But that night I sat at the ringside and saw the primitive Siki take a terrible beating from Paul Berlenbach. For nine rounds he was a punching-bag for the skillful, hard-hitting German-American. Heavens, how Siki took it! From the first round he rolled his eyes and snorted as if trying to terrify “Punching Paul”; but before the seventh session the Senegalese had taken so much punishment that his eyes rolled in agony. It was really a horrible exhibition of boxing, for Siki had only the crudest idea of defense, and was helpless against the crushing avalanche of blows which Berlenbach rained upon him. In the eighth round Paul worked the Negro against the ropes just in front of me, and bombarded him with paralyzing rights and lefts to the head. As blow after blow smashed home, rocking Siki on his heels, I began to wonder what had happened to the human fury that had battered Carpentier into insensibility. Now the roles were reversed. I have seldom seen more tigerish energy than Paul packed into his work that night. Perhaps Siki was only half-human. At any rate, he took it until the middle of the tenth round, when Berlenbach, punching with lightning speed, shot home a bone-crushing right to the jaw. Siki fell forward on his face, as if a bullet had struck him, and was counted out. That was his last fight in the ring. Siki nearly succeeded in driving his manager, the genial Papa Levy, insane, with his antics. There’s an extraordinary story connected with the Senegalese’s fight with Battling Norfolk, in Memphis, Tennessee, a bout which I witnessed. Siki and Levy arrived in the southern city four days before the contest. There was nobody to meet them at the station, and no announcement of their arrival was made in the newspapers. “Why my name no in zee papers?” asked Siki after scanning the local sheets. Levy explained that in Memphis there was no publicity for colored performers, owing to the Southern prejudice against Negroes. Siki became unruly. He was like a wild man. At that time, the song, “Yes, We Have No Bananas,” was all the rage, and it gave Siki an idea. He bought an enormous bunch of bananas, walked through the streets singing the song, and tossing the fruit to the passersby. He could sing quite well and attracted considerable attention. Within a few minutes a crowd was following him. Two mounted policemen approached him. One yanked Siki by the collar and hauled him to the police station. Siki made the front pages, which he apparently set out to do—and filled the fight arena the next day. Back in New York he was soon up to his old tricks, squirting water from a handgun at people on the streets, throwing handfuls of money to crowds, and scattering bags of peanuts among the masses on Broadway. The police warned him, but he answered, “Nobody hurt Siki. All lika Siki. Siki him have good heart. Siki help everybody.”