The Proper Position: The right hand is placed directly over the heart and the left arm held in a half round or semi-circle manner. The motive in placing the right hand over the heart is to rest the arm within the proper distance of the head to be raised and used as a guard against a left hand blow delivered at the face. It is also within proper distance of the waist to be lowered and used as a guard against a left hand blow delivered at the body. If the right arm was to be placed even with the waist, the body would be well protected but the face would be left unguarded.
Then again, if the right arm was placed even with the head, the face would be guarded but the body left unprotected. You thus see the reason for placing the right hand over the heart is to rest the arm within the correct distance of the head as well as the waist to stop any ordinary blow delivered at the body or face in the manners I have explained. The reason for holding the left arm in a half round manner is to have it in a position to strike a quick and effective blow. If the arm was held at full length, the blow would have no force. It would be merely a slight push.
– George Dixon, “A Lesson in Boxing” (1893)
Before 1885, boxing had no defined weight classes. As a consequence, mismatched fights were common and frequently resulted in unsatisfactory matches for spectators and serious injuries for boxers. So, too, in order to drum up interest in a bout, fighters routinely made claims to being champion of one arbitrary weight class or another, whether they were recognized by a local club or not. Spider Kelly’s claim to be the “105-pound champion” was a good example. This problem persisted in part because no supervisory boxing organization existed and in part because boxing in the late 1880s and early 1890s was, in most jurisdictions across the United States, an illegal activity recognized as shadowy entertainment for gambling. As such, what mattered most in the rough and tumble of early boxing was the promotion.
Boxing then, and to some degree now, had little to do with fairness. Even after weight classes were well established, boxers who possessed a title under a given weight class would often agree to defend that title under a different weight class that naturally suited the champion’s needs. For this reason, a boxer’s manager was particularly important. The manager would arrange not only the fight, but also the purse. These purses would be put up by a promoter and negotiated by the fighters. At the same time, the managers and the fighters would openly offer a sizable side bet themselves. The size of this bet would often entice gamblers. And so, in the absence of an organization to designate and monitor weight classes and title fights, the tabloid newspaper the National Police Gazette – which had a vested interest in both boxing and gambling – eagerly filled the void, awarding championship belts as it saw fit.
In the late nineteenth century, five weight classes were established, ensuring some degree of equity in the ring. The Middleweight Class was established in 1884 for fighters up to 160 pounds. The Heavyweight Class was set in 1885 for fighters of unlimited weight. In 1886, the Lightweight Class was set for fighters up to 135 pounds. And in 1889, just as Dixon was reaching his prime, the Featherweight Class was created for fighters up to 126 pounds. Finally, in 1894, the Bantamweight Class was established for fighters up to 118 pounds.1 Even with these established weight classes, however, fighters continued to lay claims to more specific weight championships in an effort to generate ever-larger purses.
* * *
Dixon’s reputation in his early years was defined by a series of four fights with a Boston boxer named Hank Brennan, locally known as “the Pride of Boston.” As with Dixon, Brennan was a fast-rising bantamweight who had made a name for himself in the amateur circuit. Though he was a serious fighter, with talent and tenacity, his first professional bout was with Dixon.
The first of the fights – a limited bout of twelve rounds – occurred on a pleasant summer day, on June 21, 1888, at Boston’s Pelican Athletic Club. Given the reputations of both Dixon and Brennan in a boxing-mad city, the interest in this fight was considerable. On that day, the Pelican Athletic Club, already a popular venue, filled quickly with enthusiastic patrons. They cheered lustily for Brennan when the two fighters entered the room and cheered for him again as the two stood in the ring listening to referee Tom Higham offer introductions.
The boxers, intent on each other, shook hands.
At the bell, both Dixon and Brennan showed caution. Each offered probing jabs and feints that missed or were blocked. When an opening presented itself, Dixon rushed forward and landed three quick blows to Brennan’s head. Brennan was stunned and clinched, until Referee Higham pulled the fighters apart. When Brennan was free, he swung hard, but Dixon sensed the blow and leaned back. The punch caught air, and the two fighters returned to cautious jabs.
In the second through the fifth rounds, Dixon took the lead in action and in points. But in the fifth, Brennan took charge, offering Dixon a battery of blows. Dixon countered, leaving the flesh around Brennan’s eyes swollen. And so it continued, until after twelve rounds, the referee deemed the fight a draw. Many in the room, despite their enthusiasm for Brennan, felt Dixon had taken the edge. So the referee called for two more rounds. Dixon was furious. The agreement had been for twelve. Unmoved, the referee nodded and the bell was rung for the thirteenth and then the fourteenth round. And again, the two fought to a draw. The referee claimed afterward that Brennan had the better of the fight for the latter part of the contest but acknowledged that Dixon had delivered one knockdown, which was more than enough in his mind to make the match even.
Both fighters agreed to a rematch.
They met on December 4, 1888, at the Athenian Athletic Club in Boston, where a rich $100 purse had been set. Again Dixon and Brennan fought a furious battle described by one reporter as “a hurricane.” The two fought in close, with “every lead followed up” by a counterpunch. Brennan worked Dixon’s body, gaining the advantage during the first four rounds. But Dixon roared back in the fifth, offering “wicked exchanges.” Brennan evened the match in the sixth, “swinging his right on Dixon’s ribs and getting in one or two ripping uppercuts.” And by the seventh and final round, the fight was deemed even, forcing the referee to order another round, and then another. Yet, despite the tenacious fighting, neither Dixon nor Brennan could gain the upper hand.
When the fight was finally called, the bout was scored a draw.
* * *
A few weeks later, on December 22, 1888, John L. Sullivan challenged Jake Kilrain to fight for the bare-knuckled heavyweight championship under the old London Prize Ring Rules. A year earlier, the National Police Gazette had awarded Kilrain the dubious title of champion in an effort to draw Sullivan, whom the paper had long disliked, into the ring. Despite Sullivan’s long absence, the challenge worked.
* * *
Three weeks after their second fight, on December 28, 1888, Dixon and Brennan returned once more to the Athenian Club to determine a winner between the two. Another $100 purse was put on the table, and thousands more dollars were wagered. Despite a snowstorm and bitter cold, the club was again filled to capacity with “hundreds of fans.” Each fighter knew that a chance for a bantamweight title awaited the winner. No doubt, each had grown frustrated with the other as they changed their tactics with each fight in a desperate effort to find an edge.
As Hank Brennan entered the room, the referee noted that he was alone, refusing seconds. “I’ll fight my own battle this time,” he remarked as he met Dixon in the centre of the ring. He turned to the referee. “All I want is a square deal from you,” he said. “My fists will do the rest.” When the fight finally got underway, the gamblers were seen, “hat tipped, cigar held at an angle between the teeth, the hard look of the gambler plastered all over the face, and each openly taking wagers.”
Dixon was favoured, seven to five.
The fight was another give-and-take affair, each boxer offering toe-to-toe assaults and fast-changing tactics. Dixon worked Brennan hard to the head and took the early lead, but Brennan returned in the fifth with a flurry that almost dropped Dixon. The crowd was riotous in their enthusiasm. “Hats were tossed into the air,” and howls were heard with each landed blow. Yet, after fifteen rounds of arduous boxing and deft defense, the pair finished with another draw. The crowd and the fighters were furious. The referee, in fear for his life, managed to escape the club before gamblers tore him apart. The crowd then rolled into the street and, despite the cold and snow, began a riot. The Boston police were called in to disperse the mob.
Although the third fight with Brennan ended in a draw, Dixon still felt some pride at being undefeated. Between January and May of 1889, he fought Paddy Kelly, Frank Maguire, and Billy James. None of the fighters or even the fights were particularly memorable, with Dixon soundly beating Kelly and James and fighting Maguire to a suspect ten-round draw.
* * *
On the evening of January 29, 1889, Dixon was scheduled to fight Paddy Kelly, with whom he had fought to a draw in March of 1888. A small crowd had assembled as the boxers waited for their bout.
Among the spectators was a fellow named Tom O’Rourke. Barrel-chested at thirty-three with a carnival barker’s savvy for reading people and making deals, O’Rourke was a few inches taller than Dixon with a thick mustache and dark hair parted neatly in the middle. He was born in 1856 in Boston and grew up, like John L. Sullivan, in the mean streets of the Irish neighbourhoods there. As a young man, he had been a mediocre boxer and later a talented rower. Now he was the owner of a café and a small local gym, and he frequented the local boxing clubs in search of talent he might manage.
That evening, O’Rourke travelled with a friend, John Blanchard, to the boxing club in Cambridge, Massachusetts, not far from the navy yard. He and Blanchard found a seat ringside, and they chatted and watched with disinterest the preliminary fights.
But when Dixon and Kelly began to box, Tom O’Rourke found his attention turning away from his conversation and toward the action in the ring. The spritely Kelly had bolted from his corner at the start and flailed wildly at Dixon with both arms. Much to O’Rourke’s interest, the young Dixon responded to Kelly’s attack with calm efficiency, shifting the weight on his feet and countering each rush with a sharp jab.
At the same time, as Kelly kept on the attack and landed enough blows to close Dixon’s left eye, O’Rourke thought Dixon was making some careless errors. What truly impressed O’Rourke was how Dixon maintained his calm throughout the fight, holding his right hand tight to his chest and jabbing effectively with his left. Each jab landed firmly and soundly, exacting an escalating toll. In the fifth round, Dixon delivered a sharp left that buckled Kelly at the knees. Dazed, Kelly leaned backward. Dixon did not hesitate. He stepped in and struck a final blow that dropped Kelly to the canvas.
O’Rourke was intrigued. He leaned toward his friend, Blanchard. “My goodness,” he said, “that would be a great little fighter if he was only taught.” O’Rourke left the club that night thinking about the possibilities.
The following morning, Tom O’Rourke asked around town about Dixon. He heard that Dixon kept a room in Cambridge’s Black neighbourhood, so he made his way across the Charles River. As O’Rourke later remembered it, he came to the head of a narrow alley in Cambridge where he saw a stout woman leaning out from her window. He introduced himself and asked if she knew George Dixon.
“I do,” she said and pointed along the alley. “He lives down the way there.”
O’Rourke looked. “Well,” he said, perhaps uncertain about the unfamiliar lane, “would you tell him to come over and see Tom O’Rourke?”
The woman smiled, nodded, and said she would.
O’Rourke then headed back to his gym.
Later that night, George Dixon entered Tom O’Rourke’s gym and introduced himself. O’Rourke smiled and shook his hand. “I saw you fight last night,” he said. “I’m thinking of taking hold of you and giving you a chance.”
Dixon said nothing and looked about the gym. He liked what he saw.
“So,” said O’Rourke, “what about it?”
Dixon nodded. “Mr. O’Rourke,” he said, “if you handle me, I’ll fight anybody in the world.” He smiled and put out his hand. O’Rourke took it. The two seemed pleased at their newfound partnership. O’Rourke then took off his coat and showed Dixon the gym. As they finished their tour, O’Rourke asked about Dixon’s odd habit of holding his right hand to his chest. Dixon was happy to answer.
They talked for hours.
Years later, O’Rourke would still recall Dixon’s enthusiasm as he talked about boxing technique and tactics.
* * *
On June 6, 1889, Dixon was the featured fighter at the newly opened Parnell Athletic Club on 40 Kneeland Street in Boston. That evening more than two hundred sporting men gathered to admire the “well-ventilated and well-equipped” venue that could seat four hundred. The hall had the latest in timekeeping clocks, which alternated between rings and gongs to sound the end and beginning of rounds. It was said the clock cost the club more than four hundred dollars.
The evening’s program offered four contests, one of which was a ten-round bout between George Dixon and Frank Maguire. However, when the time came, Maguire was a no-show. George Wright, the bantamweight champion of Canada, who happened to be present, agreed to a six-round exhibition bout. So while the crowd grew restless, Wright dressed and then, amid cheers, he entered the ring.
According to a reporter who was present, Dixon “had everything his own way from the start.” Dixon struck hard and fast at Wright. Confused by the assault, Wright was unable to defend against Dixon’s speed and ferocity. As the first round neared its end, Wright seemed on the verge of collapse. Dixon delivered two blows to Wright’s face and then, just as Wright was turning away, offered a shot to the stomach. However, Dixon inadvertently caught Wright in the groin.
Wright was furious. The crowd shouted, “Foul!”
Wright pulled off his gloves and left the ring. As Dixon waited in the confusion of the howling crowd, he leaned against the ropes and watched the uncertain referee. Wright was soon encouraged to re-enter the ring, at which point the contest was abruptly awarded to him.
Dixon was stunned.
“In any other club the claim of foul would not have been allowed,” The Boston Globe reporter noted, “and Wright ‘gave up’ when he left the ring.” But the fight was recorded as George Dixon’s first professional loss.
Even years later, it still rankled. “The first [loss of my career], which was to have been to a finish, was with George Wright of Canada whom I met in Boston about six years ago and he was declared the winner on a foul. During the first round, Wright left the ring three times but was induced by his seconds and allowed by the referee to return each time. At the close of the second round the referee claimed I struck Wright after the gong had sounded, and for that reason which was unfair, he gave the decision against me. I could not induce Wright to meet me again and he has many times since been beaten by men whom I have easily defeated.”
* * *
To rebound from his defeat, and to maintain his status as a bantamweight contender, Dixon again fought Hank Brennan at the Parnell Athletic Club in Boston on October 14, 1889. The bout was scheduled for twenty-five rounds. Five hundred enthusiastic members of the club gathered to watch the fourth contest in the epic battle between the two well-matched fighters. This time a substantial $700 purse was promised to the winner, and again, the gambling interest and action was intense.
From the first round to the sixth round, Brennan took the lead, working Dixon’s body and landing some “wicked left-handers to Dixon’s face, neck, and head, and several times he uppercut Dixon in a first-class manner.” As the two worked in close, it was Dixon who drew first blood from Brennan’s nose.
Over the next three rounds, Dixon countered and established control, eventually closing Brennan’s left eye. Undeterred, Brennan stepped up in the tenth, eleventh, and twelfth rounds.
The fight, once again, was even.
From the thirteenth to the seventeenth rounds, the edge between the fighters moved back and forth with Dixon working Brennan’s bloody nose and swollen eye. In the eighteenth, Brennan landed a left to Dixon’s nose, which drew blood. But still neither fighter gained a decisive edge.
In the twenty-second round, Brennan rushed Dixon and landed a sharp right and then left to his neck. But Dixon countered with a right to Brennan’s head that dropped him to the canvas. Brennan was “badly dazed when he got to his feet” and Dixon continued on the attack. But Brennan clinched Dixon until the end of the round, keeping Dixon from delivering a knockout blow. Brennan returned for the next two rounds with renewed energy, fighting in close.
At the end of the twenty-fifth round, as Dixon had again established control, the club owner stepped into the ring and declared the match a draw. The referee, perhaps cognizant of the anger faced by his predecessor in the earlier Dixon-Brennan bout, forcefully objected and refused to call the match as such. The fighters’ seconds then stepped into the ring and a tussle began. Finally, the crowd joined the melee until the police waded into the ring and stopped the fight.
The bout officially ended in a draw.
Boxing historian Nat Fleischer would say of the Dixon-Brennan fights, “Boxing history was made in those four battles. Never before or since has the feat been equaled.” Despite the tie, Dixon had finally broken through as a respected fighter. But just being better than a white fighter was not good enough to bring victory and not good enough for a chance at the bantamweight title. He would have to work even harder. And he would need a cagey ally.
This alliance would come in a partnership with Tom O’Rourke.
* * *
Not long after Tom O’Rourke and George Dixon began their partnership in January 1889, George was introduced to Tom’s younger sister, Kitty O’Rourke. Diminutive, with short, curly hair that framed her round face, Kitty was five years older than George. The Boston Globe would later describe her as “intelligent,” “thrifty,” and “shrewd” – “a pretty girl, who was considered one of the belles of the north end of Boston.” As a young woman, she had many eager suitors in her neighbourhood, suggesting that she was engaging and sociable. When she began seeing George, there must have been some surprise in the neighbourhood and likely even upset. Interracial relationships, even in the northeast of America, were violently discouraged.
Yet, overcoming what must have been noteworthy hostility, the two fell in love. People would later ask Kitty why she would “cast her lot with a colored man.” To the question, she just would smile and say, “I married George because I loved him. Let the world think what it may. I will share his joys and sorrows to the last.”
How long their courtship lasted is unclear, but it could not have been for more than a year. They were married by pastor Reverend Peter J. Smith, at St. Paul’s Baptist Church in Boston, probably in late 1890. And for a few years, at least, they appeared genuinely happy with their lives together. One biographical essay of Dixon stated that Dixon had been married before he met Kitty, but his youth and no other corroborating evidence suggests this is not true.
In either case, George Dixon was happily married.
* * *
In late December of 1889, O’Rourke arranged for Dixon to fight Eugene Hornbacker in New Haven, Connecticut, “for $250 a side and a $500 purse.” O’Rourke had been skillful in crafting the contest, declaring that a win for Dixon would be sufficient for a challenge against bantamweight champion Charles “Cal” McCarthy. The compelling tale O’Rourke and Dixon crafted took hold, and the gamblers excitedly put their money down on the fight.
* * *
Early in the morning of December 27, 1889, The New York Times reported, “A mob of several hundred men raided the jail at Barnwell Court House [in Charleston, South Carolina] at 2 o’clock this morning, overpowered the jailer, and took out eight negro prisoners, charged with murder … The jailer was tied and forced to accompany the lynchers. The whole thing was conducted in a very successful manner, the citizens of the town not knowing anything about it. A great many negroes are collected at the scene, and more trouble is anticipated.”
* * *
On the same day, at 8:30 in the evening of December 27, 1889, George Dixon and Eugene Hornbacker entered the ring in front of an excited crowd. Dixon “wore gray tights and brown canvas shoes,” noted The Boston Globe reporter. “The muscles on his chest, back, and arms indicated that he was in perfect trim and he had a confident expression on his face. He is a well-built lad above the waist, but his limbs seemed a trifle too small to be proportionate.” Hornbacker, noted the reporter, was “stockily built and, though not a cyclonic fighter, possesses good staying powers.” He “wore black tights, leather shoes and a blue silk sash.” The betting was $50 to $40 against Dixon, and the action was heavy. A large Boston contingent had great faith in Dixon and happily jumped at the odds.
Dixon sat stone-faced in his corner and stared unblinkingly at Hornbacker. “I am going to do my best to win in fifteen rounds,” he said to his seconds. “If I do then I will be a bigger man than Cal McCarthy, who took eighteen rounds to finish Hornbacker.”
His seconds nodded.
At 8:42, the bell for round one rang, and the two fighters charged to the centre. Hornbacker led with his left, striking Dixon in the stomach, while Dixon returned quickly with a hard left to Hornbacker’s face. Hornbacker staggered back and Dixon followed. The blows came fast. Four times Dixon knocked Hornbacker down before the bell ended the round. “When the men were called up for the second round,” reported The Evening Express, “Hornbacker was still stupid, showing plainly that he had been severely punished. Eugene tried to rally and force the fighting, but he was not in to it. Dixon was fresh and he pounded the plucky little German all over the ring and knocked him out with a well-delivered right-hander on the side of his left jaw, after they had been fighting about one minute. The fight and all lasted only five minutes.”
The assembled crowd was astonished.
Charles “Cal” McCarthy, the American Bantam-weight Champion, was in the crowd that night, coldly assessing the skills of his next opponent. When the fight ended, he jauntily stepped into the ring and shook Dixon’s hand. “You’ll be a wonderful fighter,” he said and smiled.
Dixon eyed Cal with a cool stare. “You think I’m a good one, eh?” he said. “Well, you’ll think so to a moral certainty when you and me meet.”
McCarthy lost his smile and nodded.
The fight was on.
“Boston has a pugilistic phenomenon,” reported The Boston Globe the next morning. “His name is George Dixon.”
Dixon now had his chance to fight for another title.
______________
1 Today, boxing has seventeen weight classes: Mini Flyweight – up to 105 pounds, Junior Flyweight – 108 pounds, Flyweight (also known as Paperweight) – 112 pounds, Junior Bantamweight – 115 pounds, Bantamweight – 118 pounds, Junior Featherweight – 122 pounds, Featherweight – 126 pounds, Junior Lightweight – 130 pounds, Lightweight – 135 pounds, Junior Welterweight – 140 pounds, Welterweight – 147 pounds, Junior Middleweight – 154 pounds, Middleweight – 160 pounds, Super Middleweight – 168 pounds, Light Heavyweight – 175 pounds, Cruiserweight – 200 pounds, and Heavyweight – over 200 pounds.