Anderson was a holdover from the turbulent “White Hope Era” and was a tough campaigner who had faced the best of the heavies. The ring was pitched on the stage of the opera house. In the second round, Weinert jolted Anderson with a left hook and followed through with a vicious blow to the jaw. Andre reeled, tumbled backward through the ropes, rolled off the stage, and fell into the orchestra pit where an assortment of musical instruments had been stacked. He landed seat first in the wide, inviting mouth of the big bass horn, to the keen delight of the spectators. That incident saved the show. Tightly wedged into the horn, Andre strove in vain to extricate himself while Billy Joh reached across the ropes and tolled off the fatal ten. * * * * * It was some twenty-five years ago that Hollywood’s Victor McLaglen arrived in New York to make a personal appearance at the premiere of one of his movies. That same day, February 3, 1933, Boston heavyweight Ernie Schaaf was billed to box Primo Carnera, the Italian Behemoth, at Madison Square Garden. Vic, who had been a boxer and wrestler himself prior to gaining fame in the movies, was an ardent fight fan. As soon as his personal appearance was concluded, he rushed over to the Garden to watch the main event. I was sitting directly in front of him at ringside when McLaglen suddenly rushed from his seat upon seeing Phil Schlossberg, one of Schaaf’s seconds, accompanying his fighter down the aisle to the ring. Vic greeted Phil with a mighty slap on the back and broadly grinned as both recalled their six-round match at Vancouver in 1908. Curious as to the details of their bout, I questioned him after he had returned to his seat. “I’ll always remember that fight with Phil,” he replied, “because it almost resulted in my death. For two rounds we were fighting on even terms. In the third, Phil split my lip with a punch and the blood began to flow freely down my throat. When I returned to my corner, my second, a nervous fellow, asked me to toss my head back, and as I did, he poured a ‘healing lotion’ down my throat. I collapsed immediately, and as I was unable to catch my breath, I had to be carried to my dressing room. What I’d had was ammonia—a good dose of it. “You can take it from me, Nat,” concluded Victor, “I never again took a mouthwash without smelling it to make sure it wasn’t ammonia!” * * * * * On December 15, 1947, I saw a comical performance by Mexican welterweight Nava Esparza, in a bout with Brooklyn’s Rocco Rossano at the St. Nicholas Arena in New York City. Twenty-six seconds after the fight began, Esparza was counted out in the quickest knockout in the history of the St. Nick Club. After the ten count had been tolled, Nava was helped out of the ring. He climbed down clear-eyed, apparently in complete control of himself. As he got to the bottom step he reached down and picked up his own water bucket.