were so loaded with venom and hostility that for a moment Frederick forgot about the money that he would never see again; instead he began to fear for his friend’s life. Kliever looked calmly at the baying pack beyond the outer ropes. He produced a red and yellow handkerchief from his pocket and tied it to a corner stake of the inner ring. A moment later, a second hat landed in the ring. The crowd’s attention quickly shifted from Kliever to the newcomer, who was climbing through the ropes, already stripped to the waist. The new arrival was a massive hulk of humanity, a sculpture of rippling muscle and menace. His body seemed designed for violence. His hands were the size of ham hocks. He pulled out his own handkerchief to delirious cries of approval. Kliever watched impassively as his opponent tied his colors to the opposite corner stake.
A third man stepped into the ring. He paraded around the perimeter with his hands in the air until the crowd had subsided into a restless silence.
“Good people,” he cried, “there is nothing finer than the spectacle of two men fighting a bare-knuckled combat.” The crowd murmured its approval. The man held up an imperious finger. “Now, mark my words. There are those among us who believe that they know best how we Americans should comport ourselves. There are those among us who believe that it is their duty to decide what is right and what is wrong, what is good and what is not. There are those among us who seek to eliminate freedoms that are rightfully ours. I speak of those interfering busybodies who malinger in our state’s legislative chambers.” At this there was a chorus of enthusiastic booing. “As you know,” continued the man, his voice rising, “our Congress, which represents no man
I
know, has outlawed this, our most cherished sport.” The jeers grew louder. “Without ever seeing a punch thrown, the politicians
have banned our prize ring
,” shouted the man. “Those ignorant idiots have made criminals out of you and me. But we are here. And to that, these precious dandies of so many useless words have
no response
.”
The man moved to the center of the ring and stretched his arms out toward the corners where the two fighters stood. “Tonight we witness the glorious pugilistic traditions of these United States of America, pitted against the low cunning and devilish subterfuge that infests the prize ring on foreign shores.” The man turned toward Kliever with a dramatic sneer. “Showing colors of red and yellow, known for his slippery German guile—the
Hun
.”
The crowd howled its disapproval. Kliever stood motionless in his corner, listening impassively to the crescendo of hate. Frederick felt his skin crawl. The announcer allowed the crowd to vent its collective spleen before going on. “Against him, showing the colors of our hometown, a new young master of the fistic arts, our very own Butcher Boy, the still undefeated James McCready.” Kliever’s opponent raised his fists in salute, acknowledging the loud applause.
“We are not interested here in the prettified rules of engagement of that English fop, the Marquis of Queensberry,” the announcer continued. “
This
fight shall be conducted in accordance with the London Prize Ring rules of 1838, to wit: no head-butting, eye-gouging, hair-pulling, or neck-throttling. The fighters have agreed that Mr. Abe Vanderzee will act as referee.” The man took off his hat. “And now I give you—
the Butcher Boy and the Hun
.” He clambered out of the inner ring, and Kliever and McCready approached the grassy center of the square. They shook hands amid a cacophony of booing and cheering. The referee, who was watching from the safety of the ropes, called for the contest to begin.
Frederick could barely bring himself to watch. The Butcher Boy came out with his huge fists swinging, two ferocious cyclones of menace. For the first few rounds Kliever weaved and bobbed, dodging the younger man’s attacks with
A third man stepped into the ring. He paraded around the perimeter with his hands in the air until the crowd had subsided into a restless silence.
“Good people,” he cried, “there is nothing finer than the spectacle of two men fighting a bare-knuckled combat.” The crowd murmured its approval. The man held up an imperious finger. “Now, mark my words. There are those among us who believe that they know best how we Americans should comport ourselves. There are those among us who believe that it is their duty to decide what is right and what is wrong, what is good and what is not. There are those among us who seek to eliminate freedoms that are rightfully ours. I speak of those interfering busybodies who malinger in our state’s legislative chambers.” At this there was a chorus of enthusiastic booing. “As you know,” continued the man, his voice rising, “our Congress, which represents no man
I
know, has outlawed this, our most cherished sport.” The jeers grew louder. “Without ever seeing a punch thrown, the politicians
have banned our prize ring
,” shouted the man. “Those ignorant idiots have made criminals out of you and me. But we are here. And to that, these precious dandies of so many useless words have
no response
.”
The man moved to the center of the ring and stretched his arms out toward the corners where the two fighters stood. “Tonight we witness the glorious pugilistic traditions of these United States of America, pitted against the low cunning and devilish subterfuge that infests the prize ring on foreign shores.” The man turned toward Kliever with a dramatic sneer. “Showing colors of red and yellow, known for his slippery German guile—the
Hun
.”
The crowd howled its disapproval. Kliever stood motionless in his corner, listening impassively to the crescendo of hate. Frederick felt his skin crawl. The announcer allowed the crowd to vent its collective spleen before going on. “Against him, showing the colors of our hometown, a new young master of the fistic arts, our very own Butcher Boy, the still undefeated James McCready.” Kliever’s opponent raised his fists in salute, acknowledging the loud applause.
“We are not interested here in the prettified rules of engagement of that English fop, the Marquis of Queensberry,” the announcer continued. “
This
fight shall be conducted in accordance with the London Prize Ring rules of 1838, to wit: no head-butting, eye-gouging, hair-pulling, or neck-throttling. The fighters have agreed that Mr. Abe Vanderzee will act as referee.” The man took off his hat. “And now I give you—
the Butcher Boy and the Hun
.” He clambered out of the inner ring, and Kliever and McCready approached the grassy center of the square. They shook hands amid a cacophony of booing and cheering. The referee, who was watching from the safety of the ropes, called for the contest to begin.
Frederick could barely bring himself to watch. The Butcher Boy came out with his huge fists swinging, two ferocious cyclones of menace. For the first few rounds Kliever weaved and bobbed, dodging the younger man’s attacks with
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