Beauty lives in speedthe rhythm of a piece of sculpture; the style of a racing thoroughbred; the bright, scrupulous cruelty of an accomplished boxer. It has been proved a thousand times that neither this speed nor the grace that is its afterglow has much to do with efficiencythat the clumsy nag can often travel fastest, the hardest hitter winbut men persist in betting on good form. This was illustrated one damp evening last spring in a Manhattan boxing ring (TIME, June 8).
On that evening Paul Berlenbach, a onetime taxi-driver with an extraordinarily...
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