A misty June moon shone down on Madison Square Garden's Long Island City Bowl one night last week as a solemn prizefighter in a blue bathrobe climbed through the ropes. The plain Irish face of James J. (born Walter) Braddock was puckered with earnest anxiety. Improvident of his earnings when he was a top-flight light heavyweight seven years ago, 29-year-old Jimmy Braddock had, after successive defeats, toppled completely out of the prize ring. He worked briefly as a janitor. He made a pittance as a stevedore on the New Jersey docks opposite...
To continue reading:
or
Log-In
