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.
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
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
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.