I met with Tex in his office after the Carpentier-Dempsey fight and got the story of his promotion plans for the future. He was dreaming of more big bouts and kept talking about another million dollar gate. “Colorful fighters are what I need,” he said. “There’s one coming up from Argentina and my people tell me he’s a big, husky fella from the Pampas who kin fight.” He was referring, of course, to Luis Angel Firpo. When he reached New York and was brought to the Madison Square Garden tower where Rickard had his quarters, I could see by the gleam in Tex’s eyes that he was exceedingly pleased with the appearance of this man who would come to be known as the Wild Bull of the Pampas and was planning another coup. During the years that Jack Dempsey laboriously climbed the pugilistic ladder, and even after his feet were firmly set on the top rung, many questioned his claim to greatness. It was generally conceded that he was a dynamic hitter, a fact that could not be disputed in view of his quick victories over so many opponents, but fistic critics doubted his ability to withstand punishment. It remained for Luis Angel Firpo to sweep away all such doubts. Firpo had only a vague idea of the finer points of pugilism, but because of his Herculean strength, iron nerves, and almost limitless courage, he was able to retire from the ring after three years with a million dollars to show for his effort. The Dempsey-Firpo fight was one of the biggest sensations of the modern ring. It was an unqualified success from every point of view. Tex took over a million dollars from the public and finally established himself as the greatest promoter boxing had ever seen. It was never generally known, however, that this memorable bout was within an ace of being called off only hours before ring time. I am one of the few people who can tell the whole story of just how close Rickard came to financial ruin that September day in 1923. Dr. William A. Walker, chief of the medical staff of the New York Medical Commission, was at the weigh-in to examine the rivals. William Muldoon, Chairman of the Commission, objected to the presence of newspapermen in the room, but after considerable persuasion, he permitted Jimmy Dawson of the New York _Times_, Dan Lyons of the New York _Globe_, and myself to remain. Dr. Walker, while placing the stethoscope over Firpo’s chest, accidentally bumped into the challenger’s left arm. Instinctively, Luis threw the arm upwards. Not a sound came from his lips. Thinking this a queer reaction, the doctor ran his fingers over every part of the arm, squeezing it here and there as he tested for a fracture. Firpo was smiling as Doc Walker’s probing fingers reached his elbow, but under the smile there were lines of pain. Boxing Commissioner Muldoon, one of the greatest physical culture experts I have ever known, was watching the examination closely. “There’s something wrong with that arm,” he remarked. He called Rickard over.