The NATION

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Mrs. Patterson said Landon was just the solid, common

type of man we need in the Whlte House Landon, repeatedly challenged to disavow the Hearst alliance, has remained sllent.
How far has Landon committed himself to Hearst?
Turnmg to theautobiography of Carter H. Harrison, five
times Democratlc mayor of Chicago and given hls final
term ( 1911-15) by the grace of Hearst, we find hlm say

ing:Hearstsupport
apparentlywent only with some
sort of pledge. Hamson took advice from Andrew M.
Lawrence, Hearsts Chicago manager, and admitsas much.
Other polltical memom contaln similar stories of how
Hearst support went only to
those who made iron-clad
pledges. Candidates whom Hearst supported and who refused to be dominated by hlm invarlably broke with him
upon taking office. Wlll Mr. Landon do so If elected?

The Fall of Joe Louis

BY JAMES T. FARRELL

VER forty thousand people were smeared about

the Yankee Stadlum to witness the predicted murder of the century. Half-interested, they watched
prellminary boxers maul for pork-chop money, and they
booed when one decision went to an overgrown Argentine
battler. Those m the rlngslde sectlon glanced around tosee
and to be seen. Photographers swarmed about, the bulbs
attached to thelr cameras flashing hke a mlniature electric
storm. When asked by cops whom they wereshooting
they tossed off names from Jack Dempsey down. One policeman remarked that the fight wouldnt last long, that
he ought tobe gettlng homeearly. Everybody waited to see
Joe Louis, the HumanPython, slug MaxSchmeling into
a coma.
Both fighters received loud ovations when they entered
the ring. They sat in their corners whlle celebritles were
introduced.Championspast
and presentlightlyleaped
over the ropes, shook hands all around, and took their
bows. Jack Dempsey received a bigger hand than Gene
Tunney, whom the announcer
characterlzed as an inspiration tothe youth of America. Mickey Walker, along with
others, was revealed as a thrill-producer. This formallty
settled, the fighters were presented, andthe announcer exhorted everybody to cast aside allprejudice regardlng
race, creed, or color. I suspected a note of patronage in
the responding wahoo.
The crowd waited, keen, alerteyes riveted on the greenroped ring. Nervous conversatlon popped on allsides like
firecrackers. On all sides, too, people were asking each
otherhow long before they would see Schmeling, the
dark Uhlan, stretched out The ring was cleared. Handlers whispered final words to the fighters The gong! A
loud cheer!
Dark-skinned Joe Louis danced and pranced cautiously
about the ring facing a man who seemed clumsy Louis,
feinting with the snap of a trained, perfectly coordinated
boxer, seemed to possess an almost insolent confidence
He maneuvered to let go with thatdeadly one-two punch,
a left to the body, and a murderous right cross to the jaw,
which was calculated to sink Schmellng quickly into astate
of retching if temporary paralysis.
Fight, you bums! someone yelled from the grandstand behind me

They sparred and shifted in a first round which went to

LOUISby a harmless margin. The crowd seemed to be with
Schmelmg It coached hlm, loudly yelling advice and confidential mstructions: Get In there, Max! Bob and weave!
Thatsright! Dont stand up straight!Duck hls left,
Maxie!
Near me, there was a thin, cynical-faced chap in a
checked grey suit.Peeringthrough
binoculars he made
himself an unofficial broadcaster for a large area of rmgside seats.
Dont be a bum, Maxie! Youre yellow, Max Fighting
the kmd of a fight Joe wants
you to! Down, there! Bob and
weave, bob and weave! . . . Jesus Christ, look at hlm, standing up straight! Bob and weave! Use that right! Bob and
weave!
Others joined in. Fight, you Dutch bum! Get going,
Maxle! Make it fast, Louis! Negroes sprayed through
thermgside sectlon andthegrandstandshouted,
some
with hysterical confidence. A frallNegro ladwearmg
brown trousers and achecked gray coat, kept telling Louis,
in a mdd voice, to hit him. The second round was cautlously fought Louis boxed, poised and graceful. Swaying
and weaving, Schmehng still seemed clumsy, a man wlth
no right to be in the ring withthis black giant.
Hes feeling the Uhlan out. Hell tear inin a round or
two.
Hes giving us a run for our money!
The gong. The llghts going on all over the arena. The
high-pitched conversation. The seconds expertly working
over the men Again the gong All lights off except those
over the ring Matches flashmg on all sides as clgarettes
A loud andlong Oh, andeveryone
were lit in the darkness.
leapingup. Schmeling had bounced Louisback wltha
powerful nght.
Oh, what abum! Hes yellow, Max! Get in there, Max!
Polish him off! Dempsey would have kdledhimthe
gray-sulted fellow with the blnoculars yelled
Retaliate, Louis, retaliate! the frail Negro, wlth the
gray-checked coat called out. His voice was lost in the
shrieks for a knockout.
The fellowwith the opera glasses keptyellingthat
Louis was madandswinging wild now. Louis was no
longer the graceful, panther-llke anlmal prancing around

June 27, 1936

in sure expectation of a kill. The fourth round came up.
The crowd yelled for blood. Many were askingabout
Schmelings eye, which Louis had nicked in the early
rounds. Louis went down. He was up immedlately, punching wddly. He swung low with his left, landed. He was
booed loudly and nastlly.
Hey Hey! Watch it! Watch it, you! the fellow with
the opera glasses shrieked threateningly.
Kill him, Max! a woman cried hysterically from the
grandstand.
Now the crowd cheered andexhorted
Schmeling.
Shaken by surprise at the unexpected turn of the fight,
it wanted blood. Here and there Negroes began showing
concern. Some were silent; others pleaded with
Joe to wrn
The frail lad with the gray-checked coat meekly begged
Louis to retaliate, his words drowned out by successive
roars.
And the heart seemed utterly gone out of Joe Louis.
Hurt, he floundered. Missing punches, he revealed the
manner In which the Germans plan of battle was worklng
effectively Drawing Louis to lead with his left, Schmeling
ducked under the Negro, and pegged in solid right-hand
smashes. Now many yelled that Louis couldnt take It.
After each gong he wobbled about, scarcely able to find
his own corner. Loud and gleeful voices announced that
the black boy was out on hisfeet. The superman of
pugilism had been turned into a bum
by one knockdown and a pounding succession of drives from Schmelings right hand.
Groggy for two rounds, Louis seemed to recover in the

853

seventh round. He attacked and the mob was on its feet,

ready to shift its allegiance as he banged at Schmeling.
Heamt hlttln Max! Heshittin Maxies gloves!
Louiss face is hamboiger! Its hamboiger! Hes a sucker
for a po~fictright! Go In with the nght, Maxle, and youll
kill the yellow burn! the smart Aleck wlth the blnoculars
crowed.
Retaliate, Louis, retaliate!

For eight rounds Schmellng punched Joe Louis into a

state of bewildered,rubbery-legged
semi-helplessness.
Louis swung wildly, feebly. Before theend Schmeling
was laughing at him. The German continued to fight cautiously, ploddingly,slugging away untd hegrewarmweary. A few called to the referee to stop It. One fellow
began yelling that Schmeling was a bum because he was
takmg so much time to knock out a thoroughly beaten
man.
The roaringgrew
in volume. From behind,there
came petulantrepetitive cries for those in front to sit
down. Schmeling was exhorted to polish Louis off; to kill
hlm. Louis, utterly confusedandswingmg
aimlessly,
landed several low punches. He was booed. Then finally
Schmeling stralghtened Louis up and bounced a last needless right off his face. Louis fell into the ropes, relaxed,
slid on to the canvas, quivered, turned over. A long and
lusty roar acclaimed the end of onesupermanand the
elevation of anothersuperman to supplanthimin the
sports columns.
The beaten heavyweight was led off, halfdragged

The NATION

850

half carried, his face smothered in a towel. A last pitying

butfriendly cheer followedhim.Schmelingdeparted,
guarded by an aisle of policemen, waving and grinning at
theplaudltswhlch
acknowledged himthehero
of the
evening.
In thedressing-room Schmelingstood under a spraying
shower, surrounded by reporters, hls dark hair sopped, answering questlons with a heavy German accent. His middle covered with a towel, he crushed his way out of the
shower to dress. Photographersclambered
on chairs,,
and flashed his picture continuously. Reporters asked the
winner how he had won, and solemnly copied hls statements down on note paper. H e sald that LOUISwas a good
boxer, but could be hlt, and that Louiss punches had not
hurt him serlously, except for the low ones.
Hey, Max, please smile! I want you smiling and Im
finished, one of the photographers pleaded.
Again Schmeling was asked how he won, and his answers were noted. The experts described the statements as
fine and excellent He spoke of the shampionshlp. He
was congratulated tumultuously on all sides. His manager,
a corpulent, slack-faced little man, was chewing a agar,
wiping oceans of perspiratlon from his brows, and chldlng
the experts who had picked Louis. A sweating radio announcer wlth a handkerchief strung around his neck was
concluding his broadcast in a thick, insinuating, histrionic
voice.
Hey, Maxie, please smile! Hey, tell him to smile! I
cant go home till I get a shot of hlrn smiling. Hey, Max,
smile for just a second!
Schmeling wasdressed now, gay, not worrying over his
bruised eyes. H e has dark hair, heavy brows, a long, bony
face. He is an ox-like, genial, stupid-looking German,his

features from some angles almostsuggestively animallstic.

Hey, please, get Max tosmlle. For Chrlst sake, I cant
go home untd I get him smiling!
A few minutes later Schmeltng broadcast a statement
to Germany, where the Nazis will make polltical capital
of the fight and claim that Max Schmelings victory is a
triumph for Hltler and Wotan.
Dressed in a loud gray suit, wlth a straw hat askew on
his enormous head, Joe Louis sat bowed. The son of exploited Alabamacotton plckers, he had in two years earned
around a milllon dollars in
his so-called meteoric rise in
the prize ring; he had lust earned well over one hundred
thousand dollars. Now he sat like a slckened animal. H e
is a large Negro boy with blown-out cheeks, fat Ilps, and
an overdeveloped neck. His face was puffed and sore. He
dabbed his eyes with a handkerchief, reveallng
brulsed
knuckles. His trainer bent down and whlspered to him,
calllng him Chappie. A second massaged hls neck. He sat
dazed, stupefied from punishment. Again he dabbed his
eyes. A Negro boxer who had won a prellrninary bout on
a technical knockout dressed In an outer room, explained
how he had gone into thefight to win; he enteredLouiss
quarters, talked condolingly with him, departed. Photographers stood on chairs, awaiting Louiss exit, begging for
just one picture. Loud cheers echoing from outslde heralded Schmelings departure. Louis sat, stdl punch drunk.
H e went out llkea drunken man, surroundedby cops and
members of hls retinue, his face hidden behind a straw
hat and the collar of hls gray topcoat. Unsupported, he
would have fallen. The helpless giant was pushed into a
taxicab and hustled away whde a crowd fought with the
police to obtain a glance at him.

By STEFAN HEYM
I

URING Hitlers struggle for power a large percentage of hls followers were youngpeople.
Many young Germans had been disappointed by
the revolutlon of 1918 and the events thatfollowed.
They had believed that a thorough change in economic
conditions was necessary; but theGerman democracy,
even in its Social Democratlc branch, was essentially conservative In particular, petty-bourgeois idealists who regarded Versailles as a natlonal humiliation were prone to
dream about a strong Reich-a mixture of medlevallsm
and modern imperialism; and Hitler seemed to offer this
in his Third Reich.
Another section of German youthfollowedHitler
because he promised a social revolution whlch at the same
time would be national. They believed communism was
Russian, that it was cruel, unindividual, and antinational; they wanted a German revolution, a German
socialism.

Beneath the Idealism of both groups lay economic motives. The way of German youth was blocked. There was
oversupply of academic youth;there was overproduction of apprentlces, who streamed into the crafts and into
the factories. The depression that was riding the world
was
hitting Germany especlally hard. Before every young person rose the question: Where shall I go? They came from
the schools, the shops; they knew their jobs well; they
were able and industrious; they were willing to use their
hands and their brains; but therewas no place where they
could make use of their ability.
Hitler promised a future,jobs, recovery, a new national
honor. And to those who would support him actively by
fighting in the S. A. or S . S., he offered three marks a day,
food, uniforms, and an adventurous life. Who has the
youth, said the Nazi leaders, has the future.
Today, after more than threeyears of German fascism,
it is possible to cast up the accounts. What has been the

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