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It was the afternoon of October 4, 1940 and a flat-nosed little man named Fritzie Zivic pressed his nose even flatter against a large plate-glass window on New York's Eighth Avenue, staring at the shiny new automobiles on the showroom floor. As a kid in the Lawrenceville section of Pittsburgh, Fritzie had pressed his nose against bakery windows in the same hungry way. Now he was to take on Henry Armstrong in Madison Square Garden, and the prize, for Zivic at least, was not so much the welterweight championship of the world as a new Cadillac.
If he won the title, he was prepared to blow the entire purse on a car. He walked into the showroom, his eye on a bright-red convertible. The salesman took one look at the battered fighter's face, at the mail-order suit—then turned his back and fled.
"I followed him into the office," Zivic remembers, "and tried to tell him that I was fighting for the championship of the world in Madison Square Garden in just a few hours. He ignored me."
Back at his hotel, Zivic ate his last meal before the light—steak, rare, and baked potato—and tried to take a nap. "I couldn't sleep," he says, "but it wasn't because I was nervous about fighting Armstrong. I just couldn't sleep, thinking about how I would look behind the wheel of that Cadillac."
Zivic was still dreaming about the new car when the fighters were introduced to the crowd. The referee, Art Donovan, gave his instructions—and Armstrong promptly belted Zivic back to reality. "When Armstrong started punching me," says Zivic, "I saw the car turn and head for Chicago. By the time we finished the seventh round, the Cadillac had passed California and was on a boat to Hawaii. Armstrong was belting me around pretty good. As I came out of my corner for the eighth round, that car was close to halfway around the world."
Shortly after the start of the eighth, however, Armstrong hit Zivic with a rabbit punch while moving out of a clinch. Fritzie Zivic had never been mistaken for a boy scout in the ring. He promptly stuck a thumb in Armstrong's eye in retaliation, and the rest of the round rapidly went downhill from there. Eventually, Donovan gave up all hope of restoring order. "If that's the way you boys want to fight, it's all right with me," he said.
"When the referee said that one sentence," Zivic remembers, "the Cadillac turned around and started back on the boat to the United States.
"By the 10th round, the Cadillac was safely in California and headed back East. With the sound of each bell, it was closer to my garage. When the final bell rang, I was all set to drive that big car down the streets of Pittsburgh."
The announcer bellowed over the microphone, "The winner and new champion of the world, Fritzie Zivic."
Zivic collected his share of the purse in cash and went across the street to his room, dumping the money on the bed. Then he bounced the bedspread and watched the bills float around the room. "I thought I was the richest man in the world," he says.
Zivic had a long career after winning the championship—he had his last fight in 1949—but he always treated money as he did in the hotel room the night after the fight.
Red Cochrane won the title from Zivic, and after Fritzie's career was interrupted by wartime service he never did get a chance to win the title back.
Today, Zivic is a familiar figure in Pittsburgh. He sells automobiles, something which he should have learned all about the night of the first Armstrong fight. That was the night he was supposed to achieve his dream of owning a Cadillac.
"You know," he says, "I never did get it. Some smart salesman collared me in the locker room right after the fight and sold me an Oldsmobile."
If he won the title, he was prepared to blow the entire purse on a car. He walked into the showroom, his eye on a bright-red convertible. The salesman took one look at the battered fighter's face, at the mail-order suit—then turned his back and fled.
"I followed him into the office," Zivic remembers, "and tried to tell him that I was fighting for the championship of the world in Madison Square Garden in just a few hours. He ignored me."
Back at his hotel, Zivic ate his last meal before the light—steak, rare, and baked potato—and tried to take a nap. "I couldn't sleep," he says, "but it wasn't because I was nervous about fighting Armstrong. I just couldn't sleep, thinking about how I would look behind the wheel of that Cadillac."
Zivic was still dreaming about the new car when the fighters were introduced to the crowd. The referee, Art Donovan, gave his instructions—and Armstrong promptly belted Zivic back to reality. "When Armstrong started punching me," says Zivic, "I saw the car turn and head for Chicago. By the time we finished the seventh round, the Cadillac had passed California and was on a boat to Hawaii. Armstrong was belting me around pretty good. As I came out of my corner for the eighth round, that car was close to halfway around the world."
Shortly after the start of the eighth, however, Armstrong hit Zivic with a rabbit punch while moving out of a clinch. Fritzie Zivic had never been mistaken for a boy scout in the ring. He promptly stuck a thumb in Armstrong's eye in retaliation, and the rest of the round rapidly went downhill from there. Eventually, Donovan gave up all hope of restoring order. "If that's the way you boys want to fight, it's all right with me," he said.
"When the referee said that one sentence," Zivic remembers, "the Cadillac turned around and started back on the boat to the United States.
"By the 10th round, the Cadillac was safely in California and headed back East. With the sound of each bell, it was closer to my garage. When the final bell rang, I was all set to drive that big car down the streets of Pittsburgh."
The announcer bellowed over the microphone, "The winner and new champion of the world, Fritzie Zivic."
Zivic collected his share of the purse in cash and went across the street to his room, dumping the money on the bed. Then he bounced the bedspread and watched the bills float around the room. "I thought I was the richest man in the world," he says.
Zivic had a long career after winning the championship—he had his last fight in 1949—but he always treated money as he did in the hotel room the night after the fight.
Red Cochrane won the title from Zivic, and after Fritzie's career was interrupted by wartime service he never did get a chance to win the title back.
Today, Zivic is a familiar figure in Pittsburgh. He sells automobiles, something which he should have learned all about the night of the first Armstrong fight. That was the night he was supposed to achieve his dream of owning a Cadillac.
"You know," he says, "I never did get it. Some smart salesman collared me in the locker room right after the fight and sold me an Oldsmobile."
Former champions and boxing writers respond to Fritzie Zivic:
Fritzie Zivic Says You Have To Fight Dirty To Be A Ring Champion And Mentions Some Prime Examples. Do You Agree With Him?
JACK DEMPSEY
Former heavyweight champion
Los Angeles
That's a ridiculous charge for Zivic to make. Where does he get his facts? A fighter can be rough without being dirty. Sure I was rough, plenty rough, but never dirty. I probably hit some foul punches, but never intentionally. The better a fighter a man is, the more of a gentleman. Look at Gene Tunney.
JACK LESCOULIE
Television personality
Whittier, Calif.
Nonsense. Henry Armstrong held three world titles and never made a dirty move. The same goes for Joe Louis, who wasn't even mean, except in his second fight with Max Schmeling, who had previously knocked Joe out. Carmen Basilio knows every dirty move in the ring but never uses them.
GENE TUNNEY
Retired undefeated heavyweight champion
Stamford, Conn.
That's a ****** statement. No one can talk about dirty fighting better than a dirty fighter. The one way not to become a great fighter is to be a dirty one. You can't point to any champion in the history of the game and say he was a dirty fighter. Dirtiness and championships simply can't be mixed.
WILLIAM KEEFE
New Orleans Times-Picayune
Sports editor
I don't believe it. There are many champions who fought clean—Tony Canzoneri, Pete Herman, Freddy Welsh from Wales, Jack Johnson, etc. Sandy Saddler, a champion, was the dirtiest fighter I ever saw. Jack Dempsey's relentlessness made him appear dirty at times. But what foul play is there in that?
RED SMITH
New York Herald Tribune
Sports columnist
There have been many deliberate violations of the rules. There's no question that Willie Pep, Sandy Saddler and Jack Dempsey paid little attention to the rules, but I wouldn't call them dirty fighters. Marciano has been accused of dirty fighting. I disagree. He may have been carried away with a fight, but his morals weren't.
JIMMY BURNS
The Miami Herald
Sports editor
Well, fighting is a pretty primitive business. A man has to fight savagely to win a championship and hold it. Where do you draw the line between savage and dirty fighting? How much difference is there? Rocky Marciano has hit after the bell but it was unintentional. Such a thing often happens in the ring.
NAT FLEISCHER
New York Ring magazine
Editor and publisher
I violently disagree. Zivic used foul tactics, but no champion I ever watched was a dirty fighter. Dempsey was occasionally called a dirty fighter because he never went to a neutral corner and he would crouch over a fallen opponent for the kill. He was within his rights; there was no neutral-corner rule at that time.
FURMAN BISHER
The Atlanta Journal
Sports editor
It all depends on what you call "dirty." Zivic, Saddler and Galento were real rough boys, but I never called the native viciousness of Dempsey, Marciano and Louis dirtiness, which as I see it, is merely a rank, raw substitute for the killer instinct in fighters who don't have it. Boxing, after all, is a tough sport.
TOM SILER
Knoxville News-Sentinel
Sports editor
I don't agree. Joe Louis was perhaps the greatest heavyweight. He won without dirty tactics. So did Gene Tunney, Tony Zale, Barney Ross, Tony Canzoneri, Benny Leonard and many others. I'm sure that the champions who used dirty tactics could have been champs without the fouls.
BEN WOOLBERT
Los Angeles Examiner
Sports editor
No. Most champions are clean fighters. Rocky Marciano was rough, but he wasn't dirty. I personally know that it hurts him to hear someone say he was a dirty fighter. All that is necessary is to inform the public, and any dirtiness or abuse will be cleaned up. Habitually dirty fighters have never had much of a following.
JACK DEMPSEY
Former heavyweight champion
Los Angeles
That's a ridiculous charge for Zivic to make. Where does he get his facts? A fighter can be rough without being dirty. Sure I was rough, plenty rough, but never dirty. I probably hit some foul punches, but never intentionally. The better a fighter a man is, the more of a gentleman. Look at Gene Tunney.
JACK LESCOULIE
Television personality
Whittier, Calif.
Nonsense. Henry Armstrong held three world titles and never made a dirty move. The same goes for Joe Louis, who wasn't even mean, except in his second fight with Max Schmeling, who had previously knocked Joe out. Carmen Basilio knows every dirty move in the ring but never uses them.
GENE TUNNEY
Retired undefeated heavyweight champion
Stamford, Conn.
That's a ****** statement. No one can talk about dirty fighting better than a dirty fighter. The one way not to become a great fighter is to be a dirty one. You can't point to any champion in the history of the game and say he was a dirty fighter. Dirtiness and championships simply can't be mixed.
WILLIAM KEEFE
New Orleans Times-Picayune
Sports editor
I don't believe it. There are many champions who fought clean—Tony Canzoneri, Pete Herman, Freddy Welsh from Wales, Jack Johnson, etc. Sandy Saddler, a champion, was the dirtiest fighter I ever saw. Jack Dempsey's relentlessness made him appear dirty at times. But what foul play is there in that?
RED SMITH
New York Herald Tribune
Sports columnist
There have been many deliberate violations of the rules. There's no question that Willie Pep, Sandy Saddler and Jack Dempsey paid little attention to the rules, but I wouldn't call them dirty fighters. Marciano has been accused of dirty fighting. I disagree. He may have been carried away with a fight, but his morals weren't.
JIMMY BURNS
The Miami Herald
Sports editor
Well, fighting is a pretty primitive business. A man has to fight savagely to win a championship and hold it. Where do you draw the line between savage and dirty fighting? How much difference is there? Rocky Marciano has hit after the bell but it was unintentional. Such a thing often happens in the ring.
NAT FLEISCHER
New York Ring magazine
Editor and publisher
I violently disagree. Zivic used foul tactics, but no champion I ever watched was a dirty fighter. Dempsey was occasionally called a dirty fighter because he never went to a neutral corner and he would crouch over a fallen opponent for the kill. He was within his rights; there was no neutral-corner rule at that time.
FURMAN BISHER
The Atlanta Journal
Sports editor
It all depends on what you call "dirty." Zivic, Saddler and Galento were real rough boys, but I never called the native viciousness of Dempsey, Marciano and Louis dirtiness, which as I see it, is merely a rank, raw substitute for the killer instinct in fighters who don't have it. Boxing, after all, is a tough sport.
TOM SILER
Knoxville News-Sentinel
Sports editor
I don't agree. Joe Louis was perhaps the greatest heavyweight. He won without dirty tactics. So did Gene Tunney, Tony Zale, Barney Ross, Tony Canzoneri, Benny Leonard and many others. I'm sure that the champions who used dirty tactics could have been champs without the fouls.
BEN WOOLBERT
Los Angeles Examiner
Sports editor
No. Most champions are clean fighters. Rocky Marciano was rough, but he wasn't dirty. I personally know that it hurts him to hear someone say he was a dirty fighter. All that is necessary is to inform the public, and any dirtiness or abuse will be cleaned up. Habitually dirty fighters have never had much of a following.
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