"Do you know how long Max Schmeling will last with Joe?" Dempsey asked. "I'll tell you now-less than one round!" But as Schmeling prepared to leave New York, his suitcase full of Louis films, he radiated confidence. "I have discovered that Louis can be hit by a right hand," he said. "I will beat him. Wait until June. You see." His trip to New York, he declared, "was what you would call a good investment."

* One Louis legend has it that after asking to feel Louis's arm, Roosevelt told him, "Joe, we need muscles like yours to beat Germany." The story, unreported at the time and misreported when it made its debut-their encounter was placed in 1938, not 1935 -may well be apocryphal; it's dubious whether Roosevelt would have considered Germany so certain a foe at that point, let alone said so publicly. One Louis legend has it that after asking to feel Louis's arm, Roosevelt told him, "Joe, we need muscles like yours to beat Germany." The story, unreported at the time and misreported when it made its debut-their encounter was placed in 1938, not 1935 -may well be apocryphal; it's dubious whether Roosevelt would have considered Germany so certain a foe at that point, let alone said so publicly.* Many years later, Red Smith wrote that the injection froze up Baer's entire forearm moments before the fight began. Many years later, Red Smith wrote that the injection froze up Baer's entire forearm moments before the fight began.* Louis and Marva agreed to live apart three weeks before all his fights, which was reasonable enough until Louis suggested fighting once a month. "But Joe, that would hardly be fair to your wife," Roxborough told him. "We'll get along," Louis replied. Louis and Marva agreed to live apart three weeks before all his fights, which was reasonable enough until Louis suggested fighting once a month. "But Joe, that would hardly be fair to your wife," Roxborough told him. "We'll get along," Louis replied.

The Condemned Man

ON D DECEMBER 21, 1935, a rumor swept the country that Joe Louis was dead. This was nothing new; at least ten times over the past few months there had been similar reports. Some had him killed in a car accident, others at the hands of mobsters or a murderous woman with a knife. By five-thirty that afternoon, the switchboard at 21, 1935, a rumor swept the country that Joe Louis was dead. This was nothing new; at least ten times over the past few months there had been similar reports. Some had him killed in a car accident, others at the hands of mobsters or a murderous woman with a knife. By five-thirty that afternoon, the switchboard at The New York Times The New York Times had received more than one thousand calls; the total count eventually topped the 1,267 logged on the day Will Rogers really did die. had received more than one thousand calls; the total count eventually topped the 1,267 logged on the day Will Rogers really did die.

"Sho' 'nuff if I'm dead, I'se a mighty lively corpse," Louis told one reporter. As 1936 began he was not yet officially champion, but he was de facto champion in nearly all important respects: earnings, attention, ability, aura. Ring Ring magazine even ranked him number one, ahead of Braddock. While Louis had earned $400,000 in 1935, was talking about making his "first million" by 1937, and was traveling in his own luxury Pullman, Braddock was making one-night stands in tank towns, taking in a measly $1,000 a week, and extending his tenure by steering clear of Louis. Braddock was content to let Louis build himself up, thereby guaranteeing himself an even more glorious payday. Blackburn had an apt rejoinder about rumors that he and Louis had split. "Do you think I'm crazy, quitting a gold mine?" he asked. magazine even ranked him number one, ahead of Braddock. While Louis had earned $400,000 in 1935, was talking about making his "first million" by 1937, and was traveling in his own luxury Pullman, Braddock was making one-night stands in tank towns, taking in a measly $1,000 a week, and extending his tenure by steering clear of Louis. Braddock was content to let Louis build himself up, thereby guaranteeing himself an even more glorious payday. Blackburn had an apt rejoinder about rumors that he and Louis had split. "Do you think I'm crazy, quitting a gold mine?" he asked.

And that's what Louis had become, for all of boxing, as Fleischer loved pointing out. Gymnasiums were crackling with activity. Newspapers were once more filled with boxing stories; writers who had wandered off to cover baseball, hockey, or tennis were back. People were again debating who were the best fighters of old and comparing them to Louis. Old-timers were attempting comebacks. And everyone was spending money. "Boxers, managers, promoters, manufacturers of shoes, boxing trunks, and shirts, gloves, bandages, liniments, leather goods that go to make up the head guards, nose guards and protectors, punching bags and other paraphernalia used in training and in active ring combat and even Uncle Sam and the various states where the bouts are staged, are all benefiting by the new life set into motion by one fighter," Fleischer wrote. Even Ring Ring itself had picked up nearly eleven thousand new subscribers. Nothing in Fleischer's thirty years in the business could compare to what he was witnessing now. "One man-Joe Louis-has done more for boxing than have any ten dozen men since Jack Dempsey was in his prime," he wrote. itself had picked up nearly eleven thousand new subscribers. Nothing in Fleischer's thirty years in the business could compare to what he was witnessing now. "One man-Joe Louis-has done more for boxing than have any ten dozen men since Jack Dempsey was in his prime," he wrote.

The search for a "white hope" was another part of this renaissance. "Tall men, skinny men, fat men, roly-poly men-men of all sizes and shapes-are being hauled from their work-whatever it might be, to 'save' the day for the white race," Fleischer observed. Of course, the object was not just to hold the black man back, but to cash in on his allure. Whether or not Louis won the title, wrote Fleischer, "he is so big a drawing card that any white boy who shows ring ability is certain to draw more money with Louis than the average fighter can obtain through an entire career." Even Jack Johnson had gotten into the act, spending six days in Boston courting a promising white boxer. "It's a commercial affair with me," Johnson explained. "There's big money for the man who can develop a white fighter to cope with Louis and I'm out to find such a man."

After the Baer fight, Johnson had resumed his usual role of irritant and critic. He insisted that even at his advanced age, he could still go three rounds with Louis without getting touched. He thought Louis would beat Schmeling, but not Braddock; leaving nothing to chance, he offered to help Braddock give Louis "a worse whipping than Mrs. Barrow ever gave him." Black commentators were predictably infuriated with "Lil' Arthur." "Benedict Arnold" and "'Uncle Tom' Johnson" were some of the names bandied about for him. "A jimsonweed in the nostrils of those who once cheered him," one black sportswriter called Johnson.

"Johnson down in his heart doesn't believe half the things he is saying about Joe, but he is a demon publicity hound and knows that most any remark about Joe will land him on the sports pages," Lewis Dial wrote in the New York Age. New York Age. But Gordon Hancock of the But Gordon Hancock of the Norfolk Journal and Guide Norfolk Journal and Guide praised Johnson for helping blacks surmount blind group loyalty. Blacks, he maintained, should be able to say what they want or root for whomever they wish without being accused of treason. Johnson himself insisted he was only speaking his mind. "Say, I like Joe," he said. "He's done wonders and I wish him all the luck in the world. But what's the use of kidding ourselves into declaring that Joe is the greatest ring warrior of modern times?" The black press continued to view the "white hope" campaign with amused contempt. And for all those whites wanting to knock off the incumbent Joe Louis, there were blacks vying to be the next one. Of the seventeen thousand boxers trying out for places on the American Olympic boxing team, six thousand were black. Louis also remained an object of intense interest and curiosity elsewhere. When the praised Johnson for helping blacks surmount blind group loyalty. Blacks, he maintained, should be able to say what they want or root for whomever they wish without being accused of treason. Johnson himself insisted he was only speaking his mind. "Say, I like Joe," he said. "He's done wonders and I wish him all the luck in the world. But what's the use of kidding ourselves into declaring that Joe is the greatest ring warrior of modern times?" The black press continued to view the "white hope" campaign with amused contempt. And for all those whites wanting to knock off the incumbent Joe Louis, there were blacks vying to be the next one. Of the seventeen thousand boxers trying out for places on the American Olympic boxing team, six thousand were black. Louis also remained an object of intense interest and curiosity elsewhere. When the Pittsburgh Courier Pittsburgh Courier questioned Haile Selassie in Addis Ababa in March 1936, Selassie questioned the questioned Haile Selassie in Addis Ababa in March 1936, Selassie questioned the Courier Courier about Louis. about Louis.

Louis was to have fought three times before the Schmeling bout in June, but his schedule turned out to be far less hectic. His fight against Isidoro Gastanaga in Havana in late December was abruptly canceled after six machine-gun-toting Cubans greeted Mike Jacobs as he began an inspection tour. There were fears that if the fight went forward, someone might be kidnapped. Louis did fight Charley Retzlaff in Chicago on January 17, 1936-for all of eighty-five seconds. So between mid-December 1935 and June 1936 Louis spent less than two minutes in the ring, at least when it counted. It was by far Louis's longest layoff, and was, presumably, just what Joe Jacobs had wanted. Readers eager to keep abreast of Louis, then, had to settle for news of him outside the ring.

In December, Louis gave "Joe Louis banks"-with 50 cents in each- to 150 black schoolchildren in Detroit. In January, he placed an order for twenty-five new suits with Billy Taub, the New York tailor who had dressed every heavyweight champion since Corbett. Woolworth and Kresge were selling Louis figurines. There was talk of Louis backing a black baseball team in Detroit or Chicago. And in planning the group's annual meeting in Baltimore that June, Walter White warned that "the N.A.A.C.P. would blow up in despair" if the Louis-Schmeling fight were held in Chicago, making it either too expensive or too much of a conflict to attend. In February, Paul Gallico, frustrated at American ineptitude during the Winter Olympics in Garmisch-Partenkirchen, Germany, wired an unusual cry for help. "For heavens sake, send over Joe Louis," he pleaded. Meantime, the bandleader Jimmie Lunceford handed out autographed pictures of Louis to the first fifty girls attending a performance in Wheeling, West Virginia, and rumors that Marva was expecting swept Chicago. In March, Louis was elected a director of the Victory Mutual Life Insurance Company, a black-owned firm in Chicago, and the Courier Courier announced a symposium on "What I Think About Joe Louis and His Future Fights." A jury in Chicago took all of twenty-five minutes to acquit Jack Blackburn of criminal charges arising from a gun battle in which a stray bullet killed an elderly man. "With the Brown Bomber present as a character witness, testimony proved needless," the announced a symposium on "What I Think About Joe Louis and His Future Fights." A jury in Chicago took all of twenty-five minutes to acquit Jack Blackburn of criminal charges arising from a gun battle in which a stray bullet killed an elderly man. "With the Brown Bomber present as a character witness, testimony proved needless," the Amsterdam News Amsterdam News reported, though some walking-around money may have helped. In April, a group in Nashville hinted that if Louis visited there, mixed bouts would be allowed. In Pittsburgh, his reception was rivaled by only- maybe-"Caesar's triumphant entry into Rome." In May, Fleischer reported that the stash of Louis photographs and handkerchiefs he'd brought with him was quickly exhausted by worshipful fans in Jamaica, Panama, Trinidad, and elsewhere. In June, Mrs. Viola Place of Engle-wood, New Jersey, had twin boys, and named them Joe and Louis. reported, though some walking-around money may have helped. In April, a group in Nashville hinted that if Louis visited there, mixed bouts would be allowed. In Pittsburgh, his reception was rivaled by only- maybe-"Caesar's triumphant entry into Rome." In May, Fleischer reported that the stash of Louis photographs and handkerchiefs he'd brought with him was quickly exhausted by worshipful fans in Jamaica, Panama, Trinidad, and elsewhere. In June, Mrs. Viola Place of Engle-wood, New Jersey, had twin boys, and named them Joe and Louis.*

As the Schmeling fight approached, some observers continued to see secret cabals and grand conspiracies against Louis. One intimated that Roosevelt, fearing that a black champion might offend southern voters, would delay a title bout until after the election in November. The Daily Worker Daily Worker cited a "report" that England, France, and Holland, all countries with third-world colonies, had sent "secret suggestions" to Washington that a Louis championship was unacceptable. Meanwhile, Mike Jacobs weighed bids from various cities for the fight. For him, the issue was the impact of a Jewish boycott, and whether it justified moving the contest out of New York. Fleischer supported such a boycott; by this point, cited a "report" that England, France, and Holland, all countries with third-world colonies, had sent "secret suggestions" to Washington that a Louis championship was unacceptable. Meanwhile, Mike Jacobs weighed bids from various cities for the fight. For him, the issue was the impact of a Jewish boycott, and whether it justified moving the contest out of New York. Fleischer supported such a boycott; by this point, Ring Ring had been banned in Germany. But Jacobs concluded that Louis's star power, plus the likelihood that he would crush Schmeling, would more than offset any boycott. The fight stayed put. had been banned in Germany. But Jacobs concluded that Louis's star power, plus the likelihood that he would crush Schmeling, would more than offset any boycott. The fight stayed put.

In Germany, where the Olympics would soon take place and appearances temporarily mattered, the Nazis had suspended their withering rhetoric about Louis. Box-Sport Box-Sport said that Louis had become a "darling of the Americans" not just because of his talent, but because he had remained a child within: "kind-hearted, honest, and without falsity." It presented him as a religious man and a fair fighter, whose only vices were "fine suits and a splendid car." Louis wasn't subhuman, said said that Louis had become a "darling of the Americans" not just because of his talent, but because he had remained a child within: "kind-hearted, honest, and without falsity." It presented him as a religious man and a fair fighter, whose only vices were "fine suits and a splendid car." Louis wasn't subhuman, said Box-Sport, Box-Sport, just shallow, caring only about money; unlike Dempsey or Tunney, he had "no understanding for the honor and dignity of being the world champion." The just shallow, caring only about money; unlike Dempsey or Tunney, he had "no understanding for the honor and dignity of being the world champion." The 12 Uhr-Blatt 12 Uhr-Blatt conceded that Louis was "surely no unintelligent fellow" and cited his good manners, particularly compared to his boorish brethren. Of course, he had his reasons: "Were Louis arrogant and impudent, the Americans would not tolerate him at the spot he's occupying right now." conceded that Louis was "surely no unintelligent fellow" and cited his good manners, particularly compared to his boorish brethren. Of course, he had his reasons: "Were Louis arrogant and impudent, the Americans would not tolerate him at the spot he's occupying right now." Box-Sport Box-Sport actually paid Louis an extraordinary tribute, admitting him into the honorable fraternity of anti-Semites. The only fighter he ever really hated was Kingfish Levinsky, it said approvingly, since "one cannot think of any man more unpleasant, arrogant and repugnant than the Jewish kingfish from Chicago." (There was nothing to the charge.) actually paid Louis an extraordinary tribute, admitting him into the honorable fraternity of anti-Semites. The only fighter he ever really hated was Kingfish Levinsky, it said approvingly, since "one cannot think of any man more unpleasant, arrogant and repugnant than the Jewish kingfish from Chicago." (There was nothing to the charge.) A myth was to arise and persist that Nazi Germany saw Schmeling as a sure loser, ignoring him as he set off for the suicide mission he'd so foolishly undertaken. Schmeling fostered this idea, later describing how Hitler "seemed disturbed and somewhat angry" that he would place German honor on the line against a black man, especially one so likely to beat him. In fact, the Germans clearly thought they had a winner. While blacks had greater endurance, were "predestined" to fight with their fists, and had eyes that were not so easily read, their moral weakness opened the door for whites, Box-Sport Box-Sport said. "A better fighting morale can move mountains," it declared. Far from discouraging people from attending the fight, the North German Lloyd Line reduced rates on two of its premier liners, the said. "A better fighting morale can move mountains," it declared. Far from discouraging people from attending the fight, the North German Lloyd Line reduced rates on two of its premier liners, the Bremen Bremen and the and the Europa. Europa. The cruises were announced in Goebbels's The cruises were announced in Goebbels's Angriff. Angriff. Whatever ambivalence the Nazis felt about the fight was for professional athletes generally. "This great commercial enterprise can very well be fought without us," declared the Whatever ambivalence the Nazis felt about the fight was for professional athletes generally. "This great commercial enterprise can very well be fought without us," declared the Reichssportblatt, Reichssportblatt, the official publication of the Berlin Olympics. But this viewpoint was clearly losing ground. the official publication of the Berlin Olympics. But this viewpoint was clearly losing ground.

Early in the year, the German sports ministry declared that nonpoliti-cal sportsmen were "unthinkable" in the new Germany. Henceforth, all athletes had to be trained as fighters for Nazism and tested for their "political reliability"; no athlete was complete without mastering the details of Hitler's career, along with Nazi principles and racial theories. But Schmeling was either exempted from all this or satisfied some broader construction of the new rules. He did not join the Nazi Party, though he had high-ranking Nazi friends like Hans Hinkel, Hitler's overseer of Jewish culture, whose ties to the Fuhrer went back to the Beer Hall Putsch of 1923. He gave the Nazi salute when circumstances warranted, appeared at Nazi events, and made the occasional pro-Nazi statement, as in late March 1936 when he, the conductor Wilhelm Furtwangler, and other German celebrities urged Germans to vote for Hitler in a "referendum" on his leadership. "In my heart I view this day as a collective expression of the deepest trust in the Fuhrer," he said.*

Schmeling never said any more than he had to to stay in the Nazis' good graces. He did not spout Nazi rhetoric or wrap himself in the swastika. It will never be clear whether this was a matter of conviction or calculation, or even whether the decision was his or someone else's. But for all concerned, things worked out quite nicely. Whenever the Nazis asked him to pitch in, he obliged. Never did they ask him to do anything that would unduly foul his American nest, which produced great capital for both Schmeling and the regime. To one anti-Nazi German emigre paper in New York, it was Schmeling's earning power that most interested the Nazis; any country that barred its citizens from taking more than four dollars' worth of currency beyond its borders was seriously strapped for cash. "Max Schmeling will remain Hitler's hero ... willing to take a beating from a Negro [and] managed by a Jew, to bring his bankrupt fatherland money in the hour of peril," it said. Schmeling conceded as much to an American reporter. "I expect to bring home a couple of hundred thousand dollars," he said. "I guess Dr. [Hjalmar] Schacht [the minister of finance] won't mind that."

Schmeling never indulged in Nazi racist rhetoric or "anthropology" regarding Louis, though sometimes his views reflected popular prejudices of the time. "You see, Louis didn't make the mistake other colored boxers made," he told one German interviewer. "He never tried to gain access to the circles of white society. For me there exists no racial dividing line in sports and no one has mentioned the matter to me over here."

"Schmeling is the most famous and best loved athlete in modern German history and the Reich wishes him well," Guido von Mengden, press chief of the Nazi sporting organization, said before his departure. "Naturally, we hope Schmeling wins, but if he loses, the nation will not go into mourning." Schmeling heard no defeatism from Goebbels, whom he and Ondra visited shortly before Schmeling's departure. "The Schmelings are quite open, and tell about their lives and doings," the propaganda minister wrote in his diary, in the first of many such favorable references to the couple. "He is traveling to America to fight Joe Louis. Best wishes!" Noting the article in the Reichssportblatt, The New York Times Reichssportblatt, The New York Times called Schmeling's sendoff "shabby," feeding what became the hoary myth that his government had disowned him. "Race-conscious Germany cannot forgive Max for fighting a Negro and letting himself be paid therefor," it claimed. In fact, Schmeling kept his departure plans private and left in the middle of the night to avoid any fuss; the glad-handing and backslap-ping could come when he returned victorious. Even Ondra, who had the flu, didn't see her husband off. But to those who did, Schmeling hardly seemed beleaguered or ostracized. "If the mood at Schmeling's departure is an omen for his return, then at the beginning of July there will be a giant reception appropriate for a great victor," wrote the editor of called Schmeling's sendoff "shabby," feeding what became the hoary myth that his government had disowned him. "Race-conscious Germany cannot forgive Max for fighting a Negro and letting himself be paid therefor," it claimed. In fact, Schmeling kept his departure plans private and left in the middle of the night to avoid any fuss; the glad-handing and backslap-ping could come when he returned victorious. Even Ondra, who had the flu, didn't see her husband off. But to those who did, Schmeling hardly seemed beleaguered or ostracized. "If the mood at Schmeling's departure is an omen for his return, then at the beginning of July there will be a giant reception appropriate for a great victor," wrote the editor of Box-Sport, Box-Sport, Erwin Thoma. "Seldom have we seen Schmeling before a big fight in as good a mood as this time. An aura of confidence literally radiated from him." Erwin Thoma. "Seldom have we seen Schmeling before a big fight in as good a mood as this time. An aura of confidence literally radiated from him."

As for fighting a black man, the Nazis were making precisely the kind of compromise they repeatedly made in other spheres-for instance, tempering anti-Jewish agitation whenever it threatened German interests. As Schmeling saw it, even if Louis landed a big one on his chin, he would be taking it for the Fatherland. "It has been confirmed to me many times that my mere participation in this bout already promotes the German cause abroad," he told the 12 Uhr-Blatt 12 Uhr-Blatt shortly before his departure. The paper agreed, suggesting Schmeling had little choice but to take the fight to help assure Yankee participation in the Berlin Olympics. None of this coverage would have appeared, just as Jacobs would not still have represented Schmeling, had Hitler not wanted it to happen. shortly before his departure. The paper agreed, suggesting Schmeling had little choice but to take the fight to help assure Yankee participation in the Berlin Olympics. None of this coverage would have appeared, just as Jacobs would not still have represented Schmeling, had Hitler not wanted it to happen.

On April 21 the Bremen Bremen again arrived in New York, a swastika now hanging routinely from its mast. Fifty reporters, cartoonists, and cameramen sailed out from the Battery and boarded the ship, then accompanied Schmeling as it headed north to the West Forty-sixth Street pier. Photographers recorded scenes unlikely to appear in any German newspaper, like a smiling Schmeling with his arms around the two Jacobses. Then, for two hours, reporters yet again questioned Schmeling, who was sunburned from the passage and a bit above fighting weight, even though he'd run twelve miles a day on deck. He repeated what he'd said about Louis-that he was amateurish and a sucker for a good right. "I guarantee you, if Louis makes the same mistakes with me that he did with Baer, I shall knock him out!" he said. Someone asked whether Hitler had seen him off. "Why should he?" Schmeling replied. "He's a politician and I am a sportsman." again arrived in New York, a swastika now hanging routinely from its mast. Fifty reporters, cartoonists, and cameramen sailed out from the Battery and boarded the ship, then accompanied Schmeling as it headed north to the West Forty-sixth Street pier. Photographers recorded scenes unlikely to appear in any German newspaper, like a smiling Schmeling with his arms around the two Jacobses. Then, for two hours, reporters yet again questioned Schmeling, who was sunburned from the passage and a bit above fighting weight, even though he'd run twelve miles a day on deck. He repeated what he'd said about Louis-that he was amateurish and a sucker for a good right. "I guarantee you, if Louis makes the same mistakes with me that he did with Baer, I shall knock him out!" he said. Someone asked whether Hitler had seen him off. "Why should he?" Schmeling replied. "He's a politician and I am a sportsman."

As the swarm headed to the promenade deck, some reporters lingered below with Max Machon and the Munchner beer. He disputed those reports that the Germans opposed the fight. "Against it?" he exclaimed. "That is all they talk about. They do not even talk about the Olympics. All they talk about is Schmeling and Louis." Millions would be listening over the radio, he predicted, not just in Germany but throughout Europe. Meantime, Mike Jacobs repeatedly tried to welcome Schmeling for the newsreel cameras, only to keep flubbing his lines. Schmeling and the reporters continued their conversation at the Commodore Hotel, which Schmeling was once more making his New York base. "I'll tell you what: you'll lick this guy and lick him good," Joe Jacobs cried out at one point. "What do you think would have happened to this Louis if you hadn't softened Paolino up like a wet doughnut?" Schmeling told reporters that even at $400 per head for the trip, nearly two thousand Germans were coming to see the action. His chores for Mike Jacobs finally discharged, Schmeling went to see a film about another legendary impresario: The Great Ziegfeld. The Great Ziegfeld. A couple of days later, Ed Sullivan spotted Gene Tunney at the Stork Club and Schmeling at Leon and Eddie's, and surmised that Tunney had to be the happier of the two. "How much enjoyment can Schmeling get out of night clubs, when he knows that on June 18 he walks the last mile of resin through the little green door of pugilism to face the thunderbolts of Massa Joe Louis?" he asked. A couple of days later, Ed Sullivan spotted Gene Tunney at the Stork Club and Schmeling at Leon and Eddie's, and surmised that Tunney had to be the happier of the two. "How much enjoyment can Schmeling get out of night clubs, when he knows that on June 18 he walks the last mile of resin through the little green door of pugilism to face the thunderbolts of Massa Joe Louis?" he asked.

With that surely in mind, Schmeling skipped a planned detour to the Kentucky Derby and went right into training. His camp would be at the Napanoch Country Club, a small, remote resort in the Catskills about a hundred miles north of New York. Schmeling had preferred Speculator, the Adirondack hamlet where Baer had trained for Louis, but Mike Jacobs wanted him closer; that way, reporters would be more likely to speak with him, and to suggest he could actually win. Joe Jacobs, who selected the place, figured that having Schmeling stay in a Jewish-owned resort might mollify Jewish fight fans. Though it was prohibitively far from corned beef sandwiches and chorus girls, Jacobs pretended to like the sylvan setting. "This is the life," he declared as a fire crackled behind him. "The country is the joint for me."

Schmeling arrived in Napanoch on April 30, and formally opened his camp a week later. It was 1,400 feet above sea level and he enjoyed the cool nights. His living quarters were higher still. He had dinner with the local district attorney and threw out the first pitch at a local baseball game, all to ingratiate himself with the community. An electrician set up a radio wire, through which half-hour reports on Schmeling's activities would be broadcast to New York on Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday nights. (There'd be reports from Louis's camp on Monday, Wednesday, Saturday, and Sunday.) Also on hand was Arno Hellmis. That Nazi Germany's most important sportswriter was on the story (even though he'd had to pay his own way there) was another sign that it was by no means being buried.

Just as Schmeling settled into one upstate New York hamlet, Louis set out for another: Lafayetteville, forty-four miles to the northeast. On the day Louis decamped, Schmeling was on the radio, describing how he'd win. "I know a way, but I better not tell it," he told the interviewer. "Who knows but what he might be listening in?" In fact Louis was, not that he learned much. "I couldn't understand him most of the time," he said afterward. "He talks kinda funny, like a foreigner, I guess. Well, he is a foreigner, sure enough."

There was no boxing in Lafayetteville, only jogging and chopping hardwood. After about a week there, Louis headed for his real training camp, in Lakewood, New Jersey. A resort town near the shore sixty miles south of New York, Lakewood had been a part of boxing history before; Jim Corbett had trained there, as had Schmeling. Roxborough liked its dry climate and thought its pure air, scented with pine and salt, would guarantee Louis some sleep (though why that should ever have been a concern with Louis wasn't clear). Roxborough also liked the cachet: the Rockefellers and the Goulds had places nearby. LAKEWOOD, THE TRAINING CAMP OF JOE LOUIS, THE NEXT HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION OF THE WORLD LAKEWOOD, THE TRAINING CAMP OF JOE LOUIS, THE NEXT HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION OF THE WORLD, the signs strung over the highways leading into town soon proclaimed. For the next five weeks, the main thoroughfare of what had always been a lily-white resort was transformed into what the local paper called "a vest pocket edition of Lenox Avenue."

The center of it all was the Stanley Hotel, the rambling caravansary where Louis would train. The hotel's owner, one Harry Cohen, hoped to make Louis's training a long-term industry, and cut down a grove of pines to build an outdoor stadium for three thousand people. There was also to be a bandstand and a nightly floor show, but only after Louis had left the premises. For Louis and his team, Cohen found a furnished mansion two blocks away belonging to a Jewish man wanting to contribute to the cause; according to one black paper, the man was "not only a great admirer of the Brown Bomber, but wants to see Joe give Schmeling, the Nazi man, a good trouncing."

When a columnist from nearby Asbury Park returned from Lakewood on May 12, he carried "visions of Barnum and Bailey and Ringling Brothers combined circuses floating before his eyes." "Gaily colored strips of bunting and screaming banners bearing the name of Joe Louis in letters which reach out and knock you on the noggin fly from every gable of the rambling hotel," he wrote. In the lobby, near a chair that was hot-wired to give unsuspecting visitors a jolt, was a nearly lifesize portrait of Louis draped with American flags and boxing gloves, bearing the legend "Our Next Champion." Outside was a huge tent with a "40-foot chromium refreshment bar." "It may be that Mr. Cohen has decided to get Joe's mind off a little thing like a fight, and enable him to enjoy the lighter side of life," the columnist wrote.

On May 13, Mike Jacobs threw a breakfast for the boxing writers at Lindy's, then formed an eight-car caravan to the camp. It was Louis's birthday, and Braddock was also on hand; in honor of his visit, the hotel had thoughtfully removed the sign in the lobby proclaiming Louis the champion-in-waiting. Louis, who'd fought Carnera at 196 and Baer at about 200, planned to fight Schmeling at 204. But he had come to town weighing 214, and he hit 216 that day even before getting to the cake. In every sense, as he turned twenty-two years old, Joe Louis had a lot to lose. He greeted the governor of New Jersey, Harold Hoffman, and horsed around with Braddock, who found himself in the bizarre posture of a champion challenging a challenger. "What's the matter with you, fella, are you trying to duck me?" Braddock asked theatrically. "As soon as I smack down this Schmeling, I'm your man," Louis replied. (No matter how one rendered his words, everyone agreed on how Louis actually pronounced "Schmeling": "Smellin'," he called him.) Louis also received his personal copy of Edward Van Every's new biography of him. Louis hagiography had become a staple of the "race press," but here was something truly unprecedented: sainthood conferred by a white reporter from one of New York's most staid newspapers, the Sun. Sun. The book had a lyrical, almost biblical tone, describing Louis as a "Black Moses" in its very first line, and calling his story "something in the nature of a miracle." The rest of the press now dissected Louis as never before, and not always so reverentially. "You notice his mouth first," wrote Jimmy Cannon in the The book had a lyrical, almost biblical tone, describing Louis as a "Black Moses" in its very first line, and calling his story "something in the nature of a miracle." The rest of the press now dissected Louis as never before, and not always so reverentially. "You notice his mouth first," wrote Jimmy Cannon in the New York American. New York American. "It is a red capital O. It is a soft doughnut stuck on his moon-face, and it does not go with his narrow and shifty eyes." W. W. Edgar of the "It is a red capital O. It is a soft doughnut stuck on his moon-face, and it does not go with his narrow and shifty eyes." W. W. Edgar of the Detroit Free Press, Detroit Free Press, who had followed him from the outset, explained that Louis could read a bit, but could write only his name. Once, a fan asked for an inscription to "my friend," and Louis could not spell the second word. The Hearst papers were the harshest, calling him "Mike Jacobs' pet pickaninny" and rendering his remarks in the most primitive dialect. In "Joe Louis Takes His June Exams," a Hearst cartoonist showed a schoolmaster labeled "Old Man Experience" questioning man-child Louis as his classmates-Schmeling, Dempsey, and John L. Sullivan, among others-sat at their desks. "Joseph, make me up a sentence with the word 'defeat' in it," he asks. "Sho!" Louis replies. "I pops 'em on de chin an' dey drags 'em out by de feet!!" who had followed him from the outset, explained that Louis could read a bit, but could write only his name. Once, a fan asked for an inscription to "my friend," and Louis could not spell the second word. The Hearst papers were the harshest, calling him "Mike Jacobs' pet pickaninny" and rendering his remarks in the most primitive dialect. In "Joe Louis Takes His June Exams," a Hearst cartoonist showed a schoolmaster labeled "Old Man Experience" questioning man-child Louis as his classmates-Schmeling, Dempsey, and John L. Sullivan, among others-sat at their desks. "Joseph, make me up a sentence with the word 'defeat' in it," he asks. "Sho!" Louis replies. "I pops 'em on de chin an' dey drags 'em out by de feet!!"*

But others sensed a growing maturity and confidence in Louis. "In his native, untrained way he is an interesting, amusing talker," said Joe Williams. Southern reporters also described him sympathetically, albeit in the idiom of their day. "These are good colored folks," wrote a columnist from Charlotte. "Money and fame hasn't changed them. They are satisfied to be among their own people, and I can give them no higher recommendation." Sometimes Louis wasn't allowed to show his smarts. When a reporter for a Communist youth magazine asked him his views of the Scottsboro case, Roxborough pulled the writer aside. "Don't think Joe isn't intelligent," he said. "He feels these things keenly. But he's a prizefighter right now. He's got to think of the nation as a whole; and he can't afford to alienate anybody."

In a fifteen-part series, Damon Runyon meticulously deconstructed Louis's boxing technique. Louis was not the greatest puncher ever, he wrote, but probably the greatest ever with both hands. He had "perfect coordination of mind and muscle," an uncanny sense for what opponents were about to do, plus a knack for hiding what he was about to do himself. He was incredibly accurate. His physique was perfect for punching: long arms like whiplashes and muscles so "silky" that he looked lackadaisical until he started to fight, when his arms became "snaky" and his legs like steel springs. He had disproportionately big hands, and his wrists and forearms were enormously powerful. He had perfect balance; hitting from his heels, he quadrupled his punching power. And he had a textbook temperament: cold, methodical, unflappable, unhurried. Runyon found only a couple of dissenters. One, eighty-four-year-old Tom O'Rourke, said John L. Sullivan would have beaten Louis with a straight right.

Louis began his workouts. Sparring partners earned $25 per round, though Mushky Jackson, the Mike Jacobs factotum running the operation, considered paying them by the minute to keep them on their feet. Louis went through them fast; among those who'd quickly had enough was future heavyweight champion Jersey Joe Walcott. A band supplied the music at ringside. Louis entered the ring to trumpet fanfares. After some brutal exchanges the sounds of "I'm Sorry I Made You Cry" or "Let's Call It a Day" filled the air. As the sparring went on, spectators maintained a steady dialogue with Louis, sometimes shouting so robustly that the announcer had to ask them to stop.

As the crowds grew-four thousand people showed up one Sunday, paying $1.10 a head-the actual business of boxing became almost secondary. Everywhere, street merchants hawked Joe Louis pins, Joe Louis rings, Joe Louis charms, Joe Louis medallions, Joe Louis keys, Joe Louis statues, Joe Louis flashlights, Joe Louis pictures, Joe Louis pennants. "An enterprising salesman could catch Joe Louis perspiration in cologne bottles and peddle it at two bucks an ounce," Ralph Matthews joked. The hordes, overwhelmingly black, came from Atlantic City, As-bury Park, and, mostly, Harlem, and temporarily transformed a Jim Crow town. "Park Avenue has its Newport, but now Harlem has its Lake-wood," the Courier Courier announced. Black reporters arrived in droves; so eager was the man from the announced. Black reporters arrived in droves; so eager was the man from the Houston Informer Houston Informer to get there that he was arrested for speeding near the camp. "The whole atmosphere here is a revelation," wrote Roi Ottley of the to get there that he was arrested for speeding near the camp. "The whole atmosphere here is a revelation," wrote Roi Ottley of the Amsterdam News. Amsterdam News. "Residents and tradesmen have the glad hand out when Negroes approach.... Some cynic reminded me that to be in New Jersey is the same as being in Georgia ... but at the moment this feeling has been completely dispelled. Money is a persuasive talker.... And Joe is bringing hoards of it to this village." "Residents and tradesmen have the glad hand out when Negroes approach.... Some cynic reminded me that to be in New Jersey is the same as being in Georgia ... but at the moment this feeling has been completely dispelled. Money is a persuasive talker.... And Joe is bringing hoards of it to this village."

The transformation was especially notable at the previously all-white Stanley Hotel. "Now the place is as genuinely democratic and impartial to everyone as heaven is expected to be when (and if) we ever get there," the Norfolk Journal and Guide Norfolk Journal and Guide said. But the changes only went so far. While white reporters slept and entertained themselves upstairs, their black counterparts were relegated to the basement, and were barred from sitting on the front porch or in the lobby. "The only thing they give the Race freely [at the hotel] is bills and they come large and fast," complained Al Monroe, who, with the backing of the said. But the changes only went so far. While white reporters slept and entertained themselves upstairs, their black counterparts were relegated to the basement, and were barred from sitting on the front porch or in the lobby. "The only thing they give the Race freely [at the hotel] is bills and they come large and fast," complained Al Monroe, who, with the backing of the Defender's Defender's publisher, refused the second-class accommodations. publisher, refused the second-class accommodations.

Marva's arrival on May 16 only enhanced the glamour. "As she walks the streets, women and men, alike, stop to watch her glide by," the Amsterdam News Amsterdam News wrote in wonder. "Murmurs of admiration follow in her wake." Society columns in the black press offered regular updates on her wardrobe and her marriage. The lovebirds' every public moment together was monitored, though not everyone was pleased about her presence. "With her around all Louis wanted to do was to indulge in mumbling sweet nothings," said the wrote in wonder. "Murmurs of admiration follow in her wake." Society columns in the black press offered regular updates on her wardrobe and her marriage. The lovebirds' every public moment together was monitored, though not everyone was pleased about her presence. "With her around all Louis wanted to do was to indulge in mumbling sweet nothings," said the Richmond Planet. Richmond Planet. His great passion in Lakewood wasn't boxing or his marriage, though, but golf. Watching Tony Manero win the U.S. Open at nearby Baltusrol had inspired him, and after a dozen rounds he was shooting in the low nineties. He played the game so often that the local country club awarded him a trophy. When his managers hid his car keys to keep him from escaping to Yankee Stadium for a ball game, he slipped off and played eighteen holes of golf instead. After breakfast one morning, he sneaked out to shoot another round, forcing his frantic management to have to go find, and then fetch, him. His great passion in Lakewood wasn't boxing or his marriage, though, but golf. Watching Tony Manero win the U.S. Open at nearby Baltusrol had inspired him, and after a dozen rounds he was shooting in the low nineties. He played the game so often that the local country club awarded him a trophy. When his managers hid his car keys to keep him from escaping to Yankee Stadium for a ball game, he slipped off and played eighteen holes of golf instead. After breakfast one morning, he sneaked out to shoot another round, forcing his frantic management to have to go find, and then fetch, him.

Before long the adulation, frivolity, and warm weather started getting to Louis. His timing was off; his punches were anemic; he appeared lethargic and indifferent. Stupid, lifeless, and "exhibitionistically frivolous," Jimmy Cannon wrote. Physically and mentally, Louis had grown fat. "Hunger is the fighter's friend," Cannon explained. "Success and plenty are his enemies. Instead of the relentless kid fighting for his life, Joe is now a guy fighting for more money in the bank, another car, another suit, another day in the sun over Lakewood." "His admirers say not to worry," wrote Runyon. "They say he must be in the pink because he's Joe Louis, and that, anyway, no matter how he looks or what he does he is bound to flatten Max Schmeling." Maybe Schmeling didn't know Louis was ordained to knock him out, Runyon mused. But in the world of professional boxing, where everything was hyped and newspapers doubled as boxing promoters, who knew what or whom to believe? Louis could deliberately be dogging it to build up the gate. Having made the "grave error of looking too dangerous" one day, the Daily News Daily News observed, Louis "caught the ticket-selling spirit" by letting himself be pummeled the next. Despite reports that he had "housemaid's knee, leaping dandruff and hurry-up halitosis," Louis was actually "sharper than a Bowie knife," the observed, Louis "caught the ticket-selling spirit" by letting himself be pummeled the next. Despite reports that he had "housemaid's knee, leaping dandruff and hurry-up halitosis," Louis was actually "sharper than a Bowie knife," the News News's Jack Miley claimed.

For his publicity operations, Mike Jacobs employed six former sports-writers, well versed in all of the angles. One of his veteran flacks, Jersey Jones, had been assigned to Pompton Lakes, and complained about the suicide mission he'd been given. "I've got to make Louis look bad," he griped. "Get that! I've got to make him look bad so the public will think Schmeling's got a chance against him. The greatest young heavyweight of all time, and my job is to sell him to the public as a bum!" To the Daily Worker, Daily Worker, the jeremiads were just "plain ordinary anti-Negro propaganda." the jeremiads were just "plain ordinary anti-Negro propaganda." Collyer's Eye Collyer's Eye saw the news from Lakewood as an attempt to juggle the odds. Bundles of black money, including from gamblers in Detroit and Philadelphia, were being placed on Schmeling, it said; by betting on the German and then throwing the fight, Louis and his backers could make themselves a lot more money, although it conceded there were problems with that thesis, unique in its customarily sordid world: "Throughout his brief professional career, Louis has always refused to do business, even carry an opponent." Besides, it said, it would "seem like insanity" to throw the title when it was within reach. Some black sportswriters rushed to the Bomber's defense-insisting, as one put it, that Louis's timing remained "as accurate and as rhythmical as a Beethoven sonata." "If you've got the stuff, lay it on Joe and lay it on heavy," another urged. saw the news from Lakewood as an attempt to juggle the odds. Bundles of black money, including from gamblers in Detroit and Philadelphia, were being placed on Schmeling, it said; by betting on the German and then throwing the fight, Louis and his backers could make themselves a lot more money, although it conceded there were problems with that thesis, unique in its customarily sordid world: "Throughout his brief professional career, Louis has always refused to do business, even carry an opponent." Besides, it said, it would "seem like insanity" to throw the title when it was within reach. Some black sportswriters rushed to the Bomber's defense-insisting, as one put it, that Louis's timing remained "as accurate and as rhythmical as a Beethoven sonata." "If you've got the stuff, lay it on Joe and lay it on heavy," another urged.

Publicly, Louis's camp wasn't worried. "Its attitude seems to be that at his worst, Shufflin' Joe still is a far better fighter than Max Schmeling at his best," a reporter from Newark wrote. Now that Louis had a reputation, Blackburn told the press, there was no need for him to flatten everyone in training. Louis's handlers started talking of breaking Dempsey's record for brevity: nineteen seconds, against Fred Fulton in 1918. Schmeling's claims about discovering a weakness in Louis's technique was foolishness, they said. Louis himself appeared utterly unconcerned. Taking on Schmeling, one black columnist said, was for Louis "the same as if he were a janitor who had agreed to scrub some floors for a price." The Louis team was already thinking about Braddock-in 1937, when he'd have a clean financial slate and the tax bite would be much smaller than in a year in which he'd already fought one lucrative bout. "We don't have to rush him," said Julian Black. "He's going to be good for a mighty long time."

Privately, though, there was some concern; Jersey Jones's facetious comments turned out to be not so far off the mark. "Chappie, what's wrong with your fighter?" the trainer Ray Arcel, who was in camp one day, asked Blackburn. "He's on his honeymoon, and she's here with him," Blackburn grumbled. Two weeks before the fight, Marva was finally banished to Harlem. The press criticism now got to Louis. He started bearing down before he was ready, losing weight in the blistering heat that he was then unable to put back on. Walter White sensed none of this when he visited Lakewood, but the signs were there; he tried to talk boxing with Louis, but all Louis wanted to discuss was baseball. "Gosh, how worried he is about Schmeling!" White mockingly wrote Roxborough afterward.*

Schmeling's mission at Napanoch was to get the legs that had failed him so badly in the Baer fight back into peak condition, so that he could move quickly. And he had to build up his endurance so he could outlast Louis. This meant lots of running; Machon later estimated that the two of them ran more than six hundred miles around the hilly terrain. He also had to take lots of jabs, so that when the time came he could get close enough to Louis to penetrate his flawed defense. He brought much of his food with him, including German sausage, German cheese, German bread, and even German mineral water; American water, he believed, helped account for his American losses. Just about his only indulgence was movies, which he would see in nearby Ellenville. Schmeling wasn't out to dazzle anyone; only twice did he throw his right with full force. Though his crowds didn't rival Louis's, Schmeling also had his following; the New Yorker Staats-Zeitung New Yorker Staats-Zeitung printed detailed directions to the place by car or train. printed detailed directions to the place by car or train.

While others were busy writing him off, Schmeling had his program all mapped out. He would beat Louis, go back home on one of German's zeppelins, then return a few weeks later to begin training for the title fight with Braddock. That would mean missing part of the Berlin Olympics, but that's how it would have to be. Already, he'd arranged to leave his equipment in Napanoch. In early June, Schmeling told Liberty Liberty magazine he'd win, and how. "A good right hand will beat Louis," he wrote. "I feel certain that when he shoots his left I can cross my right over it and score." His victory would come sometime after the third round, he said, and would be by knockout. Eventually, he grew tired of discussing Louis's technique. "Why don't you ask Louis what he plans to do?" he retorted. "That don't do any good," quipped Joe Jacobs. "Louis only grunts or yawns or goes to sleep." Schmeling laughed heartily. magazine he'd win, and how. "A good right hand will beat Louis," he wrote. "I feel certain that when he shoots his left I can cross my right over it and score." His victory would come sometime after the third round, he said, and would be by knockout. Eventually, he grew tired of discussing Louis's technique. "Why don't you ask Louis what he plans to do?" he retorted. "That don't do any good," quipped Joe Jacobs. "Louis only grunts or yawns or goes to sleep." Schmeling laughed heartily.

On June 4, Mike Jacobs came by Napanoch with a contract binding Schmeling to fight Braddock if he beat Louis. Jacobs was merely covering all contingencies, but Schmeling and Joe Jacobs saw portents in it. "So!" Schmeling declared. "I see you give me a chance to win, after all." To the Angriff, Angriff, it meant that Schmeling was the favorite. That's certainly how Schmeling felt. "If confidence were music, Schmeling would be the whole Philharmonic," wrote Jack Miley of the it meant that Schmeling was the favorite. That's certainly how Schmeling felt. "If confidence were music, Schmeling would be the whole Philharmonic," wrote Jack Miley of the Daily News. Daily News. Some nonetheless detected the ravages of time in the nearly thirty-one-year-old Schmeling. To Anthony Marenghi of the Some nonetheless detected the ravages of time in the nearly thirty-one-year-old Schmeling. To Anthony Marenghi of the Newark Star Eagle, Newark Star Eagle, "fistic senility" hung over him; he'd become "an old third baseman stumbling in for a bunt." Al Monroe thought Schmeling wouldn't last two rounds. "Today he seems so vitally alive," Richards Vidmer observed in mid-June. "What will he seem a week from today when his fine, strong, bronzed body has been bruised and battered and covered with vicious welts where the lightning of a Dark Angel has struck?" "fistic senility" hung over him; he'd become "an old third baseman stumbling in for a bunt." Al Monroe thought Schmeling wouldn't last two rounds. "Today he seems so vitally alive," Richards Vidmer observed in mid-June. "What will he seem a week from today when his fine, strong, bronzed body has been bruised and battered and covered with vicious welts where the lightning of a Dark Angel has struck?"

Joe Jacobs managed the press and, like Jersey Jones in Lakewood, he did not have an easy time of it. The "Reich sports idol" and his "spectacularly non-Aryan" manager, as The New Yorker The New Yorker described them, remained the oddest couple in sports. Their relationship had so deteriorated that when the described them, remained the oddest couple in sports. Their relationship had so deteriorated that when the Mirror Mirror described Jacobs as Schmeling's manager, it put quotation marks around the term. Max Machon was really in charge, and got a larger commission than Jacobs did-a reported 18 percent, rather than 15. Schmeling had all but stopped talking to Jacobs except in public, and then just for the sake of appearances. Jacobs did not live in Schmeling's cottage, as Machon did; he had to call before going there. described Jacobs as Schmeling's manager, it put quotation marks around the term. Max Machon was really in charge, and got a larger commission than Jacobs did-a reported 18 percent, rather than 15. Schmeling had all but stopped talking to Jacobs except in public, and then just for the sake of appearances. Jacobs did not live in Schmeling's cottage, as Machon did; he had to call before going there.*

But Jacobs nonetheless served Schmeling tirelessly, ingeniously, volubly. He planted stories compulsively, informing the world that Schmeling's sparring partners were being fed steak, the better to withstand all those ferocious punches. He would hide the newspapers from Schmeling, so that he'd be spared all the dire prophesies. And he denigrated Louis at every opportunity. "I'm telling you something: That Louis has lost it," he declared. "He's going the way of all flesh, get me? He's got plenty of money, and he's tired of the grind. Why, he's even cut out his road work to play golf every morning. Get a load of that, will ya? Golf!" Louis fought dirty, Jacobs said, throwing sneak punches that referees were afraid to call because of his "so-called greatness." Louis was overrated, overconfident, and overpadded, wearing far more gauze and tape on his fists than the regulations allowed. "Them guys have been making a plaster cast of Louis's mitts," he shrieked to the boxing commissioners. The boxing commissioners responded, limiting Louis's bandages.

Jacobs kept at it because he still got a cut of Schmeling's earnings, however diminished. But more, it was a kind of addiction. "It was he who made Schmeling a champion," Joe Williams wrote. "Perhaps he still has a sculptor's enthusiasm for his masterpiece." A few years later, Williams described this stage of their relationship more brutally. "By now [Jacobs] knew he was dealing with a Grade A rat," he wrote, "but in some indescribable, mystic manner he was able to ignore completely this part of the fighter. All he could see was the champ he had made." Jacobs added a veteran boxing man called Doc Casey to the team because he believed he brought Schmeling good luck; Casey had refereed some of Louis's early bouts and had previously worked in Schmeling's corner. Another ring veteran, Tom O'Rourke, stopped by the camp. He had spotted the same flaw in Louis that Schmeling had, and urged Schmeling to cross with a right to Louis's chin whenever Louis dropped his left hand. That, he told Schmeling, is what John L. Sullivan would have done.

In early June the German consul in New York, Hans Borchers, stopped by Napanoch, and was asked whether Schmeling's prestige in Nazi Germany would suffer were he to lose or if there was official unhappiness with him over his decision to fight a black man. He belittled both ideas. Borchers was a career diplomat, though, and it was unclear whether he spoke for the regime. The sportswriters covering Schmeling rarely broached politics. But near the end of camp, he was asked about a possible war between Germany and England or France. "Dere will be no war, not in dis generation," he replied. "The German people do not wish it. Over here the Americans did not have any war. Yah, I know, maybe one hundred thousand dead. But in Germany it was millions dead and more wounded. A big shell costs $3,000. It iss better to spend that for homes. Do you think Germany would have voted 99 percent for Hitler if it wass to be for war?" To Champion of Youth, Champion of Youth, the Communist magazine, Schmeling distanced himself from Nazi racial attitudes. He grew upset when asked about statements in the German press that blacks were more cowardly than whites. "In sport, the Negro and white man are just the same," he said. "The best man wins." More than that, though, he would not say. "Schmeling evidenced great reluctance to answer our questions on the Nazi regime," the reporter wrote. "We asked him if he felt it was true that the German race is superior to all others from a cultural and physical viewpoint. He seemed not to understand." the Communist magazine, Schmeling distanced himself from Nazi racial attitudes. He grew upset when asked about statements in the German press that blacks were more cowardly than whites. "In sport, the Negro and white man are just the same," he said. "The best man wins." More than that, though, he would not say. "Schmeling evidenced great reluctance to answer our questions on the Nazi regime," the reporter wrote. "We asked him if he felt it was true that the German race is superior to all others from a cultural and physical viewpoint. He seemed not to understand."

The most political element in Schmeling's camp was Hellmis, who by now had become all but Schmeling's official Nazi chronicler. A balding, ruddy-faced, and portly thirty-five-year-old veteran of World War I, Hellmis was a Nazi Party member in good standing, having joined around the time the Jews were eliminated from the German boxing community. He approached his work with patriotic fervor; his American counterparts quickly came to regard him with wariness and revulsion. "A sweaty hog of a man," Jimmy Cannon called him. One night at the Stork Club in New York City, a German reporter in his cups told an American journalist that Hellmis was monitoring everyone, Schmeling included, making sure no one strayed from the party line. The next morning, the German reporter begged the American not to print what he'd said; he feared he'd be killed.

In the pages of the Volkischer Beobachter Volkischer Beobachter and the and the Angriff, Angriff, Hellmis reassured Germany about Schmeling. "He knows very well that it's not going to be a stroll, yet he believes he can defeat the Negro because he wants to bring the world champion title back to Germany," he later wrote. "The unanimous opinion of all of America, the sneering of the press, the doubts of his fellow countrymen, of his own training partners-nothing can jar his belief in himself!" He described what he viewed as the vulgar American-style publicity- Hellmis reassured Germany about Schmeling. "He knows very well that it's not going to be a stroll, yet he believes he can defeat the Negro because he wants to bring the world champion title back to Germany," he later wrote. "The unanimous opinion of all of America, the sneering of the press, the doubts of his fellow countrymen, of his own training partners-nothing can jar his belief in himself!" He described what he viewed as the vulgar American-style publicity-"Reklame"-surrounding the fight. Hellmis conceded that having whipped up press interest to a degree unfathomable to Germans, Mike Jacobs was "a very smart boy." Hellmis saw the matchup in starkly racial terms: Schmeling would have the loyalty of all whites at Yankee Stadium. While Schmeling felt the tight security around him unnecessary, it made perfect sense to Hellmis: "Some woolly head of a Negro" could always pour something into Max's coffee. But such pejorative racial references were rare. With the Olympics looming, the German propaganda ministry, which by now had begun issuing written orders to the German press, instructed editors that racial questions were "absolutely not to be broached" in fight coverage. Neither Louis nor Schmeling was to be depicted as a representative of his race, not even if Schmeling won.

Crowds continued to descend on Lakewood. After four thousand people showed up on June 7, Harry Cohen vowed to enlarge the arena for the final weekend. That Friday, Lucky Millander and his band jumped into the ring and played as a grinning Louis shadowboxed to the beat. The next day, Louis applauded enthusiastically as Ethel Waters sang "Stormy Weather" just for him. Louis predicted a knockout, but would not say when. "Well, it won't go fifteen rounds," he finally offered. "Maybe half that." And despite the disquieting reports, 90 percent of black America believed the fight would end in the first round. Jack Johnson called for Louis in six, though, according to Collyer's Eye, Collyer's Eye, he also had "a nice piece of dough riding on Schmeling," and he told he also had "a nice piece of dough riding on Schmeling," and he told Ring Ring that at least two dozen fighters over the past forty-five years could have beaten Louis. Schmeling saw the article, and reviewed it closely with Machon. that at least two dozen fighters over the past forty-five years could have beaten Louis. Schmeling saw the article, and reviewed it closely with Machon.

On the eve of the fight, black America was positively giddy. Even before the first punch it had won, simply because so much of white America-even in the South-was pulling for a black man. A newsman from Atlanta sized up the situation. "As between Schmeling the German and Joe Louis, the colored boy, southerners generally will quietly pull for Joe," he wrote. To Ed Harris of the Philadelphia Tribune, Philadelphia Tribune, the way in which whites were lining up behind Louis was little short of miraculous. "In the face of this one waits for the pyramids to crumble, the Statue of Liberty to truck around its base, the Empire State Building to start singing 'Sidewalks of New York,'" he wrote. "Anything can happen now.... Brothers, the battle is over.... Soon you will be able to travel all over the Southland, marry women of other colors if you so desire, go any place and do anything." the way in which whites were lining up behind Louis was little short of miraculous. "In the face of this one waits for the pyramids to crumble, the Statue of Liberty to truck around its base, the Empire State Building to start singing 'Sidewalks of New York,'" he wrote. "Anything can happen now.... Brothers, the battle is over.... Soon you will be able to travel all over the Southland, marry women of other colors if you so desire, go any place and do anything."

Reporters vied with one another to capture just how bleak Schmeling's prospects were. As much chance as a silk shirt in a Chinese laundry, someone wrote, or of an ice cube in a smelting furnace. Schmeling was likened to Bruno Hauptmann, the convicted Lindbergh kidnapper who two months earlier had gone to the electric chair. Dan Parker urged Schmeling to practice his farewell wave to the crowd-a difficult maneuver, he conceded, for someone who usually used his right arm to heil Hitler. "One can only ask ourselves with what sauce, sorry ... in which round will Max Schmeling be eaten," said Robert Perrier in the French sports newspaper L'Auto, L'Auto, writing from Lakewood. If he were the German, he wrote, he would spend the day before the fight practicing his fall. "You have to know how to fall down in a ring, once that fatal punch lands," he explained. "There is the pure and simple dive; there is, if you are looking for something luxurious, the angel jump; and finally, steeped in artistry, the gracious fall, like Pavlova's swan. Max should study in depth the art of falling beautifully in front of the most prestigious boxer of all time. Poor Anny Ondra, so beautiful, so beautiful, how your pretty eyes will weep." Why would fans lay down scarce Depression dollars for something so nasty, brutish, and short? Because, the writing from Lakewood. If he were the German, he wrote, he would spend the day before the fight practicing his fall. "You have to know how to fall down in a ring, once that fatal punch lands," he explained. "There is the pure and simple dive; there is, if you are looking for something luxurious, the angel jump; and finally, steeped in artistry, the gracious fall, like Pavlova's swan. Max should study in depth the art of falling beautifully in front of the most prestigious boxer of all time. Poor Anny Ondra, so beautiful, so beautiful, how your pretty eyes will weep." Why would fans lay down scarce Depression dollars for something so nasty, brutish, and short? Because, the Sun Sun theorized, "a killing is still the best show on earth." Some out-of-towners thought the fight frenzy a phenomenon peculiar to New York, which Elmer Ferguson of the theorized, "a killing is still the best show on earth." Some out-of-towners thought the fight frenzy a phenomenon peculiar to New York, which Elmer Ferguson of the Montreal Herald Montreal Herald called the "City of Suckers." "It is a city of hero-worshipping hicks," he wrote. "It goes head over heels for strange things." called the "City of Suckers." "It is a city of hero-worshipping hicks," he wrote. "It goes head over heels for strange things."

All of boxing's brightest lights-Dempsey, Tunney, Baer, Braddock- lined up behind Louis. It would end before five, Dempsey said, and when it did, Joe Louis would be "greater than me or anybody else the game has ever had." Betting was light; no one wanted Schmeling. "They won't even bet he has black hair," one bookie said. The only action was on the round of the knockout. The Mirror Mirror promised good seats to the fifty people submitting the most clever coda to the following ditty: promised good seats to the fifty people submitting the most clever coda to the following ditty: What's going to happen to Schmeling In the Joe Louis bout is hard telling Can YOU name the round When Max hits the ground?

A few brave souls did pick Schmeling-some because of Louis's over-confidence, some because of the German's eerie self-assurance, some because, as George M. Cohan once said, "There is nothing so uncertain as a dead sure thing." Fred Kirsch, a German boxing promoter who'd brought Schmeling to the United States with Arthur Bulow, said Schmeling would go down as the "man who came back." George Raft and Marlene Dietrich also favored Schmeling. Some writers chose Schmeling, or at least wanted to. "Everyone knows Louis is going to win!" Willie Ratner's editor at the Newark Evening News Newark Evening News huffed when he read Ratner's daring prediction. "What they want to know is how many rounds it will go! Rewrite it!" Gallico had been to the Winter Olympics in Germany, where he'd seen the dreadful but unstoppable power of "Nazi Aryan Pride." "For Schmeling, a personal friend of Hitler and Goebbels, a quick knockout at the hands of the Negro would have made them look ridiculous," he wrote. "Germans do not like to be made to look ridiculous." Gallico called for Schmeling to knock out Louis around the tenth or twelfth round. His editors dumped the story in the trash. huffed when he read Ratner's daring prediction. "What they want to know is how many rounds it will go! Rewrite it!" Gallico had been to the Winter Olympics in Germany, where he'd seen the dreadful but unstoppable power of "Nazi Aryan Pride." "For Schmeling, a personal friend of Hitler and Goebbels, a quick knockout at the hands of the Negro would have made them look ridiculous," he wrote. "Germans do not like to be made to look ridiculous." Gallico called for Schmeling to knock out Louis around the tenth or twelfth round. His editors dumped the story in the trash.

Everyone was going with Louis, but some confessed to misgivings. Grantland Rice thought Louis was due for a bad fight. To Hy Hurwitz of The Boston Globe, The Boston Globe, Louis was "too sure of himself for his own good." "This guy Schmeling is no chump," said Clark Gable. Some blacks also equivocated. Louis's recent marriage, Schmeling's scientific nature, odds long enough to lure unsavory elements into the mix, a distrust of auspicious things: all blended into what the Louis was "too sure of himself for his own good." "This guy Schmeling is no chump," said Clark Gable. Some blacks also equivocated. Louis's recent marriage, Schmeling's scientific nature, odds long enough to lure unsavory elements into the mix, a distrust of auspicious things: all blended into what the Norfolk Journal and Guide Norfolk Journal and Guide called "an undercurrent of distant fear." Blackburn privately confessed to some of the same qualms. "The trouble with Joe is that you newspapermen have made him think he can just walk out and punch any one over and that Schmeling is the softest pushover of the lot," he said. "Joe's likely to get hit on the chin with one of them Schmeling rights and what with his legs not being what they should be and his being only a two-year fighter-well, lots can happen that's not so good." called "an undercurrent of distant fear." Blackburn privately confessed to some of the same qualms. "The trouble with Joe is that you newspapermen have made him think he can just walk out and punch any one over and that Schmeling is the softest pushover of the lot," he said. "Joe's likely to get hit on the chin with one of them Schmeling rights and what with his legs not being what they should be and his being only a two-year fighter-well, lots can happen that's not so good."

"It is not our place to predict a defeat for our countryman, even if he were fighting a completely lost battle," Box-Sport Box-Sport pronounced. "The concept of national sports representation is too important and noble." Having said that, it noted that odds of ten to one for Louis weren't unreasonable. Schmeling was past his prime and not good enough for Louis, the pronounced. "The concept of national sports representation is too important and noble." Having said that, it noted that odds of ten to one for Louis weren't unreasonable. Schmeling was past his prime and not good enough for Louis, the Westdeutscher Beobachter Westdeutscher Beobachter noted. Schmeling's estranged manager, Arthur Bulow, made grim predictions to a couple of German papers. Louis, he said, was "fresher, younger, stronger, tougher, and more professionally ambitious" than Schmeling, who'd grown rusty and lost much of his power. "Most likely he'll manage to simply run Max over," he said, though he quickly added, "I'd be happy if things turn out differently." noted. Schmeling's estranged manager, Arthur Bulow, made grim predictions to a couple of German papers. Louis, he said, was "fresher, younger, stronger, tougher, and more professionally ambitious" than Schmeling, who'd grown rusty and lost much of his power. "Most likely he'll manage to simply run Max over," he said, though he quickly added, "I'd be happy if things turn out differently."

Though his initial projections had come down, Uncle Mike was still saying that the gate couldn't miss a million dollars. The Hearst papers reported long lines outside the ticket offices. Thousands of World War I veterans were said to be buying seats with their newly arrived bonuses; Jacobs talked of installing ten thousand more of them. In fact, Jacobs had headaches. He'd set the top ticket at $40, the highest ever for a nontitle fight and the first time since the Depression that anyone asked more than $25. At the New York Stock Exchange, $40 seats were said to be selling for $20; the World-Telegram World-Telegram reported that around the scalpers' offices there hadn't been such wholesale unloading since the troopships returned from France after World War I. "Possibly the town has come to the conclusion that, since Louis shapes up as invincible, it will be a lot more fun to stay at home, criticize the radio announcer, razz the fighters and try to stop the ladies from talking," wrote Art Lea Mond in the reported that around the scalpers' offices there hadn't been such wholesale unloading since the troopships returned from France after World War I. "Possibly the town has come to the conclusion that, since Louis shapes up as invincible, it will be a lot more fun to stay at home, criticize the radio announcer, razz the fighters and try to stop the ladies from talking," wrote Art Lea Mond in the Morning Telegraph. Morning Telegraph.

The Jewish boycott was another problem. It was a shadowy thing, scarcely mentioned in a largely unsympathetic New York press. The paper most likely to cover it, the Mirror, Mirror, said little on the topic, though Dan Parker called talk of it "tripe." Jewish fans would attend in droves, he wrote, just to see "one of Herr Hitler's representatives treated like some of their kinsmen are in Herr's land." One had to read papers from the hinterlands to learn that letters were circulating, primarily in the largely Jewish garment industry, urging fans to stay home. "Why let a German take home our money?" one of them declared. "Listen to Louis knock out Schmeling on the radio." "The boss told me if we wanted to help make money for this Nazi fighter we'd have to do it out of our own pockets," a garment district employee said to an Indianapolis newspaper. "The biggest fight of all is now going on in the mind of every Jew in New York," the London said little on the topic, though Dan Parker called talk of it "tripe." Jewish fans would attend in droves, he wrote, just to see "one of Herr Hitler's representatives treated like some of their kinsmen are in Herr's land." One had to read papers from the hinterlands to learn that letters were circulating, primarily in the largely Jewish garment industry, urging fans to stay home. "Why let a German take home our money?" one of them declared. "Listen to Louis knock out Schmeling on the radio." "The boss told me if we wanted to help make money for this Nazi fighter we'd have to do it out of our own pockets," a garment district employee said to an Indianapolis newspaper. "The biggest fight of all is now going on in the mind of every Jew in New York," the London Daily Herald Daily Herald reported; every one of them had to weigh whether or not to go. reported; every one of them had to weigh whether or not to go.

"It's the silliest thing I ever heard," Joe Jacobs predictably griped from Napanoch. "Schmeling is training at a Jewish resort. Most of those who come in contact with him up here are Jews and he's never been treated better in his life." In fact, New York's Jews were characteristically fragmented on the issue. Three of the city's Yiddish daily newspapers-the Morgn-zhurnal, Der Tog, Morgn-zhurnal, Der Tog, and the and the Forverts Forverts-asked for credentials for the fight. A rabbi from Brooklyn pledged to be at ringside with the minister of a black Baptist church to cheer Louis on-and there would be thousands of others like him.

But most blacks remained too busy with their own grievances and too ambivalent about the Jews to make common cause with them, or to let politics stand in the way of an extravaganza. Some resented being asked to show so much solicitude toward another group in another country. "While condemning Hitler ... let us remember that there is nothing that he is now doing to the Jews that has not been done by the United States on a longer, vaster and more brutal scale to its black citizens," the Amsterdam News Amsterdam News had written the year before. It figured that the fifteen thousand extra blacks attending the fight would make up for the fifteen thousand Jews who stayed away. had written the year before. It figured that the fifteen thousand extra blacks attending the fight would make up for the fifteen thousand Jews who stayed away.

The black weeklies mobilized. The Amsterdam News Amsterdam News planned to hold the presses until after it was over. The planned to hold the presses until after it was over. The Courier Courier weighed the relative importance of two big stories-Louis vs. Schmeling and the Democratic National Convention in Philadelphia the following week-and deployed its troops accordingly: eight reporters to the fight, three to the Democrats. Harlem's better hotels were mostly filled, the pawnshops had been cleared of field glasses, the liquor stores had upped their stock, the larger restaurants had added waiters. According to one purveyor, on fight day Harlem ordered ten thousand chickens. Woolworth's had stocked up on Louis photographs and books, and a legless man dragged himself up and down 125th Street selling postcards announcing the round in which Louis would win. At the Apollo Theater, beautiful dancers donned boxing gloves for a fight routine. Pictures of Louis peered out of every store window. weighed the relative importance of two big stories-Louis vs. Schmeling and the Democratic National Convention in Philadelphia the following week-and deployed its troops accordingly: eight reporters to the fight, three to the Democrats. Harlem's better hotels were mostly filled, the pawnshops had been cleared of field glasses, the liquor stores had upped their stock, the larger restaurants had added waiters. According to one purveyor, on fight day Harlem ordered ten thousand chickens. Woolworth's had stocked up on Louis photographs and books, and a legless man dragged himself up and down 125th Street selling postcards announcing the round in which Louis would win. At the Apollo Theater, beautiful dancers donned boxing gloves for a fight routine. Pictures of Louis peered out of every store window.

Marva remained in Harlem. She had spoken with her husband nightly, and had no fears about the outcome, only about the potential cost. "Joe is so handsome," she said. "I know he'll win like he always does, but I get nervous for fear something will happen to his face ... like cauliflower ears or a twisted nose." Signs went up around Detroit promising that Louis would wire home his best wishes after the fight. Harlem would also have its customary revelries. "Stage parties, banquets and dances EVERYWHERE," the Philadelphia Tribune Philadelphia Tribune predicted. Louis agreed to be the guest of honor at a Negro League baseball game in Newark the night after the fight. A movie theater in Buffalo announced plans to show films of the fight alongside Dempsey's battles with Luis Angel Firpo, Georges Carpentier, and Gene Tunney, so that people could finally decide which fighter was the greatest. predicted. Louis agreed to be the guest of honor at a Negro League baseball game in Newark the night after the fight. A movie theater in Buffalo announced plans to show films of the fight alongside Dempsey's battles with Luis Angel Firpo, Georges Carpentier, and Gene Tunney, so that people could finally decide which fighter was the greatest.

A cartoon in the Amsterdam News, Amsterdam News, titled "When and If Joe Louis Loses," captured how comically dependent black America, and Harlem in particular, was on Louis. In it were scenes of grown men jumping off a pier, pimps on Lenox Avenue dressed only in barrels, a stream of moving vans leaving Sugar Hill, and a crowd outside of Goldberg's pawnshop. "Sorry, pops, but the line starts around the corner-an' then, you have to have references to even get on the line," a cop tells one customer. titled "When and If Joe Louis Loses," captured how comically dependent black America, and Harlem in particular, was on Louis. In it were scenes of grown men jumping off a pier, pimps on Lenox Avenue dressed only in barrels, a stream of moving vans leaving Sugar Hill, and a crowd outside of Goldberg's pawnshop. "Sorry, pops, but the line starts around the corner-an' then, you have to have references to even get on the line," a cop tells one customer.

A week earlier, the paper had struck a rare cautionary note. "The white world has long believed that a Negro is not able to carry success gracefully," it stated. "If Joe Louis should come out of this fight a loser, the white writers will pounce on him with venom and tear him to shreds." It did not say how the black world would feel under the same circumstances. But to Murray Robinson of the Newark Star Eagle, Newark Star Eagle, the danger was less of Louis losing than of losing the chance to see Louis at his peak. Awash in money, with few good men to battle, and from a race not known for longevity in the ring, Louis, he predicted, was bound soon to go into decline. the danger was less of Louis losing than of losing the chance to see Louis at his peak. Awash in money, with few good men to battle, and from a race not known for longevity in the ring, Louis, he predicted, was bound soon to go into decline.

Now was the time, he said, to see Joe Louis at his greatest-which was "just about the greatest heavyweight you've ever seen."

* One of the stock stories about Louis from this period is apocryphal-that a young black man on death row in North Carolina cried out, "Save me, Joe Louis! Save me, Joe Louis!" as he was asphyxiated. "Not God, not government, not charitably-minded white men, but a Negro who was the world's most expert fighter, in this last extremity, was the last hope," Martin Luther King, Jr., later wrote about the episode. In fact, nineteen-year-old Allen Foster, the first man to die in the state's new gas chamber in January 1936, said no such thing, nor had the the room been miked, as King had claimed. Instead, chained down in the frigid room, wearing only a pair of boxing shorts and speaking through glass that forced eyewitnesses to read his lips, Foster apparently told of sparring with Louis as a boy in Birmingham, clenching and moving his fists to demonstrate. Twice prior to the execution, he'd told reporters the same thing. But there is no record of young Louis ever having been in Birmingham, let alone fighting anyone there, and even Foster's mother conceded that her son was "half-crazy." The embroidered version may date from a story in the One of the stock stories about Louis from this period is apocryphal-that a young black man on death row in North Carolina cried out, "Save me, Joe Louis! Save me, Joe Louis!" as he was asphyxiated. "Not God, not government, not charitably-minded white men, but a Negro who was the world's most expert fighter, in this last extremity, was the last hope," Martin Luther King, Jr., later wrote about the episode. In fact, nineteen-year-old Allen Foster, the first man to die in the state's new gas chamber in January 1936, said no such thing, nor had the the room been miked, as King had claimed. Instead, chained down in the frigid room, wearing only a pair of boxing shorts and speaking through glass that forced eyewitnesses to read his lips, Foster apparently told of sparring with Louis as a boy in Birmingham, clenching and moving his fists to demonstrate. Twice prior to the execution, he'd told reporters the same thing. But there is no record of young Louis ever having been in Birmingham, let alone fighting anyone there, and even Foster's mother conceded that her son was "half-crazy." The embroidered version may date from a story in the Daily Worker Daily Worker a month later, and it probably took hold because it seemed so plausible. "I'm in death row, and I got only six more weeks to go," stated a letter Louis did receive from a black inmate in a southern penitentiary in the summer of 1935. "Your picture hanging on the wall will make me feel better as I wait for the electric chair." a month later, and it probably took hold because it seemed so plausible. "I'm in death row, and I got only six more weeks to go," stated a letter Louis did receive from a black inmate in a southern penitentiary in the summer of 1935. "Your picture hanging on the wall will make me feel better as I wait for the electric chair."* Not everyone went along: the commander of the dirigibles Not everyone went along: the commander of the dirigibles Graf Zeppelin Graf Zeppelin and and Hin-denburg Hin-denburg refused to participate, whereupon his name disappeared from the German papers. Whether the Nazis would have, or could have, imposed a similar ban on the country's most famous boxer is unclear; Schmeling never put them to the test. refused to participate, whereupon his name disappeared from the German papers. Whether the Nazis would have, or could have, imposed a similar ban on the country's most famous boxer is unclear; Schmeling never put them to the test.* As Wilfrid Smith of the As Wilfrid Smith of the Chicago Tribune Chicago Tribune later pointed out, one's view of Louis came to depend partly on what paper one read, and what stylebook it followed. In one paper, he might sound like the old, ungrammatical South. "Ah ain't afraid of Smellin'. When Ah gets ready this time, Ah'm goin' to punch him right in de mouf and see how he likes that," he might say. But in another, the same thing would come out as "I am not afraid of Max Schmeling. It is true he whipped me two years ago, but this time the German will not face an inexperienced youngster. I will wait for my chance and then I will shoot my right to his chin. There will be another ending to this fight." later pointed out, one's view of Louis came to depend partly on what paper one read, and what stylebook it followed. In one paper, he might sound like the old, ungrammatical South. "Ah ain't afraid of Smellin'. When Ah gets ready this time, Ah'm goin' to punch him right in de mouf and see how he likes that," he might say. But in another, the same thing would come out as "I am not afraid of Max Schmeling. It is true he whipped me two years ago, but this time the German will not face an inexperienced youngster. I will wait for my chance and then I will shoot my right to his chin. There will be another ending to this fight."* White wasn't thinking only about boxing, either. He hoped to launch what was to become the famous legal arm of the civil rights revolution, the NAACP Legal Defense and Educational Fund, and had asked Louis to donate the seed money "when you have gotten the [Schmeling] fight out of the way." It was the first of several such appeals, all of which fell on deaf ears; the very thing that made Louis successful enough to interest the NAACP-his appeal to the American mainstream-made the NAACP too radioactive for him to embrace. Whatever Louis gave to it, he did discreetly; the public knew only about the five dollars he donated to a fund for the Scottsboro Boys. When it came to civil rights, his example would have to suffice, and that wasn't always perfect. Apart from being faulted for refusing to take on black fighters, he was accused of snootiness for staying in white hotels in New York and Philadelphia. White wasn't thinking only about boxing, either. He hoped to launch what was to become the famous legal arm of the civil rights revolution, the NAACP Legal Defense and Educational Fund, and had asked Louis to donate the seed money "when you have gotten the [Schmeling] fight out of the way." It was the first of several such appeals, all of which fell on deaf ears; the very thing that made Louis successful enough to interest the NAACP-his appeal to the American mainstream-made the NAACP too radioactive for him to embrace. Whatever Louis gave to it, he did discreetly; the public knew only about the five dollars he donated to a fund for the Scottsboro Boys. When it came to civil rights, his example would have to suffice, and that wasn't always perfect. Apart from being faulted for refusing to take on black fighters, he was accused of snootiness for staying in white hotels in New York and Philadelphia.* Schmeling later said he'd isolated Jacobs only because his "constant upbeat chatter made me nervous" and because he "often came home at night singing or making a racket." Schmeling later said he'd isolated Jacobs only because his "constant upbeat chatter made me nervous" and because he "often came home at night singing or making a racket."

Victor and Vanquished

THE SKIES, someone said, were weeping for Max Schmeling.

The rain had begun on the night of June 17, and by the morning of the day of the fight, June 18, it had turned into a downpour. The papers were filled with fight news; the prize for the shortest, bluntest lead paragraph went to the Newark Evening News: Newark Evening News: "What round?" Whatever the weather, the weigh-in would be held as scheduled at the Hippodrome, the Victorian-era hall on the corner of Sixth Avenue and Forty-third Street that Mike Jacobs had recently annexed to his growing empire. At the "What round?" Whatever the weather, the weigh-in would be held as scheduled at the Hippodrome, the Victorian-era hall on the corner of Sixth Avenue and Forty-third Street that Mike Jacobs had recently annexed to his growing empire. At the World-Telegram, World-Telegram, the pressmen had already set the pressmen had already set LOUIS WINS BY KNOCKOUT LOUIS WINS BY KNOCKOUT in boxcar type. But the odds were that everyone would have to spin their wheels another day before anything actually happened. in boxcar type. But the odds were that everyone would have to spin their wheels another day before anything actually happened.

Louis and his retinue drove the nine miles from Lakewood to Point Pleasant, New Jersey, where they boarded a private club car attached to the 9:10 train to New York. Clusters of fans greeted them as they headed north, but after struggling for fifteen minutes with "I Can't Give You Anything but Love" on his harmonica, Louis fell asleep and had to be awakened at Pennsylvania Station. Police created a wedge through the crowd, and he made his way to the Hippodrome. He arrived half an hour early, went into Jimmy Durante's dressing room, played what he said was "Gloomy Sunday," then fell back to sleep on the couch.

It was raining in Napanoch, too. "Bad day, eh? I think we have no fight tonight," Schmeling said. When they set out for New York, Joe Jacobs rode with the state troopers in the lead car, with Schmeling following behind. It was a harrowing and interminable drive, with the rain making it nearly impossible to see anything on the narrow, winding mountain roads. For much of the ride Schmeling read a German magazine, speaking only as his car approached the George Washington Bridge. Again, he said it looked as if there'd be no fight that night. Wearing a gray suit and a maroon tie, his right eye puffed and discolored from training, he joined Louis around twelve-thirty. The Hippodrome had recently hosted a circus attraction called "Jumbo," and the smell of elephants, camels, and kangaroos still permeated the place.

The two fighters shook hands coming out of their dressing rooms, then ignored each other until they were inside the arena, when the reporters hurled questions at them. Schmeling again said he had a plan for the fight; Louis displayed a complete lack of concern for the hullabaloo around him. "You gentlemen know each other, I think," the head of the boxing commission, General John J. Phelan, told the two. Louis, wearing black trunks with a red border, was examined first, while Schmeling, in purple and blue trunks, watched. Then they traded places. Louis plucked his face nervously. He then picked up a newspaper, lips moving as he read about the Tigers. "Now on the scales: Joe Louis!" a functionary announced. A deputy commissioner fiddled with the weights. "Louis, 198!" he declaimed. There was stunned silence: no one had figured it would be so low, four or five pounds lighter than what Blackburn had forecast. Then Schmeling got up. "Schmeling, 192!" Predictably, it was right on target. Phelan called the two men together and warned them about proper conduct-not to kick each other, for instance, or to use foul language. Louis said nothing. "Thank you, General," Schmeling remarked. "Good luck this evening, Joe!" he told Louis. Then the bulbs started popping.

Watching it all, Hellmis thought that Louis appeared flustered. Others saw the same thing; Louis seemed afraid to look at Schmeling-the photographers had to coax him into doing it-and welcomed the chance to look away. "As the condemned man and the executioner stood side by side," wrote Vidmer, "a stranger might have thought that it was Louis, not Schmeling, who was going to his doom." Schmeling smiled and spoke quietly to his attendants; Louis stood and glowered at his feet. One of the medical examiners, Dr. Vincent Nardiello, was struck by how relaxed Louis was-too relaxed, even half asleep. Louis's blood pressure, 130 over 32, was "too normal, too perfect," while Schmeling's, 144 over 84, was much more appropriate; the German was "excited, eager, ready." Nardiello looked at James Dawson, the boxing writer for The New York Times, The New York Times, and Louis Beck, the boxing commission's chief inspector, as they stared at Louis. They were like two moonstruck kids. and Louis Beck, the boxing commission's chief inspector, as they stared at Louis. They were like two moonstruck kids.

Mike Jacobs then pulled the curtains, revealing an enormous catered spread. Louis grabbed some chicken, which Blackburn made him put back. The men then returned to their dressing rooms and inspected their gloves. When Louis approved of his, an official wrote "Lewis" on them. "That ain't no way to spell my name," Louis said. "Here, give me them gloves." He then drew a circle with three dots inside and a line beneath. "See, that's me." Joe Jacobs then took the gloves and put his own initials in them.

Louis liked to golf in the rain, and thought that maybe boxing in it might be fun, too. "How's about it, Uncle Mike?" he asked Jacobs. "Let's have it anyway. Or does you care 'bout folks coming?" Jacobs then bade the fighters good-bye. "Go to bed now and don't get run over by a truck," he said. A well-drenched crowd stood along Sixth Avenue as the men emerged. Schmeling went back to the Commodore Hotel. Louis repaired to the Hotel Alamac, on Broadway and Seventy-first Street. Like Tex Rickard before him, Jacobs always consulted the Farmers' Almanac Farmers' Almanac before picking a fight date, and this time it had let him down. After calling the weather bureau one last time, he postponed the proceedings until the next night: Friday, June 19. There was no sadness in his voice; the veterans were still cashing their bonus checks. If it rained again on Friday, the fight would be held Saturday afternoon, forcing Louis and Schmeling to go up against Carl Hubbell of the Giants and one of the Dean brothers from St. Louis at the Polo Grounds. To Mike Jacobs, that was an easy call. "You can see them guys all summer long and for the next ten years," he said. Unless it was "raining pitchforks," there would be no more delays: Jacobs could feel enthusiasm for the fight waning and didn't want a "dead fish on his hands." Harlem that night was filled with overanxious fans, waterlogged Louis posters, and counterfeit tickets for cheap seats; J. Edgar Hoover was already on the case. before picking a fight date, and this time it had let him down. After calling the weather bureau one last time, he postponed the proceedings until the next night: Friday, June 19. There was no sadness in his voice; the veterans were still cashing their bonus checks. If it rained again on Friday, the fight would be held Saturday afternoon, forcing Louis and Schmeling to go up against Carl Hubbell of the Giants and one of the Dean brothers from St. Louis at the Polo Grounds. To Mike Jacobs, that was an easy call. "You can see them guys all summer long and for the next ten years," he said. Unless it was "raining pitchforks," there would be no more delays: Jacobs could feel enthusiasm for the fight waning and didn't want a "dead fish on his hands." Harlem that night was filled with overanxious fans, waterlogged Louis posters, and counterfeit tickets for cheap seats; J. Edgar Hoover was already on the case.

Joe Jacobs said the postponement was catastrophic for Louis. "He worried off four pounds," he said. "Give 'em another twenty-four hours and he'll be a flyweight." The pause would also help Schmeling recover from his nerve-racking drive from Napanoch. But everywhere else, there were the predictable wisecracks about the condemned man getting a brief reprieve. One came from Morton Moss of the New York Post: New York Post: The stay the heavens gave him Expires tonight at ten; Now nothing more can save him- Unless it rains again!

But Schmeling had a hearty lunch, read another German magazine, and went for a walk-unrecognized, under his hat. Then he saw a Jack Oakie movie, went for another walk, played some cards, and went to bed. Louis passed the afternoon in Harlem, had dinner, spent a half-hour with Marva, and went back to the Alamac.

The weather was still unsettled on Friday. The papers contained one novelty: Bill Farnsworth, Jr., of the Evening Journal Evening Journal was now picking Schmeling. "Max will weather Louis' early assault and come on in the final rounds to win the decision," he wrote. But Farnsworth's sportswriter father was his boss as well as Mike Jacobs's business partner, and people assumed the young man was simply doing as he'd been told, just to spice things up. A rumor circulated that a Jewish boy had slashed Schmeling's arm. The boxing promoter Walter Rothenburg, a friend of Schmeling's, reportedly telegraphed him from Germany: was now picking Schmeling. "Max will weather Louis' early assault and come on in the final rounds to win the decision," he wrote. But Farnsworth's sportswriter father was his boss as well as Mike Jacobs's business partner, and people assumed the young man was simply doing as he'd been told, just to spice things up. A rumor circulated that a Jewish boy had slashed Schmeling's arm. The boxing promoter Walter Rothenburg, a friend of Schmeling's, reportedly telegraphed him from Germany: "Heute sieg swelft runde" [sic]: "Heute sieg swelft runde" [sic]: "Today twelfth round." Louis got up early, had breakfast, walked three miles in Central Park, then came back and slept. That afternoon, W. W. Edgar of the "Today twelfth round." Louis got up early, had breakfast, walked three miles in Central Park, then came back and slept. That afternoon, W. W. Edgar of the Detroit Free Press Detroit Free Press found him cocky, bored, already looking beyond the fight and beyond fighting. His conversation was "all golf, stances and grips and hooks and slices," a perplexed Edgar wrote. found him cocky, bored, already looking beyond the fight and beyond fighting. His conversation was "all golf, stances and grips and hooks and slices," a perplexed Edgar wrote.

As evening approached, people again converged on the stadium. The bleacher fans arrived earliest, bringing umbrellas to fend off any new rain and newspapers to soak up the old. With the weather still threatening, holders of costlier seats tarried even longer than usual; the preliminaries, beginning around eight, played to a largely empty house. Ushers wearing tropical hats-color-coded to match tickets-escorted fans to their seats. The wind shifted and the weather stabilized. People leafed through the programs Mike Jacobs had put together-which featured a glowing profile of Mike Jacobs.

The paid attendance was 39,878. Joe Jacobs didn't buy it-"That was the biggest 39,000 I ever saw," he complained-and he was right: with thousands plunking down a few dollars at the last minute and told to sit wherever they liked, the stadium was more filled than that. But to anyone who'd seen Louis fight Baer nine months earlier, the contrast was startling. Empty seats "yawned in the darkness like divots on a fairway," Vid-mer wrote. Mike Jacobs attributed it less to wariness over Louis's expected easy victory than to Jews who had indeed opted to stay home, shaving a third or more off what turned out to be a $547,000 gate. According to one black paper, Jewish firms had bought large consignments of tickets from Jacobs to sell to their employees, then dumped thousands of unsold tickets on Uncle Mike the day of the fight. At least one black newspaper was impressed. "Unlike the American Negro, Jews do not believe in licking the hand that smites them nor in feeding the mouths of those who seek to crush them body and soul," the Richmond Planet Richmond Planet declared admiringly. declared admiringly.

Clem McCarthy had scored points for his work at the Louis-Baer fight, and nearly six of ten American radios were now tuned in to hear him again. That meant sixty million Americans-more than twice as many people as would hear the keynoters at the political conventions that summer, and five times the audience when King Edward VIII abdicated the throne six months later. Once again, Edwin C. Hill supplied the color. He served up all the usual cliches about the vast darkness of the stadium, the twinkling of all those thousands of cigarettes, the diversity of the crowd, all presumably written out before he had actually seen any of it.

In Radio City, one hundred fight fans would get to see the fight on "television." But it was two older generations of technologies, the radio and the newswire, that would now bind and spellbind the nation. In Culpeper, Virginia, the fight was broadcast from a bandstand in front of the courthouse. Thousands gathered in front of the home offices of the Buffalo Evening News, Buffalo Evening News, the the Columbus (Georgia) Enquirer, Columbus (Georgia) Enquirer, the the Laurel (Mississippi) Call. Laurel (Mississippi) Call. The fight would be reconstructed, blow by blow, on an "illuminated bulletin board" outside the The fight would be reconstructed, blow by blow, on an "illuminated bulletin board" outside the Boston Post. Boston Post. The nightcap of a doubleheader between Newark and Syracuse "was just something for the fans to look at while listening to the broadcast." Fans gathered in New London, Connecticut, for the Harvard-Yale regatta the next day assembled around a radio in the lobby of the Mohegan Hotel. In Chicago, all Balaban and Katz movie theaters promised fight results. An Indiana man parked outside the Polk Street station in Chicago to listen, and soon two hundred people had massed around his car. The Red Sox listened on the train from Chicago to St. Louis, crouched around a small portable radio in the dining car, with Moe Berg relaying to his teammates whatever he managed to hear. The game between the Dodgers and the Cubs at Ebbets Field that afternoon had been called off, giving the Chicagoans ample time to get to Yankee Stadium. Loudspeakers were set up on the corner of Eighty-sixth Street and Lexington Avenue, as well as outside Rockefeller Center. The nightcap of a doubleheader between Newark and Syracuse "was just something for the fans to look at while listening to the broadcast." Fans gathered in New London, Connecticut, for the Harvard-Yale regatta the next day assembled around a radio in the lobby of the Mohegan Hotel. In Chicago, all Balaban and Katz movie theaters promised fight results. An Indiana man parked outside the Polk Street station in Chicago to listen, and soon two hundred people had massed around his car. The Red Sox listened on the train from Chicago to St. Louis, crouched around a small portable radio in the dining car, with Moe Berg relaying to his teammates whatever he managed to hear. The game between the Dodgers and the Cubs at Ebbets Field that afternoon had been called off, giving the Chicagoans ample time to get to Yankee Stadium. Loudspeakers were set up on the corner of Eighty-sixth Street and Lexington Avenue, as well as outside Rockefeller Center.

The fight would be broadcast overseas in English, Spanish, and German. Harry at the New York Bar in Paris announced he would give out the results. The play-by-play would start at four a.m. in Johannesburg; anyone able to understand the fast-talking American commentators would know the outcome before the Rand Daily Mail's Rand Daily Mail's fight extra hit the streets. The bout would go on at three in the morning in Germany, broadcast from stations in Berlin, Breslau, Hamburg, Cologne, Konigsberg, Leipzig, Frankfurt, Stuttgart, Munich, and Saarbrucken. Some thirty million Germans were expected to tune in, many on the "People's Receivers," or fight extra hit the streets. The bout would go on at three in the morning in Germany, broadcast from stations in Berlin, Breslau, Hamburg, Cologne, Konigsberg, Leipzig, Frankfurt, Stuttgart, Munich, and Saarbrucken. Some thirty million Germans were expected to tune in, many on the "People's Receivers," or Volksempfanger Volksempfanger (known more colloquially as (known more colloquially as "Goebbels-Schnauzen"- "Goebbels-Schnauzen"- "Goebbels Snouts"), the Nazis had popularized. Many listened in their homes, others-as in Klein Luckow, Schmeling's birthplace-in bars allowed to remain open beyond their normal curfews. In some instances, the broadcast was played over loudspeakers, notwithstanding the ungodly hour. Having already directed that his radio be in perfect order, Hitler listened in his private railroad car en route to Munich. "Goebbels Snouts"), the Nazis had popularized. Many listened in their homes, others-as in Klein Luckow, Schmeling's birthplace-in bars allowed to remain open beyond their normal curfews. In some instances, the broadcast was played over loudspeakers, notwithstanding the ungodly hour. Having already directed that his radio be in perfect order, Hitler listened in his private railroad car en route to Munich.

Anny Ondra had remained in Germany. Perhaps to calm her nerves, she'd spent the previous two days in the country, picking strawberries. Now, rather than listen at home, as she'd told one Berlin newspaper she would do (and as she later told one American newspaper she had done), she went to the home of Joseph and Magda Goebbels in Berlin's posh Schwanenwerder section. This was not so unusual; since Schmeling had gone to the United States to prepare for the Louis fight, she'd seen Goebbels at least four times. "Chatted and laughed with her," he'd written after one such visit. "She is so wonderfully naive." They'd had ample time to enjoy one another's company; Ondra had also been there the previous night, before the fight had been canceled. "We're anxious the entire evening," Goebbels wrote. "Little Anny Ondra is hysterical.... We tell stories, laugh, and cheer up Anny. She's delightful." A photographer was on hand to record the hosts and their guest as they listened intently together alongside the giant radio.

The Deutscher Rundfunk had advertised a "Night of the Boxers," with fight-related programming starting two hours before the opening bell. Anyone tuning in heard a hodgepodge of poems, announcements, music (some taken from the theatrical films Schmeling and Ondra had made), and jokes, along with an occasional interview. "We will broadcast the Louis-Schmeling fight from Yankee Stadium today at dawn," someone would holler every fifteen minutes. "It is every German's obligation to stay up tonight. Max will fight overseas with a Negro for the hegemony of the white race!" Many fans skipped the preliminaries and set their alarms for around the time Hellmis would come on from New York. A paper in Stuttgart reported "a true symphony of rattling alarm clocks" around three. During summers, people listened to radios with their windows open; the Viennese police were besieged with complaints from those unfortunates who were trying to sleep.

At around a quarter to eight New York time, Joe Jacobs fetched Schmeling at his hotel. "Good luck, Max!" the desk clerk shouted as they left. They made their way to the stadium, and into the dressing room. Just before Schmeling was summoned to the ring, Tom O'Rourke stopped by. "I know you can win, Max," the old man told him. "You just have to be careful, and above all, use your head." Then he keeled over and fell to the floor. In one of several similar versions of what followed, Schmeling took one look at his prostrate friend. "Tot," "Tot," he muttered-German for "dead"-and then, "cold as ice," he headed for the ring. Along the way, what he felt wasn't grief or fear or superstition but excitement: finally, he was about to learn if he'd sized up Louis correctly. he muttered-German for "dead"-and then, "cold as ice," he headed for the ring. Along the way, what he felt wasn't grief or fear or superstition but excitement: finally, he was about to learn if he'd sized up Louis correctly.

At ringside, Braddock, the incumbent but oddly inconsequential champion, sat next to J. Edgar Hoover. Fannie Brice sat with the sports-writers. In the third row, a gum-chewing Mayor La Guardia offered to write the Herald Tribune Herald Tribune man's story in exchange for his front-row seat. James A. Farley, the former boxing commissioner and now the Democratic Party chairman, was there. So was his Republican counterpart. So were David Sarnoff, Eddie Rickenbacker, Bernard Baruch, Irving Berlin, George Burns and Gracie Allen, George Raft, Al Jolson, Jack Benny, George Jessel, Joseph Pulitzer II, Toots Shor, Sherman Billingsley, Nelson Rockefeller, Rudy Vallee, Conde Nast, Thomas Dewey, Babe Ruth, Mel Ott, Carl Hubbell, Alfred Gwynne Vanderbilt, Sonny Whitney, George D. Widener, Colonel Theodore Roosevelt (Teddy's son), and Jimmy Roosevelt (Franklin's son). Just about the only black at ringside was Bill Robinson, wearing a plaid-on-plaid combination. Somewhere in the cheaper seats was Langston Hughes. A reporter from Macon, Georgia, looked overhead; an airplane circled in the sky, announcing in flashing red lights that fight films would be in theaters the next day. Maybe in New York, he mused; where he came from, a film of a black man fighting a white could never be shown. man's story in exchange for his front-row seat. James A. Farley, the former boxing commissioner and now the Democratic Party chairman, was there. So was his Republican counterpart. So were David Sarnoff, Eddie Rickenbacker, Bernard Baruch, Irving Berlin, George Burns and Gracie Allen, George Raft, Al Jolson, Jack Benny, George Jessel, Joseph Pulitzer II, Toots Shor, Sherman Billingsley, Nelson Rockefeller, Rudy Vallee, Conde Nast, Thomas Dewey, Babe Ruth, Mel Ott, Carl Hubbell, Alfred Gwynne Vanderbilt, Sonny Whitney, George D. Widener, Colonel Theodore Roosevelt (Teddy's son), and Jimmy Roosevelt (Franklin's son). Just about the only black at ringside was Bill Robinson, wearing a plaid-on-plaid combination. Somewhere in the cheaper seats was Langston Hughes. A reporter from Macon, Georgia, looked overhead; an airplane circled in the sky, announcing in flashing red lights that fight films would be in theaters the next day. Maybe in New York, he mused; where he came from, a film of a black man fighting a white could never be shown.

The prefight frenzy had driven Marva to bed. But now she, along with two of her girlfriends, entered the stadium. She was wearing a red and gray outfit trimmed with a large, square, bloodred suede hat, red gloves, and red shoes. A loud cheer erupted as she smiled obligingly for fifty photographers. She then took her place in the fifth row, flanked by Mrs. Julian Black and Carl Van Vechten, the photographer. Marva expressed her disappointment that she wasn't facing her husband's corner. "I want to see him," she said. Shortly before ten, the two fighters entered the ring. Schmeling, wearing his favorite spotted gray bathrobe over purple trunks, entered jauntily, a slight grin on his face. He was greeted with surprising warmth. With him was Joe Jacobs, startlingly (but only temporarily) without a cigar. An expressionless Louis followed, in his familiar shining dressing gown, blue silk trimmed in red, over black trunks. His brown body glistened under the intense lights, making him appear almost white.

Max Schmeling in 1927, a hero in Weimar Germany to fans and aesthetes alike.

The savior of boxing: Joe Louis on the eve of his New York debut, spring 1935.

For more than a decade, Schmeling was a constant presence on elegant ocean liners arriving in New York.

Schmeling (second from right) at his country house in Bad Saarow, Germany, in the early 1930s. When lightning set the place ablaze, he took special care to rescue the bust of Hitler inside.

One key to Schmeling's popularity in the United States was his striking resemblance to the recently retired and much-missed Jack Dempsey. (Schmeling is on the left.) Schmeling and his manager, Joe "Yussel the Muscle" Jacobs, early in their association, one of the most incongruous and politically fraught in the history of sports.

As Governor Franklin Roosevelt campaigns for the presidency in May 1932, he visits Schmeling then training in Kingston, New York for his rematch against Jack Sharkey. Eleanor Roosevelt is to the left of her husband, who spoke to Schmeling in German.

A fund-raiser at Madison Square Garden in 1929 for the embattled Jews of Palestine, in which five Jewish boxers beat five Gentiles before 16,000 fervent fans, attests to the significant Jewish influence in the sport.

The New York Times took nearly a month to report that Nazi Germany had banned all Jews from every facet of German boxing, then placed the story on the back page of its sports section, beneath a banner headline on something it evidently deemed more important. Most other papers didn't mention the news at all. took nearly a month to report that Nazi Germany had banned all Jews from every facet of German boxing, then placed the story on the back page of its sports section, beneath a banner headline on something it evidently deemed more important. Most other papers didn't mention the news at all.