“MY KINGDOM FOR A (LIGHT)HORSE” and “THE ORIGINAL JACK DEMPSEY”

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900. ARMY CADETS VS NAVY MIDSHIPMEN

NOVEMBER 26, 1927

POLO GROUNDS

QUALITY OF PLAY—6.37

DRAMA—7.26

STAR POWER—6.07

CONTEMPORARY IMPORT—9.13

HISTORICAL SIGNIFICANCE—7.16

LOCAL IMPACT—6.76

TOTAL: 42.75

“MY KINGDOM FOR A (LIGHT)HORSE”

The first four times Army played Navy in football, from 1890-93, the games were held at the respective campuses in West Point and Annapolis. After that, the game was deemed too important to be held in such tiny burgs, and the traditional year-end contest was moved to larger stadia along the eastern seaboard, including Philly’s Franklin Field and Municipal Stadium in Baltimore (the 1926 game was played at Soldier Field in Chicago). When the contest came to New York, naturally it was held at the Polo Grounds in Harlem, the City’s foremost sporting green—at least until the Yankees went and built their Stadium across the river in 1923. 

Despite the monstrous new ballpark in the Bronx, Manhattan held the game in 1923 (a 0-0 tie), 1925 (10-3 Army) and 1927. While the Sultan was Swatting a record sixty homers over the river, the Giants had fallen to third in the N.L., and were clearly below the Yanks in the new fan interest pecking order. Fortunately for owner Charles Stoneham and part-owner John McGraw, they still could count on the Army-Navy game to fill their coffers during the winter months—at least for one more season. 

The 1926 game in Chicago between the academies was a colossal one—Navy was unbeaten, Army 8-1. In what was considered the best game the teams ever played to that point,  the result was a 21-21 tie, and the Middies were awarded the national championship. The two teams were excellent again in 1927. Army, led by their legendary running backs, Chris “Red” Cagle and team captain “Lighthorse” Harry Wilson (the pride of Mingo Junction, OH), were 8-1, losing only a tight affair to the Elis at the Yale Bowl. Two weeks before the Navy game Army had played in the Bronx, and pounded their other great rivals, Notre Dame, 18-0, handing the Irish their first defeat. Cagle had two sensational long touchdown runs in the easy win. 

Navy, under second-year coach Bill Ingram, had fallen to Notre Dame and at Michigan, but won the other six games on the schedule. Stars from the previous season’s title team, including Frank Wickhorst and Tommy Hamilton, had graduated. But talent remained, including Whitey Lloyd, an outstanding junior quarterback. 

Saturday, November 26, 1927, was a sunny, brisk afternoon at Coogan’s Bluff on 156th Street and Eighth Avenue. Rains earlier in the week had left the field “somewhat soggy” but the high quality of play that day would belie that report. 75,000 fans paid enormous sums to be in the Polo Grounds, up to $100 (about $1750 in today’s funds). Seven men were arrested for “speculation” before the game, including one man who had counterfeited and sold dozens of tickets to unwitting fans. The scene offered classic college football pageantry despite taking place far from any traditional campus site. “The sun was out and bathed the arena in golden hues, but there was enough sparkle in the air to make a fur coat feel comfortable,” wrote James R. Harrison in the New York Times.

The squids controlled play early. Navy was stopped twice in the Army “red zone” (a term not yet in use in the Roaring Twenties) in the opening quarter, but the field tilt helped when Carl Giese blocked a Cadet punt out of the end zone for a safety, giving the sailors a 2-0 lead. Navy got the ball back and continued to push around the vaunted Cadets side, running at will and marching inexorably toward the Army goal line. With seconds left in the half, however, Army held once more on four shots from the one-yard line. On the final play Lloyd was sacked for a huge loss, and the Army Corps of Cadets roared all through the halftime festivities as a result. 

At last Army’s offense got going in the third quarter. Cagle rumbled for three straight ten-plus yard carries, and Lighthorse finished the drill, scoring from five yards out to put the Black Knights ahead 7-2. Navy tried to answer, and once again got deep into Army terrain. But a weak pass was intercepted by Cagle, who took it back all the way to the Navy 8-yard line before he was dragged down. Lighthorse Harry once again bulled to paydirt, and Army appeared home with a lead of a dozen. 

But few Army-Navy games are blowouts, and thus for this encounter. Lloyd dropped back late in the fourth quarter to pass, shrugged off a pair of tacklers, and hurled a pass to Ted Sloane, who took it in stride and sprinted in to complete a 28-yard touchdown strike. It was now 14-9, and Navy got the ball back for one last desperation effort, but only got as far as their own 40 before time ran out. 

Army had won, gaining a measure of revenge for 1926. The Corps of Cadets stormed the field and quickly uprooted the goalposts and took them out on the town. “The Roaring Forties were jammed with happy, gray-lustered Army men celebrating their victory,” wrote Allison Danzig in the Times. The Football Giants had a home game on Sunday at the Polo Grounds, and almost had to forfeit before a spare set of goalposts could be located and erected. 

AFTERMATH

“Lighthorse” Harry Wilson was just one of many players on the Polo Grounds field that day who went on to fight in WWII. Wilson flew 48 combat missions in bombers over Europe. He would be inducted into not only the college football Hall of Fame but also the lacrosse Hall, testimony to his amazing all-around athleticism. 

The 1927 Army-Navy game was the last time the two rivals met at the Polo Grounds. It also had to hold fans until 1930, as the next two years saw a spat over eligibility issues result in the games being cancelled. In 1930 and ’31, the teams played lucrative “exhibition" games at the Yankee Stadium before returning to their normal annual tilt, mainly held in Philadelphia thereafter. The rivalry wouldn’t return to the metropolitan area until 1989, when Navy nipped Army 19-17 at Giants Stadium. The game has returned periodically since then to the Meadowlands, most recently in 2021. 

WHAT THEY SAID

“It was a scene of color and animation—flags whipping in the wind atop the stadium; tier after tier of people; on the field itself the marching men, the cadets in their field gray, the midshipmen in their navy blue—parading and wheeling with such faultless rhythm and flow that the 75,000 spectators rose to their feet in a mighty acclaim for the 2,400 young men.”

—James R. Harrison, The New York Times

FURTHER READING:

100 Years of Army-Navy Football by Gene Schoor

899. “NONPAREIL” JACK DEMPSEY VS GEORGE FULIJAMES

MIDDLEWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP

JULY 30, 1884

GREAT KILLS RING

QUALITY OF PLAY—6.37

DRAMA—6.26

STAR POWER—8.07

CONTEMPORARY IMPORT—8.13

HISTORICAL SIGNIFICANCE—8.16

LOCAL IMPACT—5.77

TOTAL: 42.76

“THE ORIGINAL JACK DEMPSEY”

Through the first 100 entries on this list we’ve traveled to every borough on multiple occasions—except Staten Island. The Forgotten Borough is called that for a reason, but occasionally sport has found its way to that broken-off chunk of New Jersey southwest of Manhattan. Indeed, one of the more important prizefights ever took place there, the first middleweight title fight to feature gloves on the hands of the combatants, along with a semblance of the Marquis of Queensbury Rules that would separate boxing from brawling. 

And it featured one of the first great American prizefighters, “Nonpareil” Jack Dempsey. 

The name Jack Dempsey of course is remembered today as belonging to the great heavyweight champ of the 1920s, the Manassa Mauler. Lesser known is the fact that that Dempsey, born William Harrison Dempsey, took the nom de combat “Jack Dempsey” as a tribute to the original, Nonpareil Jack, who was the best non-heavyweight of the 19th Century, and with the exception of the “Great John L.” Sullivan, the best fighter, period. 

That Jack Dempsey was, like most boxers of the era, an immigrant. He was born John Edward Kelly, in County Kildare, Ireland, in 1862. When John was still a boy the family fled oppressive British rule to America, settling in Brooklyn, where he worked in a barrel factory before turning to boxing and wrestling. Why he chose to be called “Jack Dempsey” isn’t known precisely, though John Kelly was hardly a name to stand out from the masses. 

He had his first fight in 1883, in an era when bareknuckle prizefighting was quasi-legal and socially frowned upon in New York and many other jurisdictions. Fights were often arranged only to be abandoned when the heat was around the corner, or local politicians ran scared of noisy constituents who disapproved. Several fights into Dempsey’s young career, gloves were introduced as a method to assuage the moralists who denounced this “human cockfighting,” but they were slow to catch on. Boxing in this era often involved elbows, biting, cheap shots to the groin, and backhanded blows that were especially painful. 

Dempsey, fighting all over New York, won his first 14 fights with ease, and, along with the fearsome puncher Sullivan, became one of American sport’s first stars. In contrast to the hulking John L., Jack was lithe (152 pounds) and quick, and beat many opponents by slipping punches and wearing them out. At some point, no one is sure exactly when, an onlooker or reporter gave Dempsey the moniker “Nonpareil,” meaning “unequaled.” That should give at least some indication of his excellence. 

George Fulijames was likewise an immigrant, from England, where his father ran a pub that was a favorite spot for the fighting crowd, including the fabled Gypsy Jem Mace and the “Fighting Sailor,” Tom King. George was small but learned how to box craftily from the greats, and he became a champion in England before coming to the New World. He was reportedly the Canadian lightweight champ when he agreed to fight Nonpareil for the “middleweight” championship (weight classes at the time were slippery and bore little relation to the standardized ones to follow—they would be considered welterweights today). 

The two men tried to fight at least twice, but as was typical of the time, the matches were abandoned when rumors spread that police were out to break it up. At last, on July 30, 1884, a fearsomely hot Wednesday, the men took a ferry to Great Kills on Staten Island, where the literal and figurative heat was somewhat less intense. They fought in a hastily erected outdoor ring, with a winner-take-all prize kitty of $2,000 (about $60,000 in today’s coin). Under the new rules just coming into being, kicking, gouging, biting, elbowing, and punches to the groin were disallowed. There were no rules about how long the fight would last, however—up until then, rounds ended when one fighter was knocked down. Nonpareil and Fulijames appear to have fought the now-standard three-minute rounds, though no record of that remains.

What we do know is that the match lasted 21 rounds! It began, as many big fights do, cautiously, with a couple of rounds going by without any telling blows. Then in the third the action heated up, with a huge exchange culminating in a Dempsey left that sent Fulijames down. 

Nonpareil dominated after that, battering Ungorgeous George all over the ring. Fulijames was tough, and really needed the money, so he found a way to hang in despite being outclassed. At last, as the 22nd round was about to begin, Fulijames’ corner threw in the towel. He protested, as all fighters do in that situation, but Nonpareil was clearly superior, and he was declared middleweight champ.

Some say Nonpareil declared himself middleweight champ. 

AFTERMATH

Nonpareil lived up to his nickname, winning his first 48 fights before finally losing in San Francisco to one George LaBlanche in the 32nd round, thanks to a crisp elbow to the jaw. He recaptured his title, then lost it to another all-time great, Bob Fitzsimmons, who outweighed Dempsey by some forty pounds. Jack only fought three more times, then retired in January, 1895. 

Both Dempsey and Fulijames came to the pitiful ending one expects from fighters, especially in that era. Nonpareil was dead less than a year after his final fight, killed at the tender age of 32 by tuberculosis, or consumption as it was called at the time (Jack fought many of his final fights while sick). Being a “lunger” in that era before antibiotics was a painful, sweaty end, unbefitting a great like Jack. He was inducted into the Boxing Hall of Fame in 1954. 

As for Fulijames, he fell to the lawless frontier that was 19th Century boxing. Nearly destitute after losing to Dempsey, thanks to the winner-take-all purse, he was forced to take fights in shady situations (Nonpareil threw him $50 out of respect, but it didn’t last long). In 1888 he fought a man named Tom Bannon in Grand Forks, in the Dakota Territory. Bannon was typical of the mining camp brawlers of the time, a thug who had a lot of local money behind him (I picture him being run by Al Swearengen). His orders were not to take any chances, so when George went to touch gloves before the fisticuffs, Bannon grabbed his outstretched arm and sucker punched him over and over, beating him to death. He and the spectators then fled the scene. Fulijames wasn’t discovered until the next morning, supposedly in a deserted barn. 

WHAT THEY SAID

“[Nonpareil Jack] was a sociable, friendly type of man who enjoyed the company of his friends and colleagues. He frequently visited with them in hotels and lounges, engaging in sessions of drink and dialogue…He much preferred it to a rigorous training ritual. His great talent as a fighter led him to not prepare as thoroughly as he might for particular encounters. However, with his rare natural skills, he came out victorious…in my opinion, Dempsey and “Sugar” Ray Robinson rank as the two best welterweight fighters of all time.”

—Tracy Callis, boxing historian

FURTHER READING:

Nonpareil Jack Dempsey: Boxing’s First Middleweight Champion by Joseph S. Page