The Public Schools Athletic League provided another fine influence on boys like myself. For years, school sport in New York was run on a haphazard, catch-as-catch-can basis. Then came the P.S.A.L., in which General George W. Wingate and Dr. Luther Halsey Gulick were the moving spirits, and school sports became organized, supervised, regulated. The P.S.A.L.’s first big track meet was held in Madison Square Garden, and there I competed in my first important race and won the 220-yard dash. It was there, too, that I first heard the roar of the crowd. I have been listening to it ever since. * * * * * My parents came to America in 1868. They brought a large family into the world. Among nine who survived, five of us have passed our seventieth birthday. Grandfather died at the age of 102 and grandmother, 101, and dad was close to 80 when he passed away. So you see the Fleischer family comes from hardy stock. Brother Mark and I were the family athletes. I was thirteen when I entered Townsend Harris Hall, the preparatory school for City College. There, and at college, I continued my interest in sports and won many prizes. My experiences during adolescence paved the way for my future career. In 1899, for example, I saw my first professional fight, a contest in which Terry McGovern was pitted against Pedlar Palmer, British champion. I’ve lived that fight over and over again. For me, that was the thrill of thrills: to be twelve years old and present at one of the most talked-about bouts in American pugilism! My home was but a few doors away from the Brace Memorial School for newsboys, an organization opposite St. Bridget’s Church on the corner of Avenue A and Eighth Street. I did chores after school hours for Superintendent Walter Grosvenor and Grove Dale, athletic director. The walls of Dale’s room were decorated with photographs of famous athletes, and McGovern was among his favorites. I had completed dusting when Dale, pointing to McGovern, remarked: “There’s a great little fighter. I’m going to see him box for the championship tomorrow. Mr. Grosvenor was to accompany me, but he can’t make it. If you can get permission from your ma, I’ll take you along.” I was delighted at the invitation, but needless to say, I didn’t ask my mother, knowing her answer would be “no.” Instead I rushed out of the building, waited a while, then returned to tell Dale that permission had been granted. The impression that fight left with me patterned my future. Henceforth, I became a collector of the fight pictures distributed by various cigarette companies, and to this day, I have more than 5,000 in my attic. They cover almost every fighter of note among the greats of the past.