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FROM THE BOOKS
From my first
fight I started to run away. This scrap came at an early age,
when I was about twelve years old. I was attending St. Ignatius
College in San Francisco, and at noon and recess periods was
confined to what they called the "Little Yard". Up to a certain
grade you were in the "Little Yard" with the smaller youngsters,
and when you were promoted out of the "Little Yard" you could go
in the "Big Yard" with the big boys; but I was always large for
my age and looked much older than I really was, so I would go to
the picnics and they would have prizes for boys under twelve
years old and they would never let me try for them, and I felt
rather out of it and often lonely, so whenever I could I would
sneak in the "Big Yard" at lunch times to play hand ball and
prisoners' base with the older boys.
The bully of the "Big Yard" was a boy called "Fatty" Carney, but I
have never been warned about him. Now about this time I struck
up an acquaintance with a fellow by the name of Hopkins. We used
to bring our own lunches, as we lived quite a distance from the
school, and this Hopkins boy, whose folks were well-to-do,
brought all the finest kinds of cakes and sandwiches. Perhaps
this was one of the attractions of the friendship. Anyway, I
used to go in and play with him and get some of his lunch, which
was much finer than anything I had ever had. In playing
prisoners' base one day I happened to chase him, and "Fatty"
Carney, the bully I have just spoken of, was running after
someone else, and Hopkins ran into "Fatty" and Carney promptly
hit him. Of course I took Hopkins part, as he was my "pal", and
grabbed Carney's arms and started to fight him then and there,
but the other boys interfered and a Brother of the College came
and ordered me back to the "Little Yard" where I belonged, but
not before Carney had said, "I'll get you after school!" Someone
was then kind enough to inform me that I was up against the
toughest fellow in the school.
When school was dismissed that afternoon one of the boys whispered
to me, as we marched out in line, that Carney was waiting for me
outside. My first intention was to run away. There were two
exits and I was trying to decide which was the safer, when it
suddenly occurred to me that if I ran away all the boys would
laugh at me and I would be looked upon as a coward. I kept
thinking it over while I was marching, but my pride was now
aroused and I said to myself, "I will go out and get licked."
And out I marched on the street and there was Carney with a
bunch of fellows surrounding him, waiting. I was only a kid
then, but that afternoon an idea came to me that has since stood
me in good stead,-to avoid trouble, if possible, but if it lay
ahead of me, to be the aggressor and not let the other fellow
think I was at all afraid. In my heart I was afraid of Carney
then, but I marched right over to him, scared as I was, and
said, "Are you waiting for me?" He said "Yes."
We went around to a lot opposite the United States Mint, called the
"Mint Yard", and the whole school followed. We started to fight.
He was a big, strong fellow-if we had been men and in a regular
ring, they would have called him the slugger, and me a panther,
terms much used in descriptions of fights those days.
I had never had a boxing lesson, but occasionally had watched my
older brother box. He was six years older than I and I
remembered a few of his tricks, such as looking at the stomach
and hitting in the face,-just the crude principles of the boxing
art.
"Fatty" started to rush me, and as he was stronger and older than
I, I began to jump out of his way, trying to make him miss. Then
I'd jab at him and jump away-instinctively using my head even at
that age, though I didn't realize it myself. After a few minutes
the police came and scattered us, but by that time I was sure I
could whip Fatty, and when we ran away from the police I ran in
the same direction that he took, as I wanted to have it out with
him. He made for his home, and we came to the "Circus Lot", used
for the circus performances in those days. I had no supporters
with me, just two or three of the boys of my own neighborhood
who had followed me, while "Fatty" had his whole gang at his
back. We started fighting in this lot and I was getting the
better of him, and he realized it, so he grabbed hold of me and
started to wrestle and, being much stronger than I, threw me
down and proceeded to punch me while I lay underneath him. An
old gentleman, with a cane, stood near, watching us. He took the
cane in his hand and stepped in and hit "Fatty" on the back with
it and told him he ought to fight boys of his own age and size.
I went home with a black eye.
My father, an old-fashioned Irishman, discovered this little
souvenir of the fight. Pointing at it, he asked sternly, "Where
did you get this?"
I explained the circumstances to him and told him it had been a
case of either fighting or running away and being called a
coward. I didn't realize at the time that my father was really
proud of me because I had not chosen the other entrance of the
school. He asked me who it was I had fought with and I told him
"Fatty" Carney.
"Carney down on Howard Street?" he asked.
In those days San Francisco wasn't as big as it is now and
everybody knew everybody else, and he repeated, "Carney down on
Howard Street? H'm! What d'ye think uv that!" He seemed
surprised to think that I had been fighting with this big Carney
boy and couldn't understand it.
I returned to school the next day; so did Carney. Then the older
boys in the "Big Yard" came around, making a fuss over me, and I
could hear the boys talking and saying to each other, "Why, you
ought to have seen him yesterday! This kid was shifting and
using judgment just the way professionals do."
I was surprised and pleased, but the wind was taken out of my sails
when the head of the College appeared and put us both out of
school. He did not suspend us, but expelled us for good. Anyway,
this fight grew to be a legend, a sort of historical event in
the school and was talked of long afterwards, so the boys told
me.
From that fight I learned a lesson that has lasted me all my
life-that the size of a man does not count, and that by using my
head and feet I could lick a man much stronger than myself.
James J. Corbett-The Roar of the Crowd |
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