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GOLDEN TRIUMPHS OF THE GORGEOUS GAEL
Patrick Campbell
August 29, 1960
The carnation was still in position, and the dark-blue pin-stripe suit was holding up well in its maturity. A hint of silver in the sideburns added a new and effective touch to his immeasurable dignity.
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August 29, 1960

Golden Triumphs Of The Gorgeous Gael

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Somewhat similar thoughts must have been passing through the Gael's mind two nights later when he stepped from his corner at Harringay, dressed only in his ordinary white trunks and bottled tan. He looked and obviously felt exposed, but the working plan must have been in operation because for several minutes Galento left him alone, apart from a number of Neanderthal gestures of defiance which drew squeal after squeal of delighted loathing from the female fans. Galento, dressed in black fur and purple wool trunks, certainly did look extremely frightening. It might have been this that decided Jack to stake all on one desperate throw. He sprang forward and with a display of strength that brought gasps from the girls raised Two-Ton Tony about shoulder high.

We shall never know what he meant to do with him, because at this moment he ran out of steam. His legs buckled. He dropped his adversary from a height of about five feet. With a thud that shook the whole arena Galento fell like a stone onto his bald skull and lay at Jack's feet, apparently dead. Jack disentangled himself fastidiously and was walking back to his corner when he heard a hoarse cry of warning from his seconds. He swung around to see Galento coming at him like a rhino. Our man acted with his usual resource. "Stop!" he cried, throwing up his left hand. "Rib's gone," he panted, grasping the injured part with the other hand. The fight was over.

I saw Galento afterward in his dressing room with the accessories of a top hat and a cigar added to his purple trunks and a showgirl sitting on his knee. But there were so many girls in the Doyle shrine down the corridor, all trying to massage the injured rib, that you couldn't even open the door. Once again it was easy to see who was the real winner. The promoters seemed to see it, too. Shortly afterward Jack found himself matched against Primo Camera for one of the then heavyweight wrestling championships of the world.

It was a contest that established Jack Doyle as one of the great champions of all time. He arrived at Harringay late with his doctor and the news that owing to "fibrillations of the heart" he could not appear.

After a demonstration from the audience that promised to raze the stadium the promoters found a substitute, a gnomelike little man of about 50, billed as "Bukht the Human Gorilla." He was less than half Camera's size. The Ambling Alp tried to be kind, but the Human Gorilla had a terrible time. And while the slaughter was going on Jack Doyle took a keen interest in it, sitting at the ringside in his fighting kit of white dressing gown and suntan, blowing kisses to the girls and clasping his hands above his head, a clear winner once again.

Unfortunately it was his last appearance in the wrestling ring. According to one of his honorary Irish managers, whom I recently met, "Misther Doyle is now in semi-retirement, but you catch him anny day of the week at the White City dogs."

I'd like to know from what Mr. Doyle is now semiretired, but I'll have to get some more expenses together before I can find out.

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