The following is a section from a Tommy Loughran article title "Champion" in a 1930's issue of "Fight Magazine".
THE TERROR FROM THE WEST
Tom was getting into his trunks and fighting shoes when the Terror from the West banged into the adjoining dressing-room and began talking in a high and dangerous voice about what he intended doing to young Thomas patrick loughran. Since there was only a thin wall between, the Philadelphian could hardly fail to hear every word.
"I want to get that eleven o'clock train back to New York," growled Darcey, "and the only way to do it without breaking my neck is to knock this Loughran stiff in the fiirst round. Watch me do it!"
Tom looked quizzically at Joe Smith and elevated his eyebrows. That line was supposed to frighten him. wasn't it? Strangely enough he didn't seem in the least alarmed. Of course he had heard all about Darcy's right hand, but he had also absorbed Jim Corbett's theory which stresses the idea that only a sucker is ever hit with the right.
Anyway, Tommy started to step around the caveman with a whirlwind of beautifully timed jabs. Darcy knew only one way to fight. That was to plow in and keepfiring his starboard guns. Bang! Bang! Like that, you know. Shoot a million. If one lands, it's enough. Jimmy missed about twenty in a row, and then--zowie! He cracked one on Tommy Loughran's chin and the Adonis was down on his hands and knees, an astounded look on his face. Jimmy said: "It looks like I'm going to get that eleven o'clock train, all right." And he said it loud enough for the words to penetrate Loughran's slightly fuzzy brain. "Oh, he is, is he?" thought Tom, the resin scraping his knees and his head feeling like a balloon. Darcy thought the fight was over now. It wasn't. It hadn't even started. The referee counted. Tommy settled himself on one knee and listened as a boy might to the admonition of a school teacher. He intended taking all the time allowed him. A knockdown is a knockdown, and it counts just as much against you if you take five or nine. When he stood upon his feet at last, he was cool and in full possession of his faculties. The smile had gone from his lips though. They were hard and tight and it made him look much older than his nineteen years. Darcy rushed, scowling. He was ready to add the finishing touch, and was certain that it would be accomplished with ease. He swung his right. Instead of landing, it sailed into the air, and his own head bobbed back under the impact of a Loughran jab. A half dozen more jabs followed in quick succession and a touch of crimson appeared on Jimmy's nose and mouth. He became infuriated at his lack of sucess. He fought harder and more wildly than ever. They had eight-round fights in Philadelphia in those days. For the next seven the nineteen year old Mr. Loughran outclassed his tough and burly foe. Tom's pride had been hurt by that trip to the canvas, and he was grimly set to making Darcy pay for the ignmary. He increased his lead with every passing second. he fought with coolness and judgement far in excess of his age. It might have been expected of such a kid that success would make him careless, but Tom had learned a lesson. He knew that Jimmy Darcy could hit, and he saw no good reason why he should let the Westerner land on him again. They went into a clinch at the beginning of the final round, and Tommy said: "It looks like your going to miss that eleven o'clock train, Jim." Darcy snarled, tore himself loose and let go a right-hander that barely missed the target. After the fight, when Loughran was in his dressing room, Jimmy came in and shook hands. "You're the greatest prospect I ever saw, kid." he said. "Darned if you didn't give me a boxing lesson tonight." "Thanks," said Tommy. "For a minute it did look as if you would get back to New York on time.
|Location:||New York, USA|
|Entered into Album:||20/10/2009|