The night I met boxing legend Joe Louis... in Mallow

THE people who regularly flocked to the Majestic Ballroom in Mallow more than half a century ago were young and vibrant.

They danced The Hucklebuck with Brendan Bowyer, waltzed to the music of Mick Delahunty and his orchestra, and jived to the faster beats of Joe Mac and the Dixies.

But, one Friday night in October, 1966, they were joined by hundreds of older, mostly male patrons who had little interest in rock’n’roll music.

They were boxing fans and had come to the Majestic to see one of their heroes, Joe Louis, regarded by many as the greatest world heavyweight champion of all.

He was then 52, long retired from the ring, and had arrived in Dublin the previous day on a mission to seek out a future Irish heavyweight hope and talk about his life and times.

Associated Ballrooms booked him for appearances in the Arcadia in Cahir, Co Tipperary, the Majestic in Mallow, and the Arch in Tallow, Co Waterford.

Louis’ manager for the tour was a native Corkman, Pat Sherlock, who told the Echo he had been childhood friends with Lord Mayor of Cork, Seán Casey, who was among the guests at the Majestic. “We served on the altar and played football as well.”

Louis was also accompanied by Butty Sugrue, a Killorglin-born London publican and boxing promoter, who previously toured as a strongman with Duffy’s Circus. One of his ‘party tricks’ was to pull a double decker bus down the streets with his teeth.

Liam O’Brien, a local photographer, and I waited backstage in the ballroom on Friday, October 7, 1966, to cover the occasion for The Corkman.

Suddenly, a door leading into the small room from the dance floor opened and in walked Joe Louis, looking fit and trim. He was courteous to all present and willing to patiently answer questions he had probably been asked a thousand times before.

Jack O’Rourke, the Majestic’s owner, and Len Robinson, circuit manager of Associated Ballrooms, welcomed this quiet, almost shy man, who spoke freely about his career, and even signed my shorthand reporter’s notebook, which I later lost - to my great regret.

A promising 16-year-old Kerry heavyweight, William Regan, arrived from Killarney with his trainer, John ‘Killer’ O’Callaghan, and veteran press photographer Donal MacMonagle, and was introduced to the legendary former champion.

“Train hard and get to bed early,” advised Louis, who also chatted with members of a noted Mallow boxing family, the Buckleys, before Butty Sugrue beckoned him on stage.

Louis had been inundated with letters from young Irish boxers eager for him to mentor them, including one aged 22 “who is sure he can beat (Cassius) Clay!”

He spent more than half an hour talking about boxing and the opponents he had met since winning his first title against Jim Braddock in Chicago in 1937.

Louis, who defended his world title 25 times against all-comers from 1937 to 1948, said that night that Irish-American Billy Conn gave him his toughest fight.

Asked on the tour about the reputation of the ‘fighting Irish’, Louis had simply replied with a smile: “Billy Conn”.

He praised Rocky Marciano, and rated Jack Dempsey higher than Gene Tunney because he was more of a two-fisted fighter, but still regarded the latter as an excellent boxer. He described Muhammad Ali as a good champion with great speed.

Louis spoke little on his visit to Ireland about his bruising 1936 and 1937 fights with German Max Schmeling, in a period of growing global political tension. He lost the first fight but won the second.

He claimed the newspapers of the time turned the bout into a grudge fight and that he had no animosity against Schmeling because he was a German. “I was tough with him because I was defending my title,” he said.

Louis, whose mother wanted him to be a violinist, earned less than $5 million in the ring and lived to see the day when future champions got that pay-out for just one fight.

Yet, he seemingly never had any regrets, saying he was paid every cent that was coming to him, but it passed through his fingers quickly. ‘’I liked the good life,” Louis said. ‘’I just don’t know where the money went.”

He had tax struggles with U.S Revenue, lifestyle difficulties and failing health, some of them believed to have been linked to all the blows to his head during his 17 years as a professional.

Louis claimed to enjoy his later work as an official greeter at Caesars Palace in Las Vegas, where some nights he signed 200 autographs. Being greeted by people 25 years after retiring from the ring made him happy.

However, his sad eyes, set in a face marked by a boxer’s spread-out nose, reflected more than anything the fate that befell such a great and respected champion.

As he put on his grey tweed coat and bid us farewell before disappearing into the Mallow night 57 years ago, I felt life could have been kinder to the boxer who won 66 of his 69 fights, 52 of them by knock-out.

Schmeling, on the other hand, became a successful businessman in Germany after World War II. He visited Louis every year in the U.S, befriended him when he hit hard times, and helped pay the costs of his funeral in 1981.

Schmeling was a pall-bearer before his old rival was laid to rest among fellow American heroes at Arlington National Cemetery in Washington.

Joe Louis, a soft-spoken man, who inspired millions of people worldwide, didn’t discover any potential world heavyweight champion during his visit to Ireland all those years ago.

But he left behind him good memories, and a famous one-line observation on boxing and life: “Everyone has a plan until they’ve been hit.”