Cross was a great club fighter, and in his heyday that meant a lot. One who could sell tickets to his friends could be sure of considerable work, and there wasn’t a better salesman than Leach himself. He was the forerunner of a wave of Ghetto gladiators whose followers were legion, and who packed the Sharkey Club, Brown’s Gymnasium, the Fairmont A.C., the Manhattan Casino, Empire A.C., the Dry Dock and Roman Athletic Clubs, Atlantic Gardens, and the Longacre Club. Each fighter had a distinct local following, and often the rivalry between East Siders and West Siders gave the minions of the law severe headaches. The fans often engaged in fist fights after the club battle. Many of the bouts I reported in New York had such endings. Another that I cannot forget, was that between Benny Leonard and Frankie Conifrey, who were billed for a ten-rounder at the Star A.C. in Harlem in 1916. At the time, Benny had not yet won the title, but he was a promising boy who had gained considerable publicity. He was the pride of the Ghetto and Conifrey was the pride of the Harlem Irish. The rivalry between the Jews and Irish was terrific in New York fight circles, and there was no let-up in neighborhood brawls. Frankie was a hard hitter and a clever boxer, but he met his master in Leonard. In the sixth round, Benny had Conifrey reeling, and Frankie’s brother leaped into the ring to halt the fight. Then the fun began. Conifrey’s enraged followers, who had big bets on the outcome, tossed chairs, bottles, and newspapers over the rail towards the ring. Some of these papers, in which beer bottles were wrapped, came hurtling towards the press box, and we newspapermen ducked for safety wherever we could find protection. The Conifrey mob then surged down to the ringside looking for Leonard rooters, and the riot was on in full force. Spectators scrambled for safety, but no matter which way they turned, there were Conifrey’s followers holding the fort. It wasn’t until the cops came racing into the arena that the fighting ceased. Bloody noses and split lips were the fashion of the evening, and many a broken head had to be stitched at the Harlem Hospital following that melee. Johnny Kewpie Ertle of St. Paul, claimant of the world bantam crown, and Mike Gibbons were spectators, and as they ducked out of the arena, I heard Ertle remark: “Hell, Mike, if this is the way things are done in New York, let’s get back to St. Paul. I don’t want to fight here.” * * * * * It was at the Howard Athletic Club in New York City in 1912 that I saw a reminder of the old bare-knuckle days. It was the greatest all-out Donnybrook ever staged outside Ireland. The three McGoverns—the famous Terry, and his brothers Hughie and Phil—engaged the three Leons—Casper, Jack, and Benny—in a family affair.