Читать книгу Jacobs Beach. The Mob, the Garden and the Golden Age of Boxing онлайн

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Young hoods rubbed shoulders with Babe Ruth, who'd moved to New York from Boston in 1920, and in April of 1923 hit a home run to open Yankee Stadium (within ten days of the opening of Wembley Stadium and the White Horse FA Cup Final). These were thrilling, dangerous days, full of adventure for anyone game enough to try their luck with the city's lowlife.

As Yankee Stadium was going up, Madison Square Garden II, White's gauche monument to a bygone age, was about to be reduced to rubble. America was moving on at a furious lick. Nothing was expected to last, except the myths. America lived for today, furiously. The sage Westbrook Pegler called it “the era of wonderful nonsense,” and much of it would be played out on the canvas stretched across the ring of all the Gardens.

The cream of New York's crime scene attended the last fight night at Garden II on 25th Street. It was May 5, 1925, an evening that dripped in schmaltz. Tiny Joe Humphries, the Michael Buffer of his day, wiped the traces of tears from his eyes, dragged down the overhead microphone, and intoned with all the solemnity he could muster (which was considerable): “Before presenting the stellar attraction in this, the final contest in our beloved home, I wish to say this marks the ‘crossing of the bar’ for this venerable old arena that has stood the acid test these memorable years. And let us pay tribute to Tex Rickard and the other great gentlemen and sportsmen who have assembled within these hallowed portals.”