Three Young Couples

Under stars that littered the night sky like the glowing ends of innumerable phantom cigarets, three young couples met, one evening last week, at the Polo Grounds, Manhattan.

Shade vs. Slattery. Young Jimmy Slattery, whose bright speed, whose cruelly efficient hands, led the canny to acclaim him as a new Corbett (TIME, June 8), had been promised almost $17,000 if he would devote a few brisk moments to one David Shade* from California. It was not fair, people said--Shade was only a welterweight, while Slattery had defeated Jack Delaney, one of the best of the light heavies.

When Slattery, with his smile of a contemptuous faun, came two-stepping toward the weaving, crouching Shade, spectators averted their eyes. They hoped Slattery understood enough of mercy to be quick about his business. In the first round, Shade actually managed to hit him lightly, on the jaw. Slattery seemed puzzled. In the second round, there was another flurry from Shade. Slattery was obviously taking his time to get the range. In the third round, Shade crouched lower. He came out of his corner almost on his belly. From this position he started a blow which began in the resin of the floor, described a long overhand arc, terminated on the jaw of James Slattery. Down he went, his faun smile gone, struggled up again, went down again, struggled up again, dropped again. Out of his corner flew a great white towel.

Wills vs. Weinert. The faces of betrayed men and of women who have died by violence wear, almost invariably, the same expression--one of weariness. That was the look upon the face of Charles Weinert, once known as the Newark Adonis, as he stretched out his gloves to touch those of black Harry Wills. That was the look upon his face a few minutes later, when he was helped to his corner, vomiting dreadfully, after having been knocked out in the second round of a bout which proved 1) that Wills is still the foremost challenger for Dempsey's title; 2) that a U. S. prize ring still occasionally does duty as an abattoir.

Greb vs. Walker. Another tough little man against a tough bigger man--Michael Walker, the welterweight champion, Harry Greb, the best middleweight in the world. Both are muscled all over like pumas; both fight hardest when they are hurt. Referee Edward Purdy foresaw a difficult evening. In the first few rounds, he hovered about, breaking clinches, warily eyeing navels, while Walker slashed and bashed, uppercutted, jabberwocked and jamboureed, with the crowd roaring and Greb, never unhappy, hitting back. Referee Purdy scuttled out of the way as best he could in the next rounds, while Greb came in, his windmill arms striking four times to Walker's once. In the seventh round, Referee Purdy was knocked down, suffered a dislocated knee. A round for Greb. A round for Walker. Hardy Referee Purdy, still in the ring despite his pain, but tiring badly now, was knocked down again. He continued to hobble about in the 14th round when Greb beat Walker's face into the likeness of a suet pudding, flattened his nose, failed to knock him out only because his arms were tired--in the 15th, when Walker, with indomitable courage, exhaling a vapor of blood from his nose, staggered after Greb, backed him to the ropes, exchanged punches until the last bell rang. Then Referee Purdy, having seen the decision justly given to Greb, was helped from the ring.

* Shade's share of the receipts was $5,000.