Coney Island History: The Story of Brady's Coney Island Athletic Club
This article tells the entertaining story of William A. Brady and his Coney Island Athletic Club in West Brighton. Brady was a successful theatrical impresario who also dabbled in staging athletic events during the 1880s. He inadvertently became the boxing world’s leading promoter during the 1890s following a chance encounter with the future champion, ‘Gentleman Jim’ Corbett. Brady would subsequently return to producing comedic musicals and plays after his boxing days. By then, he had changed both the direction of boxing and advanced Coney Island’s national reputation as an interesting resort where anything went, sports gambling included.
Meet William Brady
Brady was born in 1863 in San Francisco and came to New York with his father as a child. He was forced to sell newspapers on a street corner to make ends meet. His father, a newspaperman, had done time in Alcatraz for making the injudicious remark that President Lincoln had gotten what he deserved for attending a theatrical performance on Good Friday.
When his dad died, Brady returned to San Francisco and built a successful theatrical production business. He married Broadway actress Grace George, who played the leading female role in many of his shows. This allowed the couple to travel together and also saved them the cost of having to hire a female lead.
Brady Meets Jim Corbett (c. 1892)
Around early 1892, Brady came across a tall, handsome young actor named James J. Corbett while scouring the west coast for acting talent. Corbett played lead parts in legitimate theatre and in minstrel shows and supplemented his income by boxing professionally between engagements. Corbett was fast on his feet and won all his fights without sustaining any perceptible damage. Brady was impressed by Corbett and intrigued by Corbett’s explanation of how the mighty John L. Sullivan could be beaten in the ring. Sullivan had become heavyweight champion of the world in 1889 by defeating Jake Kilrain in a 75-round, bare-knuckle encounter in Mississippi.
Corbett takes the Heavyweight Boxing Title from Sullivan (New Orleans, 1892)
Brady arranged for a bout between Sullivan and Corbett to take place on June 9, 1892, in New Orleans. The prize money was winner-take-all, along with a side bet of $10,000 between Sullivan and Brady. Some of Brady's Coney Island friends, including the Dwyer brothers, who owned of the Gravesend racetrack, went in with Brady on the side bet.
The bout promised to be a clash of styles. Sullivan was a big bruiser, a typical fighter of the slugfests that characterized boxing in those days. Corbett, meanwhile, was what came to be known in the fight game as a ‘fancy Dan’, a ‘skipper’ and a ‘dancer’. Corbett would pioneer the subtle art of the offensive jab, whereas Sullivan would try to land his huge round-house punches.
When the bell sounded for the opening round, Sullivan began to stalk his victim for a quick kill. When he returned to his corner at the end of the round, he began to wonder how to flatten a will-o'-the-wisp. Corbett would poke him in the kisser with his left, and just as Sullivan would get set to paste him, Twinkle Toes would be off and running. Occasionally, for variety, Corbett would follow his jab with a stinging right cross to Sullivan's chops. This went on for twenty rounds, with Sullivan giving a superb demonstration of shadow-boxing. He came out for the 21st round arm-weary from punching air, and muttering aloud as to why Corbett didn't stand still and fight like a man. Suddenly, out of the blue, came a tremendous right that knocked Sullivan out cold.
Meet William Brady
Brady was born in 1863 in San Francisco and came to New York with his father as a child. He was forced to sell newspapers on a street corner to make ends meet. His father, a newspaperman, had done time in Alcatraz for making the injudicious remark that President Lincoln had gotten what he deserved for attending a theatrical performance on Good Friday.
When his dad died, Brady returned to San Francisco and built a successful theatrical production business. He married Broadway actress Grace George, who played the leading female role in many of his shows. This allowed the couple to travel together and also saved them the cost of having to hire a female lead.
Brady Meets Jim Corbett (c. 1892)
Around early 1892, Brady came across a tall, handsome young actor named James J. Corbett while scouring the west coast for acting talent. Corbett played lead parts in legitimate theatre and in minstrel shows and supplemented his income by boxing professionally between engagements. Corbett was fast on his feet and won all his fights without sustaining any perceptible damage. Brady was impressed by Corbett and intrigued by Corbett’s explanation of how the mighty John L. Sullivan could be beaten in the ring. Sullivan had become heavyweight champion of the world in 1889 by defeating Jake Kilrain in a 75-round, bare-knuckle encounter in Mississippi.
Corbett takes the Heavyweight Boxing Title from Sullivan (New Orleans, 1892)
Brady arranged for a bout between Sullivan and Corbett to take place on June 9, 1892, in New Orleans. The prize money was winner-take-all, along with a side bet of $10,000 between Sullivan and Brady. Some of Brady's Coney Island friends, including the Dwyer brothers, who owned of the Gravesend racetrack, went in with Brady on the side bet.
The bout promised to be a clash of styles. Sullivan was a big bruiser, a typical fighter of the slugfests that characterized boxing in those days. Corbett, meanwhile, was what came to be known in the fight game as a ‘fancy Dan’, a ‘skipper’ and a ‘dancer’. Corbett would pioneer the subtle art of the offensive jab, whereas Sullivan would try to land his huge round-house punches.
When the bell sounded for the opening round, Sullivan began to stalk his victim for a quick kill. When he returned to his corner at the end of the round, he began to wonder how to flatten a will-o'-the-wisp. Corbett would poke him in the kisser with his left, and just as Sullivan would get set to paste him, Twinkle Toes would be off and running. Occasionally, for variety, Corbett would follow his jab with a stinging right cross to Sullivan's chops. This went on for twenty rounds, with Sullivan giving a superb demonstration of shadow-boxing. He came out for the 21st round arm-weary from punching air, and muttering aloud as to why Corbett didn't stand still and fight like a man. Suddenly, out of the blue, came a tremendous right that knocked Sullivan out cold.
'Gentleman Jim' Corbett shortly after winning the World Heavyweight Title(1893) [1]
Brady takes ‘Gentleman Jim’ Corbett on Theatrical Tour
Brady now had a heavyweight champion of the world to cash in on. It was customary then for successful fighters to be booked for a vaudeville circuit around the country. Their act usually consisted of shadow boxing, punching a bag, skipping rope, and going a few rounds with a sparring partner. Sometimes, invitations were offered to any in the audience, who had tight teeth and cared to have them loosened, to come up and the champ would oblige. It was a tiring business running around the country in one night stands.
Brady got the idea to go on tour with a three-act play starring Corbett, given that Corbett was an experienced actor. The play would draw a more substantial crowd than just a boxing exhibition, allowing Corbett and Brady to stay in each city longer and make the champ’s tour less stressful on everyone. Brady got Corbett a potboiler called ‘Gentleman Jack’, in which Corbett was cast as a college student who was forced to become a prizefighter to earn money to pay his girlfriend Alice’s mortgage. The local banker was threatening to evict Alice if she did not date his son. Demure little Alice was played by Brady's wife, and Brady himself played Jack's father. It may have been an economy measure, or perhaps Brady figured it was a good idea to keep an eye on Grace while that handsome brute, James J. Corbett, was around. ‘Gentleman Jack’ had an extensive run in Boston, probably because it was Sullivan’s hometown, and became known as ‘Gentleman Jim’ because of this role.
Corbett faces the ‘Walla Walla Giant’
Brady and Corbett decided to do the vaudeville circuit after the ‘Gentleman Jack’ tour had run its course. At each show, following the usual bag-punching and rope-skipping routine, Brady would offer anyone in the audience $25 to go four rounds with Gentleman Jim, with the stipulation that the audience member would have to pay his own hospital bill. If no one accepted the offer, a sparring partner would fill in.
Surprisingly, there were many local toughs ready to take a crack at the champ. In Philadelphia, a brute by the name of Monahan tangled with the champ for several rounds before being knocked out, dislocating some of Corbett’s fingers on his right hand in the process. Corbett told Brady that if these duels continued, he would be a cripple by the end of the tour.
As chance had it, in the very next town they went to, a six-foot-six monster weighing 240 pounds by the name of Connie McVey walked up and took the $25 challenge. The six-foot-one Corbett, himself used to being a monster in those times, gulped hard as McVey approached. He would need some fancy footwork to dispose of this customer. To Corbett’s amazement, the first right to McVey's jaw sent McVey crashing to the canvas for the full count.
Later that evening, they found McVey at a local bar. The man was not at all like what he appeared. He was a mild-mannered, soft-spoken young fellow, who apologized to them for not having put up a better fight. He knew he looked tough, but he had a cocktail glass jaw. McVey actually hated to fight, but he needed the $25 to pay his rent.
The same idea struck Corbett and Brady simultaneously. Instead of being chopped up around the country by local sluggers, Corbett could avoid damage by having McVey come up from the audience at each stop and go through the pretense of a battle before taking his dive. McVey jumped at the offer of a steady job, and his performances ended up exceeding all expectations. McVey was a great actor, and could have given Eleanora Duse and Sarah Bernhardt lessons in how to convey various emotions, especially suffering, as he attempted to rise from a knockdown.
In a typical exhibition, just as Brady issued his $25 challenge to the audience, McVey would stand up for full effect and ask Brady whether he ever heard of the Walla Walla Giant. Brady would respond that he certainly had, whereupon McVey would declare that he was that very man, and that he was prepared to go the four rounds with Corbett. Corbett and Brady would pretend to be concerned as the Walla Walla Giant came down the aisle and up the stage, to great applause and expectations.
When Corbett went on his European tour, McVey went with him. A crowd of 10,000 Irishmen greeted them upon their arrival in Dublin. Some enthusiasts brought a carriage without horses, carried McVey on their shoulders to the vehicle, thinking he was Corbett, and hauled it all the way to the hotel. Corbett and the rest of his party arrived at the hotel by more conventional means.
The Story of Corbett’s Dog, Ned the Collie
Corbett had a spirited collie dog, Ned, who adored Corbett. Ned would always trot alongside Corbett and was constantly at Corbett’s feet when Corbett was sitting down. Ned would growl menacingly at anyone approached while Corbett was asleep.
When Corbett went on his tour of the British Isles and France, he left Ned with some friends in New York.
Upon returning to America, Corbett decided to go west to visit his brother, Harry, and begin training there for his next bout (with Fitzsimmons, see below). Corbett decided to have Ned remain with his New York friends for the time being. Harry also owned a Collie that was a gentle, docile creature.
A few weeks later, Brady left New York for Corbett's training camp near Harry's home, and brought Ned with him. When they arrived and Harry opened the front door, Ned saw Corbett sitting in the parlor with Harry's dog at his feet. Ned shot across the room and attacked Harry’s dog. Corbett pulled Ned off of Harry’s bleeding dog, dragged Ned to the door, shoved him outside, and closed the door.
Corbett figured he would teach Ned a lesson by leaving him outside all night. For a time, no sound was heard from outside, then some whimpering, and finally silence. When Corbett opened the door the following morning, he saw Ned lying there, dead. Ned thought Corbett had rejected him in favor of another dog, and had died of a broken heart. What a sad end to such a wonderful and loyal creature.
Brady now had a heavyweight champion of the world to cash in on. It was customary then for successful fighters to be booked for a vaudeville circuit around the country. Their act usually consisted of shadow boxing, punching a bag, skipping rope, and going a few rounds with a sparring partner. Sometimes, invitations were offered to any in the audience, who had tight teeth and cared to have them loosened, to come up and the champ would oblige. It was a tiring business running around the country in one night stands.
Brady got the idea to go on tour with a three-act play starring Corbett, given that Corbett was an experienced actor. The play would draw a more substantial crowd than just a boxing exhibition, allowing Corbett and Brady to stay in each city longer and make the champ’s tour less stressful on everyone. Brady got Corbett a potboiler called ‘Gentleman Jack’, in which Corbett was cast as a college student who was forced to become a prizefighter to earn money to pay his girlfriend Alice’s mortgage. The local banker was threatening to evict Alice if she did not date his son. Demure little Alice was played by Brady's wife, and Brady himself played Jack's father. It may have been an economy measure, or perhaps Brady figured it was a good idea to keep an eye on Grace while that handsome brute, James J. Corbett, was around. ‘Gentleman Jack’ had an extensive run in Boston, probably because it was Sullivan’s hometown, and became known as ‘Gentleman Jim’ because of this role.
Corbett faces the ‘Walla Walla Giant’
Brady and Corbett decided to do the vaudeville circuit after the ‘Gentleman Jack’ tour had run its course. At each show, following the usual bag-punching and rope-skipping routine, Brady would offer anyone in the audience $25 to go four rounds with Gentleman Jim, with the stipulation that the audience member would have to pay his own hospital bill. If no one accepted the offer, a sparring partner would fill in.
Surprisingly, there were many local toughs ready to take a crack at the champ. In Philadelphia, a brute by the name of Monahan tangled with the champ for several rounds before being knocked out, dislocating some of Corbett’s fingers on his right hand in the process. Corbett told Brady that if these duels continued, he would be a cripple by the end of the tour.
As chance had it, in the very next town they went to, a six-foot-six monster weighing 240 pounds by the name of Connie McVey walked up and took the $25 challenge. The six-foot-one Corbett, himself used to being a monster in those times, gulped hard as McVey approached. He would need some fancy footwork to dispose of this customer. To Corbett’s amazement, the first right to McVey's jaw sent McVey crashing to the canvas for the full count.
Later that evening, they found McVey at a local bar. The man was not at all like what he appeared. He was a mild-mannered, soft-spoken young fellow, who apologized to them for not having put up a better fight. He knew he looked tough, but he had a cocktail glass jaw. McVey actually hated to fight, but he needed the $25 to pay his rent.
The same idea struck Corbett and Brady simultaneously. Instead of being chopped up around the country by local sluggers, Corbett could avoid damage by having McVey come up from the audience at each stop and go through the pretense of a battle before taking his dive. McVey jumped at the offer of a steady job, and his performances ended up exceeding all expectations. McVey was a great actor, and could have given Eleanora Duse and Sarah Bernhardt lessons in how to convey various emotions, especially suffering, as he attempted to rise from a knockdown.
In a typical exhibition, just as Brady issued his $25 challenge to the audience, McVey would stand up for full effect and ask Brady whether he ever heard of the Walla Walla Giant. Brady would respond that he certainly had, whereupon McVey would declare that he was that very man, and that he was prepared to go the four rounds with Corbett. Corbett and Brady would pretend to be concerned as the Walla Walla Giant came down the aisle and up the stage, to great applause and expectations.
When Corbett went on his European tour, McVey went with him. A crowd of 10,000 Irishmen greeted them upon their arrival in Dublin. Some enthusiasts brought a carriage without horses, carried McVey on their shoulders to the vehicle, thinking he was Corbett, and hauled it all the way to the hotel. Corbett and the rest of his party arrived at the hotel by more conventional means.
The Story of Corbett’s Dog, Ned the Collie
Corbett had a spirited collie dog, Ned, who adored Corbett. Ned would always trot alongside Corbett and was constantly at Corbett’s feet when Corbett was sitting down. Ned would growl menacingly at anyone approached while Corbett was asleep.
When Corbett went on his tour of the British Isles and France, he left Ned with some friends in New York.
Upon returning to America, Corbett decided to go west to visit his brother, Harry, and begin training there for his next bout (with Fitzsimmons, see below). Corbett decided to have Ned remain with his New York friends for the time being. Harry also owned a Collie that was a gentle, docile creature.
A few weeks later, Brady left New York for Corbett's training camp near Harry's home, and brought Ned with him. When they arrived and Harry opened the front door, Ned saw Corbett sitting in the parlor with Harry's dog at his feet. Ned shot across the room and attacked Harry’s dog. Corbett pulled Ned off of Harry’s bleeding dog, dragged Ned to the door, shoved him outside, and closed the door.
Corbett figured he would teach Ned a lesson by leaving him outside all night. For a time, no sound was heard from outside, then some whimpering, and finally silence. When Corbett opened the door the following morning, he saw Ned lying there, dead. Ned thought Corbett had rejected him in favor of another dog, and had died of a broken heart. What a sad end to such a wonderful and loyal creature.
Fitzsimmons defeats Corbett with his ‘Solar Plexus Punch’ (1897)
In 1897, Brady arranged to have his champ Corbett fight Bob Fitzsimmons, a former Australian blacksmith. Fitzsimmons had developed a new punch which he called the solar plexus blow. When asked what the advantage of it was, he replied that you can always duck your head, but you can’t duck your belly.
On March 17, 1897, Corbett and Fitzsimmons squared off for their championship fight at Carson City, Nevada. The fight went as expected, with Fitzsimmons working on Corbett's midsection, when he could catch him. In the 6th round, Fitzsimmons was decked, but bounced back up full of fight. He tagged Corbett with a vicious smash to the stomach in the 14th round, which caused Gentleman Jim to lower his guard, whereupon Fitzsimmons knocked him out by a blow to the jaw.
Brady took the train back to New York thinking about the $500,000 he could make from the fight films. These were the early days of film, and crowds would pay to see the reels from famous bouts. With Corbett out of the picture, Brady went back to producing plays on Broadway, but kept thinking about how to get back into boxing.
In 1897, Brady arranged to have his champ Corbett fight Bob Fitzsimmons, a former Australian blacksmith. Fitzsimmons had developed a new punch which he called the solar plexus blow. When asked what the advantage of it was, he replied that you can always duck your head, but you can’t duck your belly.
On March 17, 1897, Corbett and Fitzsimmons squared off for their championship fight at Carson City, Nevada. The fight went as expected, with Fitzsimmons working on Corbett's midsection, when he could catch him. In the 6th round, Fitzsimmons was decked, but bounced back up full of fight. He tagged Corbett with a vicious smash to the stomach in the 14th round, which caused Gentleman Jim to lower his guard, whereupon Fitzsimmons knocked him out by a blow to the jaw.
Brady took the train back to New York thinking about the $500,000 he could make from the fight films. These were the early days of film, and crowds would pay to see the reels from famous bouts. With Corbett out of the picture, Brady went back to producing plays on Broadway, but kept thinking about how to get back into boxing.
Brady’s Coney Island Athletic Club (1897)
Around this time in 1897, Brady leased the Coney Island Athletic Club building with the idea of presenting boxing matches there. Recall that this was the old Bauer’s Casino building, which McKane had converted into the Athletic Club in 1892, several years after Bauer’s death. Brady modernized the interior and installed additional seating.
Brady cleverly cut in Bob Fitzsimmons’ manager as well as some important politicians, on the expectation that the latter would keep the reformers at bay. When reformers had previously tried to shut the club down, Judge Gaynor, a McKane opponent, had surprised everyone by ruling that the Coney Island Athletic Club could operate if it obeyed the laws against betting. Brady hired uniformed guards and Pinkerton detectives to police the house to show he was complying with the gambling laws. Of course, everyone knew the bookies could be found at the Sagamore, Albemarle and Prospect Hotels across Surf Avenue before the fights, and later in the club during the actual fights.
Bouts were held in accordance with the Horton Act, recently passed by the New York State Legislature. The act was intended to decriminalize the type of boxing you would find among people trying to work out in a neighborhood gym. It required sufficiently large gloves and simple sparring for points. The act ended up being repealed in 1900 after it became clear that professional bouts were end running it. But for now, Brady and other promoters could hang their hat on it.
Around this time in 1897, Brady leased the Coney Island Athletic Club building with the idea of presenting boxing matches there. Recall that this was the old Bauer’s Casino building, which McKane had converted into the Athletic Club in 1892, several years after Bauer’s death. Brady modernized the interior and installed additional seating.
Brady cleverly cut in Bob Fitzsimmons’ manager as well as some important politicians, on the expectation that the latter would keep the reformers at bay. When reformers had previously tried to shut the club down, Judge Gaynor, a McKane opponent, had surprised everyone by ruling that the Coney Island Athletic Club could operate if it obeyed the laws against betting. Brady hired uniformed guards and Pinkerton detectives to police the house to show he was complying with the gambling laws. Of course, everyone knew the bookies could be found at the Sagamore, Albemarle and Prospect Hotels across Surf Avenue before the fights, and later in the club during the actual fights.
Bouts were held in accordance with the Horton Act, recently passed by the New York State Legislature. The act was intended to decriminalize the type of boxing you would find among people trying to work out in a neighborhood gym. It required sufficiently large gloves and simple sparring for points. The act ended up being repealed in 1900 after it became clear that professional bouts were end running it. But for now, Brady and other promoters could hang their hat on it.
Jeffries takes the Heavyweight Title from Fitzsimmons at the Coney Island Athletic Club (1899)
Brady had been impressed by a bruiser by the name of James J. Jeffries that had served as one of Corbett's sparring partners ahead of the Fitzsimmons fight. After Jeffries agreed to be managed by Brady, Brady arranged a championship fight between Jeffries and Fitzsimmons.
The Fitzsimmons-Jeffries world heavyweight championship bout took place at Brady’s Coney Island Athletic Club on June 9, 1899. The club was packed to the rafters. Fitzsimmons had never seen Jeffries fight, but had read a remark by John L. Sullivan that Jeffries was pretty fast for a big man. Fitzsimmons figured that Jeffries must be another dancer, like Corbett. Fitzsimmons came out attacking Jeffries with the solar plexus punch that had defeated Corbett, but Jeffries didn't even wince. Nor was Jim dancing; he stood flatfooted and delivered as much as he received. By the 11th round, Fitzsimmons had shifted his attack from the midsection to the head. This strategy seemed to give no better results, as Jeffries had a cast iron jaw and could take the punishment. While Fitzsimmons was wondering what to do next, a massive punch from Jeffries decked him. When Fitzsimmons regained consciousness, he realized that he was no longer heavy-weight champion of the world. And Brady now had another champion to cash in on.
Brady quickly arranges for Jeffries to fight Sharkey (1899)
Brady figured he would see if he could take Jeffries on the type of theatrical tour that had worked so well with Corbett. Jeffries, however, had little interest and just couldn't remember lines. Jeffries just wanted to fight. Brady figured the only way to make money on his bruiser was to have Jeffries fight often.
Brady decided to arrange another championship bout for Jeffries for November 3, 1899, only five months after the Fitzsimmons fight. Jeffries would take on ‘Sailor’ Tom Sharkey, who had battled Jeffries to a draw on the west coast a few years earlier. Sharkey was only about five-foot-eight, but he was built like an ox.
Brady had been impressed by a bruiser by the name of James J. Jeffries that had served as one of Corbett's sparring partners ahead of the Fitzsimmons fight. After Jeffries agreed to be managed by Brady, Brady arranged a championship fight between Jeffries and Fitzsimmons.
The Fitzsimmons-Jeffries world heavyweight championship bout took place at Brady’s Coney Island Athletic Club on June 9, 1899. The club was packed to the rafters. Fitzsimmons had never seen Jeffries fight, but had read a remark by John L. Sullivan that Jeffries was pretty fast for a big man. Fitzsimmons figured that Jeffries must be another dancer, like Corbett. Fitzsimmons came out attacking Jeffries with the solar plexus punch that had defeated Corbett, but Jeffries didn't even wince. Nor was Jim dancing; he stood flatfooted and delivered as much as he received. By the 11th round, Fitzsimmons had shifted his attack from the midsection to the head. This strategy seemed to give no better results, as Jeffries had a cast iron jaw and could take the punishment. While Fitzsimmons was wondering what to do next, a massive punch from Jeffries decked him. When Fitzsimmons regained consciousness, he realized that he was no longer heavy-weight champion of the world. And Brady now had another champion to cash in on.
Brady quickly arranges for Jeffries to fight Sharkey (1899)
Brady figured he would see if he could take Jeffries on the type of theatrical tour that had worked so well with Corbett. Jeffries, however, had little interest and just couldn't remember lines. Jeffries just wanted to fight. Brady figured the only way to make money on his bruiser was to have Jeffries fight often.
Brady decided to arrange another championship bout for Jeffries for November 3, 1899, only five months after the Fitzsimmons fight. Jeffries would take on ‘Sailor’ Tom Sharkey, who had battled Jeffries to a draw on the west coast a few years earlier. Sharkey was only about five-foot-eight, but he was built like an ox.
Brady messes with Albert Smith of the American Vitagraph Company, who repays the favor (1899)
Brady had experienced a costly disappointment in the filming of the Jeffries-Fitzsimmons fight because of the insufficient lighting over the ring. Photographing fights out of doors in the sunshine had been successful, but indoors presented problems.
So, Brady consulted lighting experts at the American Vitagraph Company shortly after arranging the Jeffries-Sharkey bout. Vitagraph’s engineers had developed shaded high intensity Klieg lights that could illuminate the ring sufficiently without blinding the onlookers. Brady bought the equipment from Vitagraph, but then turned to their rival, the American Biograph Company, for filming. Biograph was supposed to have a superior photographic technique. Albert Smith, Vitagraph’s head, was incensed at what he regarded as a double-cross by Brady.
Word of Brady's plans to improve indoor photography circulated in the entertainment industry, reaching the ears of a varmint by the name of Joe E. Howard. Howard was a Broadway song-and-dance man with a flair for composing catch tunes. Eventually, he would make a pile of money on sentimental songs such as ‘I Wonder Who's Kissing Her Now?’ and ‘Goodbye, My Lady Love’. But that was still in the future. At this moment, poor Joe was a struggling entertainer, and was trying to figure out some way – legal or illegal – of becoming financially independent.
Howard hit on the idea of filming the upcoming Jeffries-Sharkey fight himself, without Brady's knowledge or approval. The operation Joe had in mind required a team, so Howard approached Albert Smith and James French, both of Vitagraph. These were only too glad to help Howard give Brady a deserving boot in the behind. To confuse Brady's security, Howard recruited others who would carry boxes designed to look like cameras, but which weren't. Howard held a rehearsal that went off without a hitch as the bout approached.
Brady had experienced a costly disappointment in the filming of the Jeffries-Fitzsimmons fight because of the insufficient lighting over the ring. Photographing fights out of doors in the sunshine had been successful, but indoors presented problems.
So, Brady consulted lighting experts at the American Vitagraph Company shortly after arranging the Jeffries-Sharkey bout. Vitagraph’s engineers had developed shaded high intensity Klieg lights that could illuminate the ring sufficiently without blinding the onlookers. Brady bought the equipment from Vitagraph, but then turned to their rival, the American Biograph Company, for filming. Biograph was supposed to have a superior photographic technique. Albert Smith, Vitagraph’s head, was incensed at what he regarded as a double-cross by Brady.
Word of Brady's plans to improve indoor photography circulated in the entertainment industry, reaching the ears of a varmint by the name of Joe E. Howard. Howard was a Broadway song-and-dance man with a flair for composing catch tunes. Eventually, he would make a pile of money on sentimental songs such as ‘I Wonder Who's Kissing Her Now?’ and ‘Goodbye, My Lady Love’. But that was still in the future. At this moment, poor Joe was a struggling entertainer, and was trying to figure out some way – legal or illegal – of becoming financially independent.
Howard hit on the idea of filming the upcoming Jeffries-Sharkey fight himself, without Brady's knowledge or approval. The operation Joe had in mind required a team, so Howard approached Albert Smith and James French, both of Vitagraph. These were only too glad to help Howard give Brady a deserving boot in the behind. To confuse Brady's security, Howard recruited others who would carry boxes designed to look like cameras, but which weren't. Howard held a rehearsal that went off without a hitch as the bout approached.
The Pirate Filming of the Jeffries – Sharkey Fight (1899)
Finally, the day of the great fight, November 3, 1899, arrived. It was a cold night, and the capacity crowd of fifteen thousand fight fans came to Coney Island bundled up in overcoats reaching to the ankles, which was then the style, and which served to conceal Howard’s bulky camera. As the scoundrels in the line approached the entrance to the hall, two men nearby began to argue, shout, and swing at each other. They were actor friends of Howard's engaged in distracting the attention of the Pinkertons while the camera was being spirited into the house. Howard and his team got to their seats undetected, which were slightly back from ringside, so that their camera would not be conspicuous, but close enough to get good pictures of the fight.
After the preliminaries, Jeffries and Sharkey commenced their assault on each other, with Jeffries using his long reach to chop up Sharkey, while the latter would crouch and weave to get in close and flail away with both fists. It was a bloody slugfest that went the full 25 rounds. At the end, Jeffries looked like he had been in a head-on train collision. Sharkey’s face looked better, but Jeffries had broken several of Sharkey’s ribs. The decision was awarded in favor of Jeffries.
During the fight, Brady's Pinkertons detected some men among the spectators cranking away on cameras. They informed Brady, who gave them instructions to confiscate the cameras and eject the culprits from the house. This could not be done during the fight without starting a riot. Between the rounds the Pinkertons pounced on some fellows with boxes that looked like cameras, but they contained such innocuous articles as sandwiches, fruit, newspapers and gloves. Whenever a round ended, Howard's camera would be passed along the aisle and concealed among overcoats under the seats, or in the boxes already searched. When the next round was about to start, the camera would be rushed back into action. One eager beaver among the Pinkertons had his jaw fractured by some spectators who spotted him poking under the seats, and mistook him for a thief.
As the bell sounded for the start of the last round, Brady's camera jammed, while Howard's functioned perfectly to the end. When the crowd learned that Jeffries had retained his crown by a decision, a roar of disapproval arose from the losing bettors. In the commotion that followed, Howard and his accomplices slipped out with their treasure. It is said that the famous jockey, ‘Snapper’ Garrison, was in on the caper. He couldn't have carried the camera, for it was bigger than he was, but probably made out with a reel or two.
Howard quickly developed the film's negatives and cleverly rushed a set of positives to the Copyright Office in Washington, probably on Vitagraph’s advice. Other copies were rented to various theatres, cabarets and fight clubs that had projectors.
Brady yelled bloody murder and threatened to sue Howard, who rubbed salt in the wounds by warning Brady not to infringe on his copyright by using his film of the last round. Ordinarily, it would have been possible for Brady to splice shots from other rounds to create the last round. Faking this final round proved impossible, however, because one of Jeffries' gloves had flown off during the round, and the referee had permitted the fighting to continue, with Jeffries using his bare fist. Brady’s only recourse was to stage the last round with Jeffries and Sharkey. Sharkey, who had been placed in a plaster cast to heal several broken ribs, was paid an actors fee to have the cast removed so he could perform in Brady's farce. Jeffries allowed one of his gloves to slip off his hand while they traded cream puff punches with each other. By the time Brady had completed this charade, the fight was ancient history, and he couldn't even sell the film.
Corbett convinces Brady to let him have a shot at Jeffries
Among the crowd watching the Jeffries-Sharkey fight had been three former world champions, Sullivan, Corbett and Fitzsimmons, who were covering the match for different newspapers. Corbett thought he detected a chink in Jeffries' armor, and longed to have a shot at the champ. He worked on Brady, telling him he needed the money, and, in the event that he would regain the title, Brady would manage him again. So, for Brady, it was a win-win in that he would manage the winner of the bout regardless of who won.
Corbett said that he could build up an interest in the match by voicing the opinion that Jeffries had the same style as Sullivan’s, and that he, Corbett, could defeat him. The thought of having a great actor like Corbett back as world champ appealed to Brady. Jeffries was not concerned about fighting Corbett and went along with the plan. After all, Jeffries had defeated Fitzsimmons, who had defeated Corbett.
The fight was set for May 11, 1900, at Brady's Coney Island Athletic Club. As the date approached, Brady had a battery of cameras in perfect working order around the ring. Also, he assembled his Pinkertons, showed them mug shots, front and side views, of that arch criminal, Joe E. Howard. If that man, or anyone remotely resembling him, were detected anywhere in the house during the fight, he was to be hauled into a dressing room, where Brady would see to it that he got what he deserved. It was a needless precaution, for Joe had made his pile, and he wasn't greedy. The filming of the fight went off without incident.
Brady, as Jeffries’ manager, hired Tommy Ryan to devise a plan for beating Corbett. Ryan was a middleweight champ with a lot of ring savvy. Ryan recognized that Corbett had a hit-and-run style, mostly dancing around while throwing jabs. But Jeffries was pretty fast, too, when he had to be. And Jeffries had very long arms. So, Ryan devised a strategy to make the most of Jeffries’ reach advantage. Jeffries would dance just like Corbett and keep poking that long paw into Corbett's snoot. The only potential drawback in the plan was that Corbett was an old hand at hitting on the run, while Jeffries was a recent convert.
A huge crowd turned up in Coney Island for the big fight on Friday, May 11, 1900. Thousands of sport fans had to await the result on Surf Avenue because Brady's stadium was sold out. The fight was going as Ryan had expected, but after a time, Corbett began parrying Jeffries punches, landing some solid ones of his own, and then bouncing away before Jeffries could hit back. By the end of the 22nd round, it was obvious to everyone that Corbett would take the decision if the fight went the full 25 rounds. Brady began to wonder whether Tommy Ryan had set up Jeffries. Though he liked Corbett, Brady felt that he was obligated to support Jeffries to the fullest of his ability. Brady instructed him to cut out the nonsense tip-toeing routine, and to start delivering the mail. In the 23rd round, Jeffries got off his toes and knocked Gentleman Jim out cold.
Corbett came to in his corner as his seconds doused him with soaking sponges, and the first face he saw was Brady's. ‘Are you O.K., kid?’ asked Brady. ‘Yeah, what happened?’ was Gentleman Jim's groggy response. ‘It was a great fight, kid, a great fight! You did yourself proud,’ said Brady, ‘and we'll make a mint on the fight pictures.’ By ‘we’ Brady meant himself only, for fighters then didn't get a slice of that pie.
The Final Days of Boxing at the Coney Island Athletic Club
Several months after the Jeffries–Corbett fight, in 1900, Governor Theodore Roosevelt, of all people, had the New York State Legislature repeal the Horton Act. This put an end to boxing in New York State until the Roaring Twenties, in Mayor Jimmy Walker's time. Roosevelt’s actions seemed surprising, as he was the outdoor type, and was being given boxing instruction by William Muldoon, who had refereed the Corbett-Fitzsimmons bout. Perhaps Roosevelt already had his eye on the White House, and sought to curry favor with the reformers, and their brethren in the Bible Belt.
Finally, the day of the great fight, November 3, 1899, arrived. It was a cold night, and the capacity crowd of fifteen thousand fight fans came to Coney Island bundled up in overcoats reaching to the ankles, which was then the style, and which served to conceal Howard’s bulky camera. As the scoundrels in the line approached the entrance to the hall, two men nearby began to argue, shout, and swing at each other. They were actor friends of Howard's engaged in distracting the attention of the Pinkertons while the camera was being spirited into the house. Howard and his team got to their seats undetected, which were slightly back from ringside, so that their camera would not be conspicuous, but close enough to get good pictures of the fight.
After the preliminaries, Jeffries and Sharkey commenced their assault on each other, with Jeffries using his long reach to chop up Sharkey, while the latter would crouch and weave to get in close and flail away with both fists. It was a bloody slugfest that went the full 25 rounds. At the end, Jeffries looked like he had been in a head-on train collision. Sharkey’s face looked better, but Jeffries had broken several of Sharkey’s ribs. The decision was awarded in favor of Jeffries.
During the fight, Brady's Pinkertons detected some men among the spectators cranking away on cameras. They informed Brady, who gave them instructions to confiscate the cameras and eject the culprits from the house. This could not be done during the fight without starting a riot. Between the rounds the Pinkertons pounced on some fellows with boxes that looked like cameras, but they contained such innocuous articles as sandwiches, fruit, newspapers and gloves. Whenever a round ended, Howard's camera would be passed along the aisle and concealed among overcoats under the seats, or in the boxes already searched. When the next round was about to start, the camera would be rushed back into action. One eager beaver among the Pinkertons had his jaw fractured by some spectators who spotted him poking under the seats, and mistook him for a thief.
As the bell sounded for the start of the last round, Brady's camera jammed, while Howard's functioned perfectly to the end. When the crowd learned that Jeffries had retained his crown by a decision, a roar of disapproval arose from the losing bettors. In the commotion that followed, Howard and his accomplices slipped out with their treasure. It is said that the famous jockey, ‘Snapper’ Garrison, was in on the caper. He couldn't have carried the camera, for it was bigger than he was, but probably made out with a reel or two.
Howard quickly developed the film's negatives and cleverly rushed a set of positives to the Copyright Office in Washington, probably on Vitagraph’s advice. Other copies were rented to various theatres, cabarets and fight clubs that had projectors.
Brady yelled bloody murder and threatened to sue Howard, who rubbed salt in the wounds by warning Brady not to infringe on his copyright by using his film of the last round. Ordinarily, it would have been possible for Brady to splice shots from other rounds to create the last round. Faking this final round proved impossible, however, because one of Jeffries' gloves had flown off during the round, and the referee had permitted the fighting to continue, with Jeffries using his bare fist. Brady’s only recourse was to stage the last round with Jeffries and Sharkey. Sharkey, who had been placed in a plaster cast to heal several broken ribs, was paid an actors fee to have the cast removed so he could perform in Brady's farce. Jeffries allowed one of his gloves to slip off his hand while they traded cream puff punches with each other. By the time Brady had completed this charade, the fight was ancient history, and he couldn't even sell the film.
Corbett convinces Brady to let him have a shot at Jeffries
Among the crowd watching the Jeffries-Sharkey fight had been three former world champions, Sullivan, Corbett and Fitzsimmons, who were covering the match for different newspapers. Corbett thought he detected a chink in Jeffries' armor, and longed to have a shot at the champ. He worked on Brady, telling him he needed the money, and, in the event that he would regain the title, Brady would manage him again. So, for Brady, it was a win-win in that he would manage the winner of the bout regardless of who won.
Corbett said that he could build up an interest in the match by voicing the opinion that Jeffries had the same style as Sullivan’s, and that he, Corbett, could defeat him. The thought of having a great actor like Corbett back as world champ appealed to Brady. Jeffries was not concerned about fighting Corbett and went along with the plan. After all, Jeffries had defeated Fitzsimmons, who had defeated Corbett.
The fight was set for May 11, 1900, at Brady's Coney Island Athletic Club. As the date approached, Brady had a battery of cameras in perfect working order around the ring. Also, he assembled his Pinkertons, showed them mug shots, front and side views, of that arch criminal, Joe E. Howard. If that man, or anyone remotely resembling him, were detected anywhere in the house during the fight, he was to be hauled into a dressing room, where Brady would see to it that he got what he deserved. It was a needless precaution, for Joe had made his pile, and he wasn't greedy. The filming of the fight went off without incident.
Brady, as Jeffries’ manager, hired Tommy Ryan to devise a plan for beating Corbett. Ryan was a middleweight champ with a lot of ring savvy. Ryan recognized that Corbett had a hit-and-run style, mostly dancing around while throwing jabs. But Jeffries was pretty fast, too, when he had to be. And Jeffries had very long arms. So, Ryan devised a strategy to make the most of Jeffries’ reach advantage. Jeffries would dance just like Corbett and keep poking that long paw into Corbett's snoot. The only potential drawback in the plan was that Corbett was an old hand at hitting on the run, while Jeffries was a recent convert.
A huge crowd turned up in Coney Island for the big fight on Friday, May 11, 1900. Thousands of sport fans had to await the result on Surf Avenue because Brady's stadium was sold out. The fight was going as Ryan had expected, but after a time, Corbett began parrying Jeffries punches, landing some solid ones of his own, and then bouncing away before Jeffries could hit back. By the end of the 22nd round, it was obvious to everyone that Corbett would take the decision if the fight went the full 25 rounds. Brady began to wonder whether Tommy Ryan had set up Jeffries. Though he liked Corbett, Brady felt that he was obligated to support Jeffries to the fullest of his ability. Brady instructed him to cut out the nonsense tip-toeing routine, and to start delivering the mail. In the 23rd round, Jeffries got off his toes and knocked Gentleman Jim out cold.
Corbett came to in his corner as his seconds doused him with soaking sponges, and the first face he saw was Brady's. ‘Are you O.K., kid?’ asked Brady. ‘Yeah, what happened?’ was Gentleman Jim's groggy response. ‘It was a great fight, kid, a great fight! You did yourself proud,’ said Brady, ‘and we'll make a mint on the fight pictures.’ By ‘we’ Brady meant himself only, for fighters then didn't get a slice of that pie.
The Final Days of Boxing at the Coney Island Athletic Club
Several months after the Jeffries–Corbett fight, in 1900, Governor Theodore Roosevelt, of all people, had the New York State Legislature repeal the Horton Act. This put an end to boxing in New York State until the Roaring Twenties, in Mayor Jimmy Walker's time. Roosevelt’s actions seemed surprising, as he was the outdoor type, and was being given boxing instruction by William Muldoon, who had refereed the Corbett-Fitzsimmons bout. Perhaps Roosevelt already had his eye on the White House, and sought to curry favor with the reformers, and their brethren in the Bible Belt.
Afterword
A few notes on the later fortunes of our Coney Island gladiators. In a 1902 rematch, at San Francisco, Jeffries knocked out Fitzsimmons in the 8th round. Corbett was a persistent cuss, and induced Jeffries to give him another shot at the title. Corbett figured that as he had been ahead for 22 rounds in their last fight, all he had to do to win was to be more cautious in the last three rounds. What Gentleman Jim didn't realize was that Jeffries had hung up his ballet shoes. Jeffries blitzed him in the 10th round at San Francisco in 1903. Jeffries retired in 1905, half-heartedly came out of retirement purely for a guaranteed purse in 1910 and was defeated by Jack Johnson in the 15th round at Reno, Nevada. Johnson was creamed in the 26th round by a six-foot-five cowboy, Jess Willard, who himself received such a terrible beating from Jack Dempsey in three rounds, in 1919, that he was unable to come out for the 4th round.
As for Joe E. Howard, song-and-dance man and Brady nemesis, he had a long and eventful life, being married nine times, and having a child with his last wife. In 1961, Joe participated in a benefit performance in Chicago's Civic Opera House, at the age of 94. He came out on the stage in his usual full dress suit, top hat, opera cape and cane, and entertained an appreciative audience by singing some of the songs he had composed, and dancing to their melodies, which a precocious 12 year old girl was playing on the organ. As the curtain was descending.at the end of his routine, he threw a kiss to the child, collapsed, and died.
I wonder who's kissing her now?
I wonder who's teaching her how?
I wonder who's looking into her eyes,
Breathing sighs, telling lies?
God bless Joe’s larcenous soul.
A few notes on the later fortunes of our Coney Island gladiators. In a 1902 rematch, at San Francisco, Jeffries knocked out Fitzsimmons in the 8th round. Corbett was a persistent cuss, and induced Jeffries to give him another shot at the title. Corbett figured that as he had been ahead for 22 rounds in their last fight, all he had to do to win was to be more cautious in the last three rounds. What Gentleman Jim didn't realize was that Jeffries had hung up his ballet shoes. Jeffries blitzed him in the 10th round at San Francisco in 1903. Jeffries retired in 1905, half-heartedly came out of retirement purely for a guaranteed purse in 1910 and was defeated by Jack Johnson in the 15th round at Reno, Nevada. Johnson was creamed in the 26th round by a six-foot-five cowboy, Jess Willard, who himself received such a terrible beating from Jack Dempsey in three rounds, in 1919, that he was unable to come out for the 4th round.
As for Joe E. Howard, song-and-dance man and Brady nemesis, he had a long and eventful life, being married nine times, and having a child with his last wife. In 1961, Joe participated in a benefit performance in Chicago's Civic Opera House, at the age of 94. He came out on the stage in his usual full dress suit, top hat, opera cape and cane, and entertained an appreciative audience by singing some of the songs he had composed, and dancing to their melodies, which a precocious 12 year old girl was playing on the organ. As the curtain was descending.at the end of his routine, he threw a kiss to the child, collapsed, and died.
I wonder who's kissing her now?
I wonder who's teaching her how?
I wonder who's looking into her eyes,
Breathing sighs, telling lies?
God bless Joe’s larcenous soul.
This article combines the author's extensive ongoing research with the text of the late Manny Teitelman's unpublished manuscript, 'Coney Island, Last Stop!'
The manuscript's contents are used, modified and published under an exclusive copyright license dated 2016. All rights reserved.
[1] Image from Library of Congress archives
[2] Image from Wikipedia, Vitagraph Studios
[3] Image from IMDB, https://www.ibdb.com/broadway-cast-staff/joseph-e-howard-6951
This article combines the author's extensive ongoing research with the text of the late Manny Teitelman's unpublished manuscript, 'Coney Island, Last Stop!'
The manuscript's contents are used, modified and published under an exclusive copyright license dated 2016. All rights reserved.
[1] Image from Library of Congress archives
[2] Image from Wikipedia, Vitagraph Studios
[3] Image from IMDB, https://www.ibdb.com/broadway-cast-staff/joseph-e-howard-6951
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