When Dempsey took Gibbons, he also took Shelby, Montana boxing’s first sting, circa 1929

When Harold Smith "went South", and created a new word in Boxing’s lexicon MAPSCAM, it served as a vivid reminder of boxing’s very first "sting", something which was to become known as " the Shack of Shelby." However, Smith and Shelby differ in many ways. First of all, Harold Smith’s fight of fancy had to do with boxing only peripherally; Banks and computers directly, secondly , and most important of all, Shelby perpetuated the "sting" on itself, complete with all the time honoured elements in a scam scenario: the set-up the false hopes and the final, humiliating denouement . It was their cupidity – all done in the name of public acceptance – that allowed this little Montana cowtown to seek its place in the world. And seek than gold that went in it. They got the recognition they hoped for. But they got something more. They got "fleeced." Here then, is the story of Shelby, told by Nat Fleischer, in an original period piece from the early pages of Ring Magazine.

During the summer of 1922, Shelby struck oil, in the Sunburst field. The town was nothing more than a cow burg with the population of about 500, a town that was regarded in the west as one of the poorest in this country. A few starved, dry dirt farmers, a handful of cowboys and a few sheep herders constituted the entire population of Shelby. That is, before the oil boom got underway. Sportsmen who did considerable travelling through the west on their way to the coast on their way to their coast and the travelling men of big Eastern concerts always made certain that Shelby would not be one of their stopping places. And they would frequently say, when asked about the town, that it was a good spot to avoid because the natives had nothing to use for money.

Then along came a fellow named Sam Sampson. He was the man most responsible for putting Shelby on the map when he concocted the plan to stage heavyweight tittle bout in that city. One cold night in January 1923, a few months after the oil strike, several of the Shelby big shots were having a good ole time. They were whopping it up in the all night saloon, the kind that never heard nor cared for Volstead of his prohibition law. Shelby had begun to boom. The same persons, who were there before the oil gushed out of the soil, were still in the town, but unlike previous months, they now had something in their pockets besides lint. Jim Johnson was Mayor of Shelby and mighty proud of it. Added to his faithful little outfit- many of whom had been through the bitter days of starvation with him yet had thrived on the tough frontier life where only a he-man could survive – where some big Eastern oil spectaculars and California real estate men who sensed a boom and made a quick rush to be in on the kill.

The few rooming houses and the hotel in Shelby, such as they were, were now crowed. It was a reminder to many of the Gold Rush era of California, with people coming in from all sections of the country – East, West and South. Sometimes as many as fifty extra cots where placed in the Lobby to accommodate the throng.

The boom was on. The little gang in the saloon, sitting around a table with several bottles of scotch to quench their thirst, were there to see what could be done to let the world know that the overnight discovery of oil had made Shelby a great town. They had heard what an oil strike had meant to communities in Oklahoma and Texas; and they were not going to let Shelby down.

Seated at a table with Mayor Jim Johnson was Sam Sampson, proprietor of an Army Navy store. "Why not stage a championship fight here?" he asked. "That will draw many fight fans here and put Shelby on a map. Let’s get Jack Dempsey and Tom Gibbons. "Both are popular and we can fill an arena."

Everyone agreed that it was a wonderful idea and, as normally happens, the person that put forward the idea – in this case Sampson – was promptly delegated to be head of the committee to make it happen. That was early in January. Wires were sent to Dempsey and Gibbons, but there was no response as they never received them.

On March 10, Mike Collins, veteran news paperman promoter, manager and publisher of the boxing blade, received a telegram from Sampson asking to come to Shelby and look over the possibility of staging a world heavyweight championship fight there on Independence Day. Mike agreed.

When he got to Shelby, he gave in the once over, then coldly remarked to Sampson: "So this is Shelby. Are you crazy?" Mike took inventory and found, as he told those in attendance later, "several business houses, three rooming houses, the silver grill hotel, The Great Northern Depot, a Mountain on the South an oil field in the North and the great Northern Railroad running East and West. I felt I was stung, but didn’t have the heart to quit these guys who felt so confident they could put the fight over.

"I could only turn to Sampson and say, "you’ll be the laughing stock of the fistic world. A hick town, a little cow pasture with a population of about 500, trying to outbid big Eastern cities of several million people and millions of dollars backing for the attraction you say you want. It’s ridiculous.

"There was no way of stopping them. They were determined. Their only answer "Well, we will do it. If you feel otherwise we’re sorry we bothered asking you here."

"How could I quit such people?" Asked Collins of no one in particular.

Mike called a meeting of the mayor and his friends for ten ‘o’ clock the following morning to figure out just how such an ambitions project could be financed . Mose Zimmerman, a well known horse salesmen out of St. Paul, and who by now was the owner of the best land in Shelby and was reselling it at a big profit, was asking to furnish $300,000, to stage the show and boost Shelby.

When the time for the session arrived, Mose failed to show up. A scouting was sent to bring him in, which they did. When Mose walked into the meeting, he spoke with anger:

"What the hell are you fellows thinking? Are you all crazy?" He told those behind the plan that he had agreed to put up some money if others would do the same, but that never had promise to finance the venture with $300,000.And that if he had , he was only kidding. But the others weren’t. They had gone too far to let Mose’s lack of enthusiasm for their plan stand in their way.

Collins quit in a huff and went back to his hotel to pack up and go back home, wondering how anyone could honestly believe that Shelby could host such an important event. Just before train time, Collins had two visitors in his room, Carl Schwartz and John Dwyer. They pleaded with Mike to change his mind and come to the town hall where Mayor Jim and others would speak at a mass meeting of Shelby’s citizens.

He reluctantly agreed. A big cheer Collins upon his arrival, the citizenry of Shelby, to a man, firmly believing that if anyone could help put the fights across, it was Mike Collins. The mayor asked Mike to speak. He did. He told those in attendance what was necessary to stage such a gigantic affair and that the most essential thing in such promotion was money-and plenty of it.

"Get some money up to show your good faith, and I’ll stick with you," said Mike. Mayor Johnson and Sampson asked how much was necessary." We must have $100,000 to start with and another $100,000 in thirty days," replied Collins. It took exactly eleven minutes to raise the first $26,000. Vouchers for ringside seats were given to those who had pledged the first grub-snake monies and the money was banked. "Now you will have to write for the managers of Dempsey and Gibbons and have they come out here to settle matters with us by signing for the fight?" asked Sampson. "No, not that way," Collins replied "I wont enter this thing until I see $100,000 raised. When you have that amount, I’ll promise you I’ll get Dempsey and Gibbons to fight here."

It took eight more days to raise the balance of the ante. Lou Molumboy, State Commander of the American Legion, and Collins travelled around the state by automobile and air making about sixty speeches to Rotary Clubs and at the chamber of the Commerce meetings and got $110,000 subscribed instead of the $100,000. Still there was nothing in the way of the signed contract: nothing but the merge promise that might be knocked into a cocked hat by either one of the principals refusing the fight offer. Then Collins wired Jack Kearns and Eddie Cane, the respective managers of Dempsey and Gibbons, to come in from California and Chicago to Meet Kearns and Canes, where each man was then stopping. Both Kearns and Kane wired back their eagerness to go through with such a match, finances willing. Collins, representing Mayor Johnson and Sampson, flew to Chicago to meet Kearns and Cane at the Morrison Hotel, famed as a sports rendezvous. I took nineteen hours.

On May 5th, the articles for the big show were signed. It was stipulated in the contracts that Dempsey was to receive $300,000 and Gibbons was to get 50% after $300,000 was taken. And not one penny more. Or before. Gibbons had a choice taking $50,000 in cash as his share of the percentage. He decided on the gamble, a sad mistake as it turned out, for he didn’t collect one cent of his efforts.

This is the story of a little town that suffered from too much ambition. Shelby Mont., the picturesque little cow town, that stepped out in front of the world to stage a world heavyweight championship fight between Jack Dempsey and Tom Gibbons, has dropped back into obscurity , battered but not beaten. The shoe string that a game three-man chamber of commerce tried to turn into a million was wrapped around the bag that held unpaid bills for almost a quarter of a million dollars. Shelby once basked in the light of the international publicity that a corps of trained big city newspapermen flashed all over the globe, but she sits out there alone in Montana plains now, with only an occasional paragraph telling the neighbours that " Sim Jones us sinking in another well. Gone are the big saloons with the games in the back room and the red checks and the red slippers of the Main Street belles showing above and below the swinging doors. Gone are the big wooden dance halls "The green lights" The Dirty Cat," "The Cross bar Corral," and " the days of 49" where the girls didn’t object when a booted foot crushed down on the dancing foot or when a spur dug into a tender ankle. Gone are all the cowboy glamour and the bally-hoo of the rodeo owners who tired to get cowboys to pay to see a puncher "ride’em".

The wooden Indian in front of the Rainbow hotel- the only brick building in the town and the only one that had a room with a bath-looks down on the dusty street of the wan village. He sees half the structures in the down deserted. The emergency post office, build to handle more mail than the regular force could carry from the trains, is now safe to enter. Rocks have been thrown through most of the windows in the town. Birds have built their nests under the eaves of "The Days of ’49," where the real old-time Western stuff flourished before the Revenue men came along and took down the side which told the newcomers that "Everything Goes Here." The rooms upstairs in the back are filled with trash. The district "across the tracks," where an attempt was made to combine the tenderloin of New York and the big joint of Nome is abandoned. Shelby’s natives won’t live there because of the reputation it has inherited. Kids play on the deserted lobby of the Waldorf Hotel where the clerk paid no attention the register. The windows are all broken in Biltmore, where house detectives gave patrons a telephone number or the hustled a quart if the patron wanted amusement. Their names over that door remain to remind them of their good old days.

The hot dog stands and the drug store that had only two classes of the merchandise in stock have almost collapsed. Main Street, the only street in the town, is virtually empty. The population of the village had fallen from 1,200 at the time of the oil boom to a scant 700. The natives do not like to have Shelby referred to today as the bust of the century. The optimists still think that Shelby will come back as they thought that the clouds would pour down a rain of gold backs when Dempsey was yelling- "ill want my other hundred grand".

"We went just a little batty," Big Jim Johnson, the cow-puncher Mayor of the town, said. Johnson was the insinuator of the fight. He got the idea and he fell with it for a loss of more than $50,000. Johnson is a giant in size with a smile as broad as the plains where his sheep his sheep used to graze. He later hocked these sheep to pay his bills. Despite his losses he hasn’t a grey hair in his head.

"We got all worked up over the oil boom which was on then," Johnson said. "Everyone was talking in millions instead of dollars. Everything was on the good. Wells were popping and money was pouring in. Real estate was jumping a dollar a foot every time it was turned over. We had a good town and it wasn’t the fight that hurt us. The oil didn’t come as fast as we had expected. "Two banks went on the rocks," he said "but I’ve opened mine again and they aren’t afraid to leave their dough in the oven overnight. We’ll come out of it alright. Things are picking up now. I got in a couple of wells lately that made up for the money I lost in the fight. I’m proud of what we did and damn it, if I had a chance I’d do it all over again."

Tom Costello, who ran the Rainbow Hotel, and who always kept the keys in the pocket of a coat he couldn’t find, operated at a loss of two years. Every other hotel had been forced to the wall. The big arena that was built at the cost of $80,000 was torn down and the was sold for $7,000.

The electric light plant that was build for the town of $50,000 had been dismantled. The oil lamps are back in most of the huts. Not a toothpick remains to mark the spot that where Gibbons went fifteen rounds with the champion. The Gibbons training camp had disappeared, and "The babes joint" where the newspapermen used to gather and sip Canadian ale under the sun has fallen to pieces. Shelby’s past is forgotten here. The natives like to talk about it. They still have a hangover from the preposterous days that they still made trips to the cellar with the hope that an oil well will pop up and slap them in the face. Then the sale of tickets began in earnest and sone of the monies began to flow into the treasury. The owner of the local lumber mill become anxious as fight time approached and demanded payment for his wares. Insisting that he would stop the show, he refused to wait any longer.

Thus one more a headache had to be overcome. So Mike Collins, now the major domo behind the venture, hit on yet another idea: why not make Mayor Lane, whose company has furnished the lumber, a member of the fight promotion directorate? "Good idea" said Mayor Johnson. "Lets call him in." and Mayor Lane become part promoter by being made the president of Dempsey-Gibbons fight, an honour to be cherished at the time, but which brought him nothing but severe financial hangover later.

That settled one problem. But, like the first of crocus of spring, it was in harbinger of many more to come. For until the very moment the gong sounded starting the first round the fights itself was in the question. And yet, it was the only fight on record which promoted on absolutely nothing the and was put over on scheduled time even though, up to the twenty minutes before the event got under way, it appeared that there would be no fight". Frank Walker, who would later become Postmaster General in Franklin D. Roosevelt’s cabinet, was head of the Anaconda Copper Mining Company and represented the banks of Shelby and Great Falls, Montana, in the venture. He called in Kearns the night before the fight and informed him that it was impossible to pay the full sum of to Dempsey in as much as much as the amount could not be collected. Whereupon Kearns, backed by McKettrick took charge.

Just before fight time, the sun of $84,000 was in the till. With that in hand, Kearns agreed to permit Dempsey to enter the ring. And despite the wild rumblings from those who had invested their money in the project and the presence of many armed men, nothing was done to interfere with the proceedings. As for the fight itself, Gibbons, simply stated, was outclassed. In the beginning, Gibbons used his speed and his shiftiness to outmanoeuvre Dempsey. But in the increasingly frequent clinches, Dempsey punished Tommy mercilessly to the body. The smaller Gibbons fought the fast and smart until the tenth round. Then, tired and showing the effects of Dempsey’s bombardment, Gibbons was forced to rely on his defensive skills and his courage to survive till the bell. Though he was thoroughly beaten, he finished the fight on his feet, thus becoming the first man to go the distance with Dempsey since he won the tittle from Jess Willard four years earlier.

Immediately after the fight, because of threats, McKettrick and Kearns got Dempsey and the rest of the entourage to make a quick exit from Shelby to Salt Lake City. But Dan and Jack remained behind, and, carrying their "bag of gold" went to the great falls to seek from for the night. There was none to be had; hence they slept in the cellar beneath the barber shop while they were guarded by Sheriff Benjamin to whom they payed their portion of their ill gotten gold to stick around with his corps of the deputies until Kearns and McKettrick could get away.

Dan went to the great Northern Railroad office to see the superintendent and used him whether he could arrange a special car to take him to Salt Lake City where they were selling stock in the mine they owned. An agreement was reached, oiled by payment of $500, and, about an hour later, they were on their way. Once in Salt Lake City, McKettrick and Kearns sold out their interest in the mine and then, still carrying their precious bag, they entrained for New York City.

When all was over, Shelby had practically wiped off the map. Three banks had failed; the big shots of the town where broke; the boom that was respected as a result of the fight didn’t follow until many years later, and the original promoters had learned all the cared about promoting a fight. And on how to get "strung".