I suggested that the Army, Navy, and Marine Corps could make good use of almost anyone, regardless of size, and that those who were unfit physically to shoulder a gun could be utilized in general camp work, thus relieving other servicemen for the tougher task of fighting. My suggestion was seconded by my boss, Keats Speed, Editor of _The Sun_. I was called before a military board in Washington to state my case and within a week, I received a notice directing the military authorities to lessen the minimum height for enlistments to 5 feet, 3 inches. Within two months, when further enlistments were halted and the draft went into effect full force, the order called for a minimum of 5 feet 2 inches, and still later, in order to give the service the fullest man power possible, every physically fit man, regardless of his size, was ordered accepted for service. Thus I felt I played an important part in bringing down barriers that were keeping from the Army men who were eager and willing to serve. I have in my collection the editorial in _The Sun_ based on my argument in Washington. * * * * * I served through the war as an instructor at the School for Sergeants at Camp Greenleaf, Chattanooga, Tennessee, and when I was mustered out of service I reported back for duty as sports editor of the _Morning Sun_. At home “a big surprise” awaited me. Wherever I’ve traveled, I’ve browsed about in search of boxing books, photographs of famous fighters, old watches—particularly those that belonged to famous fighters or sportsmen—stamps, and cigarette pictures of baseball players and boxers. My boxing library contains more than 1500 books, many of them rare volumes on fistiana and wrestling, some dating back 300 years. When I left for camp in 1918, I filled my room with my collection. I also packed away many old trophies: gloves worn by John L. Sullivan, spiked shoes worn by Sullivan and Corbett in their battle at New Orleans, John L’s diamond studded cane, the colors of Jack McAuliffe, Jack Dempsey and George Dixon, among many other relics I treasured. When I returned home, honorably discharged by the Army, my sister, with whom I lived following the death of my mother, smilingly greeted me. “I’m happy you’re home again,” she said. “I have a big surprise for you. Look in your room.” I did, and what a shock I received! It was almost empty. She had gotten rid of all my publications and many of the relics, including a valuable set of Pierce Egan’s _Boxiana_ in the original boards. “I knew you’d like a clean room. I called in a junkman and let him have what Mother so often called ‘your junk!’” That “junk” meant a fortune to me, but there was nothing I could do but try to redeem some of the property. Fortunately the books had been sold to a second hand dealer and I salvaged them, but at an exceedingly high price. [Illustration: 6] OLD NEW YORK