The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, December 14, 1902, Page 27

THE SUNDAY ()ALL; 27 AN .:MAL“ NDIVIDUALITY is bound to assert it; self wherever the human race swarms in competition, but it seems almost an anomaly to find a student and & philosopher in the prize ring. Such & man, however, is Frank Erne, the one- time champion of lightweight boxers, who recently tasted the bitterness of irretriev- able defeat at the hands of a younger and better man physically. And the sharpest sting of all to him in this plunge from the pugilistic pedestal is the real- ization that he is already a “has been” &t the age of 28, & time of life when most men are just entering upon their prime. Still he takes his downfall bravely and bas suffiicient breadth of mind and strength of character to find a blessing even in failure and promise himself a new career along lines more suited to his tastes and personality. In & word, he proposes to abandon the prize ring and all its associations and ipvest his savings in the mercantile business with his father et Lewiston, N. Y. With this end in view, be left San Francisco a few days ago. To look at Frank Erne no one unac- quainted with his history would ever sus. pect him of being a prize-fighter. Barely 6 feet € inches in height and weighing in the neighborhood of 185 pounds, his breadth of shoulders and flne muscular development give him an appearance of great activity, strength and energy. Yet there is a subtle refinement of manner and general air of the student about him that prompts the uninitiated to class him et once as a college athlete rather than &s a pugilist with a Jong record of battles behind him. His age heightens the ef- fect of this impression, too, for, with the exception of a thoughtful, almost somber expression in the calm gray eyes and the stubborn, sarcastic curl of lip that is born of strenuous experience, all of his features are still flush with the buoyancy and impuises of youth. Crne is a modest, retiring sort of chap and not much given to talking of him- self or his affairs, but sometimes the mel- lowing influence of a small social gather- ing of chosen friends succeeds in break- ing through this barrier of reserve. Then be talks freely and interestingly, with many an odd twist of original thought &nd observation, but always in the quiet, purring tones of one who believes in him- self, yet is fearful of being misunder- etood. This characteristic is further re- vealed by a just perceptible twitching of sensitive nostrils, an apprehensive in- @rawing of the under lip after every pe- riod and a mervous toying of fingers with watch guard or pencil, or whatever is at hand These same fingers furnish & fine sub- Ject for a study in contra Long, slen- Ger and debeately polated, they are at- ERNE IS A NATURAL STUPENT tached to & hand that is as small and soft and ylelding to the touch as a wom- an’s. It is the hand of temperament, the hand of a dreamer and idealist, not of the practical, aggressive materfalist from which gladiators are made. Altogether Erne is a singular type of man for one of his calling, the brutalizing influences of his environment having left scarcely a trace upon his individuality. Even that faint trace has but served to feed his yearning for better things.- He is & natural student, a deep thinker, a lover of books and a worshiper of in- tellect. He has an excellent memory and is an eager worker, but is apt to tire quickly because he attempts too many things at once. Essentially a creature of moods, this paradox of the prize ring is often highly elated and again extremely wretched and melancholy without any apparent reason. At the same time he is kindhearted, loyal and secretive. With him a friend once is a friend always. He is usually careful in money matters, though he sets great store upon the opinion of the world and in his desire to keep pace with those above him in the social scale he is some- times tempted to reckless extravagance. Buccess to him means everything and inspires him to still greater effort, while fallure brings despondency and loss of nerve. Anpther conspicuous feature of Erne's character is an instinctive aversion to flattery, though he is exceedingly appre- clative of commendation which be feels he has righteously earned. He s also magnetic to"a degree and draws people to him by the working of a natural law, but he dislikes any especial demonstration of affection. He knows when he is really liked and that knowledge is quite suf- fictent. Although American bred, Erne is really 2 native of Switzerland, having been born at Zurich, on January 8, 1875, and he possesses all the characteristic caution of his race. In conversation he speaks slow- ly and seems to be feeling his way, though he sometimes forgets himself, when deeply in earnest, and talks easily and fluently. An evening or two after his recent bat- tle with Britt, in which he was so severely punished, Erne was the center of a group of friends and under the influence of their good fellowship he was soon coaxed into a reminiscent mood. What he sald was half a sermon, half a narrative and altogether a genuine surprise. It was so different from the usual vainglorious boasting of the average pugflist. “Prize-fighting is a strange business,” said he’ almost meditatively. * “It is an exciting life and has its trilumphs and its advantages, but it also has its tempta- tlons and has been the ruin of many a promising young man. But perhaps I can better explain what I mean by describing my own career and experiences. “I first became associated with pusgil- ism an amateur in Buffalo at the age of 16. I was ralsed there and my people were of good standing and well to do. Like most boys, however, I had learned how to box and after thrashing & number of my schoolmates I began to think I was. very clever. Becoming bolder I ven- tured one night to enter an amateur con- test at the athletic club. It was my first public appearance, but I won easily and was awarded a handsome gold watch as 8 prize. Being at that half-baked period of youth when we think we know every- thing and really know nothing, my head was naturally turned. I looked on myself as a woolly wonder and was as proud as a bantam that had just whipped the boss rooster of the barnyard. “Later on I fought another amateur bout at the sdme club, winning a cash prize of $250. After that you couldn’t hold me. Visions of the champlionship loomed up before me and I started out in spite of parental opposition to become a .(——-—.-———————_.. ln time' you are so far forgotten um you ACKWARD GLANCE O DEFFATED “SWINE IS THE CURSE' .OF- % . pmreulonal fighter. For a time I dubbed around pulling off occasional matches with indifferent - success. In January. 1894, 1 won my first recognition as a' pro- fessional possibility by defeating John L. Young in two rounds. After that things went swimmingly, with many successes and egsy money In greater quantities than one:-of my age is ordinarily ac- customed to. - ““Then came the lightweight champion- ship. 1 was at the top of the heap. I had money to burn and was congratulated on all sides. Rich men, poor men, high of- ficlals, aristocrats and commoners flocked around me and fought with each other for the privilege of shaking me by the hand, ‘while honeyed flatteries dripped from ev- ery tongue.’ These unaccustomed honors inflamed my vanity for a time, but I soon felt the insincerity of it all and began to reflect. I was merely a freak of muscular strength and activity, nothing more It is natural for men to admire animal strength in others, but it is only the strength and not the man which appeals to them. “Other champions before me had been equally honored and joliled in the height of their succéss, but how quickly they ‘were dropped after their first defeat. The very men who forgot their dignity and manhood in a wild scramble to shake the champlion’s hand now turn their backs and. are Interested to beat the band in something - across the street whenever their former idol passes them by. “I realized that it would be the same — In to-day’s issue of The Sunday Call appears the first installment of “The Gospel of Judgs Iscariot,” by Aaron Dwight Baldwin—a novel that is proving the semsation of two continents. This book will be published complete in three issues of The Sunday Call’s Magazine Section — December 14, 21 and 28. : BE SURE TO READ l‘.l’ IT.IS m xom 0! THE HOUR. A complete short story by one of the leading writers of ‘Mvnottho day is published . uv.rymklfl The Sunday Call. Mll”'.l.‘ MISS IT. § VA THE PUG! LIsST" vith me In time and the mockery of all these honors grew distasteful to me. I saw the shallowness of human nature, the degenerating influences of my sufround- ings, the brutalizing effect of the life I was leading. - You see, there is danger for a pugilist both in and out of the ring. A successtul prize-fighter Is a highly developed animal and in battle the animal instincts are necesserily uppermost. He has only one purpose in view. He must beat his opponent. Whenever a blow lands on him he feels no pain at the time. Tt only awakens a new brute impulse fér more. The more he can punish the other fellow the more he is pleased, and if he can draw blood he is happy becausé he sees victory iri sight. . The development of these brutish instincts will warp the na- ture of any man and dull his sensel to Lhe finer and better things of life. . “Qutside of the ring this is the uhwr’i greatest danger,” added Erne, with ol siderable dramatic force, as he liftéd hi, a half-filled glass of champagne %0 thadt its amber-colored contents sparkled and glowed and flashed with subtle tempta- tion in the chandelier's light. He was in deddly earnest and a flush of enthusiasm : mounted to his face, softening the bruises and bistre rings which still remained to tell the story of battle and defeat. “Wine is the curse of the pugilist,” he went on after a moment of reflection. “The dan- ger Is always with him and few es¢ape it. After you win a fight everybody wants to treat. You are elated with wvictory. You have won a lot of money and you want to appear a good fellow. You consenti Then you want to Keep up your own ehd atnd you buy another. Friends are plentiful then ‘and you must - play no favorites. Before you know it you are drunk." So it goes on until the poison eats' into your system. Your muscles become flabby, you lose your strengfh, your keed, judg- ment of distance, your quickness of move- ment. Training fails to bring back your former condition. You fight again and + lose to a younger man who has not yet gone down the 'line. “Then your friends and admirers turn from you to follow the new idol. You are a ‘has.been’ and everybody lets you know it." You grow discouraged. You drink more. You try to become an actor and you fall, because you are not fitted for it. You drink again and you go stead- ily down hill until you are a pitifuliwreck of what you once were, a ca.rlofillr' of ‘what you might have been. Look at poor old John L. Sullivan. What hope of the future has he to look forward to? “You may go into the saloon business, “but that is little better. You are & com- panion of sports. You have to drink and become a part of the crowd of toadles that flock in the wake of the newest champion. “It Is a saddening, disheartening pros- pect no matter how you look at it. I don’t like the business and am glad I am out of it. - I ara out of it for good, too. In a few: days I shall go East and invest what money I have left in the mercantile business with my father at our home in Lewiston, N. Y. Then I shall settle down to my. books and my busi- ness and try to carve out a new and re- spectable career for myself. I want to ‘forget that I was ever a prize-fighter. Fortunately I have a good prospect of do- ing so. I never did drink much, though I was necessarily led into many extrava- gdnces. I made big money in the ring and have managed to save about one- ithird of it. 1t isn't much under the cir- cumstances, but it is enough.” Here Erné drifted back into a !hough(- ful reverie and remained silent _and thoughtfyl for some time before speaking again. Then he took another sip of wine, lighted a fresh cigarette and smiled at some amusing memory. “1 was just thinking of an incident that illustrates -my impressions of tho prize rifg,” he said good humoredly. “It was just after I had won the championship. 1 had returned home to Buffalo to visit my folks apd take a rest. Fame was new to me then and I rather dreaded being so conspicuousi One evening my parents aéked me tg accompany them to a theater. It wak'a box party’ to some friends and 1 got myself up for the occasion In the regulation clawhammer coat and white shirt front. I felt pretty good and was prepared to enjoy myself thoroughly in & qulet .wdy. However, we hadn’t been scated moré than a minute when I began to ieel very uncomfortable. I looked around and found the whole house rub- bérihggat- me. 1 imagined I could hear people ~ ‘Whispering to each other and pointing me out as Frank Erne, the champion light-weight pugilist. _ “I can’t'tell you what my feelings were then. I onlyl know that I just felt craw- 1y all over and wanted to hide myself. I did move Into the back of the box be- hind a couple of the ladies. 3But it was no use. The audience stil! stretched their hecks and looked until I finally got coid feet and ducked out of that theater like a house afire. Even after I got home I felt miserable, for I could still see those staring eyes "and eager fingers pointing out my friends as thé friends of a fa- mous prize-fighter. Ah, well! I won't be bothered that way now. His vanity had been fed so long upon a’ very banquet of adulation that even AFTER HIS RECENT FIGHT WITH BRITT the sturdy reason of the man could nof stifle that litje lingering echo of regret that hovered in the wake of his last words. His cigarette dizd out and an- other heavy, depressing silence ensued, which was presently broken by the brusque request of one of the party that Erne should tell them of his thoughts and feelings during his battle with Jimmy Britt. Like a flash the shadow of melan- choly was gowe. The somber gray eyes lighted up with the fire of remembered strife, while the lips curled Into a hard, sel smile and parted just far enough to reveal a dangerous glitter of white teeth. The dreamer was transformed. He was again the gladiator. “Britt is a great fighter and he has & brilliant future ahead of him in the ring if he steers clear of this,” cried Erne with unusual warmth as he once more 1aised his now empty wine glass. “To win success a pugilist must put a curb upon both his tongue and his appetite. Some men have asked me why I did not quit the ring while I was still champion. 1 would then have retained my laurels and finished my life as an undefeated man. The plan, however, did not appeal to me. It would have been too cowardly. The champion who retires without de- fending his title is simply afraid to fight and take the chances of defeat. I waited until I was decisively beaten. Now I cam retire with' a clear conscience. “So far as my defeat by Britt is con- cerned, I have no excuses to offer. I was in as good condition as ever in my life and I fought the best I knew how. It was simply the old story of a younger man and a better one. From the very beginning Britt had me somewhat rattled. His tactics amazed me. He did not seem to have any ‘settled plan of campaign, as it were. He was all over the place at cnece, and his movements were so erratie that I had the greatest difficulty in judg- ing my blows. You see, in boxing a dif- ference of an eighth of an inch is oftem as good as a mile. " You must land where you aim or you won't land at all. “After the first round or two I began to get his measure and up to the end of the fifth round believed I could whip him. Then he began to reach me with those terrible body blows. These blows are the worst a boxer can experience. They don’t hurt much at the time. They Just jar enough to arouse a latent brute instinct for more. But insensibly thelr effect is disastrous. Striking a nerve cen- ter, they deaden the sense of feeling and slowly but surely spread a paralysis throughout the entire nervous system. In most gases even the eyes are affected. It was so with me. - “In the seventh round Britt seemed to be enveloped In a fog. I could not see him clearly and didn’t know just whers to reach him, his outlines were so hazy and uncertain. At first I thought he was surrounded by a cloud of tobacco smoke, Then it occurred to me that the fog was in my own eyes and I knew I was gone unless I brought matters to a climax with a desperate effort. I tried to close with him—that was my only chance—but my muscles would not regpond as befores Even my feet seemed to weigh a ton. “Then came the flnal knockout blow and I went down on my hands and knees. 1 was perfectly conscious and knew all that was going on, but could not move. I heard every count and fully realized what it meant to me, but struggle as I might I could not budge. I remember tEinking how badly it looked to be count- ed out in that position, on my hands and knees. The audience might think I was shamming and had sold out. I exerted every effort of my will to fall over on my side, but my nerves were paralyzed and my bands seemed glued i the floor. It was not until my trainers piaked me up and carried me off, after I had Seen counted out, that I regained ‘control sf my muscles. Even then I was as weak ag a baby. Prize-fighting looks like easy money, but it is notealways an easy trick to turn it, let alone its other drawe backs. I am glad I am out of it."