Knockout: the Strange Saga of Harry Lewis, Pugilist (1906)

The wind howled on the evening of Thursday, November 15, 1906, but the temperature inside the Grand Rapids Auditorium was balmy as a standing-room-only crowd huddled together while they watched the main event: a scheduled ten rounds between two heavy-hitters with quick hands. Harry Lewis and Mike Ward both weighed in at 128, but Ward had a half inch height advantage, standing five seven and a half.

The two pugilists had slugged their way through eight rounds in a contest that many in the audience considered one of the most brutal matches in Grand Rapids history. “The fight was one of the fiercest ever witnessed here,” wrote a Grand Rapids Herald sports writer in his day-after coverage.

Twenty-year-old Harry Lewis sat on his stool and stared across the ring at his opponent, twenty-five-year-old Mike Ward. The native of Sarnia, Ontario, who began fighting in 1900 at the age of fifteen, Ward had compiled a record of twenty-three wins, two losses, and six draws in his seven-year career, including several matches fought in Grand Rapids, Michigan.

Lewis shook his head as he studied Ward, whose face had begun to show the punishment of eight rounds. He could barely see out of his swollen eyes; his bent, contorted nose appeared broken; and spots of blood speckled his torso.

He glanced down at his hands. He was used to the lighter, four-and-a-half ounce gloves used in prize fights. These six-ounce gloves felt like weighted balloons.

Ward wobbled out of his corner to begin the ninth round. Lewis moved deftly toward him and began jabbing. Ward couldn’t get his hands up to block the blows—a sign that he was about to tumble.

Unleashing a flurry of jabs and crosses, Lewis backed Ward into the ropes and floored him with a particularly hard right cross. Ward braced himself on one knee and managed to stand up at the count of nine.

Ward was still dazed. He lifted his hands to defend himself, but he lacked the energy to bring them up to his face. Lewis landed another left cross on Ward’s jaw. The force of the blow knocked Ward off his feet and backward. Unconscious, he landed on the canvas headfirst with a thud. Police Sergeant Howell, at ringside, described the knockout punch. “Ward fell partially on his side and lay there unconscious. His head struck the floor with a loud crash.”

Ward lay motionless as the referee finished his count. Exhausted, Lewis fell into the stool set out by his corner men while Ward’s two brothers fanned him. Unable to bring him to his senses, they lifted him off the canvas and carried him back to his corner.

When the fallen boxer didn’t regain consciousness in the minutes following the count, it became evident to everyone that something was wrong. In his dressing room, three doctors examined him while a Catholic priest stood ready to administer last rites. Ward opened his eyes briefly before lapsing back into unconsciousness.

*****

While doctors at St. Mary’s desperately tried to revive Mike Ward, three of the key players nervously waited behind bars at the county jail: Harry Lewis; Eddie Ryan, the referee; and Frank O’Brien, Lewis’ trainer. If Ward died, the three men faced possible criminal charges.

Lewis, visibly shaken, sat with his elbows resting on his knees. “I am sure that the injury was due to his fall,” he mumbled. “When he came up after the first knock-down he looked all right and the blow I hit him afterwards was not hard. It seems that in his semi-conscious condition he was unable to break his fall.”

At 7 a.m. on Friday morning, Mike Ward lost the final fight of his life, and Harry Lewis was about the face his toughest opponent yet.

*****

The autopsy took place on Friday afternoon, November 16. Simeon LeRoy discovered a maroon-colored mass at the back of Ward’s skull—a hemorrhage caused when the back of his head struck the hard mat of the ring. Ward died from “concussion of brain.”

*****

By Friday afternoon, word of the fatal match reached Governor Fred M. Warner, who sent out a message condemning such “pugilistic exhibitions.” Warner pledged to end all boxing matches in Michigan—even exhibitions—and encouraged sheriffs to prosecute violators to the fullest extent of the law.

Back in Grand Rapids, however, a debate as the nature of a prize fight raged. Lewis and his corner held their ground, while other figures in the case began to backpedal, especially with possible criminal charges looming. Alderman John Fallon, allegedly one of the money men behind the match, insisted he had nothing to do with it. He pointed the finger at events promoter Frank Lynch as the mastermind.

*****

Lewis, Ryan, and O’Brien were given a spacious cell on the second story of the county jail. The jailors never closed the door and gave free access to family, friends, counsel, and reporters. On Friday evening, the accused trio sat with a local reporter doing a front-page feature on the case.

The Grand Rapids Herald reporter read Prosecuting Attorney William B. Brown’s statement explaining the logic behind a murder charge. “The charge will be murder because the state law makes prize fighting a felony, and there is another statute that makes a party guilty of the commission of a felony resulting in the taking of life, even if unintentional, also guilty of murder. But,” Brown added, “whether this was a prize fight or a mere athletic contest is a question of fact to be decided by the court.”

Lewis stared at the newspaperman, who stood at the corner of the cell with notebook in hand. “I don’t see how this case could be made out to be a prize fight,” he said. “It was nothing but a boxing match, given by the club, for which the club had received license from the mayor, and we were simply hired by the club to come here. The money we received was compensation for our services. We signed a contract to this effect.”

He paused to let the reporter finish scribbling notes. “Why, the fact is, we did not even use the four and one-half ounce glove used in prize fighting, but a six ounce glove, a large soft glove of about the same weight as those used in gymnasiums. A case like this came up once in a match I had in Washington, where we were held up for alleged violation of the law against prize fighting. But when it was provide that we were using large gymnastics gloves, six ounce gloves, the same as we used Thursday night, it was decided that the bout was not a prize fight and therefore not a violation of law.”

Besides, he added, he knew of several fatal boxing bouts that did not land the winner in jail on a murder charge. Lewis rattled off several matches during which one of the combatants died after striking his head against the floor. In New Orleans, Lewis explained, Andy Bowen died after a knockout punch from Kid Lavigne. Likewise, Frank Neil killed Harry Tenney in San Francisco. Both Lavigne and Neil avoided any charges whatsoever.

Eddie Ryan chimed in. “It is a regrettable affair,” he said, shaking his head slowly, “and now I wish I had stopped the fight. But there was absolutely no reason to do it after Ward was knocked down the first time in the ninth round. He came up strong. I counted seven before he rose, and he was on his feet on the ninth count and struck at Lewis. And Lewis could not have quit after knocking Ward down the first time, for War was one of the kind that never gives up, and that kind of people when they are apparently clear out sometimes get in a last blow which is often a knockout, and Lewis was afraid of that. And when Lewis struck the last blow it was simply a left hook and not a full swing.”

Frank O’Brien pulled a copy of the contract out of his coat pocket: proof, he argued, that it was an exhibition and not a prize fight.

He read the contract to the Herald man. “Articles of agreement entered into between Frank J. Lynch, party of the first part, and Mike Ward of Sarnia, Ont., and Harry Lewis of Philadelphia, parties of the second.” O’Brien cleared his throat. It had been a long night, and none of the three slept much.

He continued. “Whereby the party of the first part does hereby agree to pay parties of the second part 50 per cent of the gross receipts,” his voice rose an octave, “to spar” he paused and gazed at the reporter for a few seconds, “for points to a decision.”

By Michigan law, O’Brien pointed out, a prize fight meant that some award hinged on the outcome of the fight. It was fight to the finish to win a purse or a belt. In this case, however, the payment was predetermined and the match was scored on points. The loss of Mike Ward was a tragedy, he argued, but not a crime.

*****

William Brown, however, was determined to put the matter in front of a jury. The Grand Jury convened at 9 a.m. on the morning of Saturday, November 17, 1906.

Sgt. Howell, who stood ring side and watched the entire, pathetic spectacle, provided key testimony. Brown asked Howell to recreate the event. “Lewis knocked Ward down with his back against the ropes.” He stood up, placed his hands in front of his face like a boxer defending himself, and leaned backward. “After the count of nine he got up slowly, put up his hands and then Lewis struck him again. Ward fell partially on his side and lay there unconscious. His head struck the floor with a loud crash. His seconds carried him to his corner and doctors were called.”

“What was on the floor?”

“Canvas,” Howell said.

“How many thickness?”

“I don’t know.”

“What rule, if you know any, is there relative to the thickness of padding in the ring of boxing matches?”

“I don’t know of any.”

O’Brien also described the knockout punch. “Lewis struck him first on the head and Ward went down this his back against the ropes. He got to his feet, strong on the count of nine. His hands were in position and he swung for Lewis. Harry stepped back and hooked him again on the head with his right hand. He went down again and his head hit the floor.”

Brown asked O’Brien if, in such a match, the boxer’s goal was to hit an opponent on the jaw or chin in order to knock him out, but O’Brien didn’t take the bait. It was, he said, not a prize fight, but a match scored on points. The goal was simply to land the most punches and score the most points.

*****

By Monday morning, November 19, the jury had not yet returned their verdict, but Harry Lewis had reached a decision of his own. Scarred for life by the death of Mike Ward, he decided to hang up his gloves for good.

Reporters from the city’s two major newspapers—the Herald and the Press—crowded into Lewis’ cell at the county jail to hear his declaration.

“No one will ever see my name in connection with a boxing match again,” Lewis said, “whatever may be the outcome of the proceedings against me.”

The Herald reporter asked Lewis had written to his mother in Philadelphia.

Lewis shrugged. “I have not written to her yet. What could I write?” He paused. “No good of telling her all about what happened. I could only say, ‘All’s well,’ and we have done that by telegram.” He smiled. “And talk about writing, wouldn’t it seem peculiar to write on this stationery with ‘Kent County Jail’ printed across the top.”

*****

The case made national headlines. While 1906 became a banner year for boxers who died in the ring, Harry Lewis became the first boxer charged with willful murder. By the end of the year, however, Brown softened a bit. He reduced the charge to manslaughter and released Lewis.

Even with criminal charges looming, Harry Lewis broke his word and went back into the ring. He fought three matches in Colorado, knocking out Rube Smith in the eighth round, beating Mike “Twin” Sullivan on points after ten rounds, and sending Jimmy Perry home with a sixth round technical knockout.

In March, 1907, he returned to Grand Rapids for one final fight.

*****

The people’s case against Harry Lewis ended like a fifth-round TKO. The murder charge lingered into 1907, when charge against Lewis devolved to manslaughter.

On Thursday, March 7, 1907, Lewis and his co-defendants met with their lawyer, Judge Doyle, and Brown’s successor, Prosecutor John S. McDonald. Lewis’ father, Jacob Besterman, wanted to plead guilty, but his attorney advised him against it. He had examined the case from all angles and saw no way a jury would convict Harry Lewis. Besides, fight promoter Frank Lynch faced the music in court and won an acquittal.

Besterman, afraid of an adverse verdict and possible prison time for Harry, insisted. They reached a plea agreement: if all three defendants pled guilty to minor charges and agreed to pay the fines, the state would drop the murder charge against Lewis. McDonald brought the plea to Judge Stuart.

Stuart addressed the three men before meting out their sentences.

“It makes no matter how this case goes into court, the court must enforce the laws,” he said with a hint of regret in his voice. “I cannot see how I can do otherwise than give Lewis and his father a heavy fine.”

Stuart continued. “The father is really more to blame than Lewis, for he has allowed his son, yet a boy, to go into such business. I could give both fines and prison sentence,” he paused and Jacob Besterman’s face drained of color, “but will omit the latter.”

O’Brien stood to receive his sentence. Stuart fined him $200—the minimum—for aiding and abetting a prize fight. He received the lightest sentence, Judge Stuart noted, because he was “here only as a hired man.”

Lewis was next. He stood and received a fine of $1,000 for participating in a prize fight.

Finally, Lewis’ father Jacob Besterman stood to receive his sentence. Judge Stuart also fined him $1,000 for aiding and abetting a prize fight.

McDonald faced the press after sentencing. In a dig at his predecessor, he characterized the murder charge as ludicrous. “And the charge of engaging in a prize fight is the one which should have been entered against Harry Lewis in the first place, instead of murder, for I do not believe that he could be convicted of the latter before any jury.”