The Washington times., 1938-07-18

end when those magnifiCently
coordinated muscles have been
stiffeneG by time.
But there's real death, too.
We thought of that reading of
the tragic end of Jack Dunn, for
mer olympic skater, last Satur-
day. Dunn, who was % when
he died of tularemia- a rare dis
ease according to the medical
report-captained the British
1886 Olympic skating team.
Dunn was a handsome kid and
at the time of his death had
been pursuing a movie career.
Fine Athlete
We only saw Dunn once-in
Madison Square Garden at an
ice carnival a little over a year
ago and he was a truly fine
athlete as well as a fine boy.
There is no tragedy like death,
especially when it comes to
young people because it seems so
out of place in the midst of life.
Death once interrupted the
career of a great amateur
fighter we knew. Strangely, it
wasn't the boxer who died, it
was his father. This boy was
on the 1924 Olympic team and
won virtually every amateur
title of Importance in the coun-
try. But he wasn't any good
without his father.
The old gentleman had been
q policeman in New York and
one of the braveSt. In 1918 he
interrupted a holdup and when
the shooting had died, the po-
liceman lay on the sidewalk with
q bullet in his spine. He never
walked again and spent the re-
mainder of his life lying flat on
his stomach on a movable
table.
An Instant Hit s@S'
But he wasn't licked. He had
three boys and he wanted them
to box. So he fitted up a small
gymnasium in his home and
from his cot coached, scolded,
cajoled and drilled the rudi-
ments of boxing into their skulls.
The eldest was Eddie. He was a
natural and finally when the
old man had taught Eddie all
he knew, the boy was turned
over to a neighbor who dabbled
in boxing.
Eddie was an instant hit.
He won the New York State
title and went on to champion
ship after championship. But
his father was the Svengali be-
hind Eddie's career. The old
man was Wracked with pain and
every living hour was torture,
but he had one thing that
grimly kept his hand on the
thread of life. He wanted Eddie
to be a great champion.
The boy knew this and al
though often matched over his
head, he fought with a fury that
was almost maniacal. Eddie
couldn't let his dad down. The
boy went over to Paris with the
1924 Olympic team. He con-
tracted stomach ulcers and was
near death for weeks. Eddie's
condition gained great promi-
nence, but nowhere were the re-
ports followed as closely as in
the little darkened room where
his father lay.
The Rendezvous
The old man had gone into
the old gym the three boys had
used. The punching bag was
heavy with dust and a papier
mache partition was splintered
where Eddie had taken a play
full poke once during a shadow
boxing session. Everyone thought
Eddie was going to die but
the old man. Eddie's name was
tabooed around the house. Only
a couple Of times did the father
speak.
He looked mutely at the punch
ing bag and said: He'll live"
And Eddie did. He came back
and a year or so later turned
pro. He was a sensation. The
night before his most important
pro fight, Eddie'S father relaxed
his steely grip and kept that
rendezvous with the grim spectre
in the shadows who had been
waiting for so many years.
Eddie never shed a tear. He
fought the next night but il
wasn't the same boy. He nc
longer had that indefineable
spark. He was an ordinary
fighter and he lost. Eddie never
fought again. The punching bag
jumping rope and other para
phernalia were laid away.
Only once afterWard did Ed
die even mention his boxing ca
reer. Then, peculiarly enough
he didn't speak of himself a,
having been in the ring.
MY father" Eddie said
"could have been a great fighter
I think he would have been E
: champion. Death cheated hin
of his career"
You mean your career" some
body said.
NO" Eddie replied. II NEAR
hiS."