TALES AND FANCIES

Sun (Auckland), Volume 1, Issue 62, 4 June 1927, Page 13

TALES AND FANCIES

FROM THE PEN —OF—FRITZ HOLLAND (All rights reserved )

'JV// 8 is the second of a series of articles specially written for THE SUN by Fritz Holland, the famous American boxer. Since his retirement from the game, Fritz has made his home in New Zealand, and is at present in business in Christchurch. FAME When “The White Cargo" Company was touring New Zealand some time ago, a member of the company was the giant African black, Peter Felix. This fact reminds me of an occurrence at a Melbourne hotel. Tommy Burns and I were at dinner. The waitress was serving us, when Burns, perhaps annoyed by the lack of interest being taken in him, questioned the girl: “Bo you know who 1 am, miss?" “No I'm sorry, but I can't say that I do,” she answered. “Oh, surely you know me?” ho persisted. The girl was getting embarrassed. No, she was sorry, but she couldn't remember having met him before. “What great fighter was over here a few years ago, and fought Jack Johnson?" The girl had no idea. Now it was Burns who was getting embarrassed. “Well, who was the most famous lighter in Australia a few years ago?” Burns asked desperately. “Peter Felix,” she answered. “I know you now,” REALISATION John L. Sullivan at one stage of his career was a hard drinker. Indeed, he had become a notorious drunkard. But later he reformed, and eventually he lectured against the liquor trade. At one time, while champion of the world, he was in San Francisco, and at about sunrise he had finished an all-night carouse that had left him helpless. He leaned over the bar in a waterfront saloon, almost asleep. The negro porter, cleaning up the place, asked him to move aside. Sullivan abused him roundly. The porter put a hand upon John L.’s arm to urge him aside. Thereupon John L. made a lurch at the porter; the porter pushed at John L., and the

heavy-weight champion of the world fell on the broad of his back, and slept soundly. “Do you know who that is?” asked the barman. “No, I don’t, an’ I don’t care if it’s John L. Sullivan; he’s gotta shift outa my way when I’m scrubbin’ out,” said the porter. “Why, man, that is John L. Sullivan,” the barman told him. “Whut?” shouted the porter. The barman repeated the statement. “Whah’s mail hat; lemme out ’fo’ he comes to.” And the porter was gone! CLIMAX! Bob Fitzsimmons at one time owned a lion cub, a great pet, of which Bob was very fond. Upon taking a trip away, Bob left the cub with the keeper of the Chicago Zoo. Fitz was absent for several months, and during that time the cub grew considerably. On his return Fitz called at the zoo to see his pet. “Be careful,” warned the keeper, “he nitty not remember you.” “Oh, he’ll know me,” said Fitz with a confident “open the door and let me in there.” Fitz entered the cage, the lion eying him with hostile glares. “Come on, Leo,” Fitz coaxed him. The lion snarled peevishly. As Bob came nearer the lion reared on its hind legs, and Fitz tackled him around the body, getting- his head under the young lion’s jaw. “He’ll know me in a minute,”’ promised Fitz to the alarmed attendant. “We’ll be all right.” With its hind paws the lion began to rake Fitz “tore and aft.” Fitz was cursing volubly. Clasping the cub tighter, he clung for his life. Soon his trousers hung in shreds, and at last were torn off altogether. By this time there was a grc:at crowd of men, women, and children about the cage. Fitz was tiring, but he dare not loose his hold for an instant. The position would have been ludicrous had not Fitz’s danger been so great. The terrified Fitz called to the keeper for assistance. ” Should he lose his grip he’d be killed in the twinkling of an eye. A young policeman forced his way through the crowd, and, hammering on the bars of the cage, demanded that Fitz put on his pants without delay, and come out and submit to arrest!