The Waterbury Democrat., 1937-06-23

against the face of James Braddock in the eighth round was as devas- tating a blow as any man ever threw. It caught the Irishman flush on the bulls-eye of his chin and all but knocked the life out of him. He fell as does a man when struck by A slug.
 Under the impact Braddock pitched on his face, arms and legs folded beneath him. The time keepers count was but gesture. Left alone Braddock might well have lain in the ring until it routed and rusted and fell away. He never twitched a muscle, but just lay there, 197 pounds of complete paralysis. It required four men two at his feet, two at his head to carry him back to his corner where, placed on 8 stool, he sagged forward until the blood from his mouth and eyes dripped on the tips of his shoes.
 Every ounce of power in Joe Louis body rode behind that punch. It wasn't quick punch-he set himself for it methodically, drew a bead on his target, before he un- loosed it. It happened directly in front of me and no more than five steps away, and saw him gather himself for the blow that brought him the heavyweight championship of the world.
 He came down off his toes and settled himself squarely on the flat of his feet-the perfect stance for the everything -goes-now blow. He gathered the muscles in his smooth, sloping shoulders, drew back and, with magnificent timing, let his right fist fly. It gained added power from the fact that it travelled down. ward. Braddock, near collapse, was in a groggy crouch, and his jaw was perhaps a foot lower than Louis shoulders.
 When fist met jaw there wasn't a crash-just a sharp clock" of the sort golfer hears when he hits a perfect drive. With the impact Louis-knowing he had made a per- feet hit-stepped back to give his victim room in which to fall. He was so positive of the blows effect he did not stand ready to charge in. He moved away, and when Brad dock poured to the floor, stood there and admired his handiwork.
 It wasn't pretty handiwork. It was sickening. When they rolled Braddock over deep purple gash on his lip was the first thing you noticed. It was vicious cut-the same kind that Louis gave weary old Pauline Uzcudun when he for got and poked his head from be- hind the sheltering protection of his arms. Braddock was bleeding from a sliced left eyebrow, torn right ear, and 8 swollen nose. His chest was smeared with blood, and his arms were daubed with red. The Jersey veteran was game guy all done in. For nearly seven and a half rounds he had fought the only way he knew how-walk- ing in swinging, walking in swing ing.
 He must have taken a thousand punches-short jabs to the face. hastily curved little hooks to the body, uppercuts that all but scared the flesh over his heart and looping rights that snapped back his head But he went down looking his tor mentor in the eye. He took few backward steps. And when the fin ish came-and he must have known it was coming as early as the third round-he was trying to advance to- ward the foe. But before he could get there the damnedest right hand any man ever fired dropped on his face.
 The timekeeper's toll of "one-uh two-uh, three-uh, four-uh. was drowned in the raer of 65,000 per- sons hailing a new worlds cham pion.
 Copyright 1887 by United Press)