Pivot Blow: The ‘pivot blow’ derives its name from the fact that you turn or pivot in order to deliver it. This is the blow with which George La Blanche, the Marine, gave grave Jack Dempsey his first defeat. Previous to that noted battle, the pivot blow was almost unheard of, and since then, it has been barred by nearly all the big athletic clubs where boxing matches are held. Some persons claim it a foul blow, but such is not so, as a man can land a pivot blow with his hand without striking his opponent with his elbow. To land a ‘pivot’ blow wait until your opponent leads with his left at your face. Then place your left arm against the outer side of his left arm and hold it firm. The instant the arms meet raise your right foot, the force of your opponent’s arm coming against your arm will spin the body around with much force. Judge as nearly as possible the distance of your opponent’s head and aim the blow for the point of the jaw. The odds are against your landing it, but if it does, you will find it a very effective punch.
– George Dixon, “A Lesson in Boxing” (1893)
On March 17, 1898, the Syracuse Evening Herald reported that Dixon had injured himself. “While training early this week,” reported the paper, “George Dixon, who was scheduled to meet Tommy White next Monday evening, slipped and wrenched his right ankle. The ankle continued swelling and last night Tom O’Rourke was compelled to wire the Empire Athletic Club asking for a postponement. This is the first time since he has been in the fighting business that Dixon has ever had to ask for a postponement, and he feels badly about it.”
* * *
On July 4, 1898, Dixon was hosting a party with friends at his home in Malden, Massachusetts. With him was fellow boxer and future champion welterweight Joe Walcott. As the group prepared fireworks to celebrate the holiday, Walcott lit a large firecracker and, while swinging it above his head “after the manner of a candle,” it exploded. He was taken to the hospital where surgery was performed on his hand. Though he spent months rehabilitating his hand, Walcott recovered.
* * *
As Dixon’s drinking and gambling worsened, O’Rourke seemed unable to keep Dixon’s finances in order. Dixon’s debts grew and, as a consequence, he lost possessions. “Dixon owns a small wooden dwelling house out in Faulkner Street, Malden,” reported The Boston Globe, “saved from the wreck of a fortune.” Likely, this house was different from the large house he had owned with Kitty. Certainly, Kitty must have found the change of fortune difficult, and her love for George must have been sorely tested. Though no record exists that speaks to their deteriorating relationship, it seems clear that George and Kitty were growing apart.
In late July 1898, John L. Sullivan spoke about George Dixon with a reporter of the Evening Times and alluded to his recent setbacks. “As a rule,” said the ever irrascible Sullivan, “I have no use for colored people and never would fight a colored man. But Dixon is the greatest little man I ever saw, and there will never be another like him. He has tackled lightweights, welterweights, and people bigger than himself, but not one of them has been able to put him out. He ought to quit, for like myself, he is a ‘has been.’”
Sullivan then left Boston for St. Louis, where he was scheduled to umpire a ball game.
* * *
On August 10, 1898, two hundred men surrounded the jailhouse in Clarendon, Arkansas, demanding the jailer hand over four Black prisoners, three men and one woman – Will Sanders, Rilla Weaver, Dennis Record, and Manse Castle – who had all been charged with murder. The jailer, R.F. Milwee, had only a second officer with him. From behind the locked door, Milwee told the crowd that there were twenty-five men with him, and that they would fire on anyone who tried to enter. Many among the mob hesitated, and they talked among themselves for a time. But in the end, they rushed forward and forced the door.
Inside, Milwee thought better of resisting and handed over the cell keys. The four prisoners were dragged from their cells outside to the elevated tramway of a sawmill just a hundred yards behind the jailhouse. They were hanged there, and their bodies remained until 9:00 the next morning. By then, great crowds had come to view the “gruesome sight” of the bodies, hanging six feet from the ground “with tongues protruding and ropes cutting deep into their necks.”
No one was charged with the murders.
* * *
On September 21, 1898, the Halifax Herald in Dixon’s hometown ran an article about its native son. “The Halifax Pugilist Squandered $200,000 in Ten Years on Horses, Gambling, and Friends” ran the headline.
“Getting rid of over $200,000 has not apparently impaired his health or weakened his physical abilities,” noted the paper. “Dixon is today in active life and holds the same position he did when gold or its equivalent rolled in upon him by the thousand. His weakness has been the horses. He liked to take a chance on the racetracks. He evidently found very few sure tips for his ledger carries no profits providing his expertness as a betting man. He had other weaknesses to help him scatter his money. He has had his virtues. Many an orphan and widow have cause to remember his charity. They have shared with him his hard-earned money. This spendthrift enjoys two-fold notoriety. He is colored and is a world-beater among his people in this ability to earn and spend money.
“He is a world beater in another way also, for his is no less than the featherweight champion of the world. George Dixon is yet to find a man of his weight who can stand before him in the ring and be there still standing in a contest to a finish. Of course that has meant that purse after purse has come to his pockets, thousands after thousands have been won by the vigor of his heart, sturdiness of his legs, and the strength of his long arms. If the money he had earned had gone to a bank or he had purchased real estate, he would to-day be classed among the richest colored men in the world.
“He liked to bet on the horses. He liked to pass a social evening with the sporting men the world over. His heart made him open to all pleas of charity, especially for the aid of the members of his own race. He has but few dollars to-day, and when the first defeat comes, as it must come to him as it does to everybody else, he may have to hustle for the dollar that will be necessary to keep himself and his white wife.
“He began fighting anybody and everybody for purses from $25 to $75. He continued by winning stakes amounting to $12,500. Beginning as a boy in the Boston photograph gallery of Elmer Chickering at a small salary, Dixon jumped into the front rank of pugilists at a bound. His first big fight in a financial sense was with Gene Hornbacker. Dixon won with consummate ease, and put in his pocket something like $750. Then followed his memorable 70-round draw with Cal McCarthy in this city, the incentive being a purse of a thousand dollars.
“During the year 1890, Dixon visited England, defeating Nunc Wallace, winning $2,000 and a large amount of outside betting by touring through the United Kingdom giving sparring exhibitions. He cleared nearly $9,000. On his return he defeated Johnny Murphy and picked up something like $3,000. During the remainder of that year he toured with a theatrical company and earned an average of from $300 to $5,000. During 1891, George defeated Cal McCarthy, winning $3,280 and made an easy victim of Abe Willis, getting therefore $4,500 besides some large bets. Besides this, he performed in theatres all over the country and a conservative estimate of his winnings that year places them in the neighborhood of $16,000.”
Why the paper chose to focus so intently on Dixon’s finances is unclear, though the paper would know the dark fascination with a successful person’s fall is always of public interest.
* * *
On November 11, 1898, George Dixon met Dave Sullivan at the Lenox Athletic Club in New York City. Sullivan was an Irish boxer from Boston, five feet four and seven years younger than Dixon. He had black hair and brown eyes, which always expressed a look of fierce determination. In September 1898, Sullivan had beaten Solly Smith in five rounds for the featherweight title. The fight was lopsided and had to be stopped in the fifth. During the second round, Smith had broken his arm, near the wrist. But he fought on for three more rounds, until it became clear that he could continue no more. In this way, Sullivan had become the unlikely featherweight champion.
On the day of his fight with Dixon, Sullivan was more than a pound overweight. The weigh-in referee gave him an hour to drop the weight. For most of that time, he ran through the streets of New York. When he returned and was weighed again, he had dropped the pound. He then raced to his dressing room to prepare for the fight.
Referee Jimmy Colville was waiting in the ring as Dixon entered first and took the southwest corner. The crowd grew restless as they waited for Sullivan, who arrived more than fifteen minutes late. The fighters shed their robes and then took instructions from the referee. Both fighters, it was clear to all, looked fit and focused.
At 10:32 p.m., the bell rang for round one. Cautious in the first minute, both fighters danced and circled, until Sullivan caught Dixon in the ribs. Dixon clinched, broke away, and delivered a combination to Sullivan’s head. In the second round, Dixon landed a stiff left on Sullivan’s jaw, which Sullivan countered gamely, offering a combination to Dixon’s ribs. Dixon defended well. They exchanged hard blows left and right. In the third round, both delivered explosive punches, though Sullivan got the worst of it. For the next seven rounds, Dixon grew stronger, while Sullivan’s intensity and accuracy waned.
In the tenth round, Dixon drove a left into Sullivan’s jaw.
Sullivan dropped.
Shaking his head, he slowly climbed back to his feet only to receive two quick blows. All Sullivan could do was clinch and shake off the assault. But Dixon broke away and hit Sullivan with a left so hard that Sullivan buckled and slipped between the ropes. Sullivan rose, returned to the ring, and after he was checked by the referee, offered only a feeble defense against Dixon’s relentless assault. Finally, Sullivan’s brother climbed into the ring to stop the fight, but a nearby policeman called him out. So Dixon continued his attack. Sullivan, exhausted and dazed, dropped his hands, helpless.
The referee stopped the fight.
After some argument with Sullivan’s seconds, referee Colville awarded the fight, and the featherweight title, to George Dixon. He had become the first boxer in history to lose and regain a title.
A revived Dixon went on to win ten of eleven defenses of his newly regained title, the other fight being a draw. It seemed Dixon had recaptured some-thing of his old self.
* * *
In early February of 1899, the New York Sun published a review of Dixon’s career following his knockout of a twenty-eight-year-old Black fighter named Young Pluto in New York in front of five thousand spectators. Born in Saint John, New Brunswick, Pluto called Perth, Australia, home. Before fighting Dixon, Pluto had only lost two fights in thirty-eight. But Dixon proved too much for him.
“That Dixon boy is the most wonderful fighter in the world,” read The Sun ’s headline. “Modest and unassuming, Dixon had just shaken hands with his defeated foe and was hurrying out of the ring as if anxious to get out of the public gaze. There was no proud stalking, no grandstand business about him, such as other champion fighters like to indulge in, but he simply followed out his old habit of taking his victory with indifference. There is no better-behaved fighter in the country than the little colored man, who has probably fought more battles than anyone else. Tom O’Rourke, his manager, says that Dixon’s sole ambition is to fight rather than to gain notoriety by means of newspaper talk. He has never yet refused to meet a challenger and has always been ready to agree upon any rules to govern the contest. Dixon’s methods in the ring have also placed him above reproach. He believes in fair fighting, adhering strictly to the rules and the instructions of the referee. What few decisions have been rendered against him failed to arouse the champion’s ire, for he always looks upon a referee as honest. In a word, Dixon tries to be a gentleman and a sportsman at all times. Those who have received verdicts over him are George Wright, Billy Plimmer, Frank Erne, Solly Smith and Ben Jordan, all in limited round bouts.”
The reporter from The Sun chatted amiably with Dixon after his victory over Pluto. Dixon was lying on a table with his seconds rubbing him down.
“How many fights have you been involved in, George?” asked the reporter.
“I have fought about 100 limited round bouts since I first came into prominence in 1888,” said George, “and I have also taken part in 700 four-round contests, meeting all comers on the road.” He smiled. “That’s quite a record, isn’t it?”
The reporter smiled back and nodded. “In all that time, how many times have you been knocked down?”
“Only once,” said Dixon, “and that was in a three-round exhibition bout with the ‘Kentucky Rosebud’ in Philadelphia several years ago. I got out of a sickbed to meet the engagement, and in the second round, ‘Rosebud’ saw a chance to gain some fame. We were boxing lightly, per agreement, when suddenly he sneaked in a punch on my jaw, which sent me to the floor like a log. When I got up the ‘Rosebud’ ran about the ring until the bout was over. That was the only time I lost my legs.”
The reporter scribbled Dixon’s response in his notebook. When he finished, he asked, “How did you happen to get into pugilism?”
“I was always fond of scrapping and one day while mixing it up with a fellow bigger than myself in a little club in Boston, Tom O’Rourke, my manager, discovered me. I held my own pretty well on that occasion and O’Rourke asked me if I wanted to be a champion. I said yes, of course, but I had no idea I ever would be. Eugene Hornbacker was a crack featherweight then and O’Rourke brought me to New York to make a match. I beat this man very quickly and then set sail for the champion, Cal McCarthy. We were matched to fight to a finish on January 7, 1890, and the battle took place in a little hall over a bank in Washington Street, Boston. I weighted 103 pounds, and the fight lasted all night. At the end of the seventieth round, the referee called it a draw.”
Dixon rolled over on the table, adjusted his towel, and continued.
“In 1891, I tackled McCarthy again, in Troy,” Dixon said, “and beat him well in twenty-two rounds, although I had him out in the third. Madden and McAuliffe jumped into the ring at that period, but the referee ordered the fight to proceed. I weighted 107 pounds and was in great shape. During the fight I broke my little finger, which was the only time I ever hurt my hands. That victory gave me the championship.”
“What was the hardest battle you ever fought?” asked the reporter.
“With Young Griffo, at Coney Island,” answered Dixon. “It was a twenty-five round bout. Griffo weighed 147 pounds and I scaled at 122, the featherweight limit [at the time]. I found the Australian was a wonderful boxer, more scientific, in fact, than anybody I ever met before or since. It was a fast fight and one of the best on record to look at, I believe.”
The reporter nodded, made a few more notes. “How many times have opponents marked your face?”
Dixon smiled. “Solly Smith made me bleed quite a lot when we met at Coney Island some years ago, but that did not prevent me from knocking him out. Erne, Tommy White and several others also succeeded in making the claret flow, but that is nothing if a fellow is sound in body, limb, and wind.”
“What are the lowest and highest weights at which you have fought?”
“The lowest was 103 pounds,” answered Dixon, “and the highest, 124. I am lighter now than for some time past. When I began training for the ‘Pluto’ fight, I weighted 109½ pounds, but I soon built myself up to 119. Then I worked to 115, at which weight I entered the ring. Yet I am just as strong as I would be if I weighted 124.”
“Who is the best featherweight in this country,” asked the reporter, “barring yourself?” He smiled.
“I think [Oscar] Gardner is the man,” said Dixon. “I’ve met him in a twenty-five round bout and know what he can do. Some day he may succeed me as champion, for he is improving steadily and is a powerful hitter. Ben Jordan, the English Champion, who got a decision over me, is also a splendid featherweight, but I think I can beat him if we ever meet again.”
The reporter turned the notebook sheet and continued writing. “Do you prefer limited-round bouts to finish fights?” he asked.
“I have no preference,” said Dixon. “Finish fights decide beyond a doubt who is the better man, while sometimes there is a difference of opinion when a limited-round bout ends. But finish contests appear to be out of date nowadays.”
The reporter asked a few more questions and then thanked Dixon. When he returned to his office, he concluded his article with some observations: “Dixon says he will be 29 years old next July. He has been married for ten years. In training for fights he generally conducts his own work, as he knows from experience how to get fit. He is a hard worker and is conscientious to a fault. He says O’Rourke, as his second, has been of inestimable service to him. Some day Dixon will be summarily beaten, as nearly all pugilists are, but he will always be remembered as a phenomenal fighter and a square little man.”
* * *
Dixon returned to the ring five times over the next two months, defeating Kid Broad in Buffalo, Joe Bernstein in Brooklyn, Sam Bolen in Louisville, Tommy White in Denver, and Eddie Santry in Chicago. In August of 1899, Dixon fought Eddie Santry again in New York. Though his fights were victories, Dixon’s performances in the ring were growing inconsistent. In his second fight with Eddie Santry, the Republican News of Ohio reported that “Dixon at times was wild, and he frequently overreached himself, using poor judgment as to distance.”
In October and November 1899, Dixon fought and beat Tim Callahan, Will Curley, and Eddie Lenny as he prepared for a much anticipated fight with Terry McGovern. In these fights, he fought well, but something seemed amiss. His speed had lessened and his combinations were not as sharp. Whether he was consciously aware of any changes in his own fighting is unclear.
But it was clear that Dixon was looking to his future after boxing. He began preparing for a graceful exit from the ring as champion. In late November 1899, “prominent eastern sporting men” arranged a “monster benefit” for George Dixon “to commemorate the colored champion’s retirement from the ring.” The benefit was set for two weeks following his fight with Terry McGovern.
“There is a period in the career of every fighting man when it is time to quit,” reported The Boston Globe, “and George Dixon, the cleverest, toughest, and most industrious of the workers in his class, feels he has reached that point … He has decided that his battle with Terry McGovern shall be the last fight for him. Dixon has been in the ring continuously for more than thirteen years and for nine years he has held the championship of his class. He is, without question, the greatest fighter that his race has ever produced.”
Perhaps reflecting his recent lacklustre fights, Dixon’s once invincible reputation gave way to doubts among gamblers. Days before the fight with Terry McGovern the Newark Advocate reported, “McGovern is now pronounced the favorite in the betting.” McGovern was, the paper added, “much younger than Dixon, and this no doubt has influenced the bettors.” Tom O’Rourke still had great confidence in his fighter, betting $1,500 at even odds on Dixon to win in ten rounds.
Never shy about offering his opinions, John L. Sullivan weighed in on Dixon’s prospects. “I am afraid Little Chocolate is up against it,” Sullivan told The Daily Northwestern, “and I confess that I hate to see him whipped. This Brooklyn lad [McGovern] is as good as Dixon when Dixon was at his best, and perhaps he is better. No one has tried him out lately, and I doubt if Dixon will be able to give him a tryout. McGovern will win because he can hit three times as hard as any boy of his pounds in the ring today, and he can hit even harder than most of the lightweights. He doesn’t have to set or steady himself to slug. He can slug from an angle, hit going or coming, on his heels or on his toes. If ever a fighter was born to make trouble for his fellow men with the gloves his name is Terry McGovern, and I’m glad to hear that he has enough horse sense to take care of himself and save his money.”
In the November 16, 1899, edition of the Evening Telegraph, Dixon again announced that he would retire from fighting after the McGovern fight, regardless of the outcome. The Evening Telegraph said of Dixon, he had “a clean, reputable and valiant career. There is no question but that he has been the best fighter in his class, since he won the world’s championship, and he has fought more times than any man that ever graced the ring.” The paper also reported that Dixon intended to retire to New York and open a “saloon business with a popular colored jockey.”
On December 29, 1899, Sullivan responded to boxing writer Ben Benton who had asked his opinion on the coming fight. “My Dear Benton,” wrote Sullivan in a brief letter, “you can state that McGovern will beat Dixon sure and inside of 10 rounds. That is as sure as your name is Ben Benton. Take my tip for that. Although Dixon is a great little colored boy, this is the time he will meet his Waterloo, although it will be no credit to any one who does defeat him because he has gone a fast slip like myself. But never mind that. McGovern could beat him in his best day and I do not want you to think I am prejudiced. I am far from being such. Yours truly, John L. Sullivan.”
* * *
On the evening of the fight, January 9, 1900, the air in the Broadway Athletic Club was thick with cigar smoke and the rumble of an excited crowd. The two fighters made their way into the ring amid hearty cheers. Referee Johnny White called them to the centre and explained the rules. Then Dixon and McGovern shook hands and returned to their corners.
At the bell, the fighters sparred with caution, each waiting for an opening. McGovern struck first, catching Dixon with a left to his eye. Dixon responded in kind. They clinched, and when they broke, Dixon unloaded a hard left to McGovern’s nose. McGovern staggered back. Dixon followed and delivered a combination of punches to McGovern’s chest. After cautious sparring, the round went to Dixon.
McGovern adjusted his approach for round two. When Dixon threw a sharp left, McGovern ducked, stepped in, and shot Dixon hard in the ribs. Dixon countered with two lefts to McGovern’s stomach. They stayed in close, exchanging blows. Dixon struck McGovern in the head with a straight right. McGovern fell halfway through the ropes. Dixon pursued, throwing a solid left hook to the neck. McGovern recovered his balance but staggered about the ring. The crowd roared at Dixon’s assault. At the bell, Dixon had round two.
Round three saw the fighters in close, Dixon hooking a right to McGovern’s jaw, and McGovern countering with a right to Dixon’s body. Dixon threw a combination to the stomach and mouth, stunning McGovern, who countered with two missed blows. Then Dixon delivered unanswered lefts to McGovern’s face. McGovern managed a weak response with a right to Dixon’s jaw. Round three went to Dixon.
In the fourth, the floor betting moved to even on Dixon. In the ring, the fighters clinched. Dixon twice shot McGovern in the jaw. McGovern wobbled. Then he surprised Dixon with a right to the jaw. Dixon staggered. McGovern took the charge and shot a right hand to Dixon’s heart and two quick jabs to the neck. Dixon fell against the ropes. McGovern moved in. Dixon clinched. McGovern let loose a hard right to the jaw. Dixon slumped as the bell rang. Round four to McGovern.
In the fifth round, both fighters threw heavy combinations, McGovern finding Dixon’s jaw, Dixon finding McGovern’s eye and stomach. McGovern focused on Dixon’s ribs. He swung hard, but missed and fell to the canvas. As he rose, Dixon delivered a sharp combination to his head. McGovern recovered and countered with combinations to the ribs and heart.
In the sixth round, McGovern continued his assault on the body, with a hard left to Dixon’s stomach. The fighters clinched. They broke. McGovern turned his attention to Dixon’s head, throwing two hard blows. Dixon connected with his left to McGovern’s head. They danced. McGovern switched to Dixon’s stomach and then he delivered a left to Dixon’s mouth that drew blood. They clinched at the bell.
In the seventh round, the fighters stood toe to toe and exchanged punches to the head and heart. McGovern struck at Dixon’s stomach and offered a combination that pushed Dixon back to the ropes. In the eighth, Dixon struck McGovern in the neck, while McGovern shot at Dixon’s stomach. In a clinch that followed, Dixon was thrown to the floor. When he rose, McGovern delivered two devastating blows to Dixon’s stomach. Dixon dropped hard to the canvas, struggling to breathe. McGovern helped Dixon up, but Dixon looked winded and tired and threw himself into a clinch. McGovern pushed away and delivered a devastating right to the head.
Dixon dropped to the canvas.
Tom O’Rourke could take no more. He reached into the corner bucket and threw the sponge into the ring. The fight was over.
Dixon had lost his title again.
* * *
Following the fight, Dixon confirmed his intentions to retire. He returned home to Kitty and spent days in his Malden home contemplating his future. Despite his return, his relationship with Kitty was tense. The years of travelling, gambling, and drinking – and by strong suggestion, carousing with other women – had their effect on her. Yet, out of love or loyalty, she had stood by him. Ultimately, George would leave Kitty. And whether Kitty divorced George is uncertain. But by 1900, what remained of their relationship were just shadows and memory.
* * *
In February of 1900, the planned fundraiser was held in honour of Dixon’s retirement. Present were champions and former champions – Terry McGovern, Jim Corbett, Tom Sharkey, Frank Erne, Joe Choynski, Joe Gans, and others – who agreed to put on fundraising exhibitions. Ticket sales brought in nearly $8,000. After a few playful bouts among the champions, George Dixon and Terry McGovern entered the ring themselves for a three-round exhibition. The two shook hands and McGovern presented Dixon with a $500 check. The crowd applauded and Dixon then thanked all who had contributed to his benefit and thanked “his fellow fighters for their kindness.”
Then, as John L. Sullivan had done after his loss to Jim Corbett, Dixon looked to McGovern and then the audience and said he was glad that “when I met my Waterloo, it was handed to me by an American.”
Following his retirement benefit, Dixon decided to enter the saloon business. “Never again will George Dixon, the retired colored featherweight of marvelous record, administer knock-out drops with five-ounce gloves,” reported The Daily Northwestern, on March 20, 1900. “Instead, he will ladle out the sleep-producing potions with five-ounce glasses. He has purchased the café at 511 Sixth Avenue, New York.”
It was soon clear that Dixon was no businessman and that the settled life would not sit well. He gave up on retirement and sold his saloon to lightweight fighter and friend Joe Gans. Said Dixon, “The humdrum business life does not agree with me.” In April 1900, just two months after retiring, he announced he would fight again.
Tom O’Rourke would be his manager, he said, and he would take on Benny Yanger on June 5. “Now, it may be that not vanity, but the pinch of want forces Dixon back into the ring, and it is bread, not glory, that he is looking for,” reported The Daily Northwestern, in April 1900. “If so, all the more’s the pity, for in his day Dixon made a great deal of money, and was always known as a very square, good-hearted fellow.”