MAKING HIS WAY

Hokitika Guardian, 26 June 1928, Page 4

MAKING HIS WAY

TOM HEENEY fELLS HIS STORY.

FIRST DAYS IN AMERICA

SAN FRANCISCO, Alay .30

Tom Heeney is writing his impressions, on the eve of his fight with Gen© T’unney for the world’s heavy-weight title. In the first of the series of articles by the contender for the championship, appearing in the San' Francisco; “ Chronicle,” Henney says the best news he ever received in his life was the cable lie got in Paris from Harvey, his manager, to the effect that fie had been selected by Tex Rickard to fight Tunney. “ I got the cable and accepted it, replying to Mr Harvey on April Fool’s Day,” writes the New Zealander. “ April Ist is my lucky day. A year ago, on that day, I fought my first main event in an American ring, against Paolino Uzeudun, the Basque Woodchopper. 1 though of it when 1 read the cable in Paris, and how a little over a year ago I had chased about after Paolino, seeking a match. His manager, Francois Deseamps, couldn’t ‘see’ me, and I’m no wisp of a fairy at that. How lucky for me he couldn’t! It was partly to get a crack at the Spaniard that I crossed the Atlantic.

“ I had no idea of meeting tho world’s champion. A thousand dollar grubstake, enough to pay my passage hack Home to New Zealand, was in the back of my mind. Three-quarters of the globe I had travelled, fighting my way around. I was heavy-weight champion of New Zealand, Australia, -South Africa, and Ireland. But in America I knew were the great fighters.

“‘lt’ll he none of my doings,’ 1 said on leaving England, when they suggested I might look for a scrap with Air Tunney. ‘l’ll not go about demanding a chance at Tunney. I think tho fair way for tho invader is to meet the challengers. I’ll take my place among them, and, if I can’t fight my way out, then where do I come in, to annoy Air Tunney?’

“ But there was one fellow I wante 1 to meet. He was George Blnekio Miller, who had spread the news tin:l he knocked me out oil tlio other side. It didn’t help me with the promoterc when 1 mentioned it. ‘ I want to get him in the ring with me, he’s sailin ' under false pretences,’ I told the American officials at .Madison Squaie Garden. What black looks they gave mo ! Good Lord, 1 thought. Iha I committed murder. Harvey told me outside, and he seemed very sad. ‘ Blackie Miller is a third-rater here,’ ho mourned. I’m afraid Air AleAfaho i of the Gardens thinks tho same of you. 1 never did get to meet Miller, neither did I forget him. No man has ever knocked me out, and I didn't like the idea of this fellow saying ho did.

“ Sure enough, my first light m America was with a third-rater. .it was Charley Anderson, a coloured fellow. He had been Air Dempsey’s sparling partner, and what a respect 1 had lor the great Dempsey! Hadn’t he kooked out, in four rounds, Carpeiitier, the unbeatable Frenchman, we thought, who had finished oft our At ■

Beckett and Bombadier Wells. “ But 1 was glad to get any kind o! a fight. Things were not looking up just then. On short notice, I was put in to take the place of Arthur De Kuh, who was sic-k. I licked the colmtrel fellow until ill the ninth round tho referee stopped the fight, giving me e technical knock-out. We were in the

semi-final, and I dressed quickly an 1 sat through tho main event which fol lowed. And hero lam now, little more than a year later, hooked with GeneTunney, the world’s champion!

“‘He landed without an overcoa or a nickel,’ the papers say of me. 1 A poor Australian blacksmith, and today he is at the gateway of a million dollars.’ As for that, 1 might say ! had more than a nickel in my pocket when the doctors at Ellis Island stuck their sticks down my throat. To b • honest, 1 had 400 dollars. It was not enough to get me home, but it was more than a nickel. Besides, l did have an overcoat, and what a good one it was, too ! ‘ ’Tis a cold country you arc going to,’ they told me in England, so 1 bought myself a leather-lined ulster. ‘ It’ll provide sufficient warmth for the North Role,’ said the shopl keeper. How right lie was! I haven’t worn it since I have been in New York. “And last of all I’m not an Australian. I was born in New Zealand, from Irish parents. From County Cork they came—the same lovely spot that gave Jack McAuliffe, the unbeaten lightweight champion of the world, to this country. “ ‘ Are you English? ’ they asked me when I came over here. “ ‘ Say house a newspaper fellow says to me. “I guess 1 passed his test. ■ “I never thought I would get th's chance at the world’s heavyweight title. Mr Harvey used to tell me I would, hut I heard before how Americans were prone to exaggerate. I like to fight, and I just kept on fighting. 1 soon found that American boxers were not supermen, as we •British believed. ‘ They have two arms, legs, a body, and head, and so have you,’ said Mr Harvey. I Go and lick them.’ ‘ Nine fights in all I had. T]ie shortest one was with Jim Maloney. In tlio first round lie passed out. I think it was Mr Dempsey who inspired me to land the knockout punch. He was There that night—it was in Madison Square Garden —and it was the firetime I had ever seen him. I couldn’t speak when I shook his hand. And how my heart jumped with joy when lie congratulated me. To think that I, Tom Heeney, a lad from the New Zealand bush, should ever have ears to listen to worse of praise from" the master fighter of the ring. That sent me along on wings. “ And now that I have the chance at the championship—the first Britisbe for years to get it—all my people can rest assured that I won’t let them clown when I face Mr Tunney. It’ll be a fight, or Tom Heeney is not Irish! ”