit again but once -- that third engagement with Harry Greb in Madison

Square Garden.

In this Greb contest I decisively defeated him and was hailed by

many as "A New Tunney." Again Greb put up a marvellous exhibition of

courage and tirelessness, but I was coming and he was beginning to slip.

After the Carpentier match I boxed several matches in the South and

four or five in the West, the last of which was against my old sparring

partner, the indomitable Harry Greb. My showing against Greb that night

in St. Paul so convinced him that I had grown out of his class that he

came into my dressing-room after the fight and said, "Gene, you and I

have fought five times. I am through! I will never fight you again.

Let the other guys have a dose of you, from now on!"

The frankness of this statement touched me. It was an

acknowledgment of started decline, the dread of all boxers. My heart

went out to Harry. He was slipping, and what is more pathetic, he knew

it. The Greb of 1920, 1921, 1922, 1923 would never have admitted the

superiority of any one. He was getting old. There is something

heart-rending about noticeable disintegration in a gallant warrior. As

Greb left the auditorium that night, Tommy Gibbons, who attended the

contest, was in the lobby. Harry had fought Tommy three or four times.

He knew Gibbons and, walking over to him, said "Watch that guy down

there; he's going to lick you," then continued on his way.

From then on Harry Greb became my greatest booster. He won bets on

me when I boxed both Gibbons and Dempsey. Advising newspaper men why he

was going to bet on me against Dempsey, he would say, "I have boxed

Dempsey and Tunney. You never know how good Tunney is until you do box

him."



THE END

[Kid McCoy]

your changing the subject here a little arn't you...you ain't put nothing up which suggests Greb won their 2nd fight so maybe i should put up the evidence for you to read and maybe i will change your opinion of who won..

Yes I have. But when someone's mentality is "I formed my opinion 30 years ago and nothing's going to change it", they're likely to ignore anything that challenges that opinion, which is exactly what you have done.

Yes I've seen that report before. Looks to me like Greb had the edge.

By the way, the Washington Post of 27th February 1923 said: "Harry Greb, the deposed light-heavyweight champion, left for his home in Pittsburgh this afternoon, but before he left he paid a visit to the office of the New York State athletic commission and deposited there a challenge for a return match with Gene Tunney, to whom he surrendered his title on a questionable decision in Madison Square Garden last Friday night."



And now you've just posted Tunney's own words:

It is only fair to Harry to say that there was a great deal of disagreement as to the accuracy of the decision. The judges, newspaper men, and spectators were divided. This re-won for me the light-heavy-weight championship of America. Realizing there was some justice in Greb's claim of a bad decision, I offered him a return engagement. We got together again in December of that year -- 1923.

When the majority of ringside reports have Greb winning, when the round by round account seems to give Greb the edge, when the pro-Tunney New York crowd jeers the decision, when the state boxing commissioner publicly criticises the decision, and when Tunney himself admits the verdict was questionable, I take all that as solid proof that Greb deserved to win. If you disagree that's your choice, but I think the evidence is against you.

[sonnyboyx2]

Yes I have. But when someone's mentality is "I formed my opinion 30 years ago and nothing's going to change it", they're likely to ignore anything that challenges that opinion, which is exactly what you have done.

Yes I've seen that report before. Looks to me like Greb had the edge.

By the way, the Washington Post of 27th February 1923 said: "Harry Greb, the deposed light-heavyweight champion, left for his home in Pittsburgh this afternoon, but before he left he paid a visit to the office of the New York State athletic commission and deposited there a challenge for a return match with Gene Tunney, to whom he surrendered his title on a questionable decision in Madison Square Garden last Friday night."



And now you've just posted Tunney's own words:



When the majority of ringside reports have Greb winning, when the round by round account seems to give Greb the edge, when the pro-Tunney New York crowd jeers the decision, when the state boxing commissioner publicly criticises the decision, and when Tunney himself admits the verdict was questionable, I take all that as solid proof that Greb deserved to win. If you disagree that's your choice, but I think the evidence is against you.

what is your agenda here?

[Kid McCoy]

what is your agenda here?

To offer my opinion on the Greb-Tunney series? What's yours?

[sonnyboyx2]

because you are coming across to me as some kind of "control freak" who is trying to tell me how i should make up my opinions... what is it with you mate?

The internet is full of websites that tell of Gene Tunney and the only fight he ever lost........ yet you are trying your hardest to tell me a different story, well let me tell you mate, "Dont bother" OK

[Kid McCoy]

because you are coming across to me as some kind of "control freak" who is trying to tell me how i should make up my opinions... what is it with you mate?

The internet is full of websites that tell of Gene Tunney and the only fight he ever lost........ yet you are trying your hardest to tell me a different story, well let me tell you mate, "Dont bother" OK

Says the guy who flies off the handle whenever someone else's opinion of certain fighters differs from yours. What's the point of a forum if not to exchange views? I find numerous comments of yours inaccurate and I've backed up what I've said with evidence, which you've mostly ignored. Your choice. No need to get snarky.

[Heavy Bag]

Because you cherry pick facts which suit your opinion, rather than basing your opinion on all the facts. The majority of ringside reports thought Greb won that second fight. That's a fact. There is no evidence for your claim that Tunney won the last four fights by "a better margin each time". That's a fact too. You can either accept it or ignore it.

I have to agree there.

[GJC]

What hasn't been mentioned is the role of Billy Gibson. He was in Greb's corner as his second for the first fight but by the second fight he was Tunney's manager.
Gibson lobbied the New York boxing commission to protect Tunney against Greb's fouling.
This certainly loomed large over the fight and before the fight began there was the amusing sight of Tunney standing still while Greb demonstrated on Tunney's body various blows he would use and asking for the refereee Haley's ruling.
Though it undoubtedly inhibited Greb and Tunney had certainly wised up after the first fight and Greb felt Tunney hit him low in every round.
The judges were split and the referee having the deciding vote gave it to Tunney.
The next day Haley declared "that Greb's foul tactics, including holding and butting, influenced the verdict which he and the judges gave to Tunney, despite the Pittsburgher's apparent margin on points"

I certainly shared Sonny's view for many years and it was the concensus that Greb won the first then Tunney sussed him and won the other 4. Over the years the 4th fight has been changed to a draw and a lot of doubt has been cast on the second fight so it doesn't look as clear cut as it was

[GJC]

Far be it for me to challenge IBRO but am I the only one who thinks that maybe Greb is a little low on this:


He had wins over 6 of the top 20 I have little doubt he would of added Carpentier to that list as well.
Factor in his win over Kid Norfolk who many would put in the top 20 and 13 seems a little low to me