A. Same race, and
he will be up for that. He's a good horse to train.
Q. Do you call
Iron Liege "Mike" as many in the stable do?
A. I call Iron
Liege Iron Liege. If I had a horse named Mike, I'd call him Mike.
Q. Judging from
what you have said, I take it that you do not agree with the criticism of your
A. Nope, I've got
$790,000 in the kicker and by the time the year is over I'll have a lot more.
And, brother, look out in the fall for my 2-year-olds.
With that, Jimmy
Jones set out for Chicago and its racing season. Chicago racing fans can never
say they have not been warned.
THE KID FROM CUT
big-city gyms for a good young heavyweight is something like shopping for a
lion at the city pound—in both cases the chance of winding up with a dog are
currently very high. This still leaves a lot of unexplored territory, however,
and last week a new and promising figure leaped into the thin line of
contenders for the heavyweight championship. One Roy Harris, 23, a husky
schoolteacher from Cut and Shoot (pop. 193), Texas, went down to Houston and—to
the surprise and delight of 10,000 fellow Texans—handily licked third-ranked
Willie Pastrano of New Orleans.
are not ordinarily good brawlers. Neither are college men—and Harris has
attended not one but three colleges: Tarleton State, Texas A&M and Sam
Houston State. But very few college men have been produced by Cut and Shoot
either—and therein lies the difference. Harris was a fighter first and a
student by afterthought. Cut and Shoot, which consists of three beer joints, a
dance hall, a sawmill and three houses, lies in the midst of a tough and
primitive area known as The Big Thicket and was named for all the cuttin' and
shootin' which has gone on there in a century of Saturday nights. Roy Harris
and his two fighting brothers grew up in a log cabin (some distance from what
might be described as the metropolitan area of Cut and Shoot) with a boxing
ring in the clearing.