Aftermath

ANNY O ONDRA HAD KEPT HER VOW. She had not listened to the fight, though she lay wide awake in her room as it unfolded. But Hellmis didn't know that, and having spent most of the night talking to Schmeling, he spent his last few seconds on the air talking to Schmeling's wife-or, as he put it, to "a young blond woman in Berlin," assuring her that her husband was leaving the ring clearheaded, standing tall, and intact, without any serious battle scars. Then someone in Germany decided to end the transmission. "Our broadcast from the Yankee Stadium in New York is finished," Hellmis suddenly declared. For more than two hours, Germans had been sitting in their homes and cafes and Bierstuben, Bierstuben, and suddenly, it was all over- and suddenly, it was all over-"aus," as the as the Angriff Angriff man later wrote, using the very word Hellmis had invoked so memorably two years earlier. "That was the last word in the ether," a listener in Prague wrote. "Germany no longer reported." In fact, there were a few more words. "That was the Schmeling-Louis fight," an announcer in Berlin stated simply, without offering the result. There followed the sounds of the "Horst Wessel Song" and "Deutschland uber Alles" and then one more word: man later wrote, using the very word Hellmis had invoked so memorably two years earlier. "That was the last word in the ether," a listener in Prague wrote. "Germany no longer reported." In fact, there were a few more words. "That was the Schmeling-Louis fight," an announcer in Berlin stated simply, without offering the result. There followed the sounds of the "Horst Wessel Song" and "Deutschland uber Alles" and then one more word: "Heil!" "Heil!" "That was the last word from the receiver," the Jewish listener in Warsaw noted. "We said, 'Bravo, Louis!' It was our answer to "That was the last word from the receiver," the Jewish listener in Warsaw noted. "We said, 'Bravo, Louis!' It was our answer to 'Heil!' 'Heil!' And then we turned off the radio." And then we turned off the radio."

Now Hellmis, like McCarthy, came in for second-guessing. It was, as Box-Sport Box-Sport later put it, "as if someone had suddenly turned the lights off on someone reading." So busy had Hellmis been eulogizing Schmeling, guaranteeing him safe passage home, and comforting his wife, that he had neglected to tell Germany what had actually happened; an entire nation now scratched its head. "Everyone was asking, how was it possible??" later put it, "as if someone had suddenly turned the lights off on someone reading." So busy had Hellmis been eulogizing Schmeling, guaranteeing him safe passage home, and comforting his wife, that he had neglected to tell Germany what had actually happened; an entire nation now scratched its head. "Everyone was asking, how was it possible??" Box-Sport Box-Sport complained. "How did Schmeling actually go down? Which punch was it? What was the cause? When and how did Louis hit Schmeling? No one could say. No one had any idea what was going on." Sure, it had been-to use a word not quite yet in vogue-a blitzkrieg, too fast for anyone to describe completely. But instead of offering a recapitulation, the broadcast was over, "and everyone sat bewildered in front of the radio." Anyone tuning in late might have thought his receiver wasn't working. In one neighborhood in Nuremberg, the silence was broken by the sound of someone taking an ax to his radio. In Schweinau, people heard a loud bang, then saw the remains of a radio in the street. Were the two owners upset over having missed the fight? Or over having heard it? Like everything else about that night, it was unclear. After months of conditioning, Germans were utterly unprepared for what had happened, then utterly baffled by it. complained. "How did Schmeling actually go down? Which punch was it? What was the cause? When and how did Louis hit Schmeling? No one could say. No one had any idea what was going on." Sure, it had been-to use a word not quite yet in vogue-a blitzkrieg, too fast for anyone to describe completely. But instead of offering a recapitulation, the broadcast was over, "and everyone sat bewildered in front of the radio." Anyone tuning in late might have thought his receiver wasn't working. In one neighborhood in Nuremberg, the silence was broken by the sound of someone taking an ax to his radio. In Schweinau, people heard a loud bang, then saw the remains of a radio in the street. Were the two owners upset over having missed the fight? Or over having heard it? Like everything else about that night, it was unclear. After months of conditioning, Germans were utterly unprepared for what had happened, then utterly baffled by it.

"Shaking our heads silently, we disperse," wrote a reporter for the Angriff Angriff who'd listened in a small restaurant in Berlin. "In the streets, from all the bars and cafes which had tuned in to the fight, came other men who stared soberly into the morning. Only slowly were they able to speak again." The Roxy-Bar was like a tomb. As Louis pummeled Schmeling, "a breathless, half-loud crossfire of weak cries" had gone up in a bar on the Alexanderplatz. Then all grew quiet and completely still. "We looked at each other silently," a newspaperman from Dresden wrote. "No one can find a word. We turn off the radio. Could that really be, Max defeated? No, that can't be. 3:10 and everything is over. We went back to bed, sleep-lessly tossing and turning into the morning." who'd listened in a small restaurant in Berlin. "In the streets, from all the bars and cafes which had tuned in to the fight, came other men who stared soberly into the morning. Only slowly were they able to speak again." The Roxy-Bar was like a tomb. As Louis pummeled Schmeling, "a breathless, half-loud crossfire of weak cries" had gone up in a bar on the Alexanderplatz. Then all grew quiet and completely still. "We looked at each other silently," a newspaperman from Dresden wrote. "No one can find a word. We turn off the radio. Could that really be, Max defeated? No, that can't be. 3:10 and everything is over. We went back to bed, sleep-lessly tossing and turning into the morning."

Marked only by a swollen and discolored left eye, Schmeling had made his way out of the ring, unassisted but hardly unscathed. "Go back to Germany!" someone shouted. "You Nazi bum, you never could fight!" Schmeling entered his dressing room a "woebegone and tragic figure," his left hand clutching his side. "Too bad, Max," Braddock told him, patting him on the back. "I know how you feel." But he didn't. Something had happened between Schmeling's final moments in the ring and when he met with the press: the gracious, smiling loser had been supplanted by someone filled with pain and pique. "When he got in his dressing room he found out he had been fouled," someone put it afterward. Standing in a corner of the room, which stank of men and adhesives and unguents, Schmeling now said he'd been done in by an illegal punch. He'd been fouled. From Schmeling it was a familiar refrain, though this time he was on his own; while he was feeling robbed, Joe Jacobs apparently was not.

"Yah, he hit me such a terrible blow on the kidney. I can't think. I can't zee," Schmeling told the reporters, slowly rubbing his left side as he spoke. "Such terrible pain. I can't move.... My legs vould not move. They were paralyzed." "Paralyzed": "Paralyzed": it was the very word he'd used after the first Sharkey fight, eight years earlier. Before that one punch, he insisted, his head had been entirely clear, notwithstanding all the blows he had already taken; after it, he was blinded and immobilized. The Germans knew American rules-a kidney punch was perfectly legal as long as it wasn't thrown while in a clinch-or should have known: Schmeling had complained of one during his first fight with Louis, and Donovan had explained the rule to him then. Hellmis had made that precise point in it was the very word he'd used after the first Sharkey fight, eight years earlier. Before that one punch, he insisted, his head had been entirely clear, notwithstanding all the blows he had already taken; after it, he was blinded and immobilized. The Germans knew American rules-a kidney punch was perfectly legal as long as it wasn't thrown while in a clinch-or should have known: Schmeling had complained of one during his first fight with Louis, and Donovan had explained the rule to him then. Hellmis had made that precise point in Schmelings Sieg. Schmelings Sieg. It didn't matter. "A kidney blow is a foul," Schmeling now maintained. "He didn't mean to hit me with one, I know, but he did and it blinded me. It made me so I can't feel." It didn't matter. "A kidney blow is a foul," Schmeling now maintained. "He didn't mean to hit me with one, I know, but he did and it blinded me. It made me so I can't feel."

Schmeling got little sympathy from the Americans. "Max! Max!" the photographers shouted. "Point at your kidney!" "It wasn't vare, it wasn't," Schmeling remonstrated to Mike Jacobs, who gave him a patronizing pat and walked away muttering a curse. Even within his own camp, Schmeling's charge was disputed; Doc Casey conceded that it was "strictly legal." For succor, Schmeling had to turn to his countrymen. The German ambassador to Washington, Hans Heinrich Dieckhoff, who had blanched as the slaughter unfolded, gave him a long handshake. Then Heinz Dit-gens of the Roxy-Bar, an overstuffed man who looked like Hermann Goring, appeared, buried himself in Schmeling's shoulder, and began to cry. "But Max," he said between heaving, violent sobs, "how was dot possible, how was dot possible?" It was not fair, Schmeling assured him, too. The German reporters looked embarrassed, as if not knowing just what to send back to Berlin. Schmeling helped them, though. "What's clear is that his version was very well-received by the German press," wrote Curt Riess of Paris Soir. of Paris Soir. "And what an imagination: they all saw the wound in the kidneys!" Things might have turned out differently, Jacobs said, had he been in Schmeling's corner. Right, one sportswriter mocked: "Jacobs could not have done a more polished job of towel tossing himself." Aside from that, Yussel was oddly, even unprecedentedly, detached-and mute. You "wondered if Louis had hit hard enough to silence both Schmeling and Jacobs," wrote Anthony Marenghi of the "And what an imagination: they all saw the wound in the kidneys!" Things might have turned out differently, Jacobs said, had he been in Schmeling's corner. Right, one sportswriter mocked: "Jacobs could not have done a more polished job of towel tossing himself." Aside from that, Yussel was oddly, even unprecedentedly, detached-and mute. You "wondered if Louis had hit hard enough to silence both Schmeling and Jacobs," wrote Anthony Marenghi of the Newark Star-Eagle. Newark Star-Eagle.

"What will Hitler think?" one reporter shouted to Schmeling. "Der Fuhrer won't say anything," Schmeling replied. "It's a sport, isn't it?" How would his loss affect his standing in Nazi Germany? "Nothing. Dot's foolish," he replied. He grew indignant when asked if he would fight again. "Yah, I fight again. Why not? I want to fight Louis again. Next time Joe won't slip over a kidney punch like that. If he is a good sportsman he will give me a return bout." Finally, the man with the NBC microphone caught up with Schmeling, and he talked to America. "Well, ladies and gentlemen, I have not much to say," he said. "I'm very sorry but I won't make any excuse but I had such a terrible hit the first hit that I get in the left kidney I was so paralyzed I couldn't even move."

Machon led Schmeling to the shower. The defeated fighter walked with catlike strides, his hand still on his kidney. Waiting outside, Joe Jacobs told a reporter they were going to take Schmeling to the hospital to have him examined. Schmeling reemerged a few moments later and put on his street clothes. Music returned to the American airwaves; a station in Chicago resumed with "You Go to My Head." Louis was still in his dressing room when he learned about Schmeling's charge. "No, sah, dat was no foul," he said. "Ah hit him right in the left kidney and ah really hit him. Ah felt that punch touch home." His managers were incensed, then contemptuous. "That's for German consumption," one of them huffed. Maybe Schmeling's mind remained clouded, Parker wrote; otherwise, he was the poorest loser on record. But the charge would "make good stuff for the home trade when Herr Doktor Goebbels gets his flippers on it." "It must have been a kidney punch to the chin," Bill Corum wrote.

Largely unnoticed and under his own power, Schmeling walked out of the stadium, stooped over, still holding his side and dragging one of his legs, his face set in grim, pathetic lines. He was then taken to the Polyclinic Hospital on Fiftieth Street and Eighth Avenue, across from Madison Square Garden. Schmeling walked into the building and plopped himself into a wheelchair. When he got to his room, he reached his wife in Berlin, then took a call from one of Hitler's adjutants. He asked hospital personnel to turn off his telephone and, after getting some injections for pain, he went to sleep. Around 2:30 a.m. his cabbie called the Daily News Daily News with the whereabouts of his famous passenger, guaranteeing there would be a mob outside the hospital when Schmeling woke up. with the whereabouts of his famous passenger, guaranteeing there would be a mob outside the hospital when Schmeling woke up.

Joe Jacobs's policeman brother, who moonlighted as Schmeling's bodyguard, did his man a great favor that night. Rather than have the driver head due south into Manhattan from the stadium, he directed him to go west toward the Hudson River, then hug it all the way south to the city. In other words, he steered clear of a delirious Harlem. New York's police chief, Lewis Valentine, did come back via Harlem, stopping at the West 135th Street station long enough to lay out department policy for the occasion. "This is their night," he declared. "Let them be happy." "Too bad it ended so early," one of his officers griped. "That gives them so much more time to celebrate. We'll be on duty here all night." And they were. Harlem, recalled a white woman who had gone to the stadium by boat but returned by car, was "aflame in happiness."

"Had you been in Harlem Wednesday night," the Courier Courier reported afterward, "you might have thought another World War had just ended. Joy was simply unconfined." "There never was a Harlem like the Harlem of Wednesday night," Ben Davis, Jr., wrote in the reported afterward, "you might have thought another World War had just ended. Joy was simply unconfined." "There never was a Harlem like the Harlem of Wednesday night," Ben Davis, Jr., wrote in the Daily Worker. Daily Worker. "Take a dozen Harlem Christmases, a score of New Year's Eves, a bushel of July 4ths and maybe-yes, maybe-you get a faint glimpse of the idea." "They wanted to make a noise comparable to the happiness bubbling in their hearts, but they were poor and had nothing," Richard Wright later explained. "So they went to the garbage pails and got tin cans; they went to their kitchens and got tin pots, pans, washboards, wooden boxes, and took possession of the streets." Private cars cruised, streaming banners. "Take a dozen Harlem Christmases, a score of New Year's Eves, a bushel of July 4ths and maybe-yes, maybe-you get a faint glimpse of the idea." "They wanted to make a noise comparable to the happiness bubbling in their hearts, but they were poor and had nothing," Richard Wright later explained. "So they went to the garbage pails and got tin cans; they went to their kitchens and got tin pots, pans, washboards, wooden boxes, and took possession of the streets." Private cars cruised, streaming banners. THE BLACK RACE IS SUPREME TONIGHT THE BLACK RACE IS SUPREME TONIGHT, one said.

By one estimate, 500,000 people crowded Harlem's streets. All traffic on Seventh Avenue between 116th and 145th streets-"their Broadway," Valentine called it-halted, immobilized by pedestrians, snake-dancers, and stranded cars; the "quick tattoo" of blowouts from tires crushing into broken glass sounded like firecrackers in the night air. People hopped on roofs and running boards until everything that moved "looked like clusters of black ripe grapes." A dozen sets of boys carried mock stretchers bearing pseudo-Schmelings; whenever an ambulance passed, people wondered whether the real thing was inside. Soapbox speakers and signs nominated Louis for mayor of Harlem, Congress, president of the United States. "The Lord is a good Man to take care of us this way," one elderly black woman told another. Celebrants had that indescribable feeling of being surrounded by thousands of strangers who felt exactly as they did. "I remember for a while I wasn't mad at any white person," one recalled. Harlem's nightclubs-the Big Apple, Small's Paradise, Brittwood's, the Elks, the Rendezvous, the Horseshoe, Dickie Wells's, the Savoy Ballroom (Dizzy Gillespie was playing there)-were all bulging, fed by rumors that Louis would stop at any or all of them. Stepin Fetchit glided up Seventh Avenue in a long, gleaming Dusenberg.

Everywhere were references to the regime with which Schmeling had been tagged. It was on placards: LOUIS WINS, HITLER WEEPS LOUIS WINS, HITLER WEEPS. It was in a newsboy's chant: "Read about the big fight! Hitler committed suicide!" And in all the mock Nazi salutes: "Seventh Ave. looked for a while like a weird burlesque of the Wilhelmstrasse in Berlin-staggering, yelling, singing, jumping, dancing, hugging men and women, jutting out their hands to one another," Elliot Arnold wrote in the World-Telegram. World-Telegram. To the few whites in Harlem that night, and even to some blacks, there was menace in the air. The police rescued eight hysterical white women from a bus enveloped by merrymakers. The Irish cabdriver who ferried a black reporter from the stadium to Harlem pulled his cap down to hide his face and race, but soon people were crawling all over his car and someone kicked in his windshield. A white reporter from Milwaukee described how sixteen blacks hung from his cab until a policeman took out his nightstick to "clear off the excess baggage." Other white reporters huddled in the Theresa Hotel. Ralph Matthews of the To the few whites in Harlem that night, and even to some blacks, there was menace in the air. The police rescued eight hysterical white women from a bus enveloped by merrymakers. The Irish cabdriver who ferried a black reporter from the stadium to Harlem pulled his cap down to hide his face and race, but soon people were crawling all over his car and someone kicked in his windshield. A white reporter from Milwaukee described how sixteen blacks hung from his cab until a policeman took out his nightstick to "clear off the excess baggage." Other white reporters huddled in the Theresa Hotel. Ralph Matthews of the Afro-American Afro-American called the frenzy "the type of stuff from which dictatorships are created," adding: "Going around punching everyone in the nose who happens to be of a different race ... is not a legitimate expression of race pride." called the frenzy "the type of stuff from which dictatorships are created," adding: "Going around punching everyone in the nose who happens to be of a different race ... is not a legitimate expression of race pride."

Schmeling was only one of the casualties that night. A South Carolina man who had hitched a ride to the fight went around shouting "Joe Louis! Joe Louis!" Then he dropped dead. A Brooklyn man was hurt when he drove his fist through two windshields. One policeman was knocked off his horse by a flying garbage can cover; a milk bottle hit another, while a third was struck by a large hunk of wood. At 130th Street and Seventh Avenue, police sprayed the crowd with a fire hose. "I bet all of 'em are on relief but Joe Louis," one officer muttered. Sure, cars were careening around the corner of Seventh Avenue and 135th Street, a black paper conceded, but "Joe Louis doesn't knock out Max Schmeling in less than a round every night." A German paper reported "repeated wild shooting like in the jungle," but there was really nothing of the sort. The Herald Tribune Herald Tribune commended Harlem on its civility. commended Harlem on its civility.

The celebrations went on for hours. "There wasn't no nighttime then," one participant recalled. Meantime, in midtown, at the Stork Club, Tunney, Hemingway, Franklin D. Roosevelt, Jr., Winchell, and Rice sat around discussing what they'd just seen. Suddenly, Tunney boasted of not just visiting Louis in his camp but helping to devise the winning strategy. Nearby, at Jimmy Braddock's restaurant, Donovan defended the kidney punch. Dempsey would have lasted no longer against Louis than Schmeling had, he later said, and John L. Sullivan not even as long. But Yorkville's streets, the Post Post noted, were "a well of weltschmerzen." "I wonder what they think of Max now in the old country," someone in Cafe Mozart remarked glumly. "He better not go home right away." Around twenty minutes past midnight, Louis reached the apartment on St. Nicholas Avenue where Marva was staying. She played a game of hide-and-seek with him before she appeared. "I made it as quick as possible, honey," he told her. While many of the others quaffed champagne, Louis contented himself with ginger ale and a quart of ice cream-half vanilla, half chocolate. Then he and Marva went to bed. There, at least, Louis was down for the count. noted, were "a well of weltschmerzen." "I wonder what they think of Max now in the old country," someone in Cafe Mozart remarked glumly. "He better not go home right away." Around twenty minutes past midnight, Louis reached the apartment on St. Nicholas Avenue where Marva was staying. She played a game of hide-and-seek with him before she appeared. "I made it as quick as possible, honey," he told her. While many of the others quaffed champagne, Louis contented himself with ginger ale and a quart of ice cream-half vanilla, half chocolate. Then he and Marva went to bed. There, at least, Louis was down for the count.

Outside, things didn't quiet down until noon the following day, and even then, knots of people still gathered to discuss the fight. Or fights: they talked about the 1936 fight, too, more convinced than ever now that Louis had been doped. The Baltimore Afro-American Baltimore Afro-American suggested facetiously that this time, Schmeling might have been, too. Along Lenox Avenue, young bootblacks offered the "Joe Louis shine": it took only two minutes and four seconds. The next morning Louis slept in, then sent out for the papers. For him it was the dawn of a new day, and a new era. "Joe is on top of the proverbial heap today," one black columnist wrote. "On top of a heap higher than any one he ever occupied before. It amounts to a throne." suggested facetiously that this time, Schmeling might have been, too. Along Lenox Avenue, young bootblacks offered the "Joe Louis shine": it took only two minutes and four seconds. The next morning Louis slept in, then sent out for the papers. For him it was the dawn of a new day, and a new era. "Joe is on top of the proverbial heap today," one black columnist wrote. "On top of a heap higher than any one he ever occupied before. It amounts to a throne."

The fight, the Courier Courier declared, had generated the greatest show of Negro unity America had ever seen. Certainly anyone visiting any black neighborhood in the United States immediately afterward would have seen many of the same things. In Detroit, where black leaders were confident enough to have applied for a parade permit two weeks earlier, twenty thousand people marched thirty blocks into Paradise Valley, chanting, "Joe knocked old Hitler cold." Louis's mother had not listened to the fight, learning the outcome from a newsboy selling extras; by the time she'd returned home, a jubilant mob awaited her. She hadn't been worried, she explained; she knew Joe was going to win because he'd told her so. A reporter turned on her police siren to get through the mob on Chicago's South Side. "Louder! Louder!" a woman screamed at her. "Don' yo'all know Joe Louis won?" declared, had generated the greatest show of Negro unity America had ever seen. Certainly anyone visiting any black neighborhood in the United States immediately afterward would have seen many of the same things. In Detroit, where black leaders were confident enough to have applied for a parade permit two weeks earlier, twenty thousand people marched thirty blocks into Paradise Valley, chanting, "Joe knocked old Hitler cold." Louis's mother had not listened to the fight, learning the outcome from a newsboy selling extras; by the time she'd returned home, a jubilant mob awaited her. She hadn't been worried, she explained; she knew Joe was going to win because he'd told her so. A reporter turned on her police siren to get through the mob on Chicago's South Side. "Louder! Louder!" a woman screamed at her. "Don' yo'all know Joe Louis won?"

In Philadelphia, "police making an attempt to keep the crowd orderly finally gave up, folded their arms and for once acted like human beings," reported the local black paper. What followed was "an inter-racial sight on South Street that will long be remembered": Negroes and Jews celebrating together, blasting car horns, snake-dancing on the streets. In Baltimore, Russell Baker watched as newly emboldened blacks marched into the previously forbidden white territory of Lombard Street. In Washington, D.C., crowds on U Street looked on as two men carried a huge placard of Schmeling, topped by a dead cat. "Little children rushed by my house shouting 'Joe Louis won!'" the black educator Mary McLeod Bethune wrote. "Grandmothers sitting on the doorsteps smiled and praised the Lord." In Buffalo, even the man whose placard shouted I'M THE SUCKER THAT BET ON SCHMELING I'M THE SUCKER THAT BET ON SCHMELING had himself a good time. In Indianapolis, "thousands of Negroes and many Jews paraded back and forth along the streets of the Harlem of Indiana." In Kansas City, more than twenty thousand fans gathered along Eighteenth Street. "On the grass on the Paradeway three children lay on their stomachs, legs kicking in the air, shouting in unison, 'Joe Louis! Joe Louis!'-a perfect picture of hero worship." A Milwaukee man was fined a dollar for blowing his horn for two blocks. In Cincinnati, "the mellow voice of a Negro Paul Revere" spread word that Louis had won. In Los Angeles, celebrants along Central Avenue used "plain old cheap" toilet paper instead of more expensive confetti; times, after all, were tough. "Boy, am I glad Joe Louis doesn't fight every night in the week," said a Newark policeman monitoring the wild celebrations there. had himself a good time. In Indianapolis, "thousands of Negroes and many Jews paraded back and forth along the streets of the Harlem of Indiana." In Kansas City, more than twenty thousand fans gathered along Eighteenth Street. "On the grass on the Paradeway three children lay on their stomachs, legs kicking in the air, shouting in unison, 'Joe Louis! Joe Louis!'-a perfect picture of hero worship." A Milwaukee man was fined a dollar for blowing his horn for two blocks. In Cincinnati, "the mellow voice of a Negro Paul Revere" spread word that Louis had won. In Los Angeles, celebrants along Central Avenue used "plain old cheap" toilet paper instead of more expensive confetti; times, after all, were tough. "Boy, am I glad Joe Louis doesn't fight every night in the week," said a Newark policeman monitoring the wild celebrations there.

Until the police dispersed them, two hundred people paraded through the streets of Chattanooga, proclaiming Louis's victory. In Memphis, a young black man on Beale Street cried out, "To de ring, to de ropes, to de flo!" and crowds took up the chant. Two days later, with neither fanfare nor opposition this time from the local censorship board, fight films opened at local theaters. Blacks in Mobile snake-danced up and down Davis Avenue to the tune of nickel pianos and the beat of wooden paddles pounding fifty-pound cans of lard. In Louis's birthplace, the auditorium of the local black high school hosted a "Joe Louis ball." While his fellow patients were disappointed over the quick finish, Monroe Barrow was pleased. "That's my little Joe," he said as the fight ended. He then asked his doctor how much his son had just earned. At least $300,000, he was told. "That boy must be worth a million dollars now, isn't he?" Barrow asked. "Probably more," the doctor replied. "That's fine," Barrow declared. "If Joe would come for me I'd be glad to go home with him."

In Panama, blacks "began to scream in all directions" once the outcome became clear. The Defender's Defender's man in Paris arrived in Montmartre an hour after the fight and found "joy-mad Race members kissing everyone who came within their reach." When a group of German-Jewish refugees arrived, they "automatically became part of the wild rejoicing." Some gold miners in British Guiana made plans to send Louis a gold medal studded with diamonds. In Kingston, Jamaica, word of the sensational outcome threatened to disrupt the speech that Alexander Busta-mante, a future prime minister, was giving to workers, until he told them their battle was as great as Joe Louis's. "The gathering thereupon cheered him anew and he completed his address enjoying undivided attention," the local paper reported. man in Paris arrived in Montmartre an hour after the fight and found "joy-mad Race members kissing everyone who came within their reach." When a group of German-Jewish refugees arrived, they "automatically became part of the wild rejoicing." Some gold miners in British Guiana made plans to send Louis a gold medal studded with diamonds. In Kingston, Jamaica, word of the sensational outcome threatened to disrupt the speech that Alexander Busta-mante, a future prime minister, was giving to workers, until he told them their battle was as great as Joe Louis's. "The gathering thereupon cheered him anew and he completed his address enjoying undivided attention," the local paper reported.

Some celebrations got out of hand. With all the debris scattered about, it was as if a cyclone had hit black St. Louis. "Throwing garbage, tin containers, obstructing traffic, jamming the pathways, throwing at cars containing passengers of der Maxie's hue, and even wrecking an officer of the law on his motorcycle. They called it a Joe Louis celebration," said the Atlanta Daily World Atlanta Daily World about events there. In Cleveland, two hundred policemen with tear gas tangled with crowds; a fifteen-year-old boy was shot dead, fourteen streetcars were taken out of service, and looting was reported. Newark witnessed "hugging and street fighting, kissing and knifings." Police clubbed demonstrators in Augusta, Georgia. In Durham, North Carolina, blacks attacked whites driving through their neighborhoods. And in Charlotte, a black man driving on the wrong side of the street, his head stuck out of the window as he shouted "Where is Max Schmeling?" struck a white woman. But some of the worst violence occurred in Gary, Indiana, where a white woman was killed, and a black man was subsequently convicted of murdering her. about events there. In Cleveland, two hundred policemen with tear gas tangled with crowds; a fifteen-year-old boy was shot dead, fourteen streetcars were taken out of service, and looting was reported. Newark witnessed "hugging and street fighting, kissing and knifings." Police clubbed demonstrators in Augusta, Georgia. In Durham, North Carolina, blacks attacked whites driving through their neighborhoods. And in Charlotte, a black man driving on the wrong side of the street, his head stuck out of the window as he shouted "Where is Max Schmeling?" struck a white woman. But some of the worst violence occurred in Gary, Indiana, where a white woman was killed, and a black man was subsequently convicted of murdering her.* Police in Roanoke attacked black celebrants on Henry Street with tear-gas bombs and guns, seriously injuring several. "Henry Street is the only place where the black people can go to congregate," a black lawyer complained, and "whenever Joe Louis has a fight, the negroes are going to celebrate." Rioting broke out in black Richmond when a white motorist forced his way through the "teeming mass of joyful humanity" on Second Street. In the Arizona State Penitentiary in Florence, a racial free-for-all followed the fight, with white inmates stabbing one black prisoner to death and severely beating another. Police in Roanoke attacked black celebrants on Henry Street with tear-gas bombs and guns, seriously injuring several. "Henry Street is the only place where the black people can go to congregate," a black lawyer complained, and "whenever Joe Louis has a fight, the negroes are going to celebrate." Rioting broke out in black Richmond when a white motorist forced his way through the "teeming mass of joyful humanity" on Second Street. In the Arizona State Penitentiary in Florence, a racial free-for-all followed the fight, with white inmates stabbing one black prisoner to death and severely beating another.

Black papers were both defiant and embarrassed by the outbursts, sometimes on the same page. "When colored people are filling streets and having their own celebration in their own community, it is no time for Nazi-minded sympathizers to interfere," the Afro-American Afro-American editorialized. "Anybody who doesn't like to see us have a little innocent fun can stay at home." But an editorialized. "Anybody who doesn't like to see us have a little innocent fun can stay at home." But an Afro Afro columnist blamed more primitive southern blacks, along with West Indians and followers of Marcus Garvey, for the lawlessness. Another black paper sounded a single sad note. "The tragic aspect of the whole affair is that all the people who have died since that fateful night two years ago when Max put Joe to sleep went to their graves believing that maybe Max really was the champion after all," it said. columnist blamed more primitive southern blacks, along with West Indians and followers of Marcus Garvey, for the lawlessness. Another black paper sounded a single sad note. "The tragic aspect of the whole affair is that all the people who have died since that fateful night two years ago when Max put Joe to sleep went to their graves believing that maybe Max really was the champion after all," it said.

Early in the afternoon of the day after the fight, 350 schoolchildren, most of them black, crowded outside the building where Louis was staying. "We want Joe!" they chanted. "We want Joe!" Louis was mobbed as he left for the Hippodrome, where he collected his paycheck of $349,288.40. It was his share of a gate which, with $75,000 thrown in for radio and movie rights, eked past the magic million-dollar mark. Schmeling's take was $174,644. Louis reenacted for reporters the now-famous kidney punch, and took another round of questions. Later, at Braddock's restaurant, he said he had knocked Schmeling out so quickly because he was scared-"I remembered my first fight with him"-and gently second-guessed the referee for pulling him off Schmeling when the German was on the ropes. Murray Lewin of the Mirror, Mirror, who had grabbed the towel Machon had thrown into the ring, now cut it into squares and had Louis scribble his name on each piece. who had grabbed the towel Machon had thrown into the ring, now cut it into squares and had Louis scribble his name on each piece.*

Louis was not present when the fight film was screened that afternoon. For the writers, the footage promised to clarify a host of issues lost in the blur of events, like the number of knockdowns, the order of the punches, and the points at which Donovan began counts. Given the film's brevity-one trade publication said it would be better sold as a slide-the entire fight would be shown in slow motion, and shown repeatedly from several angles, simply to stretch things out. The twelfth round of the first fight was tacked on for additional padding, as was an interview with Donovan. Still, the film lasted only seventeen minutes. Close inspection confirmed that the shots to the head had crushed Schmeling before the kidney blow was delivered. Tunney felt that for the sake of his soul and his self-respect, Schmeling shouldn't see it at all.

The films were shown widely everywhere in the United States except the South. And while they drew well on opening day, they were a bust after that. The kidney punch didn't look as dramatic as it had actually been, complained Variety, Variety, nor was Schmeling's injury the hoped-for lure; the film's "feminine draw is nil," it said. Even in black theaters, it did badly. "The one round isn't giving the fans enough action for their money," the nor was Schmeling's injury the hoped-for lure; the film's "feminine draw is nil," it said. Even in black theaters, it did badly. "The one round isn't giving the fans enough action for their money," the Philadelphia Tribune Philadelphia Tribune reported. But to other blacks, it was something to savor. Vernon Jarrett of the reported. But to other blacks, it was something to savor. Vernon Jarrett of the Chicago Tribune Chicago Tribune recalled how his schoolteacher father, whom Jack Johnson had seemingly forever soured on prizefighting, put down his money at a segregated theater in his Tennessee town and then, fighting off his rheumatism, climbed the stairs to the buzzard's roost to bask in the glory. For Patsy Booker, a seventy-eight-year-old black woman in Los Angeles, the film made more of an impression: it was the first motion picture she'd ever seen. recalled how his schoolteacher father, whom Jack Johnson had seemingly forever soured on prizefighting, put down his money at a segregated theater in his Tennessee town and then, fighting off his rheumatism, climbed the stairs to the buzzard's roost to bask in the glory. For Patsy Booker, a seventy-eight-year-old black woman in Los Angeles, the film made more of an impression: it was the first motion picture she'd ever seen.

Roughly twenty-four hours after the fight, Louis boarded a Chicago-bound train at Grand Central. A huge crowd saw him and Marva off. "The champ hasn't got a scratch on his perfect body!" the Amsterdam News Amsterdam News marveled. He was still en route when the boxing writers gathered at Jack Dempsey's restaurant. "I think Louis'll be the champion for at least ten more years and maybe until 1950," Dempsey said. "The guy who'll beat Louis is still playing marbles somewhere." The bout with Schmeling, Roxborough pointed out, was Louis's first as "a full-fledged man." "Great as you may think Joe is, you have not seen him at his peak," he said. "A year, or even two years, from now, and he'll be the best fighter of all time-if only we can find opposition for him." And that was a real problem. There was something almost poignant about Louis's situation. As a matter of money, drama, and sheer artistry, how could he ever top what he had just done? A rematch with Max Baer was on tap, but no one could get very excited about that. Some blacks worried that the competitive vacuum in the heavyweight division left it ripe for manipulation, and urged Louis to retire while he was still pristine. Eleanor Roosevelt, meanwhile, worried about Louis's finances. "We congratulate him," she wrote a few days after the fight, "and hope that he has some wise member of his family who takes his money and puts it away, so that when he no longer has any opponents he will be able to do something else to make life interesting and pleasant." marveled. He was still en route when the boxing writers gathered at Jack Dempsey's restaurant. "I think Louis'll be the champion for at least ten more years and maybe until 1950," Dempsey said. "The guy who'll beat Louis is still playing marbles somewhere." The bout with Schmeling, Roxborough pointed out, was Louis's first as "a full-fledged man." "Great as you may think Joe is, you have not seen him at his peak," he said. "A year, or even two years, from now, and he'll be the best fighter of all time-if only we can find opposition for him." And that was a real problem. There was something almost poignant about Louis's situation. As a matter of money, drama, and sheer artistry, how could he ever top what he had just done? A rematch with Max Baer was on tap, but no one could get very excited about that. Some blacks worried that the competitive vacuum in the heavyweight division left it ripe for manipulation, and urged Louis to retire while he was still pristine. Eleanor Roosevelt, meanwhile, worried about Louis's finances. "We congratulate him," she wrote a few days after the fight, "and hope that he has some wise member of his family who takes his money and puts it away, so that when he no longer has any opponents he will be able to do something else to make life interesting and pleasant."

The Louises were received rapturously in Chicago. Louis met with Mayor Kelly and took over the city for a few minutes. He watched a Negro League doubleheader between the Chicago American Giants and the Birmingham Black Barons, and between games he and Jesse Owens competed in a sixty-yard race. (Owens conveniently tripped and fell down at the start and Louis beat him to the tape.) But plans to take the Queen Mary Queen Mary to Europe with the John Roxboroughs and the Julian Blacks were scrubbed, ostensibly for reasons of safety. "The Nazis stacked their political all on the outcome of the fight, and it is now feared that if Joe had gone ... his life might have been endangered by some Nazi secret agent," to Europe with the John Roxboroughs and the Julian Blacks were scrubbed, ostensibly for reasons of safety. "The Nazis stacked their political all on the outcome of the fight, and it is now feared that if Joe had gone ... his life might have been endangered by some Nazi secret agent," the Amsterdam News the Amsterdam News reported. reported.

The day after the fight, John Kieran of the Times Times wrote that when all was said and done, it had signified absolutely nothing. Of course, black commentators saw things very differently. For Frank Marshall Davis of the Associated Negro Press, it was a victory for fourteen million black Americans. "It was as if each had been in that ring himself, as if every man, woman and child of them had dealt destruction with his fists upon the Nordic race of Schmeling and the whole Nazi system he symbolized," he wrote. "It was the triumph of a repressed people against the evil forces of racial oppression and discrimination condensed-by chance-into the shape of Max Schmeling." For many, it hadn't mattered how long the fight lasted, only how decisively, incontrovertibly, and even how brutally it ended. That was why, Lem Graves, Jr., wrote in the wrote that when all was said and done, it had signified absolutely nothing. Of course, black commentators saw things very differently. For Frank Marshall Davis of the Associated Negro Press, it was a victory for fourteen million black Americans. "It was as if each had been in that ring himself, as if every man, woman and child of them had dealt destruction with his fists upon the Nordic race of Schmeling and the whole Nazi system he symbolized," he wrote. "It was the triumph of a repressed people against the evil forces of racial oppression and discrimination condensed-by chance-into the shape of Max Schmeling." For many, it hadn't mattered how long the fight lasted, only how decisively, incontrovertibly, and even how brutally it ended. That was why, Lem Graves, Jr., wrote in the Norfolk Journal and Guide, Norfolk Journal and Guide, few complained afterward of being cheated. The few complained afterward of being cheated. The Philadelphia Independent Philadelphia Independent claimed that Louis had created more goodwill for American blacks than anything since the Civil War. claimed that Louis had created more goodwill for American blacks than anything since the Civil War.

If it was possible, Louis-worship reached new heights. A black minister in Mobile wrote that God had strengthened Louis as He had already empowered Samson, David, and Elijah. Even Jack Johnson called Louis's victory "a great fight by a great champion." (But some blacks weren't quite ready to allow "Lil' Arthur" aboard the Louis bandwagon. "He is one of the worst we have and any paper that would even print his death notice should not have our support," one Maryland woman wrote.) There were more Louis poems and songs, including Bill Gaither's "Champ Joe Louis (King of the Gloves)," recorded the day after the bout.

I came all the way from Chicago To see Joe Louis and Max Schmeling fight I came all the way from Chicago To see Joe Louis and Max Schmeling fight.

Schmeling went down like the Titanic When Joe gave him just one hard right.

Even after Louis's day was done, James M. Reid wrote in the Defender, Defender, "[H]is spirit will stalk the world-everywhere black men shall dwell, carrying a message of inspiration to youths reminding them of their fine lineage and of one who sought right and justice for a race." But perhaps the greatest encomium came from a headline in the "[H]is spirit will stalk the world-everywhere black men shall dwell, carrying a message of inspiration to youths reminding them of their fine lineage and of one who sought right and justice for a race." But perhaps the greatest encomium came from a headline in the Pittsburgh Courier: Pittsburgh Courier: DUKE ELLINGTON RATED JOE LOUIS OF MUSIC DUKE ELLINGTON RATED JOE LOUIS OF MUSIC, it declared. It all got to be too much to one black woman. "I have been a reader of the Afro Afro for years but I will have to give it up if I keep reading about Joe Louis," she complained to the paper. for years but I will have to give it up if I keep reading about Joe Louis," she complained to the paper.

The white press featured fewer grand pronouncements, but there were some. Heywood Broun conceded that a fight was just a fight, but prophe-sized that "even the tiniest hint that the Nazi bark is more than the Nazi bite could possibly loose a train of consequences.... And one hundred years from now, some historian may theorize, in a footnote at least, that the decline of Nazi prestige began with a left hook delivered by a former unskilled automobile worker who had never studied the policies of Neville Chamberlain and had no opinion whatsoever in regard to the situation in Czechoslovakia." The world would rejoice "not so much that Schmeling himself was battered to wreckage," wrote Elmer Ferguson of the Montreal Herald, Montreal Herald, "but that the arrogant, bold ideals Schmeling stands for, the ideals of intolerant superiority of birth and blood, the ideals that fire and steel must prevail, the complete indifference to personal rights and liberties, are all rebutted by this quiet young negro who was born the descendant of slaves in a little cabin on a southern cotton plantation." "but that the arrogant, bold ideals Schmeling stands for, the ideals of intolerant superiority of birth and blood, the ideals that fire and steel must prevail, the complete indifference to personal rights and liberties, are all rebutted by this quiet young negro who was born the descendant of slaves in a little cabin on a southern cotton plantation."

"With the defeat of the boxing Hitler envoy, the whole Nazi blabber about race becomes the joke of the world," said a German emigre paper in New York. It also ridiculed Schmeling's foul claim. "It doesn't prove any 'moral superiority' of the superman that he now tries to sell the world a new myth of a stab in the back, just as the Nazis did regarding the-for now-last World War," it said. The Philadelphia Record Philadelphia Record marveled not only that a black man was heavyweight champion, but that he was so popular among all Americans. "Grandfather wouldn't have believed that possible," the paper said. "But grandfather may have been wrong about a number of things, including the rate at which America was progressing toward tolerance." Several Americans sent Hitler derisive telegrams after the fight; "Our sympathies on the disgraceful showing Herr Max made tonight," said one. marveled not only that a black man was heavyweight champion, but that he was so popular among all Americans. "Grandfather wouldn't have believed that possible," the paper said. "But grandfather may have been wrong about a number of things, including the rate at which America was progressing toward tolerance." Several Americans sent Hitler derisive telegrams after the fight; "Our sympathies on the disgraceful showing Herr Max made tonight," said one.

Of course, though Louis had beaten Schmeling, he still could not beat all the stereotypes. R. M. Hitt, Jr., of the Charleston News and Courier, Charleston News and Courier, who had predicted Louis would be "a scared nigger" when he saw Schmeling's fists, confessed error. Instead, his Louis was "like a tiger which had been kept in a cage without food for two years while succulent hunks of beef dangled in the air just out of reach"; when the bell rang, "the door to the cage was flung open." Somehow this barbarism coexisted with laziness and indolence. "Joe Louis, the lethargic, chicken-eating young colored boy, reverted to his dreaded role of the 'brown bomber' tonight," was how Lewis Achison of who had predicted Louis would be "a scared nigger" when he saw Schmeling's fists, confessed error. Instead, his Louis was "like a tiger which had been kept in a cage without food for two years while succulent hunks of beef dangled in the air just out of reach"; when the bell rang, "the door to the cage was flung open." Somehow this barbarism coexisted with laziness and indolence. "Joe Louis, the lethargic, chicken-eating young colored boy, reverted to his dreaded role of the 'brown bomber' tonight," was how Lewis Achison of The Washington Post The Washington Post began his account of the fight. "It is nothing for us to weep about and seek white hopes," wrote General Hugh Johnson, the head of Franklin Roosevelt's National Recovery Administration. "These black boys are Americans-a whole lot more distinctly so than more recently arrived citizens of say, the Schmeling type. There should be just as much pride in their progress and prowess under our system as in the triumph of any other American. For all their misfortunes and shortcomings they are our people-Negroes, yes, but our Negroes." began his account of the fight. "It is nothing for us to weep about and seek white hopes," wrote General Hugh Johnson, the head of Franklin Roosevelt's National Recovery Administration. "These black boys are Americans-a whole lot more distinctly so than more recently arrived citizens of say, the Schmeling type. There should be just as much pride in their progress and prowess under our system as in the triumph of any other American. For all their misfortunes and shortcomings they are our people-Negroes, yes, but our Negroes."

Bill Corum said Louis was the greatest fighter he'd ever seen, or expected to see. "Somebody'll beat him," he wrote. "But nobody will ever beat the Louis you saw last night." One of Louis's most persistent critics, Davis Walsh, called the fight "the greatest exhibition of punching that I and Max Schmeling ever saw." "Probably he punches faster and harder than any heavyweight that ever lived," wrote Hemingway. Characteristically, Frank Graham of the Sun Sun put it most elegantly. "The ring may have seen a greater fighter than Joe Louis, but it never saw a greater one over a span of little more than two minutes than he was at the Yankee Stadium last night," he wrote. For Schmeling, on the other hand, there was little but contempt, both as a boxer and as a man. "Schmeling was worse than Kingfish Levinsky," Jimmy Powers wrote. "I'm undecided whether Joe put up a great fight or Max an awful one. Probably a little of both." Gene Tunney called Schmeling "just pathetic." That very week, the pitcher Johnny Vander Meer of the Cincinnati Reds had thrown consecutive no-hitters; now, someone cracked, Schmeling had tossed a third. The put it most elegantly. "The ring may have seen a greater fighter than Joe Louis, but it never saw a greater one over a span of little more than two minutes than he was at the Yankee Stadium last night," he wrote. For Schmeling, on the other hand, there was little but contempt, both as a boxer and as a man. "Schmeling was worse than Kingfish Levinsky," Jimmy Powers wrote. "I'm undecided whether Joe put up a great fight or Max an awful one. Probably a little of both." Gene Tunney called Schmeling "just pathetic." That very week, the pitcher Johnny Vander Meer of the Cincinnati Reds had thrown consecutive no-hitters; now, someone cracked, Schmeling had tossed a third. The Charlotte Observer Charlotte Observer theorized that the notoriously anti-Semitic theorized that the notoriously anti-Semitic Der Sturmer Der Sturmer would now claim the Jews had poisoned Schmeling, shone blinding lights into his eyes, and pelted him with kosher food. The would now claim the Jews had poisoned Schmeling, shone blinding lights into his eyes, and pelted him with kosher food. The Herald Tribunes Herald Tribunes Caswell Adams predicted that when Schmeling returned to Germany, "he'll find that he had a grandfather named Goldberg." Caswell Adams predicted that when Schmeling returned to Germany, "he'll find that he had a grandfather named Goldberg."

O. B. Keeler, the Atlanta sportswriter who had denigrated Louis from the outset, was now simply resigned to a black champion; after all, he noted, "our fastest runners are colored boys, and our longest jumpers, and highest leapers." But most southern editorialists were more generous. "The colored people do not win many great victories, and when they do win in a fisticuff in New York or a foot race in Berlin, we don't grudge it to them," the News and Courier News and Courier in Charleston said. "No intelligent person, of whatever color, is likely to claim that this proves Alabama negro stock is superior to Aryan stock, but the situation appeals to the American sense of humor and love of fair play," the in Charleston said. "No intelligent person, of whatever color, is likely to claim that this proves Alabama negro stock is superior to Aryan stock, but the situation appeals to the American sense of humor and love of fair play," the Huntsville (Alabama) Times Huntsville (Alabama) Times said. said.

The outcome prompted mirth and contempt from various Jewish papers. It was just like World War I, the New York Yiddish daily Morgn-zhurnal Morgn-zhurnal opined: the Germans were great at delivering punches, but when the Allies fought back they'd "lost all of their courage, lifted their hands high and screamed, 'Kamerad!'" Schmeling had taken the blows, but the Fuhrer had taken it squarely in the "philosophy," said the opined: the Germans were great at delivering punches, but when the Allies fought back they'd "lost all of their courage, lifted their hands high and screamed, 'Kamerad!'" Schmeling had taken the blows, but the Fuhrer had taken it squarely in the "philosophy," said the Forverts. Forverts. "If only Schmeling's collapse can be taken as a portent of the weakness of Nazism as a whole, our troubles are almost over," the "If only Schmeling's collapse can be taken as a portent of the weakness of Nazism as a whole, our troubles are almost over," the Jewish Times Jewish Times editorialized. editorialized.

The Communists, too, rejoiced in Louis's win. If Neville Chamberlain had stood up to Hitler over Austria and the brewing conflict over the Czech Sudetenland the way Louis had to Schmeling, several papers commented, the world would be a safer place. Lester Rodney marveled at the Nazis' idiocy-how on Schmeling's exposed chin "they stuck the whole stupid myth of 'Aryan' supremacy for a member of one of the 'non-Aryan' races to swing at." "The Negro sent the 'pureblooded Aryan' down for the count," declared Izvestia Izvestia in Moscow. In Poland, there was widespread satisfaction over German embarrassment. A newspaper in Lodz recalled how the Nazis had touted Schmeling's win two years earlier as the triumph of intellect over brute strength. If that were really true, it said, Thomas Mann, Bruno Walter, Freud, and Einstein would now be running Germany, and the world wouldn't have to fear another war. Poland's Jews reacted more emotionally. What the fight proved, the principal Polish-language Jewish daily declared, was that Jews must recognize the symbolic value of sports, and stop treating its athletes as stepchildren. "Let's not disrespect good fists, developed muscles and everything that is not intellectual," it said. In the same paper, a Jewish poet named Wladys-law Szlengel wrote a poem. in Moscow. In Poland, there was widespread satisfaction over German embarrassment. A newspaper in Lodz recalled how the Nazis had touted Schmeling's win two years earlier as the triumph of intellect over brute strength. If that were really true, it said, Thomas Mann, Bruno Walter, Freud, and Einstein would now be running Germany, and the world wouldn't have to fear another war. Poland's Jews reacted more emotionally. What the fight proved, the principal Polish-language Jewish daily declared, was that Jews must recognize the symbolic value of sports, and stop treating its athletes as stepchildren. "Let's not disrespect good fists, developed muscles and everything that is not intellectual," it said. In the same paper, a Jewish poet named Wladys-law Szlengel wrote a poem.*

Hey Louis! You probably don't know What your punches mean to us You, in your anger, punched the Brown Shirts Straight in their hearts-K.O.

A Jewish boy in Katowice cut out a photograph of Schmeling at Louis's feet that appeared in a local newspaper and placed it in the mailbox of the German consulate.

The fight was front-page news in Tokyo. In Britain, it got bigger play than the death of the queen's mother. In Johannesburg, fans snapped up the "special fight edition" of the Rand Daily Mail. Rand Daily Mail. HITLER'S RACISM KNOCKED OUT LIKE LIGHTNING HITLER'S RACISM KNOCKED OUT LIKE LIGHTNING, a paper in Buenos Aires stated.

"A terrible defeat," Goebbels wrote in his diary the day after the fight. "Our newspapers had reckoned too much on victory. Now the entire nation is depressed. I'll send an encouraging telegram to Schmeling and flowers to Anny Ondra. They could both use that now." Contrary to much that was written later, Schmeling and Ondra remained in good official odor, even if he was understandably less lionized and conspicuous than before. Schmeling could expect a perfectly respectful reception in Germany if he wanted one. Hitler, who had not listened to the fight but had awakened in the middle of the night and asked for the result, was said to be both "extremely depressed" and to have received the news "philosophically." The "triumphal entry through a beflagged Berlin" that had been planned for Schmeling, culminating in a meeting with the Fuhrer, now had to be scuttled, though it was said that Hitler would still see him upon his return.

At eleven on the morning after the fight, the Polyclinic Hospital issued its first bulletin on Schmeling's condition. He had a fracture on the transverse process of the third and fourth lumbar vertebrae, with a hemorrhage of the lumbar muscles. Schmeling would recover, but would have to spend three weeks in the hospital. Word of the diagnosis spread far more slowly than the inevitable rumors that Schmeling had either died-NBC had to broadcast a bulletin denying it-or been irreparably maimed. Once again, concerned fight fans jammed newspaper and radio switchboards. New York's municipal radio station urged listeners to stop calling the hospital, whose emergency services were threatened by the deluge. The Times Times took more than two thousand calls that afternoon and evening, and newspapers elsewhere reported similar experiences. "It seemed as if everyone in Jacksonville had heard that the German had suffered a fatal injury," the local paper reported. Germany, too, was rife with rumors. "It was impossible even for a minute to put down the telephone receiver," the took more than two thousand calls that afternoon and evening, and newspapers elsewhere reported similar experiences. "It seemed as if everyone in Jacksonville had heard that the German had suffered a fatal injury," the local paper reported. Germany, too, was rife with rumors. "It was impossible even for a minute to put down the telephone receiver," the Angriff Angriff noted. noted.

Enormous crowds soon gathered outside the hospital. By four-thirty p.m. the day after the fight, the entrance and lobby were so crowded that the police had to be summoned. Inside, immobilized in an upraised bed, Schmeling received a few visitors: Machon, Joe Jacobs, General Phelan of the boxing commission, Hellmis. Schmeling and Machon persisted with the foul charge, but said they would not file a protest. Ondra reassured her husband that Germany had not turned on him, describing the torrent of letters, flowers, and calls she had received. "It's terrible that punches like that are permitted," she told the German press. She made plans to travel to the United States, but canceled them once doctors authorized Schmeling to return via the Bremen, Bremen, which was leaving New York in less than two weeks, provided he remained immobilized during the passage. The which was leaving New York in less than two weeks, provided he remained immobilized during the passage. The Daily News Daily News managed to sneak a photographer into Schmeling's room and splashed a picture of the pajama-clad patient, looking demoralized and weak, on its front page. Some cynics suspected Schmeling was faking it, either in league with the Nazis or to protect himself from them. 'MAX' managed to sneak a photographer into Schmeling's room and splashed a picture of the pajama-clad patient, looking demoralized and weak, on its front page. Some cynics suspected Schmeling was faking it, either in league with the Nazis or to protect himself from them. 'MAX' INJURY A RUSE TO FOOL HITLER INJURY A RUSE TO FOOL HITLER, read a headline in the Chicago Times. Chicago Times. An unnamed doctor told the An unnamed doctor told the Forverts Forverts that the German could walk out of the hospital if he wanted to. Seeking to set things straight, the Jacobses prevailed upon the hospital to release Schmeling's X-rays, which promptly appeared on the front pages of several newspapers. To those who could read them, they showed that Schmeling's injuries were quite real. that the German could walk out of the hospital if he wanted to. Seeking to set things straight, the Jacobses prevailed upon the hospital to release Schmeling's X-rays, which promptly appeared on the front pages of several newspapers. To those who could read them, they showed that Schmeling's injuries were quite real.

Joe Jacobs lobbied for a third fight, but only halfheartedly. "Max didn't go out of his way to get me in the corner," he admitted. All around, it was a bad time for him. For services rendered to the Reich, Parker wrote, Hitler would now place Jacobs in charge of all concentration camps for Jews. "Disowned by his race because he sold them out for an office boy's job with Schmeling, Jacobs cuts a rather sorry figure today," Parker opined. "His meal ticket gone, Yussel will have to find himself another racket because he has worn out his welcome in the fight game. Maybe, through his pull with Herr Goebbels, he could get a job as a photographer on Der Angriff." Der Angriff." Writing in the Writing in the B'nai B'rith Messenger, B'nai B'rith Messenger, Irv Kupcinet called Jacobs "the sorriest figure in sportdom." Irv Kupcinet called Jacobs "the sorriest figure in sportdom."

Two days after the fight, Ambassador Dieckhoff checked in on his most famous invalid. Mike Jacobs also visited, though perhaps only because Schmeling owed him $40,000; three times, Schmeling had left the country without paying taxes, and Jacobs had footed the bill. At one point, Machon and Uncle Mike got into a shouting match; Jacobs vowed that if Schmeling ever fought for him again, he would deal with him directly, and not through mouthpieces. "He is his own manager and has been for a long time," he said. Contrary to another hoary myth, Louis was not among those stopping by nor even attempting to do so. "No, I ain't going over to see him," he explained. "I just guess he was just the only man I ever been mad at. Sorry if he's hurt, tha's all. I don't like to hurt nobody." Instead, Louis and his advisers dashed off a note and sent it by messenger to Western Union. "Wishing you good luck and hope you are not seriously hurt," it said. That was enough.

Goebbels's ministry quickly tried to distance itself from the debacle, insisting that it had always counseled caution on all fight coverage. "The newspapers now only have themselves to blame if they've made fools of themselves," it declared. Having gone so far out on a limb, the state-controlled press could hardly pretend the fight hadn't happened, or bury fight-related stories in the back pages. Schmeling himself, meantime, was to remain praiseworthy. "It is entirely clear that Schmeling continues to have our sympathies," the orders stated. On the streets of Berlin, some professed indifference to the outcome. On the Berlin underground, a man was overheard to say he felt bad about Schmeling's ordeal. "Yes, Schmeling may have been almost killed," his friend replied, "but Beethoven's Ninth Symphony still lives on." A South African paper, however, described Berlin as "dumbfounded" by the outcome. Only two papers published their planned fight extras, it said; the rest "were canceled in disgust." A Frankfurt paper offered its own absurd explanation: "The reports from New York were so contradictory that we, in the interest of accurate coverage, decided not to publish a special edition."

Throughout the Reich, conspiracy talk was rife; many believed that Louis had had lead or cement in his gloves. So was racial stereotyping. "Neger und Elefanten vergessen Prugel nie!" the saying went: Negroes and elephants never forget a beating! But good sportsmanship was to be the official Nazi party line. All talk of fouls and all denigration of Louis were forbidden; perhaps this was why Schmeling dropped the charge so fast. Schmeling was officially decreed to be the victim of a bad break. And Schmeling, moreover, was not Germany; there was to be no talk about loss of national prestige. The image of Schmeling the tenacious, impeccable sportsman who had shown Germany how to persevere and prevail over all obstacles lived on, at least for now. For many years Schmeling's victories had made the Germans "proud and happy," one paper declared. Now, it said, Germans had to "show we can be fair losers." Newspapers wished him a speedy recovery and promised him a gracious welcome home. the saying went: Negroes and elephants never forget a beating! But good sportsmanship was to be the official Nazi party line. All talk of fouls and all denigration of Louis were forbidden; perhaps this was why Schmeling dropped the charge so fast. Schmeling was officially decreed to be the victim of a bad break. And Schmeling, moreover, was not Germany; there was to be no talk about loss of national prestige. The image of Schmeling the tenacious, impeccable sportsman who had shown Germany how to persevere and prevail over all obstacles lived on, at least for now. For many years Schmeling's victories had made the Germans "proud and happy," one paper declared. Now, it said, Germans had to "show we can be fair losers." Newspapers wished him a speedy recovery and promised him a gracious welcome home.

A few German papers gave Louis, or Louis's advisers, some credit. "Schmeling seems not to have reckoned with the tactics of Louis who apparently was brilliantly advised," one wrote. Schmeling, the Angriff Angriff noted, was simply not up to an attack from someone nine years younger. But despite the officially sanctioned good manners, there was plenty of scapegoating and stereotyping. A few days earlier, the German press said Schmeling couldn't lose; now it insisted he never could have won. Schmeling hadn't lost because Louis was a superman, but because "certain American profiteers"-the Jews, of course-had made him wait for a fight to which he'd been entitled. Under such circumstances, it would have been miraculous if he'd prevailed. In other ways, too, it hadn't been a fair fight; for one thing, Louis wasn't quite human. He "attacked like an animal," with an "animal-like will to annihilate," noted, was simply not up to an attack from someone nine years younger. But despite the officially sanctioned good manners, there was plenty of scapegoating and stereotyping. A few days earlier, the German press said Schmeling couldn't lose; now it insisted he never could have won. Schmeling hadn't lost because Louis was a superman, but because "certain American profiteers"-the Jews, of course-had made him wait for a fight to which he'd been entitled. Under such circumstances, it would have been miraculous if he'd prevailed. In other ways, too, it hadn't been a fair fight; for one thing, Louis wasn't quite human. He "attacked like an animal," with an "animal-like will to annihilate," Box-Sport Box-Sport said. The fight hadn't been between two men, but two species; all of Schmeling's evolutionary advantages-craft, experience, intelligence, will-had been nullified by the primitive biological edge of "an uncontrolled half-savage." said. The fight hadn't been between two men, but two species; all of Schmeling's evolutionary advantages-craft, experience, intelligence, will-had been nullified by the primitive biological edge of "an uncontrolled half-savage."

Others insisted, notwithstanding Goebbels's edict, that Louis's punches had been dirty and deliberate. "To be beaten by such means is not dishonorable," a Freiburg paper said. "Such an ending fits the image we had of the Negro Joe Louis all along, although we never spoke about it out of a feeling of athletic chivalry toward the American sports community." Last time, Louis had merely tried to stave off the inevitable by fouling; this time, he had succeeded. The paper discouraged talk of a third fight; who could guarantee that Louis would not cheat yet again, putting Schmeling's health at risk? "We gladly leave to the Americans world championships that are won this way," it concluded. On June 24, the propaganda ministry moved to control the story more tightly, and to tamp it down. "It is time to have the subject of Schmeling disappear from the first two pages of the newspapers," it directed. Newspaper editors threw in the towel as quickly as Machon had. Virtually overnight, a story that had dominated the German press for weeks, first excitedly and then either ruefully or indignantly, all but disappeared.

Still, there was some unfinished business. One item was the Angriff's Angriff's pool. Not one of the thirty thousand entrants had called for Louis in the first round, but four intrepid souls had picked him in the second. The pot was divided among twenty people, each of whom received 10 Reichsmarks each. The magazines, with their longer deadlines, also weighed in. Louis was now the honest world's champion, said the pool. Not one of the thirty thousand entrants had called for Louis in the first round, but four intrepid souls had picked him in the second. The pot was divided among twenty people, each of whom received 10 Reichsmarks each. The magazines, with their longer deadlines, also weighed in. Louis was now the honest world's champion, said the Reichs-sportblatt. Volkssport und Leibeserziehung Reichs-sportblatt. Volkssport und Leibeserziehung claimed that Schmeling had actually been claimed that Schmeling had actually been too too smart, relying excessively on strategy and not enough on instinct. "Two minutes determine the work of five years," Thoma wrote in smart, relying excessively on strategy and not enough on instinct. "Two minutes determine the work of five years," Thoma wrote in Box-Sport. Box-Sport. "There could hardly be a greater tragedy in sports." He pushed for a third fight. And if the Americans wouldn't hold it, he asked, then why not the Germans? "Since here, as is well known, Negroes are not lynched and Jews are not shot, the fight can take place without difficulty," he wrote. He urged against writing Schmeling off: it was just not the Nazi way. "National Socialism is not a creed professing the success of the moment; it is not jingoism," he wrote. "Serious work is rewarded with serious recognition, even at times when success is elusive." The Hitler Youth certainly weren't writing Schmeling off; always, its magazine stated, he would "keep his place in the heart of the youth." That said, the promised second installment of a feature on Schmeling never appeared. "There could hardly be a greater tragedy in sports." He pushed for a third fight. And if the Americans wouldn't hold it, he asked, then why not the Germans? "Since here, as is well known, Negroes are not lynched and Jews are not shot, the fight can take place without difficulty," he wrote. He urged against writing Schmeling off: it was just not the Nazi way. "National Socialism is not a creed professing the success of the moment; it is not jingoism," he wrote. "Serious work is rewarded with serious recognition, even at times when success is elusive." The Hitler Youth certainly weren't writing Schmeling off; always, its magazine stated, he would "keep his place in the heart of the youth." That said, the promised second installment of a feature on Schmeling never appeared.

On June 29, Goebbels decreed that "it is now time to stop with the picture reports about Schmeling, his fight, and his private life." The ban would extend to coverage of Schmeling's return to Germany. Hellmis, meantime, remained in New York; Parker suggested he was afraid to return home. Unable to write any more about Schmeling, he turned to New York itself, and why every third boxer there wore the Star of David on his trunks, "even if he looks like a Norwegian sailor." Soon, Hellmis put off to sea. This trip would be very different from his epic journey two years earlier, when he'd felt an almost divine calling to tell Schmeling's story. For all his vigilance about what Schmeling ate and drank, Hellmis had neglected to look out for himself, and shortly before he left, someone slipped him a Mickey Finn; he was sick for two days. Several took credit for the deed, but Joe Jacobs's claim was the most credible. "I got even with that big Nazi bum," he said later.*

Schmeling's condition stabilized quickly enough for the hospital to discontinue its daily bulletins. His room was so filled with flowers that extra bouquets were distributed in the wards. But his spirits remained low. His face was still bruised and it hurt whenever he moved, something the nurses had to help him do. "A man who had been run over by a steam roller could not have suffered more," wrote Al Monroe, who visited him a week after the fight. To Monroe and others, Schmeling now insisted that he never intended to claim a foul, but only that the kidney punch was illegal in Europe. As for the other punches, Louis had hit him as hard in the first fight, and he had handled it just fine. "He could have hit me on the head or the stomach, but it had to be there," there," he complained. he complained.

The Bremen Bremen was to set sail around midnight on July 2, a Saturday. Seeking to elude the press, Schmeling arranged to leave the hospital quietly twenty-six hours earlier. He was taken by stretcher to the pier on West Forty-sixth Street, and by the time the press knew anything about it, he had been installed on board, with guards surrounding his stateroom. Few people were sorry to see him leave. He'd be back, Joe Williams predicted, because he had "a lyrical enthusiasm for the American dollar." But he'd never fight Louis again, because Louis could beat him any night of the week. Before leaving, Schmeling had several accounts to settle. He owed money to Jack Dietz, the owner of the 1936 fight film. He also owed Mike Jacobs, Uncle Sam, Madison Square Garden, and Steve Dudas. Dietz and the United States marshall boarded the was to set sail around midnight on July 2, a Saturday. Seeking to elude the press, Schmeling arranged to leave the hospital quietly twenty-six hours earlier. He was taken by stretcher to the pier on West Forty-sixth Street, and by the time the press knew anything about it, he had been installed on board, with guards surrounding his stateroom. Few people were sorry to see him leave. He'd be back, Joe Williams predicted, because he had "a lyrical enthusiasm for the American dollar." But he'd never fight Louis again, because Louis could beat him any night of the week. Before leaving, Schmeling had several accounts to settle. He owed money to Jack Dietz, the owner of the 1936 fight film. He also owed Mike Jacobs, Uncle Sam, Madison Square Garden, and Steve Dudas. Dietz and the United States marshall boarded the Bremen Bremen early Saturday morning to make sure Schmeling paid up. By Parker's calculation, $153,000 of Schmeling's $174,000 take was already spoken for, and that didn't count training expenses, hospital bills, Machon's fees, or Joe Jacobs's cut, however skimpy that might have been. early Saturday morning to make sure Schmeling paid up. By Parker's calculation, $153,000 of Schmeling's $174,000 take was already spoken for, and that didn't count training expenses, hospital bills, Machon's fees, or Joe Jacobs's cut, however skimpy that might have been.

His business done, Schmeling met with reporters. He was propped up in his bed, dressed in blue pajamas with red piping; his back was fixed tightly with adhesive, his left eye still "in mourning." "I haff moved from one prison to another only this iss a nicer chall, because it iss moving toward home," he said. Again, he said he had no plans to retire: "There is vork to be done. Great vork." Again, he stressed that he'd gotten a bad break. All he wanted was "anozzer chance." The Nazis ordered cautious coverage of his plans. "Since Schmeling's future sporting activities are not yet certain, one is warned against taking up reports about supposedly firm plans and new agreements," the press was told.

A nurse would accompany Schmeling during the crossing, as would Machon. Also on board was a German sports reporter named Carl Otto Haymann, who neatly summed up his experience thus far. "We traveled seven thousand miles for-poof!" he said. Schmeling was again bringing back footage of the fight; Machon, the ship's captain, and four of Schmeling's friends watched it at sea. But confined to his cabin, Schmeling could not, and it was surely just as well. He owned the German rights to this film, too, but its commercial prospects were bleak. "The Nazis will break down no doors trying to get a peek at the movies showing their hero being punched into a protoplasmic mass," wrote Shirley Povich of The Washington Post. of The Washington Post.

Ondra called the ship several times to check up on her husband, and to plead with him to retire. Sitting up in his bed, a phonograph playing swing music in the background, Schmeling told a reporter that he'd radioed officials in Bremerhaven, asking that no reception be held for him. His wishes dovetailed nicely with the regime's: the more low key, the better. The Bremen Bremen docked in Cherbourg on July 8 and reached Bremerhaven the next day. Among those meeting Schmeling were his wife, his mother, and one of Tschammer und Osten's representatives. Schmeling was not on a stretcher; "that would never have done," he explained. Instead, the two women helped him down the gangplank and toward the boat-train to Berlin, where a special compartment had been readied for him. Schmeling complained of dizziness, probably from having been in bed so long. Asked about the fight, he said he appreciated the fairness of the Yankee Stadium crowd. "A few intimates emitted a heil or two," wrote an American reporter with no knowledge of Schmeling's request. "There is either a tacit verboten on Max in Germany or else a definite order to play down this dark-browed Aryan who lost to a Negro." An equally cheerless welcome greeted Schmeling in Berlin, where just two dozen people-friends, newspapermen, photographers-awaited him at the Zoo station. "That's certainly one thing the Germans of today have to learn: how to be good losers," another American reporter wrote. docked in Cherbourg on July 8 and reached Bremerhaven the next day. Among those meeting Schmeling were his wife, his mother, and one of Tschammer und Osten's representatives. Schmeling was not on a stretcher; "that would never have done," he explained. Instead, the two women helped him down the gangplank and toward the boat-train to Berlin, where a special compartment had been readied for him. Schmeling complained of dizziness, probably from having been in bed so long. Asked about the fight, he said he appreciated the fairness of the Yankee Stadium crowd. "A few intimates emitted a heil or two," wrote an American reporter with no knowledge of Schmeling's request. "There is either a tacit verboten on Max in Germany or else a definite order to play down this dark-browed Aryan who lost to a Negro." An equally cheerless welcome greeted Schmeling in Berlin, where just two dozen people-friends, newspapermen, photographers-awaited him at the Zoo station. "That's certainly one thing the Germans of today have to learn: how to be good losers," another American reporter wrote.

Schmeling said he planned to enter a hospital the next day to complete his cure, but beyond that he'd make no statement. Five days later, he checked out of the clinic, telling Thoma that his career was not yet over. To allay reports that Schmeling had killed himself, the propaganda ministry directed German magazines to print pictures of him; in mid-July Box-Sport Box-Sport put him and his wife, walking together down a street, on its cover. "Today, Schmeling has more friends in America than before, and Joe Louis hasn't won any new ones since his doubtful victory," the magazine wrote. "Anywhere else, and under any other ring rules, Joe Louis would have been disqualified." put him and his wife, walking together down a street, on its cover. "Today, Schmeling has more friends in America than before, and Joe Louis hasn't won any new ones since his doubtful victory," the magazine wrote. "Anywhere else, and under any other ring rules, Joe Louis would have been disqualified."

Immediately following the fight, Box-Sport Box-Sport said it awaited the fight films with "burning curiosity," presumably to document Louis's perfidy. When Thoma saw them, necessarily while still in New York, he suggested that the fateful kidney punch had been excised by "the all-powerful Mike Jacobs and his friends." There's no evidence this is true. But rather than using the film to prove Schmeling's point, Goebbels barred it outright. "[Schmeling] is brutally beaten," he told his diary after screening the footage. "Can't be shown publicly." Asked why the films were not distributed, the German news agency explained that they had arrived "too late." Reports soon surfaced that the Nazis were showing doctored fight films, with footage from the two fights interspersed. The resulting pastiche supposedly showed Schmeling winning handily (the first fight) until the kidney punch (the second fight). Roxborough complained to the American ambassador in Berlin, Hugh Wilson, whose investigation revealed that no fight films, real or doctored, were being shown in Germany. said it awaited the fight films with "burning curiosity," presumably to document Louis's perfidy. When Thoma saw them, necessarily while still in New York, he suggested that the fateful kidney punch had been excised by "the all-powerful Mike Jacobs and his friends." There's no evidence this is true. But rather than using the film to prove Schmeling's point, Goebbels barred it outright. "[Schmeling] is brutally beaten," he told his diary after screening the footage. "Can't be shown publicly." Asked why the films were not distributed, the German news agency explained that they had arrived "too late." Reports soon surfaced that the Nazis were showing doctored fight films, with footage from the two fights interspersed. The resulting pastiche supposedly showed Schmeling winning handily (the first fight) until the kidney punch (the second fight). Roxborough complained to the American ambassador in Berlin, Hugh Wilson, whose investigation revealed that no fight films, real or doctored, were being shown in Germany.

With Schmeling out of commission, boxing promoters launched yet another search for a "white hope." "The hunt is on," Ring Ring reported in September. "Hundreds of managers and scouts throughout the world are on the lookout. The lumber camps are being combed. The C.C.C. [Civilian Conservation Corps] camps are being scoured. There is a sharp lookout in every gymnasium where boxing is followed for the young man who some day may come up as did Louis and be able to survive the flaying fists of the Bomber." It was a vain wish, Fleischer conceded six months later- "No champion was ever as far removed from the available opposition as this somber socker"-but also an entirely unnecessary one: "Gone are the days of the white hope hysteria when every muscle-bound truck driver, stevedore, laborer or what-have-you was looked upon as a potential savior of an harassed humanity," he wrote. And that was the glory in Louis's story: it offered hope not just to his own people and nation, but to a much larger constituency, too: "In a world tormented by a tidal wave of intolerance," Fleischer said, "the American attitude toward Louis stands out like a beacon of hope on a stormy night." reported in September. "Hundreds of managers and scouts throughout the world are on the lookout. The lumber camps are being combed. The C.C.C. [Civilian Conservation Corps] camps are being scoured. There is a sharp lookout in every gymnasium where boxing is followed for the young man who some day may come up as did Louis and be able to survive the flaying fists of the Bomber." It was a vain wish, Fleischer conceded six months later- "No champion was ever as far removed from the available opposition as this somber socker"-but also an entirely unnecessary one: "Gone are the days of the white hope hysteria when every muscle-bound truck driver, stevedore, laborer or what-have-you was looked upon as a potential savior of an harassed humanity," he wrote. And that was the glory in Louis's story: it offered hope not just to his own people and nation, but to a much larger constituency, too: "In a world tormented by a tidal wave of intolerance," Fleischer said, "the American attitude toward Louis stands out like a beacon of hope on a stormy night."

That may all have been true. But soon, there'd be no need for fighters, at least in the ring, nor would there be much cause for hope of any kind. Not even the mighty Joe Louis could prevent the catastrophe to come.

* Two Gary residents, a white woman named Florence Nehring and Joseph Pitts, a black barber, had listened to the fight-she at her home, he at his barbershop. Each then went out to reconnoiter. Whites near one commercial strip began pelting the car carrying Pitts and two of his friends with tomatoes and eggs. Pitts got frightened, opened the door, and brandished a revolver, which went off accidentally. After ricocheting off a wall, the bullet hit Nehring in the abdomen. Hundreds of angry whites then swarmed around Pitts's car; cries of "Lynch the nigger!" filled the air. A policeman pulled him to safety, but whites turned over the car with the other men still inside; one rioter tried puncturing the gas tank with an ice pick and setting the car on fire. Fearing he'd be lynched-the crowd had swollen to more than two thousand people-authorities took Pitts to a remote jail. "Prizefights between white men and Negroes always supply enough dynamite for an explosion," the local newspaper observed. Gary's black weekly apologized to its white neighbors: "We have, as a whole, tried to so conduct ourselves as to merit the respect of the white people of Gary, and their attitude toward us has been so exceptional, that we blush with shame at this lapse of good sense," it stated. Nehring ultimately died and Pitts was convicted of murder and sentenced to life imprisonment; he spent five years in jail before his sentence was commuted. He later became head of the local branch of the NAACP. Two Gary residents, a white woman named Florence Nehring and Joseph Pitts, a black barber, had listened to the fight-she at her home, he at his barbershop. Each then went out to reconnoiter. Whites near one commercial strip began pelting the car carrying Pitts and two of his friends with tomatoes and eggs. Pitts got frightened, opened the door, and brandished a revolver, which went off accidentally. After ricocheting off a wall, the bullet hit Nehring in the abdomen. Hundreds of angry whites then swarmed around Pitts's car; cries of "Lynch the nigger!" filled the air. A policeman pulled him to safety, but whites turned over the car with the other men still inside; one rioter tried puncturing the gas tank with an ice pick and setting the car on fire. Fearing he'd be lynched-the crowd had swollen to more than two thousand people-authorities took Pitts to a remote jail. "Prizefights between white men and Negroes always supply enough dynamite for an explosion," the local newspaper observed. Gary's black weekly apologized to its white neighbors: "We have, as a whole, tried to so conduct ourselves as to merit the respect of the white people of Gary, and their attitude toward us has been so exceptional, that we blush with shame at this lapse of good sense," it stated. Nehring ultimately died and Pitts was convicted of murder and sentenced to life imprisonment; he spent five years in jail before his sentence was commuted. He later became head of the local branch of the NAACP.* The towel reputed to be the one Machon threw, now in the Smithsonian Institution, is almost certainly an impostor. The towel reputed to be the one Machon threw, now in the Smithsonian Institution, is almost certainly an impostor.* Szlengel, who went on to become the unofficial poet of the Warsaw Ghetto, was killed in the uprising there in April 1943. He was not yet thirty years old. Szlengel, who went on to become the unofficial poet of the Warsaw Ghetto, was killed in the uprising there in April 1943. He was not yet thirty years old. But surely the most novel interpretation of the outcome came from W. C. Fields. "It simply bears out what I've always contended," he told Ed Sullivan. "A kidney needs a good alcoholic lining to stand up under wear and tear. Schmeling was the victim of clean living. I dare say that if Louis or any other professional slasher dealt me such a blow that their hands would crumple from the impact. As a result of long and serious drinking, I've developed protective ripples of muscles over my kidneys." But surely the most novel interpretation of the outcome came from W. C. Fields. "It simply bears out what I've always contended," he told Ed Sullivan. "A kidney needs a good alcoholic lining to stand up under wear and tear. Schmeling was the victim of clean living. I dare say that if Louis or any other professional slasher dealt me such a blow that their hands would crumple from the impact. As a result of long and serious drinking, I've developed protective ripples of muscles over my kidneys."* In another nearly equally plausible version of the story, it is Machon to whom Jacobs slipped the Mickey Finn. In another nearly equally plausible version of the story, it is Machon to whom Jacobs slipped the Mickey Finn.

Epilogue.

FOR JOE LOUIS if for almost no one else, the legendary second Louis-Schmeling fight faded fast. "I thought that would be the happiest moment of my life, the night I knocked out Smellin' and got my revenge," he noted a few months later. "And when I did, somehow it didn't seem important any more." For the next few years, he had more trouble finding decent opponents than beating them. One of his victims was another of Joe Jacobs's charges, Tony Galento; Jacobs accused Louis of having had a gadget in his glove the night he'd crushed Schmeling-a charge he quickly recanted. By September 1939, Jack Blackburn pronounced Louis the greatest heavyweight ever. After that, Mike Jacobs kept Louis extremely busy; he had eleven fights in 1940 and 1941 alone. His roster of undistinguished rivals was famously dubbed "The Bum-of-the-Month Club." Only Billy Conn, who had Louis beaten on points in June 1941 until foolishly going for a knockout late in their fight, put Louis to any kind of test. "It may be impossible for any Negro to be altogether happy in the U.S. but Louis probably comes as close to this ideal as any other member of his race," Life Life magazine declared in the spring of 1940. magazine declared in the spring of 1940.

Even before Pearl Harbor, Louis had signed up for the peacetime draft, and his patriotic deeds following America's entry into World War II only broadened and deepened his appeal. In January 1942, he donated all his winnings from a title defense against Max Baer's younger brother, Buddy, to the Navy Relief Fund, to be given to the families of fallen sailors. Louis had "laid a rose on Abraham Lincoln's grave," former New York mayor Jimmy Walker said afterward. He then enlisted in the still-segregated army. In March 1942, Private Joe Louis told a New York audience, "We'll win, 'cause we're on God's side," a slogan that made its way into songs and posters. Then he again put his title on the line for charity, this time against Abe Simon for the Army Relief Fund. Louis's qualms about American racism didn't lessen his patriotic ardor. "There's a lot wrong with our country, but nothin' Hitler could fix," he said. But he would not box before segregated crowds on American military bases, complained to the War Department about the poor treatment of black soldiers, and defended a black private named Jackie Robinson following his altercation with a southern cracker. Footage of Louis in basic training appeared in a government documentary called The Negro Soldier. The Negro Soldier. The film also noted that while Louis was serving his country, Schmeling was serving his, as a paratrooper in the Wehrmacht. Once again Louis and Schmeling had squared off, the narrator solemnly declared, "this time in a far greater arena and for much greater stakes." The film also noted that while Louis was serving his country, Schmeling was serving his, as a paratrooper in the Wehrmacht. Once again Louis and Schmeling had squared off, the narrator solemnly declared, "this time in a far greater arena and for much greater stakes."

Schmeling had hoped to resume his boxing career upon recovering from his injuries in the Louis fight. In July 1938, Machon announced that Schmeling would resume his training as soon as his doctors approved. That September, the Reichssportblatt Reichssportblatt reported that Schmeling and Ondra were in Berlin, "as happy and gay as one can be," notwithstanding reports to the contrary abroad. Six weeks after the fight, Schmeling was invited to the Harz Mountain town of Benneckenstein to celebrate the tenth anniversary of the founding of the local chapter of the Nazi Party, and his friend and Goebbels's deputy, Hans Hinkel, accepted his invitation to go with him. That never happened, but no high-ranking Nazi would have ever even considered accompanying anyone who was in official disfavor. That September Schmeling again attended the annual Nazi Party congress in Nuremberg, as he often had, and met with Goebbels as well. Though mentioned far less often in the German papers-as a boxer who wasn't boxing, he was doing little worthy of mention-the Nazi press continued to praise him. The magazine of the Hitler Youth described him as a role model to German boys; reported that Schmeling and Ondra were in Berlin, "as happy and gay as one can be," notwithstanding reports to the contrary abroad. Six weeks after the fight, Schmeling was invited to the Harz Mountain town of Benneckenstein to celebrate the tenth anniversary of the founding of the local chapter of the Nazi Party, and his friend and Goebbels's deputy, Hans Hinkel, accepted his invitation to go with him. That never happened, but no high-ranking Nazi would have ever even considered accompanying anyone who was in official disfavor. That September Schmeling again attended the annual Nazi Party congress in Nuremberg, as he often had, and met with Goebbels as well. Though mentioned far less often in the German papers-as a boxer who wasn't boxing, he was doing little worthy of mention-the Nazi press continued to praise him. The magazine of the Hitler Youth described him as a role model to German boys; Box-Sport Box-Sport pronounced him "as popular as ever, because he went down as a fighter." Celebrating Schmeling was different from acknowledging what had happened to him, though; when the pronounced him "as popular as ever, because he went down as a fighter." Celebrating Schmeling was different from acknowledging what had happened to him, though; when the Reichssportblatt Reichssportblatt listed the monthly athletic highlights of 1938, the Louis-Schmeling fight was omitted. listed the monthly athletic highlights of 1938, the Louis-Schmeling fight was omitted.

Schmeling would not have remained in official favor had the authorities known that on the night of November 9, 1938-Kristallnacht, when the Nazis destroyed Jewish businesses and synagogues throughout Germany and sent thousands of Jewish men to concentration camps-he picked up two Jewish teenagers, sons of an old friend, drove them to his hotel suite in Berlin, and sheltered them there for several days, until the worst excesses subsided. While Schmeling the public figure had always been oblivious of or indifferent to the larger symbolic importance of what he did, Schmeling the private citizen was capable of acts of courage and compassion toward particular individuals, which by their very nature remained unsung. In fact, Schmeling himself never talked about it, or even cited it on his behalf once the war was over. And though it is hard to find other specific examples, his helpfulness to the victims of Nazi persecution is said to have intensified as Hitler's atrocities worsened.

Any official unhappiness with Schmeling stemmed initially from comments attributed to him in the Western press later in 1938, following reports that Goebbels had been roughed up by friends of the husband of Lida Baarova, the Czech actress with whom the propaganda minister was said to be having an affair. It was lucky for Goebbels that he had never tried to play around with Anny, Schmeling was quoted as saying, because he would have broken Goebbels's neck. There were reports that for those remarks Schmeling had been thrown into a concentration camp, but he soon made plans to return to New York, and to attempt to fight Louis again. "I am Joe Louis's master," he declared before sailing from France in January 1939. "I proved it once and I'll prove it again." Guessing precisely why Schmeling was making the trip "provides boxing with its best puzzle since Max Baer sold 108 percent of himself," the Chicago Tribune Chicago Tribune observed; Bob Considine called it "the strangest and perhaps the most sinister trip ever taken by an athlete." observed; Bob Considine called it "the strangest and perhaps the most sinister trip ever taken by an athlete."

The assumption was that the Nazis wanted him to prove he had not been imprisoned, though if that were really the case, they had no illusions it would work. "The fact that Schmeling is allowed to travel not only domestically but also outside the borders should silence all the lies about his 'disappearance' or 'death,'" the 12 Uhr-Blatt 12 Uhr-Blatt declared. "Schmeling's trip will surely bear some results, but rabble-rousers and the Jewish criminals will certainly come up with a new lie." Or he had debts to settle with the owners of the 1936 fight films, or he wanted to tend to the money he'd squirreled away, or he wanted to borrow more of it from Mike Jacobs. Schmeling said simply that he wanted to see some friends and a few movies, and take a vacation. "I am not what you say in bad with the government," he declared upon arriving in New York in early February, noting that Hitler had sent him a telegram after the Louis fight. Never, he insisted, had he criticized Goebbels, either publicly or privately. Once again, he didn't want to discuss politics; when a New York paper quoted Schmeling asserting that Hitler didn't speak for all Germans, he denied ever saying such a thing and demanded a correction. Schmeling was happy to talk boxing, though, and he claimed he could beat Louis in a rubber match. Few took him seriously-"The reporters looked at each other and smiled, but not so Schmeling could see them," one wrote-and fewer still hankered, as Schmeling clearly did, for such a fight. That included Joe Jacobs. Reporters noted that his fierce loyalty to Schmeling had netted him little more than "chicken feed and a million enemies among his own race," and that the German "had done everything except kick the little guy down a flight of stairs to prove that he no longer valued his services." But now Jacobs had a weapon more potent than a Mickey Finn with which to exact his revenge, arranging for Louis to fight a client who respected him and paid him appropriately-Galento-rather than one who did not. Jacobs "considered that he had squared accounts with Max," one reporter observed. "He whooped it up for several days, and the drinks were on him." Schmeling and Jacobs did not see each other on this trip, nor ever again. declared. "Schmeling's trip will surely bear some results, but rabble-rousers and the Jewish criminals will certainly come up with a new lie." Or he had debts to settle with the owners of the 1936 fight films, or he wanted to tend to the money he'd squirreled away, or he wanted to borrow more of it from Mike Jacobs. Schmeling said simply that he wanted to see some friends and a few movies, and take a vacation. "I am not what you say in bad with the government," he declared upon arriving in New York in early February, noting that Hitler had sent him a telegram after the Louis fight. Never, he insisted, had he criticized Goebbels, either publicly or privately. Once again, he didn't want to discuss politics; when a New York paper quoted Schmeling asserting that Hitler didn't speak for all Germans, he denied ever saying such a thing and demanded a correction. Schmeling was happy to talk boxing, though, and he claimed he could beat Louis in a rubber match. Few took him seriously-"The reporters looked at each other and smiled, but not so Schmeling could see them," one wrote-and fewer still hankered, as Schmeling clearly did, for such a fight. That included Joe Jacobs. Reporters noted that his fierce loyalty to Schmeling had netted him little more than "chicken feed and a million enemies among his own race," and that the German "had done everything except kick the little guy down a flight of stairs to prove that he no longer valued his services." But now Jacobs had a weapon more potent than a Mickey Finn with which to exact his revenge, arranging for Louis to fight a client who respected him and paid him appropriately-Galento-rather than one who did not. Jacobs "considered that he had squared accounts with Max," one reporter observed. "He whooped it up for several days, and the drinks were on him." Schmeling and Jacobs did not see each other on this trip, nor ever again.

In any case, both German boxing officials and Hitler himself opposed a third Louis fight; their examination of the fight film-Nazi officials at least were allowed to see it-proved that Schmeling had been crushed fair and square rather than by some fluky foul. The word from Hitler came to Schmeling in March 1939 via Metzner. Though it was not an official ban, Metzner explained to him, it was "self-evident" that for the organization of German professional boxers, "a wish of the Fuhrer is an order," and he should break off any negotiations. Schmeling was crushed-as much, it seems, by the suggestion that he was "supposedly no longer good enough" to fight Louis as by the dashing of his hopes for a rubber match. "You can imagine that this has affected me in a peculiar way," he wrote Metzner plaintively. When he tried to learn from Hitler's office the basis for the decision, he was assured it was entirely political; Metzner told him the same thing, insisting that Hitler's opposition did not reflect any "lack of trust in your abilities." The white lies told to soothe Schmeling's feelings were yet another indication of his continued high stature. Nazi Germany wasn't angry at Schmeling; it just didn't want another humiliating international loss. Schmeling would have to be content fighting Germans in Germany. He did, and he won, raising hopes for yet another comeback. But when war broke out in September 1939, the thirty-five-year-old Schmeling was soon drafted-punitively, he later insisted, either by Goebbels or by the sports minister, Tschammer und Osten. He ended up as a paratrooper-assured, he later asserted bitterly, that he'd be used for propaganda purposes and to spur enlistment, and not for combat.

Of course, all of Germany was being mobilized. That included Schmeling's friend Arno Hellmis, who had long since moved from delivering ringside eulogies to the far happier task of reporting smashing German victories in Poland, Belgium, and France. Soon, Hellmis predicted, he would be broadcasting from the Eiffel Tower. But on June 6,1940, he was killed in an ambush in France. Then, after glowing tributes to him appeared in the Nazi press, he all but vanished from the annals. While Hellmis was surely the most universally known sports broadcaster in German history, and the man who covered the single most epochal moment in German athletics, no German scholar or journalist in the past seventy years has ever written anything about him. He was someone whom everyone would just as soon forget.

It was not Schmeling's only loss that spring: six weeks earlier, Joe Jacobs had died of a heart attack. He was forty-two years old. For a short time afterward, Jacobs Beach moved to the Riverside Memorial Chapel on Manhattan's Upper West Side. "Y'know, he looked so natural lying there that I felt like popping that old cigar in his mouth," Harry Balogh said after paying his respects. Schmeling had to hear the news from the Associated Press reporter in Berlin, for Jacobs's death went unmentioned in Nazi newspapers. "It is too bad, for boxing loses a man who has done a lot for it," Schmeling commented from Berlin. "Joe and I always got along well together." American boxing writers knew better, as had Jacobs himself. "Why, I made Max rich, gave him fame, worked my tonsils raw advertising him and then-well, he was a good fighter, but you can have him," he had said a year earlier. "I don't hold no hard feelin's toward him, though I gotta confess he didn't have the loyalty that makes a real man ... and a true friend. I like Max personally. But they musta put a poison into him over there." Had Jacobs Beach had its own marquees, they would have dimmed for a minute-perhaps at three in the morning-to honor the fiery manager. The boxing writers mourned him, knowing they would never meet anyone like him again. A woman claiming to be Jacobs's secret wife fought with his family over his meager estate.

In April 1940, only weeks before the Nazis began bombing London and invaded France, Schmeling was still trying to float above politics, still talking to American correspondents in Berlin about fighting Louis again, sending Franklin Roosevelt stamps for his collection. But his career as a German paratrooper was beginning. The Nazis happily chronicled his progress, and Schmeling, to all appearances, happily played the part. "Max Schmeling, Germany's most popular boxer and former world champion, has enlisted with the paratroopers," a Nazi newsreel from February 1941 declared. Schmeling, the Angriff Angriff said, was a soldier first, and only then a boxer. "As an athlete, he is a role model for ambitious youth, even more so today than earlier, because now he wears the gray coat [of the Wehrmacht]," it declared. In May 1941 he appeared on the cover of the paratroopers' magazine. said, was a soldier first, and only then a boxer. "As an athlete, he is a role model for ambitious youth, even more so today than earlier, because now he wears the gray coat [of the Wehrmacht]," it declared. In May 1941 he appeared on the cover of the paratroopers' magazine.

When the Nazis invaded Crete later that month, German radio announced that Schmeling was the first paratrooper on the first plane, and among the first to jump. Quickly, he also became among the first reported fatalities-killed, Western news reports stated, while fleeing his British captors. His death was front-page news everywhere outside Germany. Dempsey eulogized him as "a great fighter and a great fellow" as well as a secret anti-Nazi. But once Schmeling was declared alive-he'd merely been incapacitated, either by aggravating an old boxing injury or by an extreme case of diarrhea-Runyon depicted him as a cheapskate and an ingrate, "not at all the fellow the premature obituaries would have you believe."

While in a German military hospital in Athens, Schmeling gave conflicting accounts of what he had witnessed. To the German press he accused the British of flagrantly violating the rules of war, conduct that had justified harsh German retaliation. They, too, he essentially said, had committed a foul. But to an American correspondent, he insisted the British had not mistreated German soldiers, contrary to what Goebbels had claimed. Goebbels attempted, unsuccessfully, to have him court-martialed. Instead, Schmeling earned an Iron Cross, and a promotion, for his service. But his combat career had ended, and his mind turned back to boxing. Barely three months later he said that as soon as the war was over he would rush to America to "fetch Joe Louis' scalp." He talked of parachuting into Mike Jacobs's office as he had into Crete, though with boxing gloves rather than a machine gun. It sounded like a joke, but according to Pierre Huss, a Hearst correspondent close to Schmeling, it was for real; before Germany had declared war on America, the Nazis had hoped such a gesture would cool off anti-German sentiment and, incidentally, hint at German omnipotence in any air war. Schmeling was for it, too, convinced by Louis's trouble beating Billy Conn that he could take him. That Schmeling was ready to return to New York didn't impress Uncle Mike. "Right now he wouldn't be any more welcome here than I would be over there," he said.

For the rest of the war, Schmeling, still referred to in the Nazi press as the "German Champion in All Classes," was an emissary with an uncertain, ambiguous portfolio, participating in the German effort but always attempting to maintain a sportsman's aloofness from it. In Germany as well as in occupied Belgium and France, he appeared at Truppenbetreuungen, Truppenbetreuungen, or USO-style gatherings for Nazi troops, usually boxing exhibitions. They were organized by Machon, under the supervision of Hinkel; always, German soldiers greeted him rhapsodically. In Berlin in late 1941, for instance, the crowd clapped rhythmically and chanted or USO-style gatherings for Nazi troops, usually boxing exhibitions. They were organized by Machon, under the supervision of Hinkel; always, German soldiers greeted him rhapsodically. In Berlin in late 1941, for instance, the crowd clapped rhythmically and chanted "Maxe! Maxe!" "Maxe! Maxe!" when he arrived. The same was true in Warsaw in January 1942. While Schmeling was there, Hans Frank, the Nazi governor general of Poland, later hanged at Nuremberg for his war crimes, held a reception for him. The Italian writer Curzio Malaparte claimed to have witnessed Schmeling's encounter with Frank, during which, Malaparte maintained, Schmeling endorsed the nobility of war and witnessed atrocities against the Jews. Malaparte is a notoriously unreliable source, and what he wrote probably never happened. But it is hard to say for sure, in part because Schmeling was never asked about it afterward. when he arrived. The same was true in Warsaw in January 1942. While Schmeling was there, Hans Frank, the Nazi governor general of Poland, later hanged at Nuremberg for his war crimes, held a reception for him. The Italian writer Curzio Malaparte claimed to have witnessed Schmeling's encounter with Frank, during which, Malaparte maintained, Schmeling endorsed the nobility of war and witnessed atrocities against the Jews. Malaparte is a notoriously unreliable source, and what he wrote probably never happened. But it is hard to say for sure, in part because Schmeling was never asked about it afterward.

Schmeling was officially discharged from the German army in mid-1943, but on several occasions he was either reported killed in action or captured by the Russians. Given his enormous notoriety, this led to a macabre ritual: whenever such rumors popped up, curious GIs and reporters would go to inspect Schmeling's purported remains. "We are thinking of putting up a sign at the [cemetery] gate saying 'Max Schmeling positively isn't buried here,' " the captain of an American unit charged with registering the German war dead declared in 1944.

In January of that year, Schmeling was back in occupied Paris-again, presumably, to entertain German troops. Simply for being photographed with him, the French boxer Georges Carpentier was later accused of collaboration. In March, Schmeling was in occupied Rome for another boxing exhibition, and, on behalf of Goebbels, who hoped to get him to speak out in favor of the Third Reich, had an audience with Pope Pius XII. Such a high-level mission is hard to square with Schmeling's later claim that Goebbels so loathed him that he could easily have been murdered in the reprisals following the attempt on Hitler's life on July 20, 1944. Clearly, the regime still had its uses for him. So did the Allies, who turned Schmeling into a symbol of the enemy. Even Liberty Liberty magazine, for which Schmeling had occasionally written, now called him a liar and a coward. "An aroused American, like an aroused Joe Louis, can be a fearful thing to a hated enemy," it declared in 1943. "A lot of other Max Schmelings in Berlin-and their yellow counterparts in Tokyo-are learning what one Max Schmeling learned in a New York ring nearly five years ago." When GI Joe Louis arrived in England, he was asked what he would do if he encountered Schmeling on the battlefield. "I'd kill him ..." he said, "... with a gun." magazine, for which Schmeling had occasionally written, now called him a liar and a coward. "An aroused American, like an aroused Joe Louis, can be a fearful thing to a hated enemy," it declared in 1943. "A lot of other Max Schmelings in Berlin-and their yellow counterparts in Tokyo-are learning what one Max Schmeling learned in a New York ring nearly five years ago." When GI Joe Louis arrived in England, he was asked what he would do if he encountered Schmeling on the battlefield. "I'd kill him ..." he said, "... with a gun."

Oddly, though, Schmeling also maintained that the attempt on the Fuhrer prompted the Nazis to reverse themselves and allow him to visit American prisoners of war in camps throughout Germany and Italy. Schmeling later said he visited the GIs to build up their morale. Others claimed that people in the Resistance had actually asked Schmeling to undertake such missions, to improve camp conditions and arrange clemency for the condemned among them. But to the Germans, too, such visits were useful, promising to pacify or at least distract embittered and potentially mutinous soldiers and, as the Third Reich sank into defeat, to curry favor with the eventual victors. The same was said about Schmeling himself: the visits, the Daily Worker Daily Worker charged, marked his "desperate attempt to save his skin from the avenging Allies." charged, marked his "desperate attempt to save his skin from the avenging Allies."

Schmeling's tours apparently began in the spring of 1944 in southern Italy, where he and Ondra journeyed from camp to camp in a shiny black Mercedes. At Cisterna, a camp near Anzio, he told people he was the head of all sports in the prison camps. At Laterina, near Florence, he handed out German cigarettes and pledged to take the winner of a boxing tournament staged for his visit to a beefsteak dinner with him and his wife. Six emaciated soldiers reluctantly agreed to take part; when Schmeling reneged on his promise, a near riot broke out, and the Schmelings hastily fled the camp.*

On Christmas Day 1944, Schmeling, still on crutches, invited some POWs working on a farm to visit his estate, where he served them pretzels and weak beer. Then, in the spring of 1945, as the war neared its end, Schmeling toured American POW camps in Germany-particularly Stalag Luft I, a camp for downed airmen near the Baltic Sea, and Stalag 3A in Luckenwalde, thirty miles outside Berlin. At least on some occasions, he was accompanied by high-ranking German officers, like Field Marshall Albert Kesselring, who commanded German forces in Italy. What struck the Americans was how well dressed and well fed he looked, in contrast to their own anemic, ragged state. He was also smiling and cordial, blithely or willfully ignorant of any resentment he generated. He again avoided all politically charged subjects, chatting instead about how the war would soon end and, he hoped, both they and he would be back in the United States. Some soldiers, particularly younger ones who had been captured recently, greeted him like a celebrity, pressed him for autographs, joked and reminisced with him. Once, as a tall, athletic black POW approached one group to whom he was speaking, someone shouted "Here comes Joe!" and Schmeling joined in the laughter. Others were too cold, hungry, or demoralized to pay him much mind. And still more considered him a Nazi, or a Nazi stooge, and turned away contemptuously as he approached. In some instances, higher-ranking American officers ordered their subordinates to steer clear of him rather than fraternize with the enemy. Some prisoners took the photographs of himself that Schmeling sometimes handed out and threw them in the communal troughs, taking special care to place them faceup so that dozens of GIs could urinate on him at once.

In early 1945, as the Red Army approached his home in Pomerania, Schmeling fled west, first to Berlin and then to northern Germany, where British troops arrested him in May. They took him to Hamburg, where he found much of the city in ruins, including his own home and the Hanseatenhalle, destroyed by British planes during an air raid in 1943. (His estate in eastern Prussia was subsequently seized by the Russians.) Schmeling reportedly ingratiated himself with the British by telling them where Ribbentrop, the Nazi foreign minister, was hiding. But he had harsh words for the Americans, supposedly telling one officer that America had never given him a fair break. "He's a Nazi through and through, no better than Hitler, Goring, and the rest," the officer told The Stars and Stripes. The Stars and Stripes. "I'd like to see him dangling from a rope on Broadway and 42nd Street." To Shirley Povich of "I'd like to see him dangling from a rope on Broadway and 42nd Street." To Shirley Povich of The Washington Post, The Washington Post, that simply didn't sound like Schmeling. "He may, indeed, be no better than the rest of the Nazi scoundrels, but he wouldn't be the brazen one," he wrote. Fred Kirsch, who had come to the United States with Schmeling and Bulow in 1928 and was now a boxing promotor in Washington, agreed. "Schmeling wouldn't act tough after the Americans captured him," he told Povich. "He was always thinking of Max Schmeling first and he would try to make friends with anybody in a position to help him." that simply didn't sound like Schmeling. "He may, indeed, be no better than the rest of the Nazi scoundrels, but he wouldn't be the brazen one," he wrote. Fred Kirsch, who had come to the United States with Schmeling and Bulow in 1928 and was now a boxing promotor in Washington, agreed. "Schmeling wouldn't act tough after the Americans captured him," he told Povich. "He was always thinking of Max Schmeling first and he would try to make friends with anybody in a position to help him."

Schmeling promptly tried to strike a deal with the British, in which he and some associates would begin publishing books to reeducate German youth weaned on Nazi values. "As a patriotic German I naturally hoped Germany would win the war but nevertheless realized we had to lose it to get rid of Nazism," he explained. But when word of the negotiations broke, the British quickly backed out. In fact, they jailed Schmeling for three months for attempting to build a home with improperly procured materials. But showing the same doggedness with which he had pursued all his comebacks, Schmeling labored to clear his name and resume his career. For a British de-Nazification court he collected affidavits from various friends and colleagues who testified that he had frequently-and, to their minds, foolishly-criticized the Nazis in their presence, refused to give the Hitler salute, and interceded on behalf of persons the Nazis persecuted. In 1947 he was declared free of Nazi taint. That allowed him to resume his boxing career, and put on exhibitions for GIs in Germany.

Schmeling labored for rehabilitation in the United States, too, through two key surrogates. Anny Ondra stressed to Paul Gallico how her husband had refused to join the Nazi Party, or to give speeches to the Hitler Youth, or to invite Hitler, Goebbels, or Goring to their home.* Machon, too, spoke out, declaring that what had really beaten Schmeling in the second fight was a broken heart. "It was all psychological," said Schmeling's loyal trainer, who spent his last days running a bar in Berlin. "Max actually had an inferiority complex because almost everyone in the United States thought he came to fight for Hitler. Before the fight we received hundreds of threatening letters every day and the newspapers called Max a Nazi. When came the night of the fight, Max was all tied up-petrified." Machon, too, spoke out, declaring that what had really beaten Schmeling in the second fight was a broken heart. "It was all psychological," said Schmeling's loyal trainer, who spent his last days running a bar in Berlin. "Max actually had an inferiority complex because almost everyone in the United States thought he came to fight for Hitler. Before the fight we received hundreds of threatening letters every day and the newspapers called Max a Nazi. When came the night of the fight, Max was all tied up-petrified."

But Schmeling, whose frequent trips to the United States were once a joke, now could not get back in, partly because sportswriters like John Lardner, Dan Parker, and Jimmy Cannon did their best to block him. "The people who used to know and talk with Schmeling over here are prepared to believe that he is not a Nazi now," Lardner wrote in 1946. "In fact, it goes without saying, for Maxie is one of the world's keenest students of trends. Before the war, however, he made no particular secret of his views, and they were such as to make his leader's bosom swell with pride and satisfaction." "Ever since the American Army crossed the Rhine and found Max in a fair state of health and preservation, there has been a campaign in progress to prove that the world has done him wrong," he went on. "It may be so, but bear in mind that if you bought the biggest piece of Max's broken heart you would still need a microscope to see it, and that runs into real money."

Around the same time, Parker reported that Machon had recently contacted Mike Jacobs. Machon related that both he and Schmeling had survived the Nazi terror-"Time out for those who feel nauseated," Parker interjected-but that having lost half his fortune, Schmeling wanted to return to the American ring. "The guy must be hard up when he, a member of the Master Race, appeals thus to a Jewish fight promoter to take him out of hock," Parker wrote. "All those in favor of running a benefit for Maxie, please say 'No,' but loud." In November 1946, Cannon argued that America had no place for Schmeling, even as a tourist. By now Schmeling's every prior accomplishment was viewed through the prism of the war. "With Schmeling, nothing was haphazard, nothing was left to chance any more than he could help it," Ring Ring declared in May 1946. "He had the bullhededness and the arrogance of the Nazi, he had the regimented mind, the capacity for taking pains, the one-track line toward his objective." Two years later, Fred Kirsch, hoping to stage a Schmeling bout, asked Secretary of State George Marshall to admit him into the country, but reporters, veterans groups (including some former prisoners of war), and a member of the House Un-American Activities Committee objected. Even the normally amiable Louis weighed in, recounting for declared in May 1946. "He had the bullhededness and the arrogance of the Nazi, he had the regimented mind, the capacity for taking pains, the one-track line toward his objective." Two years later, Fred Kirsch, hoping to stage a Schmeling bout, asked Secretary of State George Marshall to admit him into the country, but reporters, veterans groups (including some former prisoners of war), and a member of the House Un-American Activities Committee objected. Even the normally amiable Louis weighed in, recounting for The New York Times The New York Times Schmeling's charge that he had fouled him deliberately in their first fight. "That's one more reason why I don't like Max Schmeling," he said in November 1948. Schmeling's charge that he had fouled him deliberately in their first fight. "That's one more reason why I don't like Max Schmeling," he said in November 1948.

After losing a ten-round decision in Germany in late October 1948, the forty-three-year-old Schmeling hung up his gloves for good. Held in an outdoor arena in the British sector of Berlin in weather so cold that the fighters had to keep covered between rounds, the fight was a grim finale to a glorious career. But by now Schmeling had made enough money to buy himself a farm in Hollenstedt, between Hamburg and Bremen, where he began to raise minks and tobacco. When the new West German state was born in 1949, Schmeling quickly moved into its pantheon. Starved for heroes, the fledgling country wasn't inclined to scrutinize anyone's anti-Nazi credentials too closely; Schmeling's record-particularly his never having joined the party and his apparent loyalty to a Jewish manager- more than sufficed. Assisting him were the close friendships he maintained with three of West Germany's most powerful publishers-Axel Springer, John Jahr, and Franz Burda-who made sure he received an adoring press.

Joe Louis faced a different set of obstacles after the war. For one thing, his old team had broken up. Jack Blackburn died in 1941. John Roxbor-ough went to prison for racketeering. And tired of her husband's long absences and perpetual womanizing, in 1941 Marva had sued for divorce. The two quickly (and very publicly) reconciled and had a daughter, but in March 1945 the marriage ended. (They remarried the following year, only to divorce once and for all three years and another child later.) But Louis's most serious problem was debt. All of the abstemiousness and discipline for which he was once renowned had long since disappeared. A soft touch for flashy new clothes, pretty women, people in need, buddies promising him a good time, investors with dubious schemes, and gamblers, he long lived well beyond even his considerable means, forcing Mike Jacobs to float him funds between fights. "They should have called him 'Can't-Say-No Joe,'" Manny Seamon, who'd taken over for Jack Blackburn, once said. Then there were the taxes he owed on the two charity bouts. By V-E Day, Louis owed Uncle Mike and Uncle Sam more than $100,000 apiece, and was as much as $350,000 in arrears.

Resuming his ring career seemed to promise a way out. His successful rematch against Billy Conn in June 1946 earned him $626,000, nearly twice any previous purse. But his skills were fading, and after two difficult victories over Jersey Joe Walcott, he retired in 1949. His record was unrivaled: winner of sixty of sixty-one professional fights, fifty-one by knockout; a reign of nearly twelve years; twenty-five title defenses. But money woes soon brought him back to the ring, an aging, flabby facsimile of his former self, and he suffered humiliating losses to Ezzard Charles in 1950 and Rocky Marciano in 1951. After that, he quit for keeps. He had earned $4.6 million for his labors but had virtually nothing to show for it, becoming living proof of the paradox John Lardner had noted at the very outset of Louis's career: "The rules of arithmetic do not apply to the fight business," he'd written. "The longer you stay in it, the less you have." Louis received a pittance from the organization that had bought out Mike Jacobs, dabbled in public relations, and peddled Chesterfield cigarettes, "Joe Louis Punch," and "Joe Louis Kentucky straight bourbon." And, for $25,000 plus ten percent of the net receipts, he sold his saga to Hollywood. "The Joe Louis Story," with Louis playing himself in a few scenes (and a young boxer named Coley Wallace in the rest), opened to indulgent reviews in November 1953. Playing Schmeling was Buddy Thorpe, son of the immortal Jim. There were fears that Schmeling might sue over the portrayal-in which, he claimed, he'd been made to look like a gangster. In fact, those scenes were eventually cut, and Schmeling appeared mostly in historic footage. He was also given a share of the profits.

Louis, still living in Chicago, began refereeing wrestling matches. So, too, oddly enough, did Schmeling, who in 1954 had quietly applied for and received a visa to enter the country, for the first time in fifteen years. His tour would begin in Milwaukee, which, with its ample German population, promised him about as hospitable a reception as any place in America. But making money, Schmeling later wrote, was not his main mission. It was to see Louis-and to clear the air. Schmeling flew to Milwaukee, where he was received coolly. Only begrudgingly did the state athletic commission give him a license. Then a disappointingly small crowd showed up for the match; when Schmeling was introduced, the cheers couldn't quite drown out the boos. "I don't believe the people in this country will pay to see Schmeling do anything," said the promoter, who canceled the rest of the tour. "He is stuck with the stigma of Nazism. The public can't forget that." Once again, Schmeling seemed perplexed by the hostility and bemoaned the unfairness of it all; he hadn't fired a single shot in wartime, he pleaded, and had visited all those GIs. "Twenty-five thousand soldiers can tell you that I did not talk about war or politics, but only about sports and America," he said.

His visit with Louis proved more successful. As Schmeling later recalled it, he began by trying to explain that he had never been the Nazi ogre he'd been depicted to be, only to have Louis promptly cut him off. "Max, there is nothing to explain," Louis said. "We are friends. It is all over." The two ended up shooting the breeze at a black nightclub on Chicago's South Side. "It wasn't a bit like old times Sunday when Joe Louis and Max Schmeling got together," a reporter wrote of their sparsely covered reunion. "For one thing, both parties were much too friendly." "We were the victims of bad propaganda," said Schmeling. "There never was any bad feeling on my part." To Louis, such a rendezvous hardly mattered; he'd never lifted a finger to arrange one. But he was a gentle, sunny soul, and was pleased to play along. Those who lived through the second fight knew better. "The years have softened Louis' feelings... for he was a vengeful man that night in 1938," recalled Frank Graham.

En route back to Germany, Schmeling stopped off in New York. It made Milwaukee seem cordial. At Jack Dempsey's restaurant, Schmeling tried, without success, to be interviewed and photographed. "Maybe a few decadent democrats remember the pictures of him in his Nazi uniform in Crete," the New York Post New York Post theorized. A columnist at the paper, Leonard Lyons, expressed outrage that the U.S. government had let in Schmeling while barring John Gielgud, who had just been convicted in London of soliciting a homosexual. "Is it less reprehensible for Schmeling to have fired on Allied troops in wartime than for someone to be found guilty of a sex offense?" he asked. While in New York, Schmeling had a second reunion, with James Farley, the former state boxing commissioner. Farley was now a top Coca-Cola executive, and he offered Schmeling a valuable distributorship in northern Germany. (In this respect, Schmeling had bested his old rival; Coke had never wanted anything to do with Joe Louis, even in his prime.) The job ultimately made Schmeling a multimillionaire and even more of a member of the West German establishment, as well as a philanthropist. But just as important, it burnished his jolly, avuncular image; though some grew annoyed by his tireless pitches, he became a paterfamilias for a sweet, bubbly, and energetic new Germany. theorized. A columnist at the paper, Leonard Lyons, expressed outrage that the U.S. government had let in Schmeling while barring John Gielgud, who had just been convicted in London of soliciting a homosexual. "Is it less reprehensible for Schmeling to have fired on Allied troops in wartime than for someone to be found guilty of a sex offense?" he asked. While in New York, Schmeling had a second reunion, with James Farley, the former state boxing commissioner. Farley was now a top Coca-Cola executive, and he offered Schmeling a valuable distributorship in northern Germany. (In this respect, Schmeling had bested his old rival; Coke had never wanted anything to do with Joe Louis, even in his prime.) The job ultimately made Schmeling a multimillionaire and even more of a member of the West German establishment, as well as a philanthropist. But just as important, it burnished his jolly, avuncular image; though some grew annoyed by his tireless pitches, he became a paterfamilias for a sweet, bubbly, and energetic new Germany.