The Bridgeport times and evening farmer., 1922-04-07
The Village
 That Once Saw John l.. Plain
Bv Edward Rutherford. Jr.

By Edward Rutherford, Jr.
 and John L. Sullivan, the Strong Boy of Boston, fought seventy-fiye red rounds with Jake kiiraiE. - Vachet Lindsay.
 Up in Allegany County a pretty lit tie village, Belfast by name, nestles placid1y in the Genesee River valley not far from the Pennsylvania border. There you may find many recollec- uons of d great American, for it was there that John L. Sullivan trained for his fight with Jake Kilrain.
 The stranger who drops into the snithy of one Fred Williams will find a proud and accomplished blacksmith who always has a few chairs set about for chance callers And should the stranger inquire And did you once see John L. plain or words to that effect, the Ieather-aproned veteran of the forge would pause and his eyes would kind1e.
 "Yes, indeed" he would tell you. 'John L. came here often. I knew him we'll Why, I've got a picture of him and me taken right in the door of the shop there. And John l. is hold ing this very anvil up over his head. Oh, he was a powerful man, John L.. was"
 He Played Seven-Up.
 If you care to you may accompany the smith down the maple-shaded streets to his home, and there see for yourself the treasured photograph, now yellowed by time. Elsewhere about the village are other men to tell of John L., of his training, of his work, and of his friends There Is one, for instance, with whom John L. played his favorite card game seven-up.
 You may visit the old sheds where John L. trained. They are on the grounds of St. Patrick's church prop rty. and Inside them are the remains of old mats and apparatus the cham pton used. Alongside the sheds is an old bowling alley which John L. built, but this, too, has gone to pieces in the years when it had no use or care. St. Patrtck's gardener stores his rake, hoe. and lawnmower therein
 So much for what remains of the 1nonur1lend of the great man, for in deed the older Belfastonians regard these relics as monumental. John L. memory, however, is alive up there; 1t comes down through the genera ttoGls like folklore. More than one bit of his wit and humor is preserved in the towns "reminiscences. The old stories are told over and over with never failing delight.
 The best of them, perhaps, is the one told of old Malachi Hanley- Mala- chi, it seems, was one of the most de voult of John LIS many WorshlpperS in Belfast He watched the training with wide and admiring eyes, played cards with his hero, and when John sJu 4eq Iq0BIBN uTBITIN 4eeu ol 4J7I ''1 last penny on him.
 The day of the fight half the male population of Belfast gathered in the Pennsylvania railroad depot, around the only telegraph instrument in town Malachi was a trifle late in arriving and finding the place so crowded sat outside with his pipe to await the news; not anxiously, however, for to him there could be only one result John l.. could do nothing but win. It was just matter of finding out how many rounds 1t would take him.
 So the villagers smoked, talked, and waited. A deathlike trance seemed to be upon the little telegraph instru- mnt. The gathering waited and waited. Their patience became sorely tried. Bets that ordinary prudenc would have withheld were rashly made Finally, came the click-clack of the news Breaths were held. Hearts momentarily stopped Slowly the operator took down the message.
 ''Sul1ivan-lost to-Kirafn,' he lnuttered as he wrote
 Except for a gasp of amazement, the watchers sat petrified. Finally some one. bethinking himself of Nal achi outside, rushed out to where the old man was smoking.
 ''He lost. Malachi!" the friend
 s.Fwhat?'' cried the old Irishman, his pipe trembling in hurt amaze nent-
 hurried on to tell the news to others
 Breaking It Gently.
 Malachi stood up. speechless; he could have believed more easily a re- port that the world was to come to an end in five minutes. He managed to find enough voice to inquire of others, who were leaving. 'He lost, was the disconsoiate reply of each. -'He lost"
 ''Transfixed, Malachi stood there until aF but ione or two had departed. Then resoluteIy he strode into the depot and approached the operator.
 ''BiH,'' he said, hoarsely, "how d' 1t come out ?'
 The operator replied gently, for he could see the suffering in the old mans face. ''Jod1n L. lost, Malachi,' he said.
 'Lost?'' repeated Malachi, white and trembling. And then he nut tered, Lost ?" Well, mebby so, mebby so; but I'll not belave single word iv it until I read 1t with me own eyes in the Police Gez-a-tee. Not a word iv it. be thunderH'
 Later. however, the telegraph int strument reversed itself. John L. hadn't lost-he won in seVenty-ffVe roundsI And old Malachi shock off ten years of his age and hurried around to collect on that bet of his. New York Evening Post