Broken Timber, Arkansas
July 4th, 1947
Behind the Fairgrounds-Boxing Ring
It was a raucous crowd of men from Broken Timber County and Broken Timber town celebrating the fourth of July. Around the town was sack races, pie contests, and a general carnival atmosphere. But the boxing event, was hidden out behind the baseball field in a fallow field let go to pasture.
The atmosphere in the pasture was The stench of sweaty men of every race and age, mixed with tobacco, beer the odor of urine and stale food met anyone headed for the bare-knuckle boxing event before they ever got to the pasture. Perhaps, a hundred men surrounded the makeshift boxing ring. They yelled over one another, making bets and threats. The racket was deafening and it hurt my ears. Boots and bare feet flattened the soil and the grass. The inside of the ring was fresh turned earth, someone having removed the wild pasture grass for the opponents to fight.
The makeshift boxing ring was formed by a circle of wooden crates, placed end to end, and a string of horse rope tied to posts that were impaled in the earth behind the crates. It wasn’t fancy, but some of the best, bare-knuckle fights in history had occurred in boxing ring similar to this one.
An opponent stepped on the crate and over the rope to get in the ring, and stepped on the crate and over the rope to get out. Unless he couldn’t. Then the crates would be removed in an area and the injured boxer would be dragged out of the ring and the crates replaced. It was a brutal event with prize money for any male who threw his hat in the ring.
No respectable women were present at the boxing event held every July fourth. No woman even tried to attend. The men and boys wanted to spit, bet and cuss. They shouted at each other waving their hands and made obscene gestures. They jeered unmercifully at the fallen opponent, and cheered the winning contenders in the ring. The fights were bloody. Prize fighters came from other towns, but it was often neighbor against neighbor and what happened in the ring stayed within the brotherhood of the men. July fourth each year offered an event that allowed the men to shake off the yoke of being civilized by their women folk. It was a few hours and a rare freedom.
The unrelenting July heat at midday made good customers for the Irish Pub. Boys ran to and from the tavern collecting money and returning with large mugs of frothy, cold beer.
The closely packed crowd of chaotic men was not appealing to dogs. Especially to an old dog like me. My young master, Tow-Head, was in his corner of the ring. He beat his first opponent with one knock out punch. He waved at me and my young pup as we trotted towards the outside perimeter of the crowd. My master’s name was Tow-Head because his blond hair was almost white. A large grin stretched across his face as he waved and called to us: “Hey! Eb? Boo? Did you mutts see me win?”
We both barked as he stood and waved his arm. His smile changed and he nodded. He was proud of us dogs. He knew we were here for him and proud of him. But, Tow-head, would expect us to get out of the heat and not stay in next to the ring and stampede of legs and feet. My dark fur absorbed and retained heat. My pup, Boo, and I walked with our heads down and our mouths open. The heat was oppressive and we panted rapidly, our canine bodies response to heat and trying to cool off.
Dogs did not sweat like humans did to cool their bodies. Boo and I put one foot in front of the other two and moved under the punishing heat towards the creek adjacent to the tract of tall pines on the knoll. Even though I’m an old dog, I couldn’t wait to lap up the cold water or roll around in it. And my young pup, Boo, would enjoy the water with more vigor and excitement. I would enjoy watching him from the bank of the creek. I wagged my tail despite the oppressive heat. I looked forward to watching my son, Boo, caravort with other pups and dogs in the water.
