toilets, wash the floors on my knees, sleep on an iron cot with a torn blanket in a cold cell infested with bugs and rats that would crawl over and bite you. Decided I would do anything to get out of that hell.
Charles Galvin, a fight manager, came to the prison and said he would get me out if I signed a lifetime contract with him. I wanted out and he had my key to freedom. Signed, was out and in three months, fought for the welterweight championship. On April 4, 1904, had a grueling twenty round fight with Joe Walcott, the champ. I won and became World Champion. Sure, I was World Champion, but I could not get enough fights. I was too good, and black. In the States, they didn’t allow mixed fights. Had to box Sam Langford three times. Money was running out and I was forced to throw a fight against Tommy Ryan. Hated to do it, but had to live. Being almost broke, I headed for Europe. Shouldn’t have worried, it worked out well. My wife and I are treated as human beings and I defeated every European champion.”
H: Gene, what about your career?
E: Dixie trained me and arranged matches. I fought at clubs throughout London, three and four times a month. After each bout, I would ask, “When do we go to Paris?” Was doing well. Impressed the people at ringside yet, there was my unquenchable desire to go to France. I pressured Dixie to have Galvin arrange a bout in Paris. Months went by. I was training at the gym and saw Dixie whispering and smiling with a stranger. Dixie walked over to the ring, “Hold it, Sparrow. Got some news. Hope you don’t mind the interruption. Didn’t mean to cut into your training and hope this won’t disturb you, but…” He paused, laughed as I waited impatiently for him to continue. It was obvious, he was teasing with his silence. “Well Sparrow, my sparkle darkie, I have another match for you. You’ll fight Georges Forrest.”
I replied, “Who the hell is Georges Forrest?” The Kid couldn’t control his laughter, “Oh, I forgot to mention,” and he paused again. With a devilish look he continued, “You will box him at the Paris Elysee Montmartre in November.” I was dazzled. My dream was coming true. I hugged The Kid and we danced around the ring. Next stop Paree.
CHAPTER 10: PAREE - COME WITH ME
E: I danced my way out of the gym to the shouts of encouragement from the other boxers, knowing my dreams of Paree were about to come true. Now, where is the nearest bookstore? I needed a French dictionary. Bought it, dashed to the boarding house, out of breath, skipped dinner, rushed to my room, turned on the lamp next to the bed. Didn’t undress, propped up the pillow, got comfortable and excitably, opened the book. Turned pages, read and tried to pronounce and memorize French words. It was wonderful. Non, it was fantastique. Thinking the words, over and over, saying them out loud, and sometimes singing them. “Bon jour, bon jour, un, deux, trois, mercie, parlez-vous anglais, bon soir, madame, s’il vous plait,” on and on until my mind tired and my eyes closed.
Hours later, laying there in the dark, heard a sound and awoke. What was it? There was a familiar, sweet, musky, aroma of a man’s sweat engulfing the room. Hadn’t smelled it for many years, but recognized it and almost knocked the lamp over as I clicked it on. In the rush, I scratched my hand. Standing at the foot of my bed was a giant black man, his white shirt open, as usual, unable to button it because of his massive chest muscles. “Daddy, Daddy!” Henri, I was awake. Rubbed my eyes, “Daddy is that you?”
H: Come on Gene. You expect me to believe that you saw your father. Must have been a dream.
E: Henri stop! Mon dieu, stop! There is no question; he stood there and smiled. Non, not a dream. Astonished, I shouted, “Daddy, I’m going to France. I made it Daddy.” Looking carefully, I saw in the shadows behind him, a group of smiling, gesturing and laughing people. But I heard no sound. How could they all fit in my small room? There was my Gypsy Queen, who named me Sparrow, in her flowing colorful dress and wearing a bright head scarf, her hand signaling flight; the little Jewish baker, in his dark long coat, was dusting flour from his white apron and then clapping his hands; the black barber with his towel around his neck, who sacrificed so much to save my life, was doing a two-step; the German bosun, who jokingly threatened to throw me overboard, saluted; Chris Mathews with his jovial smile, holding his hand high with his fist clenched pretending to throw a punch and, ah, almost alone, coyly, sitting in the corner, was the exotic, beautiful Cherie, her dark eyes glistening and her palm pressed against her lips, as she threw a kiss. Daddy raised his great arms and clasped his hands over his head like a winning prizefighter. It was a signal. Everyone was delighted. I rose and stood next to the bed, reached out and my hands gathered only air. Looking to each, I said, “Thank you, all of you. You have all given me life.” Each nodded and slowly turned and faded from sight. Daddy was the last to go. He glanced back over his shoulder and waved.
“Daddy, Gypsy Queen, Mr. Sam, Cherie please don’t go. Stay. I need you, love you. I beg you, stay with me.” They were gone and I was alone once more, leaning against the bedpost, tears streaming down my face, thanking God that they knew, and wherever the Big Ox was he forgave me and would never leave me. I went back to bed, closed my eyes and felt a comforting warmth drawn from love and understanding and gratitude. Henri, it was not a fantasy or a dream. It was real. There was the scratch on my hand. They were there and they would be with me in Paree.
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