$10,000 A YEAR WHILE YOU LEARN...
A newly formed syndicate of sportsmen and businessmen is anxious to sponsor the next heavyweight champion.
This group of sportsmen will underwrite all expenses of the chosen candidates and will pay a salary of $10,000 a year for the full training period.
If you are between 19 and 25 years of age—if you weigh upwards of 186 pounds—if you are at least 6 feet tall—then you qualify for an interview. The men we choose for training might make a million dollars. But our trainers (the best in the world) will subject the body of the candidate to fantastically strenuous conditioning. Also the mind and morals of the chosen ones will be under rigid discipline. This will be no hay ride—but the stakes are big.
Write or phone Mr. Phil Krupin [Schoor's partner], Johnny Johnston's Steak House, 846 Second Avenue, N.Y.C.
The Times thought the ad was intriguing and asked one of its editorial personnel to telephone Schoor and question him. "I started to ad-lib right there," says Schoor, who at the moment of placing the ad had had little more than an idea, a restaurant and a shoeshine. "I told the Times I have got a syndicate and we've got $100,000. I want to develop a knight in shining armor. I want to show what a couple of businessmen can do without being gangsters or bums. You don't have to be a Frankie Carbo or a Blinky Palermo, et cetera." The Times, bedazzled by Schoor's rhetoric, ran a long Sunday article about the Kid Galahad project, and Johnny Johnston's steak house was turned into a roaring cacophony.
"The phones never stopped ringing for a week," Schoor says. "Customers—short, fat, tall, dark, skinny, even women—said, 'How do I look?' and they'd start to shadowbox. There were letters, phone calls, wires from all over the country, from Australia, Germany, every place. We were struggling to run a new restaurant, and we didn't know where the hell we'd get any kind of money. My partners said, 'Hey, what did you do? What happened? What are we gonna do about all this?' "
Three months passed, and what they did was nothing—"we didn't have the money to do anything," says Schoor. Then a wealthy New York construction man entered stage left. The builder likes nothing more than to hire the once and future kings of boxing, paying them good money as laborers, and at any given time he is likely to have a dozen or two on his payroll, in much the same manner that other men collect Indian-head pennies. "He came in and he said, 'How much would you need to bring in the first batch of, let's say, 15 kids?' " Schoor recalls. "I said between $3,000 and $5,000. The next day he handed me $5,000. I said, 'What the hell is this?' He said, 'It's $5,000! Go!' I turned red, blue, green. I almost fainted. I'd seen big money before, but I thought he would give me $30 to make a phone call."
With the builder as the money man, Kid Galahad, Inc., was off the ground. Schoor hired Fred (Fat Freddie) Fierro, trainer of Billy Conn, Joey Maxim, Gus Lesnevich and other name fighters; he brought in Ray Arcel as a consultant and veteran Fight Manager Charley Bauer (conveniently employed as a construction foreman for the builder) as an assistant. The first batch of 15 knights in shining armor, advance guard of an eventual contingent of 62, was brought into New York, put up in a hotel, studied, tested, appraised and urged to eat all the steaks they could eat at Johnny Johnston's steak house.
None of this happened in primeval silence. The newspapers were festooned with stories and interviews. "I rate myself the top one," Candidate Sheldon Saffron of Windsor, Ont. told the press. "Why should I degrade myself? Be sure to say I'll be the first Jewish heavyweight champion. My father says Max Baer wasn't Jewish."