london is not reno

Goldfield hotel owner Tex Rickard fought his own battles to bring the “Fight of the Century” to Nevada.

By DANIEL J. DEMERS | May/June 2010

Jack Johnson, the first black heavyweight boxing champion, arrived in London in June 1911. He was scheduled to fight Britain’s heavyweight champ, “Bombardier” Billy Wells. Several church organizations opposed the match and instigated a public relations “battle against the sin of pugilism.” They opposed “excessive prize money” matches, along with the gambling and alcohol abuse connected to the sport.
The Chairman of the London County Council, George Swinton, chimed in with the inevitable racial element, asserting, “a black man pounding a white man” would be unacceptable, adding, “London is not Reno.” Three months later, Winston Churchill, bowing to political pressure, declared the fight a violation of British law. Churchill’s decision imposed a color ban in Britain, which prohibited interracial prizefights until 1947. It was a merry-go-round Johnson had been on before.

Fourteen months earlier, Johnson became the world heavyweight champion in the “Fight of the Century” held in Reno. He defeated former champion and white opponent James Jeffries.

Jeffries retired undefeated in 1905 after refusing several times to fight Johnson because of the color of his skin. By 1906, the title had passed to Canadian Tommy Burns. Johnson defeated Burns in Sydney, Australia in 1908 to acquire the title. Most boxing pundits diminished Burns’ pugilistic abilities and unanimously called for Jeffries to come out of retirement. Finally agreeing to the bout, Jeffries claimed, “I am going into this fight for the sole purpose of proving that a white man is better than a Negro.” The press dubbed Jeffries “The Great White Hope.”

Johnson was a lightning rod for racial tension in the early decades of the 20th Century. He defied social mores by openly cavorting with white women—most of them prostitutes—one of whom he married. He violated another social taboo by purchasing a home in a rich “all-white” Chicago neighborhood. His promiscuous lifestyle and excessive speeding and drinking were constant fodder for the press. Nor did he fit the stereotype of black men of the time. He was an accomplished musician, artist, writer, poet, inventor, vaudeville performer, stage, and motion picture actor.

The Johnson-Jeffries fight was originally scheduled to be held in San Francisco on July 4, 1910. At the time, California, San Francisco in particular, was the center of prizefighting contests in the world.

On June 1, the San Francisco Board of Supervisors issued the routine fight permit. The press noted the meeting was attended by a “number of church people,” but the permit was nevertheless approved. The following day, California Governor James N. Gillett denied press reports that he had claimed the “Jeffries-Johnson fight was a framed-up affair and that Jeffries would never enter the ring with the Negro unless assured in advance that victory was certain.” Answering critics who insisted he stop the fight, the governor “made it clear that under California law he could not stop the fight,” even though he personally opposed the contest.

With the permit issued, the fight’s promoters continued to oversee the construction of an arena designed to handle a crowd of 32,000. The primary promoter was Tex Rickard, a Goldfield hotel operator. Rickard and his associates were spending $25,000 on an arena at Eighth and Market Streets. Gate receipts were projected at $600,000. Additionally, silent-film rights were expected to sell for $250,000.

Meanwhile, a group of religious organizations mounted an organized effort calling upon Governor Gillett to stop the fight. In Cincinnati, a million postcards addressed to Gillett “were distributed among the faithful for signing and posting” with the simple message “STOP THE FIGHT. THIS IS THE 20th CENTURY.” By the middle of June, though, the press reported the governor had only received “several hundred of the cards.” A couple of days later, John White, a local attorney representing several San Francisco church organizations asked the governor to instruct the attorney general to stop the fight. White alleged the fight was a violation of California law. Two days later, Governor Gillett instructed the Attorney General to stop the fight. Gillett declared the fight was “demoralizing to the youth of the state, corrupting public morals, and was offensive to the senses of the great majority and should be abated as a public nuisance.”

On hearing the news, Rickard told the press, “It’s pretty tough to think that we should have been allowed to go this far and then be crushed.” The same day California’s Attorney General Ulysses S. Webb asserted that fighting for a “purse or reward” was a felony under California law.

The Chronicle suggested that the real reason the fight was stopped was because San Francisco interests were attempting to land the rights to the Panama-Pacific International Exhibition scheduled for 1915. The proposed Exhibition would be a “world fair” event to celebrate the opening of the Panama Canal scheduled for 1914. San Francisco civil and commercial interests wanted to land the event in order to showcase San Francisco’s remarkable recovery from the 1906 earthquake. San Francisco and New Orleans were vying for the rights to the event. The Chronicle disclosed that a telegram from New York Congressman William Bennet to the San Francisco Chamber of Commerce suggested that unless the fight was stopped “there was grave danger that Congress would take unfavorable action on” naming San Francisco as the place holding the international celebration. In the telegram Bennet disclosed “the fact that church organizations and various reform bodies throughout the East were bringing pressure to bear on Congress against selection of San Francisco” because of the fight.

San Francisco’s Mayor Patrick “Pinhead” McCarthy boldly told the press “I am running San Francisco. I am taking no orders from Gillett or his Attorney-General.” The Mayor was furious, continuing, “Bunk! Bunk! Bunk! —Cold feet for somebody. Just watch me. Will there be a bout? Bet your life!”

The same day, businessmen who stood to lose money as a result of the governor’s action responded. The manager of the Palace Hotel claimed it would result in a considerable financial loss. The manager of the Fairmont Hotel dittoed his remark—the two hotels had reservations for 975 visitors—each visitor to the city would spend $6 a day for a room and $10 a day for food [a total of $375 daily in present day values]. The daily loss to the two hotels would amount to $15,600 [$365,000 in present day values]. The manager of the St. Francis Hotel commented, “Thousands of people have already gone to great expense to come to San Francisco.” Tex Rickard claimed he stood to lose $50,000 [$1,267,000 in present day values] in funds already expended in San Francisco.

The following day, Rickard announced he was ready to move the bout to Reno. He claimed, “The citizens of Reno have offered to build the arena and furnish the license and even go so far to give me a bonus.” Meanwhile, religious zealots meeting in Cincinnati announced they would contest the move to Reno and “that before another week rolled around they will have started the rush of 1,000,000 letters against the affair” to Nevada’s Governor Denver Dickerson. The San Francisco Hotel Association, in a last-ditch effort to keep the fight in San Francisco, unanimously passed resolutions to Governor Gillett pleading with him to reconsider his decision on economic grounds. Gillett told the press “I absolutely refuse to reopen this matter.” The governor also stated that all cash paying prizefights in California henceforth were illegal and threatened to call out the State Militia to uphold his interpretation of the law.

Meanwhile, newspapers reported that ministers throughout the City applauded Gillett’s actions in their Sunday sermons and the daughters of the Golden State at their annual convention passed a special resolution supporting the ban. Gillett also released letters and telegrams of congratulations from throughout the country. The press reported, “the executive desk is nearly hidden beneath messages” of support. One of the messages was from industrialist Andrew Carnegie. Others came from the Catholic Bishop of Sacramento, the Methodist Bishop of San Francisco and the Episcopalian Church of Oregon. Even former President Teddy Roosevelt, himself a boxer, weighed in writing, “When money comes in at the gate, sport flies out at the window.”

Governor Dickerson announced he would not interfere with the fight if it were moved to Nevada. On Wednesday, June 22, 1910, 15 days before the fight, Rickard announced the contest would take place in Reno. A 50-piece brass band, which had paraded the streets of Reno, continued into the night. In Santa Cruz, 7,000 devoted Methodist youths attending a summer conference endorsed a resolution “condemning prizefighting” and petitioned Governor Dickerson to stop the fight.

Dickerson reassured Rickard he would not interfere in the event. Headlines announced “Protests Go Into the Wastebasket” and “Protests Over Fight A Waste of Postage.” Housing and feeding the tens of thousands of anticipated fight fans became an enormous concern. Reno merchants invaded Sacramento touring “the various stores where tents are kept in stock and bought up the entire supply.” Southern Pacific Railroad announced it was making arrangements for “Special” trains to roll from San Francisco to Reno.  Additionally “Specials” from Los Angeles, Salt Lake City, Denver, New Orleans, St. Louis, Ogden, Chicago, Portland, New York and Seattle were being mobilized.

One Reno Methodist minister delivered a sermon entitled “Reno’s Disgrace,” condemning the anticipated “influx of a horde of the riffraff of humanity and the off scouring of the country.” In Cleveland, Kate Blanche, “a well known character actress” was committed to the state asylum. She had been continually telegramming Jack Johnson and Tex Rickard “begging them to take her to the contest.” Her relatives had her adjudged insane.

Southern Pacific announced scheduled “Special” trains would start leaving San Francisco on the morning of July 1st. The “Specials” would transport 900 persons per day. Additionally, regularly scheduled coaches would take an additional 300 passengers per day. The railroad announced they were eliminating dining cars in order to increase passenger space. “Passengers will be compelled to eat at the various stations or else take lunches with them.” Upscale “Specials” such as the one being provided by the St. Francisco Hotel improvised by arranging to have a “lunch counter in the baggage car” along with two of the hotels chefs provided for the trip. Additionally, Reno railroad men were struggling to make room for more than 60 Pullman (sleeper) cars that would accommodate part of the thousands of fans since Reno had minimal hotel rooms available. Sparks could park up to 250 cars but the distance from that city to Reno posed a logistical problem.

Railroad managers who originally thought they would need to transport 5,000 fans from San Francisco were buried by the day of the fight when they realized the actual number was approaching 8,000. The economic loss to San Francisco approached $1,000,000 [$23,500,000 in present day values]. “It is admitted by men well qualified to judge that $125 [$2,920 in present day values] will be the average cost for each individual.” By July 2nd trains “starting at 7:00 a.m. and continuing throughout the day, sometimes within but a few minutes of each other” were leaving San Francisco in route to Reno.

In 1910 the population of Reno was 17,000. An estimated 30,000 persons came to town for the event.  By the day of the fight, Reno was described as a “swirling, seething maelstrom of rushing, crushing, colliding bodies, a tossing sea of excited faces, a twisting, writhing current of humanity torn by the rocks of a score of different desires and emotions.” The streets were jammed. The hotel lobbies were “packed to suffocation.”  Patrons, “once crushed in through the doorways, find it impossible to move hand or foot.” Thousands clamored for rooms. Visiting fight fans slept on cots, billiard tables, hammocks and park benches. “The lobbies of hotels were lined with cots; so were their flat graveled roofs.”  Thousands of locals, including the mayor, rented out spare rooms in their homes. It was estimated 5,375 slept on the banks of the Truckee River, 4,425 slept on the grass of the public park, 125 slept in funeral parlors with 17 sleeping in the city morgue. On the day of the fight there was an estimated 750 baths in all of Reno with “a cot in every one of them.” “In the kitchens of the hotels and restaurants they killed the fires after supper and put cots on the ranges.”

“At the dining room entrances, hundreds more struggle and elbow for advantage. Restaurants are overwhelmed.” One reporter wrote, “This morning I ordered pancakes. The waiter came back in a moment and shook his head. The cook was only making steak and eggs—no fancy stuff.” One restaurant with “a seating capacity of 40 served 3,600 suppers.” As train after train arrived, the streets became “more and more jammed.” Gambling halls did “a rushing business. Everywhere the click of the dice, the whirl of the roulette wheel, the call of the dealer and the clink of gold and silver coin.” The crowds were huge and “New York” pickpockets abounded. “Reno had become their oyster and they were delicate in opening it.” One newspaper opined that 2,000 pickpockets were in Reno “and that they had come from every city in the country.”

On Independence Day, 1910, Jack Johnson beat Jim Jeffries in the 15th round by a TKO. Before the fight, all of the stadium spectators stood and gave “three rousing cheers for Governor Dickerson of Nevada” for allowing the fight.

Total attendance at the fight was 18,020—a little better than half of the 32,000 projected for San Francisco. The fight fans, though, had the effect of nearly tripling Reno’s population. In comparison, San Francisco’s population was 417,000.

Gate receipts totaled $270,775—less than half of what had been projected if the fight had been held in San Francisco. Tickets had ranged in price between $10 and $50. Johnson received $122,600, and Jeffries received $114,000. Johnson, Jeffries, and Rickard shared in the proceeds from the sale of the movie rights, which fetched an additional $150,000.

Spectators bet $250,000 the day of the fight. Governor Gillett claimed his position had been vindicated because he was confident the California law would have been violated. In contrast, Governor Dickerson bragged of making “several thousand dollars” on his wager favoring Johnson.

In mid 1911, President Howard Taft awarded the Panama-Pacific International Exhibition to San Francisco. The Panama Canal opened in August of 1914. The exhibition opened in February 1915 on a 635-acre site along a 2-½ mile stretch of the San Francisco Bay. Nearly 18,000,000 paying guests visited the exhibition during its 10-month run in 1915. It is estimated the tourists pumped $480 million into the San Francisco economy. Financially it was by far a better deal for San Francisco than the Johnson-Jeffries fight.

Johnson was indicted in 1913 for violating The White Slavery Traffic Act, a law enacted by Congress in 1910. Better known as the Mann Act, the law was designed to ban the interstate travel of females “for immoral purposes.” Johnson was prosecuted and convicted under the new law because he had traveled with white prostitutes across state lines for his personal enjoyment, despite the fact he had no criminal intent. Johnson fled the country and lived in Europe and South America over the next seven years. In 1920, he turned himself in to federal authorities and was sent to Leavenworth Federal Prison to do his time—a year and a day.

In one of those great historical ironies, Governor Dickerson, “the man who had made the battle at Reno possible,” was now superintendant of federal prisons. Due to Dickerson’s intervention, Johnson was appointed the prison’s “baseball park orderly” and placed in charge of the exercise program for the prisoners. He was allowed to train for future boxing matches and was permitted to entertain his fellow prisoners with several exhibition matches during his incarceration. Johnson died in a car crash in North Carolina in 1946 after angrily racing away from a diner that refused to serve him because he was black. He was 68.

In April 2009, a joint Congressional resolution was sent to President Barrack Obama urging him to posthumously grant Johnson a full pardon. The resolution acknowledged the racial overtones of Johnson’s conviction and honors his contribution to the sport of boxing.