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DVD ~ Adam Arkin
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by Randy Roberts
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by Jack Johnson
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Forty Million Dollar Slaves: The Rise, Fall, and Redemption of the Black Athlete by William C. Rhoden |
Beyond Glory: Joe Louis vs. Max Schmeling, and a World on the Brink by David Margolick |
Johnson dressed flamboyantly, showing up for one fight swathed head to toe in pink. Half a century before the arrival of Cassius Clay, he regularly predicted the round and even the time of his knockouts, a feat of prescience only occasionally helped by the circumstance that the bout was rigged. He readily admitted to being a "sport," someone who would proudly spend his last dollar on a cigar and a tip, and never lose his insouciance. He possessed what novelist Rex Beach called "the soul of a joy rider," and his escapades make for entertaining reading. He cross-examined a witness in London's magistrate court, danced the tango with his wife on a Vienna stage, hurried out of St. Petersburg, Russia, in August 1914 as the Great War began.
But it was the inescapable fact of Johnson's race, and the world's reaction to it, that makes him one of the most compelling sports figures of the 20th century, and a fitting subject for serious biography. From the time he emerged as a heavyweight contender in 1903 -- roughly halfway between the Emancipation Proclamation and Brown v. Board of Education -- he was a symbol of achievement and opportunity to African Americans, some of whom admired him despite his impetuous behavior, and some because of it. He refused to alter his behavior to fit the preconceived notions of others, black or white, and rejected the accommodating attitude of Booker T. Washington, the most respected African American of the era. "I have found no better way of avoiding race prejudice," he wrote, "than to act with people of other races as if prejudice did not exist."
Yet Johnson's skin color affected his existence, personal and professional, for every day of his boxing career and beyond. With the Ku Klux Klan thriving and even sober publications referring to blacks as "niggers" in print (usually quoting them in exaggerated dialect), the United States hardly seemed ready for a black heavyweight champion, let alone one who married white women three different times and often traveled with a retinue of several others. "All his life," Geoffrey Ward writes, "whites and blacks alike would ask him 'Just who do you think you are?' The answer, of course, was always 'Jack Johnson' -- and that would prove to be more than enough for turn-of-the-twentieth-century America to handle."
Ward, a frequent collaborator of documentary filmmaker and author Ken Burns, has written an engaging and well-researched popular biography, long on expository footnotes and short on perspective. But if his Jack Johnson behaves like a cartoon character, it's because Johnson was a cartoon character. He'd stride from place to place in his dandified attire, drive rapidly and dangerously (an auto enthusiast, by 1909 he owned five of the nation's fewer than half a million cars, and he once explained to a traffic judge that his constant speeding was an advertisement for himself and his lifestyle), drop off one attractive woman at the apartment he kept for her, then race off to collect another. Throughout the book, Johnson's energy never flags, and neither does our interest.
Johnson spent the first half of his career chasing potential white opponents (quite literally, in the case of the undersized Canadian heavyweight Tommy Burns, whom he shadowed to Europe and Australia, often showing up in hotel lobbies and restaurants to announce his availability to fight) and the second half defending himself from prosecution for various breaches of public decorum, real or invented. Though the details of Ward's narrative can be difficult to follow -- more dates would surely help, and an appendix detailing Johnson's career -- a portrait of a complicated man emerges.
As Johnson racks up one victory after another over lesser opposition, Ward focuses less on the details of each bout, more on Johnson's pursuit of the white champions of the day and their often comic determination to avoid fighting him. When he finally gained the title, beating Burns in Australia on Dec. 26, 1908, the achievement was undermined by Jeffries' absence from the ring (he had retired as champion three years earlier). It wasn't until Jeffries came out of retirement and Johnson managed to defeat him on July 4, 1910, that whites and blacks alike finally recognized him as the best heavyweight in the world. It was Johnson's finest moment, and Ward captures it well. The second half of the story centers on the series of relationships with white women that led to Johnson's downfall. His flouting of convention was too public, too indiscreet, even for many African Americans to bear. Arrested for everything from beating his fiancée to driving too slowly around New York City's Columbus Circle, he saw his white friends abandon him and his ability to earn a living as a professional prizefighter and entertainer dry up.
Most notable among the accusations was a charge of violating the Mann Act, which prohibits transporting a woman over state lines for immoral purposes. Created to stop the movement of prostitutes as business dictated, it was a potent weapon for those who believed that sex between a black man and a white woman was by definition immoral. Found guilty on the flimsiest of evidence while still champion, Johnson fled to Europe to avoid a jail sentence and found himself unable to get a fight. When he finally lost the heavyweight title in Havana to the lumbering giant Jess Willard in 1915, it was almost a relief. "Now all my troubles are over," Johnson said. "Maybe they'll let me alone."
Johnson returned home to face sentencing, eventually doing 10 months in Leavenworth, where he wrote his memoirs, applied for two patents, and played baseball for the prison team, which happened to be known as the Booker T. Washingtons. After his release in 1921, he fought seven more times spread over four countries. When his competitive career finally ended with a knockout of Big Bill Hartwell in Kansas City in 1928, he was nearly 50 years old and all but forgotten. "He would spend the rest of his life struggling to stay within the spotlight that gave his life meaning," Ward writes. "With time, that struggle would become more and more difficult. . . . Increasingly, Jack Johnson was old news." He died as he lived, at top speed, slamming his Lincoln Zephyr into a telephone pole in North Carolina in 1946.
Was Johnson the best prizefighter of the last century, as some experts maintain, or an undersized, overrated heavyweight who beat few rivals in their primes? Should he be considered a civil rights pioneer or merely a fast-living scofflaw who paid a greater price for his indiscretions because of his skin color? If Ward has an opinion on these matters, he doesn't let on, but he has drawn a portrait of a fascinating figure, whose oversized personality fills every page. The interpretative history can wait for someone else.
Reviewed by Bruce Schoenfeld
Copyright 2004, The Washington Post Co. All Rights Reserved.
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