Braddock's inspiring triumph: when Americans had been knocked flat by the Depression, the improbable triumph of underdog heavyweight James J. Braddock, the Cinderella Man, offered our nation hope.

"Stocks have reached what looks like a permanently high plateau," announced Yale economist Irving Fisher on October 17, 1929. Less than two weeks later, the stock market crashed, wiping out a then-unheard-of $40 billion in wealth. Among the millions whose savings were devoured by the collapse was James Braddock, a 24-year-old itinerant heavyweight boxer who had literally bled for the money that disappeared in the crash.

The sixth of seven children born to Joseph and Elizabeth Braddock, James arrived in 1905 just blocks away from Hell's Kitchen, the notorious ghetto on Manhattan's west side.

As soon as he could afford to, Joe moved his family across the Hudson to North Bergen, New Jersey. There young "Jimmy" became notorious for his exploits as a playground fighter at St. Joseph's Parochial School.

Jimmy's playground pugilism ended abruptly, along with his formal schooling, after a recess dispute with a classmate named Elmer Furlong morphed into a full-blown brawl. A solid right to the chin knocked Elmer out, cold. The nuns of St. Joseph's, aware that fighting at recess reflected Jimmy's sole scholastic aptitude, cordially invited him to end his education--an invitation the youngster eagerly accepted.

On Independence Day 1919, Jimmy was a 14-year-old working as a Western Union delivery boy when he experienced an epiphany. Carrying a sheaf of telegrams in downtown Union City, New Jersey, Jimmy was drawn to a huge crowd that had assembled outside the offices of the Hudson Dispatch, where two megaphone-wielding staffers were providing a blow-by-blow account of the heavyweight championship fight in Toledo. The incumbent champ, 37-year-old Jess Willard of Kansas, yielded the most coveted and exalted title in sports to a 24-year-old Coloradan named Jack Dempsey--the "Manassa Mauler."

Like millions of American boys his age, Braddock grew up admiring Dempsey and longing to emulate the champ's career--including his stint as a hobo "riding the rails." As a teenager, Braddock drifted west, getting as far as Chicago before returning to North Bergen. Jimmy's homecoming precipitated a fistfight that inaugurated his boxing career. Ironically, Braddock's opponent was his older brother, Joseph Junior.

Into the Arena

The provocation for the legendary "Battle of Nuge's Field" was Jimmy's decision to borrow his older brother's brand-new sweater--without getting Joseph's permission. "Joe was peeved not only because Jimmy had borrowed his sweater without permission," recalls sports historian Jeremy Schaap, "but because Jimmy had worried their mother so much by tramping to Chicago. As a family, the Braddocks believed wholeheartedly in the educational value of a good, solid beating."

The problem with this pugilism-as-pedagogy approach was that Jimmy gave as well as he got. Joseph, who had won the New Jersey state amateur title, found that Jimmy absorbed his best shots without flinching, remained utterly composed in the heat of battle, and hit like a sledgehammer. After nearly an hour, the scrap ended when police arrived to break up the fight. A few months later, Jimmy--fighting under the pseudonym "Jimmy Ryan"--fought his first professional bout, wearing trunks and gloves borrowed from his older brother.

Flat-footed and inexperienced, Braddock earned three dollars for losing the four-round fight to Tommy Hummel. But even without knowing sufficient technique to put his body into a punch, the 18-year-old repeatedly jarred his opponent with a potent right hand. Within a year, Jimmy held state titles in both the light heavy-weight and heavyweight divisions.

One June afternoon in 1926, Braddock was interrupted while shadowboxing in a corner of Joe Jenette's Gym in West Hoboken. "Would you like to make five bucks?" inquired Joe Gould, a fighter-turned-manager who was working with a welterweight named Harry Galfund. "Why not?" replied Braddock as he stepped into a nearby ring.

The manager had selected Braddock because the youngster, who was 21 but looked 15, didn't seem like much of a threat. "Knock this bum out as quick as you can," Gould instructed Galfund before the sparring match began.

Braddock, however, refused to cooperate, staggering the more seasoned fighter with powerful punches that landed at will. The second round saw much of the same. As did the third. By the end of the day, Galfund was out of a job--and Braddock, whose career had been directed by his older brother Joe, had a new manager.

Between 1926 and 1928, Gould had Braddock fighting practically every two weeks, rolling up dozens of victories, most of them by knockout.

The Whims of Fortune

By November 30, 1928, Braddock had settled--apparently for good--in the lap of good fortune. The combined purses from his victories had netted tens of thousands of dollars, most of which he bad saved. He was courting Mae Fox, the lovely dark-haired sister of a childhood friend. And he was scheduled to fight the main event on a six-bout card at Madison Square Garden Bowl against title contender "Tuffy" Griffith, a corn-fed mauler from Iowa deemed by some to be Dempsey's heir apparent.

When he stepped through the ringside ropes on. November 30, Braddock--who was wearing trunks adorned with a shamrock--was a decided underdog. Seconds after the bell sounded, he absorbed a blow to the stomach. It didn't faze him. Although nobody in the crowd of 19,000 was aware of the fact, Braddock had measured Griffith and found him underwhelming.

Shortly into the second round, as Griffith continued to fire away relentlessly, a brief opening appeared--and Braddock capitalized by firing a straight fight at the contender's jaw. Griffith collapsed in a heap, rising at the count of three, rather than taking a longer count to collect himself. Griffith tasted the canvas twice more before the referee ended the fight--and Braddock was suddenly two fights away from the light heavyweight title.

At this point, however, Braddock's fortunes began to shift. In early 1929, following a layoff of seven weeks--an unusually long one for him--Braddock lost to Leo Lomski, an uncultivated puncher from the Northwest. Just a few weeks later, he regained some of his momentum by dominating well-regarded contender Jimmy Slattery for nine rounds before winning by a technical knockout.

While his boxing career seemed on track, Braddock's financial future was devastated in March 1929 when the Bank of the United States succumbed to the accelerating wave of bank failures that prefigured the Stock Market Crash of the following October. Braddock dealt with this loss stoically, confident that his status as top contender for the light heavyweight crown ensured a lucrative future. In May, he signed a contract to fight light heavyweight champ Tommy Loughran, the "Philadelphia Phantom."

As Braddock learned, Loughran preferred the scalpel to the broadsword, carving away at an opponent over the course of several rounds, rather than decapitating him in one blow. Displaying a veteran's ring savvy, Loughran kept his cool, bobbing and feinting and staying out of range. For 15 frustrating rounds, the champ out-maneuvered Braddock, deflecting the challenger's right hand and slowly picking him apart with a serpentine left jab.

"He didn't land his fight solidly once on anything except my shoulder," Loughran told the press afterwards, the huge cut above his right eye attesting to at least one significant oversight. Pointing to the other wounds that disfigured his face, Loughran observed: "These were the result of left hands. The kid has a good left hand. If he could only box."

For the next several years, Braddock seemingly forgot everything he had learned about boxing, particularly the use of his left hand. Never noted for his mobility, Braddock became flat-footed and listless.

Newly married and with children beginning to arrive, Braddock's career was being strangled by a string of defeats and no-decision bouts. Within a matter of months, Braddock fell from being a first-tier opponent to the status of "tomato can"--a glorified sparring partner for competitive fighters.

To the Docks

During a September 1933 fight in Vernon, New York, Braddock's right hand--his only remaining weapon--shattered on the head of Abe Feldman. The fight was ruled a no-contest. Braddock returned to his family's West Bergen basement apartment without a purse or a boxing license. As soon as his cast came off, Braddock went to the docks in search of work.

In January 1934, the utility company turned off the family's gas and electricity, and there was literally nothing left in the pantry to feed Jim and Mae's three young children. With his family facing death by starvation or hypothermia, Braddock did some things he had previously considered unthinkable.

First, he traveled to Madison Square Garden to ask Gould for a loan. This solved the immediate crisis. The lights were back on, and the heat was restored, but the children still needed to eat. This led to Braddock's second unthinkable action: applying for "relief," that is, emergency welfare assistance from the State of New Jersey.

"Today, millionaires unashamedly accept benefits from the state when they are unemployed," observes Jeremy Schaap. "That a man might be embarrassed to apply for money from the government is almost laughably anachronistic."

Jim continued to tread the docks each day in search of work. He often found himself unloading heavy railroad ties with a "tie hook," which was attached to each tie with a swift punching motion. Since his right hand still hadn't completely healed, Jim found himself using his left hand. By June 1934, when Joe Gould tracked Braddock down on the docks, the boxer was functionally ambidextrous. He was also in the best shape of his life.

Gould had inveigled himself into the good graces of the Boxing Commission and persuaded them to permit Braddock a one-off fight-- another tune-up bout with an up-and-coming midwestern heavyweight named "Corn" Griffin.

Like Tuffy Griffith, Griffin was on a track to fight the reigning champ, Primo Carnera. Braddock's role in the June 14 fight was to act as a human punching bag, giving Griffin a few rounds of target practice in the undercard of a title match between Camera and the number one contender, Max Baer.

But once again, somebody forgot to explain Braddock's role to him.

To the amazement of everyone but himself, Braddock dominated Griffin, bludgeoning the heavily favored contender with both hands before knocking him out in the third round. Unfortunately, Braddock's unexpected win was eclipsed by Baer's demolition of Camera.

While the win gave Braddock enough money to feed his family and pay some bills, it wasn't enough to allow him the luxury of going off welfare. But it did offer him a second chance in the ring--and he was determined to capitalize on his opportunity.

Next up for Braddock was John Henry Lewis, a heavyweight who had easily bested Braddock in 1932, near the low point of his career. When they collided at Madison Square Garden in November, however, Braddock was an entirely different fighter, light on his feet and scoring consistently with his left. Braddock earned enough from his victory to take Mae out for dinner, for the first time in five years. It also allowed him to remove his name from the relief rolls--the sweetest victory he had ever experienced.

The Campbell Tragedy

Despite his astounding comeback, Jim Braddock was not ranked anywhere near the top 10 heavyweights by Ring magazine as of January 1935. At least 18 fighters stood between him and the newly crowned champ, Max Baer. An impressive physical specimen and natural boxer, Baer had become notorious because of a 1930 fight in San Francisco that claimed the life of his opponent, Frankie Campbell.

After the first round, Campbell complained that something felt "like it broke in my head" when he took a powerful right from Baer. Two rounds later, Baer pinned him in a corner and unleashed a ferocious fusillade of punches. Held upright by the ropes, Campbell didn't fall, and the referee did nothing to stop the punishment. At long last--too late--the ref ended the fight, and Campbell collapsed to the canvas. He was rushed to a nearby hospital, where he died of severe brain trauma a few hours later.

Baer's son, the actor Max Baer, Jr. (known to millions as "Jethro" from The Beverly Hillbillies), recalls that his father would often cry when thinking of Campbell. Shortly after the tragedy in San Francisco, Baer staged an exhibition fight that raised more than $10,000 for Campbell's widow and family.

By 1935, Baer was the brightest star in boxing's firmament. An elaborate elimination tournament was set up to provide Baer with a suitable challenger. Joe Gould, desperate to get Braddock into the picture, finagled a fight with Joe Lasky, a legitimate contender.

Braddock was enjoying a late growth spurt. Consistently eating well for the first time in years, the perennially undersized heavyweight had bulked up to nearly 200 pounds, while losing none of his mobility. He opened the fight against Lasky in March 1935 with a right hand that left his opponent rattled and punch-shy. Braddock won 11 rounds of the 15-round fight--and found himself with a shot at the title. The very next morning, Braddock--with his $4,100 purse in tow--went back to the Bergen County Relief Office to pay back every penny of welfare he had received.

Battling Baer

With the title match slated for June 13, Braddock retreated to a remote training camp near New York's Loch Sheldrake. Arising before dawn, he would run eight to ten miles, and then eat an enormous breakfast. The rest of the day was filled with shadowboxing, sparring, and calisthenics. The "sparring" sessions were actually full-fledged fights, in which Braddock would fight six rounds or more against a rotating selection of very tough heavyweights.

For his part, Baer was unfocused and poorly motivated. He considered Braddock an unworthy opponent, and had grown disenchanted with boxing. Baer "had lost his passion for the sport," observes Schaap, largely because of his horror over Campbell's death in the ring. Besides, Baer boxed not out of need, but "because he was good at it. He had boxed because he liked being famous--and he was good at that too. He had boxed because he thought it made him more attractive to women."

"For Braddock," by way of contrast, "boxing was a way of life. The sport had battered him, and in the end that made him respect it more.... Boxing was Braddock's identity. It was his passion. When he stepped into the ring, he did so knowing that he had sacrificed a lot for his sport. He had labored in its dingy clubs. He had sweated and suffered and persevered. Now boxing was finally rewarding him, six years after he lost to Tommy Loughran"--who, incidentally, had beaten Baer in 1931, as well.

Just weeks before the fight, the story of Braddock's incredible ascent from poverty was splashed across newspapers nationwide--an account eagerly devoured by a nation still mired in the Depression and hungry for hope. Braddock was the proverbial Everyman, an American with dirt under his fingernails, convinced that he could accomplish the seemingly impossible if given a square chance.

As soon as the fight commenced on June 13, Baer knew he was in for a long night. Braddock's timing was better, his punches were crisper and more accurate. Early in the second round, Baer landed a left hook squarely on Braddock's jaw--and nothing happened. "You see that punch I hit him with?" Baer commented to his trainer between rounds. "He didn't move. He's a tough guy."

During the third round, Baer hit Braddock again, this time with a right that began somewhere behind Baer's head. Once again, the challenger didn't budge a millimeter--and the champ knew he was beaten. By the fifth round, Baer was reduced to clowning and mugging. By the seventh round, Braddock later recalled, "I knew the fight was mine."

After 15 rounds, Braddock claimed the crown, setting off rapturous celebrations nationwide. "I'm glad I won," he said in typically understated post-fight comments to the press, "because it will please the wife and kids. I've got the prettiest kids in the world, and tonight I can go home to them and say, 'Your daddy is the champ.'"

Mae, who refused to watch or listen to her husband's fights, was understandably proud--and relieved. "My husband wasn't seeing Max at all when he was in there in the ring fighting," she commented later. "What he saw was a fierce ogre, trying to keep him from chasing the big bad wolf from our door. He was thinking of me, and of the kids, every minute ...."

Asked by a reporter for the New York Times what he planned to do next, Braddock explained that he had to stop by a pet store to buy a turtle. "Why a turtle?" asked the puzzled writer. "Well, when I left the house to fight Baer, the kids asked me where I was going. I said, 'To get the title.' They thought I said, 'To get a turtle.' So now I've got to pay up."

A little more than a year later, Braddock, who had been re-christened "Cinderella Man" by Damon Runyon, lost his title to Joe Louis, a fighter blessed with all of the natural gifts he was denied. Braddock knocked Louis down in the first round, only to endure a horrific beating for the next six.

Louis, the "Brown Bomber," is regarded by some experts as the greatest heavyweight fighter of all time. Long after retirement he described Braddock as the toughest and most courageous man he had ever fought. Whenever Louis would cross paths with Braddock, the Brown Bomber would always greet the Cinderella Man with the same salutation: "Hello, champ." Of all the heavyweight champions Louis knew, Braddock was the only one he honored thus.