Sweetwater Swatter

Two years ago, hatchet-faced Private Lew Jenkins of Sweetwater, Tex. took a furlough from his job of shoeing horses at the U. S. Army's Fort Bliss. He went to Dallas to see the sights. After a few days he was broke, went to a matchmaker to ask for a fight so that he would have a place to flop at night. Back at his post, Private Jenkins was dissatisfied. The $15 he got for that one fight in Dallas was about two weeks' pay in the Army. A few weeks later, Private Jenkins bought himself out of the Army, went back to Dallas to pick up more fights.

Last summer, Prize Fighter Jenkins landed in Manhattan. Since quitting the Army, he had picked up a wife and a horse as well as a few fights, roamed the Southwest in a wheezing jalopy (with horse van attached), performed in cheap rodeos when he was unable to locate a boxing promoter. Mrs. Jenkins, a Kentucky cutie, wanted to see the World's Fair, so they trekked to Manhattan where the gypsy boxer hoped to pick up a go or two for hamburger money.

To New York matchmakers, Lew Jenkins described himself as an "ornery cuss," was finally given a chance on a Tuesday-night card in Long Island City's Queensboro Arena. He won his first fight, his second, his third. By the time he had won six in a row, New York managers sat up and took notice. Two months ago, when he knocked out Tippy Larkin in one round at Madison Square Garden for his tenth successive victory, knowing New York fight fans became aware of the latest pugilistic freak: a hollow-cheeked, sunken-eyed 132-pounder, with the legs of a flyweight, the shoulders of a lightweight, the forearms of a middleweight. Somewhere in those forearms there was an arsenal of TNT. Seven of his opponents in a row had fallen like tenpins.

Last week, 23-year-old Lew Jenkins--thanks to his go-getting manager, Hymie Caplin--found himself in Madison Square Garden, challenging Lou Ambers for the world's lightweight championship. To the crowd of 14,000, the scrawny, wild-haired Texan looked more like a Broadway panhandler than a challenger for Pugilism's next-to-most-important title. Ringsiders gave him no more than a 3-to-1 chance against skillful, durable, ring-wise Lou Ambers.

Sixty seconds after the opening bell, skillful, durable, ring-wise Lou Ambers was on the floor. Without any semblance of an ultimatum. Invader Jenkins began his Blitzkrieg with a sneak-punch right to the chin. In the second round, just to prove that he had a two-armed attack, the challenger bombed the champion again with a left to the jaw. In the third, it was all over. Finishing him off like a miniature Joe Louis, Jenkins blasted the crown off Ambers' whirling head. It was the first time in his eight-year career that Ambers had been knocked out.

Next morning, fight fans hailed the "best lightweight since Benny Leonard," Sweetwater planned to put Jenkins' picture on the town's official stationery, and the new champion was fixing to buy a ranch with the $10,000 he had earned in seven minutes. "Bring on Henry Armstrong next," drawled the Sweetwater Swatter, itching to get his anvil-strong hands on the welterweight (147 Ib.) champion. "In 30 rounds, Armstrong couldn't knock out the boy ah knocked out in three, so ah ought to do all right with Henry," he added.

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so reader's discretion is required.