STL All Sports

It was a great day for the Irish, that day when the one and only John L. Sullivan graciously agreed to attend the annual picnic of the Ancient Order of Hibernians in the now busy city of North Adams, Mass. No man stood higher in the esteem of his fellow man than the Boston Strong Boy, and by the hundreds they pressed forward to shake the hand of the world's heavyweight champion. For it was the boast those days to top all boasts if one could say, "Here, friend, shake the hand that shook the hand of John L. Sullivan."

Beer flowed like-well, beer, and the spirits of the gathered Hibernians soared to the very sky as John L. entered the ring that had been set up on the side of a hill. Then it was that a flash of inspiration struck full upon the brow of a little man who hovered at ringside and worshipfully ogled his hero above him. What now, thought this little man. Shall I shake his hand and be like all the others? No, no. If I could but smite the champion -ah, then would I be indeed someone!

Suiting the action to the word, the little man sprang into the ring and swung mightily from his heels. The great John L. took the puny blow on his ribs and brushed the little man aside as though he were a mosquito.

Word of the little man's feat soon spread through the assemblage. In a trice the ring was full of Hibernians laying on with a will. John L. Sullivan retreated a step or two, then began to defend himself against the onslaught. Around him in piles lay such as were unfortunate enough to feel the ponderous weight of the great man's fists.

Then an odd thing happened. The hundred or so men in the ring began to fight each other. For, each man having struck his blow so that he could say, "Shake hands with the man who struck the mighty John L," there was now no need to attack him further. It was now important to keep others from attacking him, too.

So on and on went the melee until with a thunderous crash, the ring and its platform collapsed to the ground. But nothing stopped the ebb and flow of battle. When dark mercifully fell, John L. crawled out of the bloody hassle and quietly stole away, leaving behind him the crash and thud of continuing conflict.

Never again did the great John L. return to that enterprising city of North Adams. But he did not need to. The memory of his visit will be green till the world comes to an end.