SECRET OF MY FIGHTING FORM

Grey River Argus, 19 February 1927, Page 2 (Supplement)

SECRET OF MY FIGHTING FORM

By GENE TUNNEY, Worlds Champion Boxer.

CLEAN LIVING, HARD WORK AND A FIRM FAITH IN MYSELF: I ENJOY PAIN—IT ACTS ON ME LIKE A COCKTAIL.

My first professional manager was “Doe.” Bagley. Andy Crowley had told “Doe.” about me and my prospects. I enlisted in the Marines, and I kept up a correspondence with Bagley while I was training at Quantico, and later when I went to France. Between drills, when I was learning the difference between a bayonet and an oyster fork, 1 boxed. Although the training regimen was rather stiff, I took time to read. I began to tackle Darwin and other great writers on evolut ion. This sort of self-education enabled me some years later —during the famous Scopes trial —to astound an estimable and fashionable lady who thought a pugilist akin to the Neanderthal skull. When a nation is preparing for war it is not the custom to send soldiers to libraries or research laboratories for* their exercise. Yet it is now a recognised fact Hint the soldiers needs mental uplift together with physical training. Instinctively; L turned to my studies whenever time or opportunity permitted, and 1 was richly rewarded. My Vital Problem. “Although my mind was largely occupied with the war, what it meant to the world, to America, and what it meant to Gene Tunney, I had not forgotten that I had a vital problem to settle. This problem was: Should I lay away the boxing gloves forever, except to indulge in fisticuffs as an exercise.' Was boxing a game worthy of a man of ambitions.’ Was I fitted for professional work in Ihe ring. 1 decided to permit chance and destiny to shape my opinions, and buckled down to work in the Marines. .1 studied the history of boxing. I read “Boxiana,” by Pierce Egan, and then, perused “ 1 ‘ugilist ica. ” a history of the

game from 3im Figgs and Broughton, of the bare knuckle days in the early eighteenth century down to John L. Sullivan. 'There were awesome, brutal chapters, wherein dishonestly, insobrictv and vice stood forth. Still, here and there was a bright regia of some chain pion who lifted the game. latter, I realised that there is an evolution upward in ail human struggles, and that civilisation itself is the result of men’s groping toward a distant light. I learned that boxing, too, showed a steady trend toward better and fairer methods and more wholesome results, generation on generation. Two Meals A Day. • Parly in my bouts L knew I should have to formulate a’ system of training that was all my own. Of the several leading trainers, each one is sb wrapped up in his particular mode and plan, and that one excusively, on all men. This is utterly \vrong. No two men require tin* same system of training any more i han any two authors should write precisely the same stories, in the same manner or on the same subjects. I found that two meals a day, pro'perly balanced and well masticated, and slowly eaten, were better than three or four meals taken haphazardly at odd hours, and bolted without pity for that game but stubborn organ, tin* stomach. In the American Expeditionary Force we were able to digest nails, if necessary, but I tried as much as practicable to use sense in my mess room ses■sions. 1 often ate meat, but now I try Io substitute eggs, boiled usually, for meat. I have been deluged with advice on how to eat, how to box. But I assumed that I had fair intelligence and that I was able to choose for myself the best way for conditioning Gene Tunney. When I found that 1 was punching pretty hard but was not flooring my opponents as rapidly as J should I decided that this was as much due to my ignorance of anatomy as it was to any lack of power or drive. So I sat down in earnest to learn'about muscles, bones, nervand vital spots.

I obtained a copy of Wilbur Pardon Bowen’s “Applied Anatomy and Kin esiology, the Mechanism of Muscular Movement. ” 1 learned about the socalled “solar plexus” blow, and found that by striking an opponent under the ribs and in the pit of the stomach he folded up often like a camp chair. But J went further than that, I learned that this blow, when properly delivered, must have an upward thrust. Many experts have termed me ‘over cautious.” I would not call it caution. Rather, 1 would say, I was studious. There is no “royal road” to boxing perfection. Once I had determined to stay in the ring, I worked with a persistence that few can know. On occasion I took terrible beatings, but .1 learned from those attacks how to strengthen my pugilistic armour. When I returned to America in 1919, “Doc” Bagley was in California, and the late Sammy Kelly, a former featherweight, became my second manager. But he went to Cuba on racing business in the autumn of the same year. Bagley had told me that I was horn Hinder three aces.” lie referred to the number of my Greenwich village

birth-place, 111, Bank-street, lie said I couldn’t fail under such an omen of good fortune, lie also pointed out that 1 had the letter “J” in my name (Join/ Joseph), and that my predecessors, such as John L. Sullivan, James J. Corbett, James J. Jeffries, Jack Dempsey, all had the letter “J‘ on their fistic escutcheons. Not “Sold” on Boxing Thon. Kelly left me in charge of Billy Roche, tiie veteran referee. Roche had been one of the experts overseas who saw promise in me. Roche was Kelly’s representative rather than my manager. He got me four fights in Jersey, which I shall touch on in later chapters. That winter I again joined forces with Bagley after a conference. Kelly was busy with his racing interests, an] was agreeable that I should retain Bagley. I was coming along steadily and weighed 1721 b. It was not until 1923 that I purchased my release from Bagley.

For a while I did my own business. Barry Greb and Jonny Dundee and a few lesser lights were then handling their own affairs. But after a time A illiam Gib You became my pilot. I must confess that even in 1919 amb 120 1 was not “sold” on boxing as a profession. T have a rather analytical mind and want to see a subject from .ill possible sides before embracing it as my own. Tt is a tedious way, perhaps, bur it is Gene Tunney’s way. and he knows no other or better way. Eight Knock outs in a Year. My first battle on returning to America was with Dan O’Dowd. It was an eight-round, no decision fight in Jersey, but that bout was a warm-up affair for me. It was in J 920 that T began in earnrsf to fit myself for a championship. I scored eight knock-outs that year. 1 stopped Jim Monohan iii one round and bowled over Whitey Allen in two rounds. Al Roberts lasted eight rounds with me before he assumed the horizontal under a. bombardment of short rights. 'l'hat right-hand—the one that brought me the title eventually—was getting bet taw and better every day in every way, as the late M. Gone might have phrased it. I also took Ed Kinley in five rounds ami K. O. Sullivan in one. Next I knocked out Jeff Madden in two, Ole Anderson in three and Sergeant Ray Smith in two. 1 hat same year I boxed no decisions with Paul Sampson and .Leo Houck (twice). A In those bouts my great con dition was my main help. I had formulated’a policy of leading (dean life, working hard ami believing in mvsclf. 4 have had no occasion to amend that policy since that time. Lead a Clean Life. 1 don’t care what a man’s aim is, what his profession happens to be, he can’t be slopped if he goes after his goal with the bright eyes I hat load the

way through a clean life. I lead a clean life—possibly to the point of ridicule by some who dislike seeing others sue coed—but I attribute whatever success I’ve led, to the life 1 ’m leading and the life I’m going to load oven after I retire from the ring. I’m not ti crank, nor do I ask that a man who swears, drinks and tries to outshine the white lights after a. big bout be burned at the stake. If a fighter—or any other athlete—thinks that he must celebrate with wine, women and song, let him do so. But 1 do know this—you can’t climb to the lop and still go lt’s against the laws of nature. Besides, this so-called wild, thrilling business is merely a matter of self-im-posed habit. As for me, I love the simple outdoor life, the companionship of intelligent men and women, and good books, so I am making no sacrifices in going to bed at 9.30 o’clock at night and in getting up, fresh and happy, early in the morning. I began 1921 with a knock-out over Y r oung A nibrose, who hit the canvas with a solid, earnest blow, and stayed there for more than the regulation ten seconds. Soldier Jones fell before me in seven rounds. Jack Burke lasted two. Apparently, the boys who have held I don’t hit hard haven’t looked up my record. Wolf Larson stayed seven rounds with me before biting the resin. Eddie O’Hare lasted but six rounds .1 defeated but failed to stop, the tough Martin Burke in ten rounds. I beat Eddie Joseph in twelve rounds. I. don’t want my life-story to sound too much like an inventory of a slaught-er-house, but it is only fair to refresh the memories of my readers that I have experienced quite a list of victories by the knock out method. You don’t, learn that method in beauty parlours, even though the face lilting technique is employed.

About Ihis time it began to be noised about that “this fellow Tunaev” wouldn’t fall down when hit. 'The experts agreed that I could “take them” ami not. be any the worse for wear. Bui I had no ambition to become a, punching bag. When I was a dork my life indoors didn’t add to my chest expansion, nor did life without sunshine

send my blood pulsing through mv veins. But when I took up boxing I found that my health improved steadily, and that a boxing career—a successful one—meant that much time could be

spent outdoors. AH this time my people weren’t any too fond of my becoming a professional fighter. Certain of them feared for my well-being, for my safety. As for physical pain in the ring, I am compelled to laugh. Pain what the other fellows might call-a cocktail. It is an appetiser.