Bulbs from the overhead lighting system crashed to the canvas from time to time, forcing temporary halts to the fight while a broom brigade I had organized swept the glass and water from the ring. It was the first championship fight staged in that country, and the sports-loving folk of that little kingdom went all out to see it. As the guest of the Thailand government I was appointed overseer of the affair, and in view of the unbelievable conditions under which the contest was staged, I granted permission for the boxers to enter the ring in their bare feet to lessen the danger by making the footing more firm. I had never seen anything like it before. Dignitaries from Thailand and other nations, most of them dressed in their native garb; nobility from many lands; fight fans who came to the scene by foot, bicycle, tricycle, horse back, auto, train, and wagon—a reminder of the picturesque scenes portrayed in stories of bare-knuckle fights in England—all headed for the Stadium, the national sports arena. Traffic was so congested that it took me more than an hour to cover less than a mile from the Government Resident Palace, where I lived for a month, to the arena. The mass of humanity, trudging through the streets unmindful of the adverse conditions or the ruin of their colorful garments, was a picture to behold: the varicolored holiday dress of the Siamese, Hindus, Japanese, Chinese, and other Asiatics in contrast to the conventional Western dress of the Australians and Americans, many of whom were from our government agencies. Between weighing-in time and the fight, thousands visited the Emerald Buddha Temple where the scene was most impressive. Hundreds gathered within its walls. We knelt in prayer with shoes parked outside—the native custom. When I emerged, the rain was coming down so heavily that I pleaded with Carruthers to have the fight postponed, but he wouldn’t think of it. “Let’s get it over with,” he said. “I’ll take my chances.” Since I had the final decision, I held a confab with the principals and the government officials, and it was decided that a postponement would be dangerous: because of the housing shortage it would be impossible to care for the many visitors. The bout went on. We called it “the Battle of the Typhoon.” I sat through the fight with my clothes soaked. In spite of an army raincoat I had borrowed, the water flowed down my body, yet I enjoyed the affair more than any I had ever witnessed. When the fight was over, before we were able to get to the military car that had been assigned to me, we walked almost knee-deep through a sea of mud for half a mile, and when we got to the Resident Palace, my suit had shrunk to such an extent that my valet found it necessary to slit the trousers to remove them. I couldn’t use my shoes and coat again. When the contest was over, Referee Bill Henneberry of Australia, the only official, quietly raised the hand of Carruthers, “the winner and still champion.”