SONAHR: February 9, 2014 – John L. Sullivan is a name that conjures dim memories from boxing?s distant past, when years began with the number ?18? rather than ?20.? He is renowned as the last heavyweight champion under the bare-knuckle London Prize Ring Rules and the first under the newer Marquess of Queensberry Rules, which he helped to popularize. Sullivan was also a trend-setter ? for better or worse ? in terms of the perks and pitfalls of sports celebrity. Even though his heyday was 130 years ago, Sullivan?s career remains relevant today. You might say he created the mold that was later filled by the likes of Mike Tyson.
Sullivan?s status as a precedent-setter is clearly delineated in Christopher Klein?s book, Strong Boy: The Life and Times of John L. Sullivan, America?s First Sports Hero. The title refers to Sullivan?s nickname: ?The Boston Strong Boy.? There have been several other books about Sullivan, over the years, including his autobiography, Life and Reminiscences of a Nineteenth-Century Gladiator, which was published in 1892. However, Klein?s volume provides an assessment of the pioneering prizefighter?s impact and legacy from today?s perspective, as well as from the standpoint of Sullivan?s time.
The outlines of the Sullivan saga are well-known to fight fans who have a sense of ring history. Born into a lower-middle-class family of Irish immigrants in Boston two years before the beginning of the American Civil War, he took to bareknuckle fighting when he discovered the awesome punch he carried in his right fist. He became the bareknuckle champion of America in 1882, and later claimed the Queensberry Rules title as well. He stayed champion for 10 years, but he rarely defended his crown. He made his money fighting exhibitions and acting in plays, much like the way current champions rake in big bucks through endorsements.
As it was, title bouts had to be arranged clandestinely, as the sport of prizefighting was outlawed in many parts of the United States. But officials who were also closet fight aficionados could often be persuaded (or paid) to look the other way. Reading Klein?s accounts of the elaborate ruses necessary to hold and attend a prize fight shows how dedicated fight fans were in those days.
As he boxed in exhibitions and title bouts, Sullivan came to prefer the Queensberry Rules ? not because they required gloves instead of naked fists, but because of the three-minute rounds the new rules specified. Under bare-knuckle rules, a round ended when one of the contestants was knocked or thrown to the ground. One unfortunate tactic that rule allowed was ?sprinting,? in which a combatant would dash around the ring for several minutes, then drop to the ground after receiving a glancing blow. Sullivan hated it when his opponents did that, for it was simply a way to try to tire him out. It didn?t work; his stamina was fine. But he still found it frustrating. He was happy to have a set interval under the Queensberry Rules to hunt his prey down. When he defended his American bare-knuckle heavyweight title by defeating Jake Kilrain in 75 rounds in 1889, he said goodbye to the London Prize Ring Rules. Not long afterward, so did the sport as a whole.
Although his historical significance is clear, Sullivan?s legitimacy as a ?world? champion under either set of rules was disputed during his career, and even by boxing historians today. The British had something to say about Sullivan?s status, and so did the Australians. But when Sullivan walked into a saloon and bellowed ?I can lick any son-of-a-bitch in the house!? no one dared to dispute him. From ?I can lick any son-of-a-bitch in the house!? to ?I?m the baddest man on the planet!? ? not much of a leap, even though Mike Tyson?s career was separated from Sullivan?s by the span of a century.
Sullivan could also out-drink any son-of-a-bitch in the house. As Klein writes, ?John L. threw himself into his drinking with every fiber of his liver, moving from ale to champagne to rum to whiskey.? Alcohol was to Sullivan what cocaine would later be to Tyson ? a pleasure of the moment that led to all-consuming addiction, which led to a crashing downfall.
Even though he could legitimately claim the title of ?the biggest lush on the planet,? Sullivan still became an American idol and gained international renown for his prowess in the ring and his quiet dignity (when he was sober). But his boorish drunken behavior outside the ring, and his abuse of women (including his first wife, Annie), drained the reservoir of goodwill he had established. Even though he was instrumental in popularizing his sport, his alcoholism and its consequences threatened to put that fragile popularity in jeopardy.
Also, his refusal to fight deserving black boxers such as Peter Jackson ? a West Indian by way of Australia whose claim to world honors was as valid as Sullivan?s ? established a precedent of an uglier kind that lasted until Jack Johnson became the first black heavyweight champion in 1908. To be fair, though, Sullivan did befriend George Dixon, who was the first black boxer to win a world championship. But Dixon was never more than a featherweight, and thus posed no threat to Sullivan?s title.
When a bloated, dissipated Sullivan suffered a 21-round Queensberry Rules knockout defeat at the hands of fellow Irish-American James J. Corbett in 1892, it was the end of an era. Corbett, whose nickname was ?Gentleman Jim,? refrained from emulating Sullivan?s excesses and thus brought more respectability and acceptance to a sport that was still on the borderline of legality.
Sullivan?s story sounds like a tragic tale of hubris and its consequences. Yet even though his boozing ultimately caused him to look 20 years older than he actually was (he died at age 59), Sullivan managed to attain a degree of happiness late in his life. He stopped drinking, and married a woman whom he treated with kindness and devotion. Gradually, as Klein shows in the book?s final chapters, ?The Great John L.? regained much of the popularity he had heedlessly squandered during his prime.
Sullivan?s passing occurred during the midst of a brutal New England cold snap in February of 1918. Mourners lined the streets of Boston for his funeral procession. The ground at the cemetery was frozen so solid that dynamite had to be used to dig his grave. Klein describes it this way: ?As they blasted the frozen ground of Boston, the city quaked for its ?Strong Boy.? For one final time, John L. Sullivan shook the world.?
John L. Sullivan set the standards ? both good and bad ? by which his successors on the heavyweight throne have been measured to this day. The lesson of his life is: With great fame comes great peril. Embrace it if you dare.
Strong Boy is an excellent book. Its pages are like a time machine, allowing 21st century readers to visit a period that is gone, but not forgotten. When it comes to Sullivan biographers, Christopher Klein can lick any son-of-a-bitch in the house.
