And then Fitz went on to tell of several other dreams that had come true. Like his old opponent, Jim Corbett, he also believed that horseshoes brought good luck, and he told me that when he began his training for the fight with Corbett at Carson City, he himself—for he was a blacksmith—made a large horseshoe and placed it on the floor of his dressing room. “I made two horseshoes every week I was in training, Nat,” he said, “and gave them away to newspapermen and my handlers. When I had made the thirteenth horseshoe I decided to keep that for myself. One morning I was out on the road. My wife was following me on horseback. Suddenly I got a hunch. I stopped running and said to her: “Rose, I’m going to stop Corbett in the thirteenth round. The horseshoe has told me so.” As a matter of historical record, Fitzsimmons knocked out Jim Corbett with his famous solar plexus punch in the fourteenth round—only one round beyond that which he had predicted. * * * * * A few years ago, I flew to San Francisco to attend the Ezzard Charles-Joey Maxim fight. I met Tom Sharkey, and together with Rocky Marciano and some sports writers, we went to San Quentin Prison to entertain the inmates. Old Tom was in a reminiscent mood. He told us that while he was preparing for his fight with Gus Ruhlin, Bob Fitzsimmons had sent him two peacocks. “When those birds arrived I nearly passed out, for I remember an old woman once telling me in Ireland that the owner of a peacock never had any good luck,” said the fighter who gave Jim Jeffries his toughest battles. “I wanted to send those birds back to Fitz, but I loved him like a brother and didn’t want to offend him. All through my training, I wept thinking of the unlucky peacocks, and when I lost to Gus in the eleventh round, I blamed it on those Jonah birds.” * * * * * Negro fighters are usually very superstitious. Tom O’Rourke, manager of the original Joe Walcott, once told me that Joe refused to train unless Tom presented him with a rabbit’s foot. “No rabbit’s foot, no luck,” Joe would say. I once asked Sam Langford if he believed in the jinx. “Yes, sah,” replied Sambo, “my jinx is colored fighters, sure.” The goal of his ambition was to annex the world title, but Jack Johnson stood in his way, and Langford blamed his failure to become the champion on members of his own race. The Boston Tar Baby preferred to fight white men once a week to Negroes once a month. His record shows that he was whipped by Dave Holly, Young Peter Jackson, Joe Jeannette, Harry Wills, and Jack Johnson—all colored boxers. “White men are my meat,” he told me, “colored men are my hoodoo!” * * * * *