Sport: Flop of the Century

Up spoke the Secretary of War, Henry L. Stimson: “I have determined that Sergeant Barrow and Corporal Conn shall be returned at once to their military duties. The standards and interests of the Army do not permit the proposed contest to be carried out. There is no reflection upon the principals. …”

Thereupon Sergeant Joe Louis (Barrow) returned to his chores at Fort Riley, Kans., Corporal Billy Conn to his at Fort Wadsworth, N.Y. Off for the duration were heavyweight championship prize fights. And seemingly everyone concerned, except for the two fighters, had a black eye.

War Boxing, Inc., a committee of sportswriters set up as dummy management, looked bad: they had okayed the deal whereby a juicy whack ($94,000) of the expected $1,000,000 gate was to go to Promoter Mike Jacobs, in payment of sums owed him by Conn and Louis, another $41,000 to pay Louis’ debts to one of his co-managers, John Roxborough. Mike Jacobs looked terrible: he was to be the chief benefactor after Army Emergency Relief. Another: Yankee Stadium, which insisted on 5%, Bataan or no Bataan. But the War Department looked the worst: Secretary Stimson’s own staff had cavalierly fumbled the whole affair, had made stupid promises to Louis and Conn. Example: The sportswriters were told that a representative of the War Department had promised Louis that his debts would be cleaned up if he fought, and even that his back income tax of $117,000 would be paid up—the latter a manifest impossibility, since he must pay heavy Treasury taxes on any new lump sums he now earned. Not many tears fell. Millions, had wanted to know whether the young Irish sharpshooter could cut down the great Bomber. Only a few of the more emotional sportswriters bled much in print, and up rose no wave of public indignation. The U.S. as a whole had learned another lesson: you cannot hold on to the peacetime pleasures, even under the name of Army Emergency Relief—which, incidentally, didn’t need the money anyway.