Gene Tunney’s biggest flaw was that he wasn’t Jack Dempsey. The second biggest was that he had Dempsey’s number. For that, the public could never forgive him.
Underappreciated in his time, and relatively overlooked today, Gene Tunney’s greatness has been overshadowed by the popularity of the man he beat for the heavyweight championship of the world, Jack Dempsey. Appreciation of Tunney’s talents and career have always been limited by the fight public at large, which has singularly defined Tunney’s career by his upset of The Manassa Mauler. It’s this same limitation that hinders Jack Cavanaugh’s biography, “Tunney: Boxing's Brainiest Champ and His Upset of the Great Jack Dempsey”. The book is a highly-readable jumping off point for boxing fans who aren't too familiar with Tunney or his contemporaries. For more seasoned historians, "Tunney" is enjoyable but lacks new information.
“Tunney” starts with a personal anecdote from Cavenaugh. The author happened to be seated next to Gene Tunney in a Connecticut railroad car in the 60’s. The two talk about the champ’s career and his reluctance to seek attention even some 35 years after his last bout. It feels intimate, personal. It’s a story that could only be told by this author in this book. It’s an excellent look at what Cavenaugh, who knows his stuff, could have done with a subject that was a little more accessible. But the conversation in the railcar is the most we hear from Tunney throughout the entire biography. In the same way Jack Dempsey could never quite get a hold of Gene Tunney to deliver the punch to save his title reign, the Shakespeare-loving boxer eludes Cavenaugh, who never quite gets past the Irishman’s guard. As a reader, we never get a hold of Tunney’s motivations, thoughts, or authentic personality.
An ensemble cast including hobo-turned-champ Jack Dempsey, one-eyed middleweight champion Harry Greb, and the P.T. Barnum of boxing Tex Rickard, all play central roles through the book; seemingly to make up for a lack of interesting things to say about Gene Tunney. At times, the book feels almost as much a biography of Dempsey as it is The Fighting Marine. Cavenaugh spends a great deal (sometimes entire chapters) on his opponents. Readers without too much historical knowledge of Dempsey, Greb, or Rickard will get a crash course on their careers and legacies. Even in his own biography, Tunney seems to be outshined as a personality by Dempsey.
One of the highlights of the book is the underlying theme of the media’s role in boxing. Cavenaugh relies heavily on old press clippings, quoting the gaggle of New York writers who helped shape the sporting world’s perception of the top fighters of the Roaring 20’s. (You can almost hear the writing in the high-pitched, vaudeville cadence that’s stereotypical of broadcasters in those days.) Payoffs and access led to favorable coverage. And the media was crucial in creating a storyline strong enough to draw upwards of 135,000 spectators (roughly 105,000 paid) to Soldier Field for The Long Count Fight.
Overall, “Tunney” is an enjoyable read with enough to leave the reader with a greater appreciation of Gene Tunney’s career. But not quite enough to feel like an authority on the boxer.
**NC Connection**
Leading up to Tunney-Dempsey I, developers paid Jack Dempsey $1,000 a day to train in Hendersonville, NC (near Asheville) to help promote a real estate project. Dempsey would claim illness leading up to the Tunney upset. Later, Dempsey wrote, “Hendersonville itself had nothing to do with the illness which overtook me. It is a delightful place and I was among delightful people. There were, however, changes of water and climate which may have paved the way for the illness which overtook me.”
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