From Baer Beginnings to Boxer | The Baer Ancestral Tree
Maximilian Adelbert Baer's well-publicized persona: that of an impetuous, headstrong, carefree bon-vivant; the baton twirler in a never-ending street parade with he as its Peter Pan more or less all grown up, could perhaps give one the idea that Max most certainly must have emerged from the womb as a scrapper; as a hellion of a toddler, a little shit who extended his "terrible two's" into interminable years. In reality, Max Baer seemed from birth, to possess a secret so special, his lips were perpetually curved at the corners with the smile of an imp. As if he alone knew the punchline but wouldn't dare share the joke. As a tot, seated at the family dinner table, small snickers and snorts would erupt in between the clatter of flatware, yet when asked what was so funny, his reply was often, "...nothin'." As he grew from toddler to tall, gangly teen, Max or Maxie, or as his mother nicknamed him "my Mickey," was actually rather introverted and shy. The boy who would become Heavyweight Champion of the World actually avoided fistfights as a child. Not because he was a sissy, but because he respected his parents' wishes not to engage in "pointless brawls," though he felt like a coward for not raising his fists when challenged. As Max emerged into manhood he would cast off his "cowardly" ways, but he never shed the love he had for his family. He was devoted and loyal to a fault and in turn was dearly loved by each of them in return. Max and his parents, Jacob and Dora, his eldest sister, Frances, younger siblings Bernice and Jacob (Buddy) and adopted brother August (Auggie) Silva, comprised an extremely close and loving family, a connection that continued throughout their lives.
The Pioneer: During his lifetime, if one were to look in the dictionary under "restless," or perhaps in modern times "ADHD," a photo of Max Baer would certainly have appeared. Max simply seemed unable to sit still or concentrate on one thing for any length of time. Some of his life long wunderlust and endless pursuit of new discoveries can perhaps be attributed to his ancestry. Max's grandfather was named Achille Baer (or Aschel, depending upon the record keeper's spelling or phonetic skills). Achille was a 6 foot plus, 200 pound plus French Jew from Alsace-Lorraine, in the southeast corner of France, near the Rhine River and the German border. Achille emigrated to America in 1864, just as the Civil War reached its long and bloody end. He settled in the burgeoning town of Cheyenne in Wyoming Territory. Cheyenne was originally established for workers who laid the tracks for the Union Pacific railroad, which ran through Cheyenne, and to transport men who hoped to strike it rich at the nearby South Dakota gold mines. Cheyenne also held grazing range so well suited for cattle that when Albert Richardson of the New York Tribune visited Cheyenne in 1869, he enthused that "the beef at the Cheyenne Hotel, wintered upon those mountain deserts, is as rich and tender as I ever tasted at Delmonico's." When a Denver merchant received the contract to provide meat to its citizens, Cheyenne became the terminus for the Goodnight-Loving Cattle Trail from Texas and was known as the "Holy City of the Cow."
Once Achille's butcher shop was running smoothly, his thoughts naturally turned to starting a family. According to family history, Achille engaged the services of a marriage broker to find a wife. A photograph of Frances "Fanny" Fischl, a lovely 6 foot plus Jewess from Prague in Bohemia (now the Czech Republic) caught his eye. The two met and were married, on August 7, 1869 in nearby Laramie, which was still part of the Dakota Territory. Family members suspect that the only way the couple could communicate would be in Yiddish, since both came from different countries with far different native tongues. The birth of Max's aunts, Mathilda in 1870 and Minnie Martha in 1872, soon followed their union.
By late 1873, Cheyenne's townspeople had formed vigilante committees in an attempt to reign in the utter chaos on their streets. By late 1872 however, Achille, perhaps realizing the need for a more staid community in which to raise his children, sold his shop and the family moved to the town of Red Jacket (now present day Calumnet) in Houghton County, Michigan. In the early 1870s, Red Jacket contained only about 300 residents, but migration to the area was rapid, due to the exploding copper mining industry. It appears likely that Achille chose Red Jacket because close family members, Jacob, Marx, and William Baer operated the Baer Meat Market, located in nearby Hancock. Max's uncle Charles was born in Michigan in 1873 and Max's father Jacob arrived in 1875. For reasons still unclear, the family moved to Wisconsin for a short time, where Max's uncle Edward came along in 1877. Back in Red Jacket once again, Fannie had just given birth to Max's uncle Phillip in 1880, when Achille once again felt the need to pick up stakes. While Fannie stayed in Red Jacket with the children, Achille travelled West to Colorado to find a suitable place to call home. He lived with Fannie's brother Joseph Fischl and his family in Denver. Achille found work as a dairyman, soon purchased a home on Nelson Street in the Elyria section along the north edge of Denver, and brought his family West. By 1885, Achille had a successful butcher shop on 2nd Street in downtown Denver. In 1888, Max's uncle Marx was born in Denver and his uncle Benjamin was born in 1892. Achille died in Denver on August 29, 1900 at the age of 69. By 1900, the older Baer children had married or moved to all corners of the West. Fanny and her young sons, Marx and Benjamin lived in a home on Williams Street in Denver. Marx and Benjamin both eventually took the trade of plumber and by 1911, operated the Baer Brothers plumbing service, located on York Street. When Marx married and moved to Montana, Fanny soon followed. Frances "Fanny" Fischl Baer died in Billings, Montana in 1925 at the age of 83. Baers on the Move: Achille had passed on his knowledge of the butcher business to Max's father, Jacob and Jacob's brother Charles. In 1900, when the brothers were in their mid-20s, they obtained jobs in a slaughterhouse on the outskirts of the town of Pomona, in Mesa County, Colorado, near the Utah border. Once Jacob had a year or two of experience under his belt, he took a position in the slaughterhouse of one of the Swift & Company meat packing plants located in South Omaha, Nebraska. When Jacob joined the Swift family, Swift & Company was a multi-million dollar, international corporation which employed over 21,000 people worldwide. Gustavas Franklin Swift was the 19th Century's Henry Ford of the meat packing industry. Swift
One of Jacob's fellow employees at Swift was John Bales. Whether by happenstance or perhaps by introduction at a Swift company picnic, Jacob Baer met and fell in love with John's daughter, Dora Bales. The two were married in Omaha on Christmas Eve of 1904. Max's sister Frances was born in the Fall of 1905. Family legend has it Max made his lusty, 10 pound appearance during a brutal Nebraska snowstorm on February 11, 1909. In late summer of 1910 when Max was six months old, Swift & Company transferred the family by passenger train to Denver, Colorado where Jacob would enter a management position. By now, Jacob was an expert butcher. He once set a record in a Denver stockyard meat-trimming contest when he dressed an entire 1,300 pound steer into cutlets, and carved the American flag on the hide, in 3 minutes and 36 seconds. The family lived in Denver from 1910-15, where Bernice and Buddy were born, then spent a short time in Kaylor, New Mexico, where Jacob took charge of a packing house. The Baer's arrival in Kaylor added 6 to the population of 100 townspeople. There were no schools in Kaylor so Bernice was sent away to boarding school in Denver. The family was so upset at being split up they moved back to Denver, where they stayed until 1918. As the Roaring 20s began to burst at the seams
The Coward: Durango, Colorado in the early 1920s was a mining and cow town of 1,200 souls. Nestled at an elevation of 6523 feet in the Animas River Valley and surrounded by the San Juan Mountains, Durango fiercely and proudly held on to its last vestiges as a frontier town. Disagreements and jealousies were regularly settled with fist fights. Jacob advised then 11 year old Max not to engage in "pointless brawls" that only served to inflate a man's macho image in front of his peers. He told Max he should simply walk away instead. His mother insisted "she worked too hard to keep her children in decent clothes" for them to become ruined in a fight. Max was already tall for his age and excelled in team sports. He threw a baseball with the speed and accuracy of a sniper. In later years, one of his home run balls "carried more than 600 feet into the dark recesses of a fruit packing plant situated just beyond the outer boundary of center field" and wasn't found until the next day. Max's strength and quick reflexes served him equally well in football and basketball. Envious toughs, who couldn't fathom why Max was so outgoing on the field but so unsociable off it, soon began to challenge him to brawls after school. Heeding his parent's advice, he spent a considerable number of afternoons running home, though he later confessed to feeling like a coward. On several occasions 15 year old sister Frances, who, like all the
In May 1922, tired of the harsh Colorado winters, which aggravated Frances' rheumatic fever and Jacob's high blood pressure, the Baers piled into a new open two-seat touring car Jacob had recently purchased and began the long drive to the milder climes of the West Coast. Dora's sister lived in Alameda, across the Bay from San Francisco, California and invited the Baers to stay with her until they settled. The Baers drove more than 1,000 miles along unpaved roads, which only a few generations before had felt the wooden wheels of the emigrants' covered wagons on their surfaces. Jacob's expertise in the butcher business resulted in his acceptance of numerous job offers around the Bay Area. While living in Hayward, Max took his first job as a delivery boy for John Lee Wilbur. Wilbur ran a grocery store on B Street and bought meat from Jacob. The Baers rented homes in the Northern California towns of Hayward, San Leandro, Livermore and Galt. In late 1926, they moved back to Livermore onto rental property, so Jacob could raise livestock. Livermore was true cowboy country, surrounded by tens of thousands of acres of rolling hills and rangeland which supported large cattle and sheep herds. Historically, Livermore had been the grazing land for vast herds owned by Mission San Jose. At the time "cattle were raised only for their hides and tallow. Hides for leather goods such as shoes, boots and saddles; tallow for candles; and horns for buttons," were manufactured and sold to American trading ships. During the California Gold Rush days, Livermore was a popular rest stop along the route to the "Mother Lode" country. Folks eager to strike it rich overnighted and purchased supplies in town before setting out. When the Baer's arrived in Livermore, cattle and sheep were largely raised to provided fresh meat to the rapidly burgeoning towns nearby.
The year of 1926 was a turning point for 17 year old Max Baer. It was the year a legendary story of the birth of Max Baer the boxer was born. The story goes, one night Max and some pals were a few miles out of the town of Galt, California, a small village south of Sacramento, standing in front of a dance hall that served bootleg liquor. Lacking money to buy drinks, one of the boys pointed out Eddie Overholt's car across the street and said that Overholt was known to always carry a jug of liquor in the back. Half the jug had been passed among the boys when Overholt emerged from the dance hall to whet his whistle, only to find his liquor gone. Glancing over at the boisterous group he spied his jug. "Who took it ?" he demanded. "One of you bastards stole my wine. Whoever the thief is, raise your hand and I'll kick the shit out of you." Since he was the tallest and most athletic of the group, Max was pushed forward. "I did sir. Please be gentle." he quipped. Overholt, who was 210 pounds of solid muscle from wrestling steers and baling hay, took a swing with his right, which Max promptly side-stepped, only to let loose with a right of his own which knocked Overholt to the dirt. Overholt jump up and attempted a left-right combination at Max's head. The right caught him, but Max shook it off, laughed and popped Overholt with a right square on the nose. As Overholt lay on his back counting stars, Max leaned over and asked if he was alright. Once Overholt was able to stand on his own two feet he peered at Max in the light from the dance hall and said, "Christ, I swear I've never been hit that hard by man or animal. You ought to go into boxing." As the weeks passed, Overholt's words continued to echo in Max's head. The echo gained volume when total strangers congratulated Max on his victory. Evidently Overholt, who was highly esteemed as a fighter, had spread the word around town that Max had a killer punch. The Livermore Butcher Boy: In 1928, Jacob bought the Twin Oaks Ranch, at the end of Holmes Street in Livermore's Murray Township. Jacob raised over 2,000 hogs on Twin Oaks, which he worked with daughter Frances' husband, Louis Nicodemus Santucci. Louis emigrated from Italy to America in 1912, working artichoke fields outside of San Francisco before he made his way to Livermore. Papa and Mama
In a United Press "four part biography of Max Baer, Heavyweight Champ" that appeared in the Modesto Bee in 1934, Jacob commented, "He worked well. He obeyed me, although he doesn't now. Sometimes he worked from 4 o'clock in the morning until 9 or 10 at night. One time he worked in that gravel pit for 16 hours." Not all the work was backbreaking. Max's brother Buddy fondly recalls how the two of them would set out from Livermore in the family truck to pick up two day old cookies at Mother's Cookie Factory in East Oakland. Hours were required to load and unload the thousands of discarded goodies, but the brothers each scarfed down a few dozen apiece and the cookies added a "delicious dimension" to the hog's diet. An anecdote stilled passed down among native Livermoreans tells the tale that one day a family came to visit the Baers and during the visit went out to inspect the pigs. One young boy, anxious for a closer look at a particularly ferocious boar, climbed the fence, lost his balance, and fell into the pig pen. The boar started to attack the child, whereupon Max leaped into the pen and, with one mighty blow, knocked the boar unconscious.
Max eventually saved up enough money out of his paychecks from the gravel pit to buy a 25 pound canvas punching bag (he couldn't afford a leather bag) and some used boxing equipment. He drew a man's face on the bag and began to bang about with great gusto, lots of noise and little finesse inside a barn on his father's ranch. Anxious to discover whether he had any talent, Max was soon sparring in a ring set up on the property of fellow Livermorean, Manuel Medeiros. Manny provided local hopefuls with a small gymnasium of sorts set up in the large lot behind his home on Sixth Street between L and M Streets. Percy Madsen, a boxing and baseball promoter with local ties, soon noticed the ferocious strength of the 19 year old slugger and agreed to teach Max what he knew. "I was awed at the power he used in attacking the punching bag." Madsen commented later. "I thought the bag might fly apart, a kayo of an inanimate object." Max showed enough aptitude in his early training for Madsen to suggest he move north to Oakland, a West Coast boxing mecca which would offer him knowledgeable trainers, experienced sparring partners and some serious competition if he excelled. Ray Pelkey, a mediocre West Coast light heavyweight who supervised his training at the Yosemite Athletic Club in West Oakland recognized Baer's charisma even then. "Baer had a star quality about him," Pelkey remarked to Sports Illustrated in 1932. "Everybody wanted a piece of him." Max's move north took him away from home for the first time. He lived in an Oakland apartment and found a job at the Atlas Imperial Engine Company in East Oakland. Max loved to show off his boxing skills at work. He begged fellow employees to spar with him, but soon ran out of opponents once word got out how hard he hit. Max soon attracted the attention of his employer's son, John Hamilton "Ham" Lorimer, an avid boxing fan with connections in the fistic world. Lorimer told a newspaper reporter in 1930 that Max knew Ham had boxing connections and pestered him constantly to arrange a fight. Ham later said "he was big and powerful, but I thought him too good looking to go in for fighting. I wanted to cure him of his nonsense. So I matched him with Chief Caribou, an Indian heavyweight in Stockton, the toughest fellow around."
Enthralled by the potential of his own fists, a confident Max Baer emerged, eager to demonstrate his knockout right to everyone. Less than 3 weeks later, in his second bout, against the well-respected Sailor Leeds, he thundered from his corner, swinging with abandon. A roundhouse right connected and Leeds dropped to the canvas in the first round. After three more quick victories in Stockton, Max got his chance at the Arcadia Pavilion in Oakland when he stepped in as a substitute opponent to fight Benny Hill, because Jack Linkhorn contracted blood poisoning. "We don't know anything about Baer," proclaimed the Hayward Review, "so won't make any predictions." Max won in fine fashion. Before too long the capacity crowds coming to see the sensational "Livermore Larruper" kayo his opponents required Baer's bouts be moved into the larger Oakland Auditorium.
Word of his ferocious strength and thrilling performance had spread not only among females and the fisticuffs followers, even his opponents started getting nervous. In the middle of a round against Jack McCarthy, Jack, "draped on the ropes, didn't want to fight any more. Baer stepped aside and motioned him to come out. McCarthy refused the invitation. Thereupon Max grabbed him around the waist and threw him forcefully to the floor. McCarthy got the decision on a foul and Baer got the raspberry", but while Baer had lost his first fight, the crowd loved him.
On August 11, 1930, Max kayoed K. O. Christner in the second round and "knocked him colder than any mackerel that ever came out of Monterey Bay." The press was of the consensus that "if Sharkey or Schmeling were to fight Max he would be the favorite" and would probably win. The future looked shiny bright for the dashing young pugilist. However, Oakland Tribune reporter Bob Shand alone pondered prophetically that Christner "had been out for two minutes before he was finally declared the loser. It is too bad that a game fighter must be inert before the slaughter is stopped." Two weeks later, Max entered the ring against Frankie Campbell. After the death of Frankie Campbell on August 25, 1930 and until Max's subsequent manslaughter charges were dismissed by the Grand Jury on October 1st, Max was an emotional train wreck. He paced, he smoked, he sighed, he cried, he dreamt and lived and breathed the death of Frankie Campbell. He told Ham Lorimer and his then "advisor" Ancil Hoffman that he never wanted to lace on boxing gloves again. When the Hearst-owned San Francisco newspapers screamed banner headlines of "KILLER!" and "MURDERER!" and waged a campaign to make boxing illegal in California, when complete strangers hurled the paper's words at him on street corners, Max knew that to save his sanity he would have to escape California. Coming back home long enough only to attend court appearances in San Francisco, Max fled to Reno, Nevada. The Original Sin City: To spend time in Reno, Nevada in the 1930s was as if to embrace an every
Dorothy Dunbar was an elegant, passionate, independently wealthy New York socialite and former film actress. She resembled the girls down on the farm like a Thoroughbred resembles a mule. Max confessed to a "knockout at the hands of Kid Cupid" and proposed marriage on the spot. Dorothy was entirely unenthralled. While Max's wardrobe impressed, she found him uncouth, uneducated and completely lacking in all the social graces. She had also recently married South American millionaire Jaime De Gaison while on a trip to London. Evidently, she and Jaime must have had an "understanding." When Max sold 10 percent of himself in exchange for $5,000 to Bay Area fistic investors, the Jacklich brothers, in order to squire Dorothy around Reno in style, she readily accepted his company and the press coverage that followed. Upon the end of her Reno sojourn however, Dorothy returned home to New York City. Max returned home flat broke, yet more determined than ever to win Dorothy's heart. The City That Never Sleeps: When the California State Athletic Commission refused to issue Max a license to box in the state for at least one year, Ancil suggested they try their luck in New York City, home to boxing mecca Madison Square Garden, and the premier fight capital of the world. A trip East held enormous appeal to Max. The boxing climate in California was still unsettled. Max and Ancil could find no acceptable Pacific Coast
Max's reputation preceded him faster than the Overland Limited transported his entourage over the rails to Gotham City. Advanced PR had the New York press in a lather and the public excited to see the 'man-killer' from the Wild West. Even Grantland Rice, one of the grandfathers of sports writing, was curious. "It will be interesting to see whether or not Max Baer, the Coast heavyweight, can bring back new life to the heavyweight division that is now deader than a brace of mackerel. Baer has come along heralded as a fighter and a puncher who is willing to practice his profession without the defensive restraint shown by most of the others. Anything approaching a new sensation now would make a large difference in public interest. Schmeling has been almost forgotten. Sharkey and Stribling get only so far and then stick at that spot. They gain ground on one fight and lose it on another. It may be they have been around too long to have the needed keenness left for any extended campaign. At any rate, Baer has a great chance. He is also in a great spot. No young heavyweight ever had such an opportunity to hurry to the front and make a clean-up." Up and comer, James J. Braddock requested a match with Max, but was refused by The New York Boxing Commission for two reasons: The Commission thought Max was too inexperienced to fight Jimmy, and they intimated that Frank Churchill, who had an interest in Baer, and night club owner Bill Duffy, who had an interest in Braddock, were known shady characters and suspiciously too chummy. Ancil wrangled a bout for Max's New York debut against Ernie Schaaf, a solid veteran who at the time was among the top 5 contenders to battle Max Schmeling for the heavyweight title. Max truly planned to train seriously for the fight with Ernie. He was just as determined to win Dorothy over. He hadn't counted on the allure of New York City. Though still a young man only a few months off the farm, Max was wealthy, good looking, muscular, charming and, though he was somewhat of a teetotaler, the life of the party. The bright lights, the jazz bands and the astounding array of beguiling women who batted their eyelashes his way like Venus fly traps, stunned him as if a sack of flour had fallen on his head. Resistance was futile. Rather than dig in at Gus Wilson's Orangeburg, NJ camp, Max had his limousine and chauffeur transported to the Plaza Hotel on Central Park South. During the day, he ducked his trainers to call Dorothy. He ducked his running mates in Central Park and sat beneath a tree to absorb the contents of Emily Post's "Etiquette" book, which he kept in his pocket. It was reported he also carried "a tiny 18,000 word dictionary in the palm of his hand" to learn two 50-cent words a day. Max trained hard to impress Dorothy, but occasionally, he eschewed both books for a relaxing afternoon reading the
The day of Max's bout with Ernie Schaaf, December 20 of 1930, sports aficionado Hype Igoe reported that "Max Baer will come down from camp today, snugged up in the rear seat of his $10,000, sixteen-lunged automobile, a $500 blanket of unborn karakul, trimmed with ombre krimmer, wrapped around his knees." Tongue in cheek to be sure, but Max relished the limelight and enamoured New York fans ate up every word. With the delectable Dorothy looking on from ringside, Max "made an auspicious New York debut—in defeat. He dropped a 10-round decision to blonde Ernie Schaaf of Boston in Madison Square Garden last night, but most of the public acclaim went to the loser when the hard fought battle was over." The crowd, "taking the heavy punching Californian to its heart, booed the verdict. The Associated Press score card gave Schaaf five rounds and Baer four with one—the second—even." Sports critics claimed Max did "demonstrate he 'has something.' That 'something' was flaming courage, an authoritative punch and a willingness to trade rights and lefts toe to toe." "The manner in which Baer and Schaaf, by their clouting tactics, enthused a crowd of 10,000 in the Garden, has eliminated for the time being all thought of the disappointing veterans who have been cluttering up the heavyweight picture for several seasons without producing a thrill." Even Grantland Rice saw that "Schaaf had a hard evening against Baer and more than once was in serious trouble. In fact, it took about all Schaaf had to stand up until the end of the bout." Fight promoters approached Ancil with offers beyond the stuff of dreams. He telegraphed home that "Madison Square Garden offers us Risko and if we win, we get Tuffy Griffiths. Then will come Jack Sharkey, who is recognized as champ of New York. May put Max [Baer] and Max [Schmeling] on in Oakland or San Francisco. 12 rounds, no decision, in April." The verdict was that Max Baer was "a million dollars worth of cauliflower if carefully cultivated." Despite his loss to Ernie, Max had the acclaim of the New York fistic world at his feet, and growing affection by his lady love. On Christmas Day, Max presented Dorothy with a Pekinese dog she named Ming. The Hard Rock from Down Under: The night before Max's next match, on January 16 with the veteran New Zealander Tom Heeney, UP reporter Henry McLemore opined that Max "is rated by many as the finest heavyweight prospect in the country. Baer has everything but experience-a crackling punch in either hand, speed, and a willingness to wade in there and shoot the works, of course you can never tell, Baer may insist on leading with his chin and blocking with his jaw." The fight was a comedy of errors. As John Kiernan of the New York Times reported "Max Baer laughed out loud each time Heeney hit him, which was fairly often. The laughing lad
Max either knocked or pushed Heeney out of the ring in the 3rd round. Referee Jack Dempsey apparently picked up the count incorrectly when Heeney was down. Knockdown time-keeper Arthur Donovan signaled Heeney out at Dempsey's count of eight. Heeney was waiting to hear "nine" before arising. When he learned he had been counted out, he "protested strenuously," and the crowd "broke into a deafening roar of disapproval." UP sports writer L.S. Cameron saw it this way: "Heeney opened the third round with a devastating attack on Baer's body. Baer replied with a slashing two fisted assault on Heeney's body and face. Suddenly Baer drove a tremendous right smash that caught Heeney just off the center point of his jaw. Heeney was pitched violently backwards through the ropes, landing on the shoulder of one boxing writer and in the lap of another. The crowd yelled frantically for the fight to go on. Jack of course, more than anyone else wished that it could. Tom and Max also appeared ready, willing, even anxious. But the Queensbury rules made this impossible, and Baer was credited with a knockout over Tom after 1 minute 3 seconds of the third round. The crowd was amused when Baer and Tom, while the official ruling was being handed down, held what seemed to be a good natured discussion at the spot where Tom was driven through the ropes." Days later, Westbrook Pegler of the Washington Post huffed "The plan of counting over horizontal prize fighters by such mathematical short-cuts as rapid addition or multiplication, which was tried in the case of Thomas Heeney recently in the Garden, was entirely unauthorized by the prize fight commissioners and will be abandoned at once !" Two weeks after Max's fight with Tom, the New York Times reported that Dorothy Dunbar had flown to Reno to obtain a divorce against Jaime De Gaison.
Frank Menke of the Lincoln Star joked that "Max Adelbert Baer of Livermore, CA met up with Mr. Thomas Loughran of the Philadelphia Loughrans in a punching bee in New York recently, and during the course of the evening, Mr. Thomas hit Mr. Max no less than 3,000,000 left-handed jabs." Despite his win, Tommy Loughran showed his admiration for Max's potential. "That left that Max landed on my chin in the ninth had me a bit foggy," Loughran admitted after the fight. "He also had me going in the second round. "I thought I had him at the end of the seventh when I clipped him on the chin with a left hook, but he rallied courageously. Max is the greatest prospect I ever saw. In another year, he should be the equal of any heavyweight in the game. He's a hard puncher, a clean, game fighter and a likeable fellow." Max was equally envious of that left of Tommy's. In a move that shocked the press and was covered nationwide, Max showed up at Tommy's dressing room after the bout and asked Tommy for a boxing lesson. They met at a coffee shop near the Garden and "to the surprise of their fellow diners, some of whom had been at the fight, Tommy was buying Max lunch." Over sandwiches and java, Tommy discoursed on Max's weak left jab and his habit of telegraphing his punches. After lunch, as patrons gaped like a brace of fish strung on a line, the two boxers strolled out and proceeded to a gymnasium, where the master taught his apt student some tricks of the trade. California Here I Come: Within days of the bout, Ancil Hoffman, who had paid Ham Lorimer $5000 for a six month option on Max's contract and who, with Max's approval had virtually shoved Ham, who held the contract, out of the picture as Max's manager, suggested it was time they returned home. Ancil believed that while the press and the fans loved him, additional tastes of Max Baer in Gotham would eventually become like overindulging on cheesecake. Max needed to push back from the table. Ancil wanted Max's absence from New York to whet the fans' appetites for more of him another day. Max however, said he would have to check with "his sweetie" and get back to him. As Ancil packed his bags and made to check out of the Plaza Hotel, Max informed Ancil Dorothy wouldn't let him leave. Her divorce from De Gaison had become final and Max had been given his share of the purse from the Loughran bout. He planned to stay and spend it on Dorothy. When Ancil suggested they take a ship home, Max finally agreed. The idea of an ocean voyage appealed to Max. He had never been on a luxury liner. When Dorothy agreed to come along, with the caveat that she would disembark in Havana, Max snuck her aboard. On the morning of February 14th, he waited until Dorothy's luggage had been stowed in the bowels of the S.S. California before telling Ancil. The cruise to Havana would prove to be a romantic victory for Max, but by the time the ship docked in San Diego on the 28th, Max had gone a full month without any serious training or dieting. While he and Dorothy had danced all night on the oak floors of the ballroom and between the silk sheets in Dorothy's stateroom, Max had consumed three full meals of ocean liner cuisine a day and indulged in quite a few naps on deck. When Max walked down the gangplank, he was 25 pounds over fighting weight.
Max moved into his folks' Piedmont hills home and was seldom seen around town. He was pining for Dorothy. The Oakland Tribune reported Max "threatens to get married soon. Ham Lorimer had advised him to go ahead, and then settle down to regaining the place in pugilism that he occupied a few months ago. Ham admits that the boy's mind is not on fighting right now." Just days later Ancil confirmed to the press that Max was conflicted. "Max had Loughran practically out on three occasions but instead of driving in for a knockout he stood back and waved to his corner. Maybe Max is in love and again perhaps he has not forgotten the fatal Campbell fight. He is far from being the vicious fighter he was when he started boxing in Oakland."
Fight promoter Joe Lewis optimistically aspired to a capacity crowd of 10,000 at popular prices of one, two and three dollars. The event would take place at Public Hall in Cleveland, Ohio on May 5th. Max applied for a boxing license in California before he hopped a train East, and once again the commission refused him. Ham Lorimer declared before leaving that if the application was refused Baer would make his headquarters in Cleveland and fight exclusively in the East. Earlier in April, the Oakland Tribune had carried a small mention at the bottom of the sports section, which appeared innocuous enough at the time, but would ultimately provide more thrills than Barnum & Bailey for boxing fans in the Western United States. The piece stated that "for a man who says he has no interest in Max Baer, Ancil Hoffman is quite busy on behalf of the local fighter. Ancil is trying to interest Reno people on a Max Baer-Paolino Uzcudun bout July Fourth. They can still go twenty rounds in Nevada." While Ham had accompanied Max on his loss to Johnny Risko in Cleveland, Ancil Hoffman had quietly driven out to Reno to offer Max's services to Jack Dempsey. Dempsey had recently ventured into fight promoting, and with his name recognition and the right investors, wanted to make a big splash. Mike Jacobs and Jimmy Johnston had New York City wrapped up, but Jack hoped to answer western cries that if only big name bouts were held on the opposite coast, heavyweight championship title fights could potentially be held outside of the East. Jack wanted to prove to his own satisfaction that Reno, with its wide-open gambling, was still the fight town it was when Jack Johnson crushed the "come-back" aspirations of Jim Jeffries on the Fourth of July just 21 years ago. In essence, Jack wanted to "feel the situation out first" and if all went well, he envisioned a contender fight on Labor Day, and then for "the piece de resistance—a battle in Reno one year hence for the Heavyweight Championship of the World." "If it only goes over as I think it will," Jack speculated, "if we can just get a crowd of between 15,000 and 18,000 out to see it, then don't be surprised to see us go after the big boys. A 20-round bout for the championship of the world, say, that'd be a real coup."
A week later, as Dempsey and his investors were photographed breaking ground for the project. Jack quipped that he was "going to show the great divorce colony of marital sparring partners what a real fight looks like." He stated "Paolino Uzcudun probably would be one principal" and admitted that "Ancil Hoffman, agent for Max Baer had 'made an interesting proposition' involving Baer's services, but said Baer had not yet been definitely selected." Dempsey and his investors did intimate they preferred a heavyweight from California to christen the new ring, so as to attract West Coast fight fans. Ancil had previously signed Max to battle Paolino in San Francisco, but he was still denied a promoters permit by the California commission. Because Ancil was forced to drop the plans, he proposed that Jack make use of the pair. In exchange, Ancil would be associated with Dempsey in promotion of the battle. The battle was just what Max needed. While Dorothy's recent arrival in Oakland soothed him emotionally and sexually, Max was still barred from boxing in California. He was antsy and welcomed a chance to fight a main bout close to home. Ancil Hoffman announced three days later he had received a telegram from Dempsey in Reno. He immediately wired confirmation and acceptance of the terms offered to have Baer meet Paolino in a 20-round bout on Independence Day. "Max would receive $5000 with the privilege of 22 1/2 percent of the gate receipts for the bout and would also be given $500 for training expenses." Under signed articles of agreement, Jack stipulated that "everything goes-rabbit punches, kidney punches-everything but palpable, intentional fouls." Dempsey's terms required that Baer participate in no more fights before July 4th and that he go into training near Reno at least 30 days before the fight. On the 14th Max motored out to Reno and paid cash to secure Lawton Hot Springs, "a pretty spot alongside the rushing Truckee River" a few miles out of town, as his training quarters. At Dempsey's suggestion, before he returned home, Baer was introduced to crowds at Al Barnes Circus by Jack himself.
The fight was scheduled to start at noon sharp, with the horse races to follow at 2:30pm. Tickets were sold in Los Angeles, San Francisco, Sacramento, Denver, Salt Lake City and other large Western cities. Each ticket entitled the holder to view the fight and remain for the horse races that afternoon. Three-day special excursion rates were promised by the railroads from all points in the West. The cheap seats, 140 feet from the stage, would cost $3, while ringside seats would cost $25. When tickets went on sale, $8,000 worth were sold within a few hours. Scalpers across the West sold fake tickets and were jailed by the dozens. Basques in the Sun: Though Max's able opponent, Paolino Uzcudun, the Basque Woodchopper, would be over 7,000 miles from home when he arrived in Reno, several thousand ex-countrymen took it upon themselves to make sure Paolino didn't get homesick. More than 10,000 Basques lived in Utah and Nevada. The Reno Evening Gazette proclaimed "most of them are sheepraisers—a thrifty and clannish people." Crowds of Basques applauded him all along his train journey West from New York. A delegation of 300 Basques, all wearing berets, met his train in Ogden, Utah, with yet more smiling crowds in Elko, Nevada. Southern Pacific railroad officials confirmed Winnemucca Basques had chartered two special Pullman cars to bring Paolino's fans to the fight. Reno hotel man Martin C. Goni, who was also head of the local Basque committee, announced he had taken over an entire section of 3,000 seats for the bout. "We will wear berets and root for Paolino !" he cried. Never one to be left out of the fun, when Paolino's train arrived in Reno, Max was there along with hundreds of cheering Basque countrymen. They met Paolino at the train, formed a parade and with bands playing and Spanish flags flying, escorted him to his hotel. And who do you think led the parade ? Max Baer, of course ! He took scores of bows that Paolino should have taken. The Oakland Tribune reported that "Max got one of those funny little beret bonnets, which Uzcudun affects and he shouted 'viva' and a lot of other things that he thought would be appropriate for a Basque woodchopper to emit. Folks who had never met either Baer or Uzcudun mistook Max and his funny hat for the Basque" and 'viva'd' him with lusty Basque lungs. Max so enjoyed the stunt, the next day, after four miles of road work in his first training workout, he again paraded the downtown streets wearing a beret. "Great stuff !" smirked Max when several local Basques who had missed out on seeing Paulino the night before cheered Max as he passed by.
As news of the upcoming bout grew more tendrils than Medusa's head, the media machine cranked into overtime to keep insatiable fight fans up to date. Jack Dempsey declared Baer and Uzcudun are "the only two men in American today who had the guts to sign up here to fight twenty rounds !" "We offered every one of the top-notchers a chance to come here" "We offered big guarantees" "One or two were interested, but as soon as they found that the distance was twenty rounds, they dropped the telephone receiver as if it were carrying high voltage and they might be struck dead on the spot." Ancil Hoffman announced he had "practically closed" with the Galveston Giant, Jack Johnson to come to Reno as Max's sparring partner. Days later Ancil said "he hopes to engage the once mighty Jack Johnson to have charge of the Baer training camp." One article mused that Johnson "was something of a playboy himself but, when occasion insisted, there was no more forceful or faithful trainer than this same big boy" and "between Jack Johnson and Jack Dempsey—what a strange combination!—Max' playboy propensities should be brought up with quite a jerk." By the end of a week Johnson must have changed his mind—or perhaps he succumbed to the siren song of nightly delights that was Reno. Local papers then announced Jerry Luvadis—Jerry the Greek—who had trained Jack Dempsey through all his great fistic bouts, would be Max's trainer. Luvadis arrived in Reno, but quickly dropped out of the funny papers when his demand of $1500 to train Max was deemed a bit too steep. Arriving in town a week early to show his earnestness, or perhaps to play in the sandbox before the serious kicking started, the Reno Evening Journal declared that "sans 38 of his 41 suits of clothes, with his 16-cylinder car, his liveried chauffeur and his 'social secretary' still along, Max Baer is back in Reno." "Having only three suits along, sheds an interesting light on Max's own mental complexes in regard to his 20-round fistic engagement here. 'Really its only two suits,' said Max. 'The third one's suit-and-fish—my tuxedo outfit. But that's in moth balls. It's going to stay there until the night of the Fourth. After I clean Paulino, I'm going to take my first night out and go to The Willows or Cal-Neva.'" Nevada Won't Stand for any Sissy Affair: Early on Jack Dempsey informed the press he would be keeping a short leash on Max. "It will be early to bed and early to rise hard training and no foolishments for Baer" Dempsey asserted there would be "no night-owling, shieking or soup-and-fish strutting" on his watch. "Max's contract specifically provides that he must buckle down to serious training, that he must be in tip-top shape to go twenty rounds. If he don't toe the mark, we don't pay him off. He can take his choice." Dempsey also personally asked Dorothy Dunbar, who had been staying at a hotel in Oakland, to stay in Oakland. Jack was certain if she came to Reno it would distract Max from his training. Jack believed the distraction of Dorothy, or any woman for that matter, was part of the reason for Max's losses in New York. As fight day drew near, Reno newspapers regularly printed "announcements" of the impending engagement of Max and Dorothy. Max continued to propose to Dorothy with the regularity of the tides, and she continued to refuse. When pressed, Dorothy heatedly denied the rumors. Max either blushed and claimed "he didn't know anything about marriage" or was heard to shout "She's the only woman in the world for me !"
Before much time passed, Max's leash got a yank like a bungee cord in rebound. Persistent reports had been coming out of Lawton Hot Springs training camp that Max preferred to "ride horseback or just walk in the hills with a lady friend or two" rather than train. Ancil had decided to bring out San Francisco trainer Dolph Thomas, because Dolph was one of the few people Max respected enough to behave, however Dolph hadn't come to town yet. Jack delivered an ultimatum to Max in the form of a letter he had published in newspapers nationwide, accompanied by a photo of Jack as he handed his "thou shall nots" to a repentant Max. Jack wrote to Max that "you know, more than anything else in the world, I would like to see you attain pugilistic fame." In stern paternal terms however, Jack advised Max he "must refrain from several things that are both foolish and detrimental to your bests interests. I think you should do away with all attire that would be called 'dress attire' until such time as the fight is over. I think your wardrobe should consist of a couple pairs of gray trousers, some sweaters, a couple of sweat shirts and some old shoes. I do not want you to do any horseback riding. I do not want you to drive your car. I do not want you to ride in your car except in an emergency case." Ancil and Ham responded by having the transmission on Max's limousine disabled. They locked the car in a Reno garage and told Max's chauffeur, Joe to scram. Ham gave orders at the garage that no one was to get near the car until Joe arrived to take Max to the fight arena. Max complained, "These fellows are getting too hardboiled" however he consented and declared henceforth he would do all his traveling on foot. Evidently it occurred to no one Max could simply call a taxi. When Dolph Thomas arrived, he called in more sparring partners so that Max's stable represented some of the finest West Coast fighters of the day. Bud Boyle, Joe Vincha and Young Jeffries had already been working out with Baer. Henry Spillet, Jack Van Noy, Hans Birkie, Frankie Denny, Jack Silva, Ray Pelkey and Sylvester Nolan joined the crew on rotation. Thereafter, Dempsey was often present at Max's camp and could be heard to tell the sparring partners to go in and "knock Baer's block off, and they tried." Ever the promoter however, Jack did approve of certain training camp photo ops such as those which showed Max acting as boxing referee to two University of California-Berkeley co-eds. One week before the fight, in the smoke filled fight headquarters on Virginia Street, Nevada Governor Fred C. Balzar of Nevada told Baer and Uzcudun in no uncertain terms, the kind of a fight he expected. "This is no 'boxing exhibition," he said. "It's a prize fight and don't you forget it. Nevada won't stand for any sissy affair. If either of you fellows do any stalling we're going to run you out of Nevada and keep you out. We propose to make Nevada the sports center of America and we aren't going to take any chances on this first event fizzling. The reputation of the state for a fair fight and a run for the money is at stake and you fellows will have a scrap like you never have before." The governor, his hat pushed to the back of his head, rocked on his heels as he addressed the two fighters in the crowded headquarters room. Jack Dempsey sat at a nearby desk, smiling to himself and taking it all in.
As fight day drew near, Reno's population, then at almost 20,000, more than doubled. Night clubs, speakeasies and gambling casinos were crowded right out the doors. Every hotel, apartment, rooming house and boarding house in Reno and nearby Sparks was full. More than 100 Pullman cars on railroad sidings were used as hotels on wheels. The drone as private airplanes landed at the airport was constant. A tent city was built near the racetrack, and tents were pitched in every vacant lot. When the tents became full, sanctioned and impromptu auto camps sprouted like mushrooms. "From the sandy wastes of Nevada came prospectors on burros, cowboys on horseback and ranchers in buckboard wagons." Police forces from California and Nevada, as well as the Nevada state police and The National Guard were stationed every mile along the highways into town to keep traffic moving. Newspapers nationwide gave what they had coined "The Battle of Twenty-One Years After" as much press coverage as the Heavyweight title fight about to take place in Cleveland and proclaimed the first week of July "the biggest fistic week of the season." Jack Dempsey "definitely promised the winner a shot at Jack Sharkey at a fight in Reno on Labor Day." Jack also stated he would make an effort "to get the winner of the Schmeling-Stribling fight if possible." The winner of the Labor Day battle, would have a real basis for a claim to fight for the World Championship. Local papers speculated "It is entirely possible the Labor Day fight will be for 40 or 50 rounds-practically a fight to the finish !" On the day of battle, July 4th, 1931, Max Baer weighed in at 202, with Paolino at a svelte 195. The temperature would eventually climb to 110 degrees in the shade, though no shade could be found. When both fighters left the ring some 75 minutes later, they had dropped 10 pounds a piece. The blistering pine board seats of the new arena oozed pitch onto the fans' backsides. Dorothy Dunbar, a vision in white, sat at ringside. 125 of Hollywood's luminaries, who had arrived in special Pullman cars, filled the choice seats around her. Jack Dempsey beamed with the confirmation that the bout would make he and his associates a tidy profit. Officials said the gate receipts would run close to $100,000. He smiled in acknowledgement by many that it was the anniversary of his fight with Jess Willard at Toledo in 1919, when Jack won the Heavyweight Championship. Prohibition agents, who had raided 2 dozen speakeasies the week before, announced they had the drinking situation under control, but the bars were running wide open to anyone with a powerful thirst for hooch. As the two fighters waited in their corners for the sound of the gong, Paolino grinned out over the crowd as his seconds got him ready, while Max, "surly appearing, glowered down at the floor in his corner." The bell sounded and 20,000 throats cheered in anticipation under the merciless beams of the blazing sun. The fighters practically dove across the ring to get at each other. "Clubbing, butting, heeling and wrestling marked the battle from the opening gong." "A couple of wild cats could hardly have been more vicious than the two warriors, who violated most of the rules of ring etiquette in efforts to beat each other down in the resin of the sun-scorched battle pit. Cautions by Referee Dempsey had only momentary effect. When Paulino quite cuffing, Baer started heeling." Paolino bloodied Max's nose in several rounds. Many times, when Max "had his sturdy opponent backing up before his attack, he failed to press his advantage" though he caused a continuous trail of blood to track from Paolino's mouth and onto his chest.
"Without these tactics the fight would have been rough, as straight Marquis of Queensbury rules governed the contest. Kidney and rabbit punches, therefore, were countenanced. For a twenty round bout, the big fellows set an unusually fast pace. The last five rounds developed the most furious exchanges. As they struggled along, mauling and planting solid punches in swift rallies, the advantage see-sawed from one to the other. At no time was either out in front and at the end of the nineteenth, Referee Dempsey told newspapermen the last round would decide the fight. Paulino had the better of the last session. He tore into his bigger rival and rushed him into the ropes, meanwhile scoring heavily with hard punches to the midsection. Baer's occasional rallies were weak-hearted." At the close of the final round, Dempsey, in the double role of promotor-referee, raised a grinning, gold-toothed Paulino Uzcudun's arm in victory. Wedded Bliss: Just days after the bout, Ham Lorimer declared to the Oakland Tribune, "If I never see Baer again, that will be too soon." "He had the fight won in the 18th round and then stood flat footed like a dummy and let Uzcudun take the play away from him" declared the manager. "I had quite an argument with him yesterday and threatened to lick him myself." added Ham, who drew himself up to his full height of five feet and just a few inches. "He asked me if I thought he ought to get married, and I told him to suit himself. "You can't possibly be any worse a fighter married than you are single, so help yourself."
Days later, as Max sat in a Reno soda fountain, telling reporters of his plans to leave momentarily for Oakland to "receive belated blessings from his parents" a deputy sheriff handed him a summons. Baer and his bride of two days, were being sued in Reno courts for $1500 by Howard L. Quinn, who charged that furniture in a New York apartment rented by Mrs. Baer had been damaged by Ming, the pet Pekinese Max had given Dorothy for Christmas. "That's funny-fifteen hundred dollars for furniture." laughed Baer. "When I was in New York, Ming chewed up some chairs but that's a lot of dough !"
For the next several months, Max and Dorothy Baer took an extended honeymoon. For a time, all was bliss. Max bought Dorothy a home on Sequoyah Road, in the hills above Oakland. Reports were that for several weeks they seldom left the bedroom. The house was right across from the Oak Knoll Country Club. Once they ventured out, Dorothy introduced Max to golf, a sport he would thoroughly enjoy for the rest of his life. Dorothy soon discerned that if Max was going to continue in his chosen vocation, and make a name for himself, he must get serious about the endeavor. She soon became engaged in all of Max's fistic affairs. She supervised his training, going on the road with him in the morning for company's sake. She personally selected his training food and attended to its proper preparation. She tried with mixed success to make sense of his perpetually muddied financial affairs. In my next "chapters" as you will soon see, Dorothy Dunbar would become a side note in Max Baer's life. But at a time when Max was at his most emotionally unhinged over the death of Frankie Campbell, when Max had lost 4 of his last 6 fights and was labeled a second-rater, it was Dorothy's ability to build Max's confidence, to support and encourage him in his fistic dreams, that most certainly had a hand in Max's first steps on the pathway to success.
When the California State Boxing Commission finally granted Max Baer a license to box in the state, on September 23rd, 1931, he touched gloves with Jack Van Noy and won. It would be the beginning of a spectacular, almost 4 year winning streak that would see Max Baer rise to the absolute pinnacle of his profession. STAY TUNED FOR MUCH, MUCH MORE TO COME ! Max Baer's Family Ancestry:
Copyright 2006, 2007 Catherine Johnson. All rights reserved. |
