The Life and Career of Tommy Loughran

Tommy Loughran: An apparition, a ghost or a hallucination?  

Part 1. Early Career Highlights

Tommy Loughran 

This article endeavours to gain a fuller picture of Tommy Loughran, the blue-eyed soft-spoken Philadelphian, through a number of ring exploits, some remembered, others not so.

Introduction

Loughran was many things during his life, including a newsboy, marine, restaurateur, court clerk, broker, public speaker, sports broadcaster, boxing referee, coach, manager and of course world champion boxer. When he was not doing any of the above, he liked to listen to the radio, cycle a bike, play golf (with a consistent 80s). He was also an aviation enthusiast and animal lover. Throughout his life he remained a great believer in clean living, he never smoked or consumed alcohol, choosing instead to stay fanatically fit.

People who made his acquaintance claimed that he looked too handsome to be a boxer. Some spoke of a magnetic personality, and others remarked on his brilliance as a conversationalist. In religion he was a devout Roman Catholic with a strong sense of social justice, and he helped support an orphanage in his home town of Philadelphia. This is perhaps why he deserves the title of ‘Gentleman’ more than Jim Corbett, as most in his profession failed to reach his lofty standards. While contemplating such principles in his book Ringside T. Wignall remarked that, ‘often we talk through our hats, but in the case of the Philadelphia gentleman we could go on orating for a day, and have something left for post script.’

Loughran is sometimes compared to the boxer Gene Tunney, who once lectured on Shakespeare. Both men looked to be as comfortable poking their nose into Summa Theologica by St. Thomas Aquinas as poking their jab into an opponent’s face. Though, in contrast, Loughran resisted inquiries into his scholarly pastimes, and particularly when they were aligned with Tunney's. For Loughran only wished to be praised for his ring exploits, and remarked, ‘I have no desire to impress anyone with ability as anything but a boxer.’ Boxing was his closest companion and Loughran, who never married or had children, termed it, ‘his only sweetheart.’

His first paid fight was as a middleweight, and he would make a worthy account of himself in that category. When the 1920s was roaring loudly, this natural 175-pounder, was considered one of the best light heavy-weights in the world. He reached the top spot in 1927, on defeating Mike McTigue and then Jimmy Slattery. He would defend that title against some very tough adversaries. In 1929 he surrendered the championship to campaign as a heavyweight.  His success in that division was mixed. This can be attributed to a number of factors, including the fact that he frequently punished himself in making weight. In truth he was never big enough, and though he often commented that it was the little fellas that gave him the most bother, he took on some very big men. It made some contests appear as if David against Goliath, and Loughran’s Goliath’s included Ray Impelletiere, Victorio Campolo and Primo Carnera, a 260-pound, six-foot seven-inch Italian. None of which considered Loughran to be a push over.

For he was a hard man to hit, as if a ghost, an apparition or a hallucination. Sports writers who observed his haunting pugilistic qualities sometimes dubbed him ‘the phantom of Philly ‘But this phenomenon was not down to any supernatural force. It was instead, primal instinct, natural ability and a restless training regime. A haunting trinity of boxing which manifested as a rock-solid defence, dazzling footwork and finally what Bert Sugar once described as the most talented left hand, ’almost independent of conscious effort’ It is therefore no wonder that he was esteemed within the heavyweight ranks, and this earned him Ring Magazine’s ‘fighter of the year’ in 1929 and again in 1931.

And yet he operated at a time when fans held a certain reverence for the slugger, as a manifestation of rugged masculinity. Loughran, in contrast, who was of a slight build, was considered by many ‘a fancy dan’ or a ‘powderpuff puncher’ He could never muster the hammer fists of Sam Langford or dash in terribly like Jack Dempsey. But, in many respects he did not need either, and while he only managed to collect fourteen knockouts in total, his skill surpassed most fighters.

His ability to fight scientifically not only produced some fancy nicknames. It made him appear as a man far removed from brutality. To paraphrase one commenter, if you like your boxing fancy and comparatively harmless yet never dull then Loughran is your fighter. The Evening News, Harrisburg Penna touched on this markedly in 1926, while challenging the brutality of boxing at large contemplated, ‘if boxing skill the so-called Art of Self-defence was were really the standard of pugilistic merit, then Loughran would be esteemed as the foremost of his calling. ‘It is fair to say that Loughran thrilled fans, frustrated opponents and the points ranked up. It is no wonder that spectators or newswriters observed a ghost. Yet he was no poltergeist, for he bled like the rest of us mere mortals and that blood flowed freely. His pristine parted hair may not have been ruffled by a punch, but his guard sure could be.

On examination of numerous battles, what is uncovered is not someone untouched by brutality, but someone who fought hard and often put everything on the line when doing so. What becomes discernible from this examination is a mental capacity to fight back from the brink. It’s not that he tried to overcome every punch, but he used every facility of his being to stay in the fight. A standard example of this is perhaps his sensational comeback after Leo Lomski had him down twice on a cold New York January in 1928. This is, however, just one of several instances in which Loughran looked to be in trouble, but stayed up and stayed fighting. None of which display him as someone removed from brutality. He fought many brutal encounters, though it was observed by spectators and writers alike as a force of elegance.   

It must be stated that he fought consecutively and, for example, close to two weeks after a really tough battle with Joe Sekyra he faced Pete Latzo, the former welterweight king. To fight a couple of times a month, it could be argued, was not particularly unusual in the 1920s and 30s. Yet, Loughran does appear to be someone who threw himself into fights. And while he considered himself a reasonable man, the frequency in which he returned to the ring, even though his cuts had not the time to heal, and his body was bruised and battered, can be observed as an unreasonable aspect of his character.

It is fair to suggest that Loughran never really felt that he lost a fight, he had that kind of self-belief, but he did consider results to be biased and markedly when he toured in England. This marks out an innate self-belief in which he could never take defeat lying down. If he lost a contest he looked to even the score, for example, after being knocked out by Steve Hamas and Jack Sharkey, he later outpointed both. When he fought Sonny Walker in what was to be his last bout, he lost but then arranged a rematch in which he defeated Walker.

Loughran always wanted an honest fight and no quarter given and tried to stay clear of the tricksters and criminals that plagued the sport. Though, his career stretched the dark Ages of boxing, which John Durant noted in his book The Heavyweight Championship, started in 1928 and lasted until the advent of Joe Louis. Durant aptly described this grim period as a time, ‘of fraud and comedy, of absurdity and confusion, of fixed fights, foul fights, and a low ebb of fistic talent. ’Loughran mentioned at least once about being approached to fix a fight, but said this was no problem, ‘as Smith would have none of that.’ In this respect, Loughran and his manager's morality could be viewed as a blockade of the dark world of 1920s- 30s boxing.

Though from a financial standpoint, this perhaps impacted on both Loughran and Smith, and for instance, it is doubtful if Loughran earned as much as he should have in the good days, for even in some of his biggest fights a fair cut of gate receipts was not received. Whether this was down to the shrewdness of many of Smith’s fellow boxing managers or the fact that Smith did not play ball with the mob is up for speculation.

It is sometimes suggested that Loughran rode off into the sunset after boxing, a wealthy Wall Street Broker. Joyce Carol Oates noted in On Boxing that Tunney as well as Loughran retired from boxing well before being forced to and that Loughran became a highly successful sugar broker.

While this is partially true, however Loughran fought on long past his best. His last boxing match was as late as 1937, a sure sign that he desired money. It was a time of great financial strain, better known as the Great Depression, when a lot of sports people found themselves in grave difficulty, and the money to be earned by professional boxing even by a fighter as renowned as Loughran, who travelled in Europe and South America, was nothing like it had been in the Era of prosperity. Yet, it does appear that Loughran was sensible and financially comfortable in that he made provisions for a life after boxing. Though, most of those investments went sour. He ventured into the restaurant business, for example, but that went under. He managed a fighter but a controversy over a weigh-in caused Loughran to bow out of that venture.

For a time, he had little money or was flat broke, or else, he would not have taken a $50 a week job as a boxing instructor for the Philadelphia Bureau of Recreations. In regards to his later successes, it is more likely that after Loughran left the marines, he entered the sugar business at mid-level, as a good will ambassador in Cuba and the West Indies. But learned the game quickly and through the resilience he displayed in the ring and other aspects of his life, made good on Wall Street. These particulars do little to destroy the Loughran legacy, in fact, by transcending some of the myths his story becomes all the more stirring.

 Tommy Loughran: Family Background

His father John Loughran was a native of Tyrone, Ireland (Loughran being a common surname in that part of the world). He had arrived in Philadelphia in the late nineteenth century and married a fellow catholic named Anne Haley. Her family had come to America during the ‘Great Hunger’ or Irish famine and must have endured the anti-Irish sentiments that were endemic in mid-nineteenth-century Philadelphia. Nevertheless, the Irish advanced in their adopted city and John Loughran found employment as a tram conductor in what was by then a city composed of largely foreign-born people.

The Loughran’s had six sons and one daughter. Thomas Patrick was born on November 29 1902. Affectionately known as ‘Tommy’ he later attended St. Monica’s grammar school and Roman Catholic High School, where it was said he was a very bright student with a fine memory for detail. Yet, by the age of 12 or 13 he was working as a newspaper boy in South Philadelphia. He later spoke of the tough scraps he undertook to maintain that route. By the time he reached 14 years in 1917 America had declared war on Germany. He enlisted in the United States Army, but the youthful runaway was returned home.

Tommy Loughran as Middleweight

Thereafter, he concentrated on boxing and came to the attention of a neighbour named Joe Smith. A handsome man who worked on the Navy Docks and who was known locally simply as ‘Little Joe.’ Smith had once been a fine featherweight and Loughran later relayed to Peter Heller in his book In This Corner that Smith had, ‘had 300 fights and he didn’t have a mark on him. Very good looking. ‘However, Smith was not initially taken by the newsboy and dismissed Loughran’s pleas, ‘I tried to beat the idea out of him,' said Smith ‘but it wasn’t any use.’ Eventually, he gave Loughran a shot and quickly realised his potential as a boxer. He also developed a great fondness for the boy, as Loughran did with Smith and Smith’s daughters. He set Loughran up at the local gym, however, this proved problematic as Loughran’s mother had an aversion to her boy entering the prize ring. This is perhaps why Loughran retreated to the family basement. The later dubbed ‘Philadelphia dance master’ started to rely on the basement’s phonograph to develop rhythm and timing. To this, he added mirrors as a way of perfecting his craft.

Initially, he fought under an assumed name, though in December of 1919, at the age of 17, and after being nursed carefully by Smith through some thirty fights with lesser opponents he entered into his first paid fight. The result of which was a second-round knockout of Ed Carter. His first victory in the main event class was over Lew Schupp. He followed this with unofficial decisions over Frankie Britton and Lew Reynolds. At this time, he appeared to be developing into a knock-out specialist as he scored (7 out of 14). However, such finishing power is not representative of his later career.

It is generally accepted that Loughran had broken his right hand early on and as a result his power was diminished. Though Loughran does not always tell it that way, and once stated that ‘they say I broke it, but I really didn’t. The covering of the knuckles just got so inflamed that when I hit someone, I could hardly keep from screaming.’ Whatever the case, Loughran had gone to work building up the muscle in his left, which took him a year and consisted of holding a 10-ounce dumbbell in his left at arm’s length for half an hour. It could be argued that the effect of this was what some consider the world’s greatest left.

It was around this time that Loughran made the decision to remain a bachelor. He later remarked in an article published by the Australian publication The Referee that he had been courting a Philadelphia girl, who he described as ‘Irish -American like myself. Dark, tall, slender, brown eyes. But it was after he had to travel 500 miles to Syracuse, his first fight outside Philly, that he came to this judgement. He had been miserable without the girl, and if he was to carve out a career in boxing, he thought, then he must think of fighting and nothing else. He noted that he was sure that marriage was the only sensible state of happiness, but not for him. ‘My nature just won’t square up to it.’

The Roaring Twenties

He fought some thirty matches between 1919 and 1921. In January of 1922 Smith secured a fight with Jim Darcy of New York. It was to take place in New York State but the Boxing Commission had not permitted the 19-year-old to engage until aged 21, in accordance with the new rules. They met at the Arena Club in Philadelphia, Darcy had Loughran down for a count of 8, but the Philadelphia boy boxed out a victory, which was considered an upset in boxing circles. The fight was also important on a personal level in that it was the first time in his career that Loughran received the approval of his parents. Though he later commented that he only needed the approval of one man, Joe Smith.

After this, he made Darcy look bad in a rematch and he also received newspaper decisions over William Bryan Downey and Mike McTigue, both later champions. He engaged future world champion and the then current American light heavyweight champion Gene Tunney in an eight-round affair. On this occasion, Tunney had Loughran down in the first round, but Loughran gave back a strong performance. This was a ‘no decision’ bout (fights at the time were generally considered to be ‘no decision') yet, this engagement probably induced Tunney to stay clear of Loughran in the future. He fought Harry Greb a total of four times in the early 1920s. In one of his initial meetings with Greb the twenty-year-old Loughran surprised most in attendance by fighting aggressively, and many of Greb's famous drives fell by the wayside. Loughran had success at the infighting but Greb’s windmill style caused Loughran considerable trouble thereafter. He fought Jeff Smith twice and in their first meeting Loughran got the decision and in their second Smith put him down for a count of 9, in the second round, and afterwards dominated proceedings.

Tough English Boxer Ted Moore 

In November of 1923 he met Ted Moore, an Englishman, a ferocious body puncher, who learnt his trade in the boxing booths of his country. Moore was floored for a count of two in the first, but staged a sensational comeback, which pushed Loughran to the limit, like he would be so many times in his career. Though the Philadelphian skillfully maintained his advantage. This was followed by a narrow (some claimed unfair decision)  over another good Englisher Roland Todd as well as a win over the tough Italian and former Middleweight Champion Johnny Wilson.

This was followed by a controversial fight with Jimmy Delaney, that related to weather conditions and the decision, which gave the fight to Delaney. In actual fact, because of these conditions the contest could not have been scored accurately. In the fifth round, for example, referee Arthur ‘rage’ Nolan had to haul out a broom to sweep the water from the deck. In the sixth they ‘could hardly be sure if they were paddling or fighting.’ The contest continued nonetheless and Loughran managed to deliver a variety of blows, but each time his soaked gloves slipped off target. It was said that referee Nolan, who had water oozing from his shoes and down the back of his neck, must have been bothered as he gave the fight to Delaney. Though the rain-soaked crowd did not take kindly to that decision, and it was later recorded as a draw.

After this, Loughran tangled with William Laurence ‘Young’ Stribling’ (they fought 3 times in total, Loughran winning 1 Stribling 2). Their 1924 meeting at the Milk Fund show resulted in a decision for Stribling in what was a sensational evening overall, as it featured Tunney’s knockout of Ermilio Spalls, Larry Estridge’s win over Panama Joe Gans and Harry Grebs win over Ted Moore. After this event, Loughran exclaimed that there was nothing easy about Billy Stribling.

Stribling would beat Loughran again in 1925, though many boxing commentators considered him to be overrated. Loughran, however, held the ‘Georgia boy’ in much admiration, and he later informed the 1961 Committee on the Judiciary -United States Senate ‘professional boxing’ that, ‘Stribling had the graceful moves of a ballet dancer’ and ‘had he not been managed by his mother and father, who were too cautious with their boy, he would have been champion.’ This aspect of Stribling’s career was later upheld by Gilbert Odd in The Women in the Corner, as had it not been for his mother’s care … [Stribling] might easily have been champion of the world.’  

Loughran had not the same admiration for his next opponent, Ad Stone. A rivalry existed, no doubt exaggerated through promoters and the newspaper correspondents, that pitted Stone, a marine stationed in Philadelphia, who fancied himself the best man in town, against the South Philly boy. On the line was the title of Pennsylvania’s premier light heavyweight. Besides both were eager contenders for the world title, it was bound to be a fierce match up.

They had first met in May of 1924 and the marine, who was managed by Max ‘’Boo Boo’’ Hoff, went out in front at the opening. His hard hits made Loughran hold and backup, Loughran, however bloodied in appearance, was scoring the better punches. By the end of the fight, it was clear who had done the boxing and who had done the fighting. Though the judges were divided and the referee Joe Griffo settled it as an even affair. They would fight twice in 1925, and in their first meeting Stone gained what one commenter described as a hairline decision. In their third and final meeting Stone again brought the fight to Loughran. Though Loughran managed to keep the marine at bay with his recurrent left. At its conclusion two judges disagreed, again owing to the style of the battle. However, this time the referee settled it for Loughran, who outboxed his man.

After a draw with Jack Delaney Smith brought Loughran to New York, where he bet Tony Marullo by unanimous decision. Yet, the dollars had not begun to flow and it was noted that Loughran and Smith stayed five floors up -no elevator and had to count the nickels. On his return to Philadelphia, he scored a win over Jack Burke and defeated the much heavier Panamanian Emilo ‘King’ Solomon. Put on a poor show with Chuck Wiggins and Loughran and Wiggins received a 60-day suspension because of alleged stalling, and the purse was ordered forfeited. He also fought two close scraps, in the space of three weeks, with Yale Okun, in which he was forced to call upon every trick he had to whip the New Yorker. However, it had never been the big men who really bothered Loughran, and his toughest challenge thus far was against the 11 1/2 ins. 12st. 4lbs celebrated former Light Heavyweight champion and Frenchman George Charpentier. The bout was described as the most magnificent demonstration of science. In which Charpentier hurt Loughran early on, but Loughran weathered that storm. The Frenchman later noted that he had fought his best against the best.

After his victory over the Frenchman, he defeated a heavy fisted Colorado fighter George Manly as well as the Austro-Hungarian born ‘Cleveland rubber man’ Johnny Risko before facing rough house fighter Marty Burke in Chicago. Those who witnessed this bout described it as an all-time great as both men forgot everything about defence and whaled away at each other. Burke, who had wins over Fred Fulton and Johnny Risko, by the fifth was in the deep and was punched from pillar to post. He staggered to his corner in the sixth and the towel was thrown in. Johnny Risko, who Loughran had beaten previously, swore revenge. A very confident ‘Cleveland rubber man’ informed The Times Leader that Loughran was no easy opponent and a good boxer, but, quoted the old maxim, …’’they tell a story of the good big man and the good little man. I don’t want to appear boastful … I am the big fellow.’’ Though this was not always the case.  Loughran bet Risko a total of 3 out of 5 times. 

After their earlier controversy Loughran put on a better performance against Wiggins and he continued to fight at a phenomenal rate, and following a decision over Jim Patrick Delaney he attracted the attention of Jack ‘Doc’ Kearns the manager of Jack Dempsey, who called on him to imitate the style of Gene Tunney for their coming bout. The Brooklyn Eagle noted that, ‘’one day he [Loughran] beat and pasted the wounded Dempsey all over the ring, bled his newly formed nose and otherwise mistreated him.’’ This was verified by Randy Roberts who noted that Loughran ‘’ stabbed and jabbed Dempsey as he pleased.’’ Indeed, Dempsey’s nose had suffered a nasal haemorrhage. Therefore, does it come as a surprise that Dempsey no longer required the services of Loughran thereafter.

 

 

 Tommy Loughran: An apparition, a ghost or a hallucination?

Part 2. Loughran:  Light Heavyweight Champion

Through the early months of 1927 Loughran the light heavyweight was averaging at least one opponent a month. In July of that year Jack Delaney relinquished his light heavy weight title, in search of heavyweight glory. Subsequently, the New York State Boxing Commission accepted Mike McTigue as champion. Though it was on the condition that he fought Loughran within 30 days. However, Loughran had first to expel a bizarre rumour that he had died, which he went on WMCA radio to dismiss in September. They faced off at Madison Square Garden that October. What transpired was a beautiful display of science in which McTigue, who had a number of years on Loughran, carried the fight to the challenger, but Loughran cleverly defended himself, and outpointed McTigue at every stage or as The Brooklyn Daily Eagle had it, he, ‘trapped the County Clare Mick in the ring and that the Irishman received the worst thudding of his pictureess career.’

Loughran faced stiffer opposition in Jimmy Slattery, a supreme boxer who was recognised as the light heavyweight champion by the National Boxing Federation. They met on a cold December evening at Madison Square Garden. For fifteen rounds it was hotly contested, with both displaying excellent footwork and defence. There was plenty of hard hitting too. Some reports noted that Loughran bled from the mouth, nose and a cut near the point of his jaw. His left eye was also swollen by a bruise, yet his legs refused to wilt and he proceeded to left-hand his way to victory.

The boxing world would debate the merits of both boxers and some noted figures felt that Slattery had it by a hairsbreadth. Loughran, still handsome yet bloodied, nevertheless, was much pleased by the decision.  He noted, ‘’this victory means everything to me’ adding that ‘it clears the light heavy weight situation.’ And stated that, ‘I intend to give anyone a bout and would defend his title 12 times a year.’  

On January 6 1928 Charlie Chaplin's silent comedy film 'The Circus' made its debut at the Strand Theatre in New York City, that evening New York also hosted a title defence at Madison Square Garden. The challenger Leo Lomski ‘the ‘Aberdeen Assassin’ appeared a confident man, coming off twenty straight wins, though Loughran was a 7 to 5 favourite with bookmakers.

From the opening bell Lomski bored into Loughran hitting him alike with both fists. A first-round onslaught that saw Loughran on the canvas, he would need a second nine count by the close of the round. Lomski was certainly a tough battler who Alaxander Johnson felt to be, ‘a reminder of Battling Nelson in his palmy days.’ Ring Magazine’s Nat Fleischer had not expected Loughran, who had not lost a fight since 1925, to rise. Though, the unyielding Philadelphian staggered to his feet and fought on. The fight went the full fifteen rounds, though Loughran’s authority became evident before its finish. He landed frequently with straight rights and appeared to some commentators as a boxing master in operation, who outpointed his opponent in a calm manner. Yet, in reality Loughran fought most of the fight in a haze and after being questioned about the knockdowns by Smith in the dressing room, Loughran could not remember and only believed it when he read it in the newspapers. Loughran would always maintain that Lomski gave him the toughest fight. 

He also held some admiration for a Pennsylvania coal miner named Pete Latzo, who outpointed Mickey Walker in 1926 for the World welterweight title. Loughran once stated that, ‘those big fellas are always the easiest to handle. It’s the courageous little types like Latzo who bother you the most.' The two were friends and Latzo it was said admired the Philadelphia Irishman more than any man in the ring. Latzo once claimed that, …’it’s a shame to have to go in there and try to knock each other’s head off ‘but it’s all in the game. I wish Tommy would go on into the heavyweight division as I hate to win the title from him, as I’m going to do.’

Latzo, an awkwardly clever fighter, would face Loughran twice in 1928, in Brooklyn and in Wilkes-Barre, both title defences of the light heavyweight crown, all of which dashed Latzo’s dreams. Though, it must be stated, that the margin of defeat was never a decisive one, for Latzo was always on top of Loughran with two fists flying. At times it forced Loughran into retreat, but he never conceded defeat. Much credit is due to Latzo who succeeded where others have failed -to penetrate the magnificent.

Latzo later noted that Loughran had had courage in granting him a second opportunity, in a period of six weeks. Loughran finished off his winning streak by outdoing Jack Gross and so utterly punished ‘Big Boy’ Peterson that the very large fellow contemplated giving in in the first round on delivery of body blows, but held on. Loughran had successfully defended his title.  Certainly, there were moments when he looked near defeat. Yet, he stayed resolute and carried through to victory. 

He was eager to keep his crown, but willingly to stake it as much as possible. Next on Smith’s radar was a Montreal born boxer Armand Emanuel. Prior to their meeting in June of 1929 Loughran and Emanuel showed themselves at a Manhattan gym. Jack Root, the illustrious former light heavyweight champion, was there to observe the men. Root noted that, ‘I will say that Loughran is in splendid condition. He is a model man, as well as a fine fighter.’ The fight was hotly contested, and Loughran gave the Canadian a boxing lesson and floored him in the second with a sharp right. Though some reports said that Emanuel did the best work and deserved the win. Whatever the case, Loughran would secure a second win that year.

Loughran also defeated the seasoned pro and all-around tough guy Joe Lohman in his hometown of Ohio, a world light heavyweight title fight, before taking on New Jersey’s ‘Toy bulldog’ Mickey Walker the middle weight champion in another light heavy weight championship tournament at Chicago Stadium. Walker was as tough as they come and he gave it his best, though Loughran displayed superior boxing and won the fight. Yet, even if Loughran was awarded the official verdict noted by The Wilkes-Barre Times Leader he was a financial loser under the terms of the fight.

It was felt that Smith was a good manager but Jack ‘Doc’ Kearns (Mickey Walkers manager) well remembered for his management of Jack Dempsey put ‘’the smarts over him’’ In fact as Gene Pantalone has estimated out of a purse of $67,000 $ 50,000 was required to pay walker and $13,000 to Lomski and Tuffy Griffith (undercard). This left Loughran and Smith with 4,000 which paid their expenses. Loughran faced another title defence, in future Heavyweight champion James J. Braddock. Braddock outfought Loughran in the first two rounds, and cut him badly over the left eye, but Loughran never lost his objective. He made a clear comeback in the third and completely mastered the contest for the next eight. The Times Union noted that Loughran who weathered the storm in a gory first round, showed the 15 round win to be a scientific classic. The New Jerseyan, like so many others, had faced the ghost. It was stated in Jeremy Schaap’s Cinderella Man that, ‘he (Loughran) was a guy you could never hit with a good solid punch.’ In reality Braddock had breached his guard, but he refused to wilt. For, Loughran relied on that unyielding mental drive that had lifted him off the canvas on occasions. That irrational spirit that put him in the ring week after week. 

He fought on where others would not. 

Part 3. Heavyweight Dreams and Later Life

Coming Soon