The sad-faced, spindly little Negro boy was broke, cold and hungry that winter day in Boston in 1902. He did not even know how old he was (he guessed maybe 16), but he knew well enough why he and his dog had run away from their Weymouth, Nova Scotia home. "My pa was always lickin' me," explained young Sam
Langford. Lost in some giant's castoff overcoat, he looked so woebegone that a fight manager named Joe Woodman gave him a job sweeping up at the old Lenox Athletic Club.
Just Point Me Straight. That is...
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