What I've Learned as a Professional Boxer

by Arthur Danahar

Arthur Danahar

The reaction in taking the jump from amateur to professional is very difficult to explain. During my amateur career I had 150 fights, losing only two and securing, among others, the following honours:

When I approached Mr Harding, of the National Sporting Club, with a view to turning professional I was not too sure that my amateur record would count much against men in the paid ranks. I had seen so many good amateurs go down to defeat, and I was inclined to feel that there was some great secret that only professionals had, and my great worry was whether I could discover that secret and use it to my advantage.

I Found No Difference

Coming from a long line of professional fighters, which includes my uncle, father, and brothers, I thought the best thing to do would be to hold a round-table conference, and the net result of this was that I was taken into a gymnasium and put in with a very prominent lightweight.

To my astonishment, I found that I not only could punch as hard, but this magical quality which I thought only professionals possessed seemed to be missing in this particular case, and I found that when I hit him on the chin it had exactly the same effect as when I hit a fellow-amateur.

There and then I resolved to turn pro immediately, but asked Mr Harding to match me with the best boys right away, so that I would know immediately my chances as a professional, and if I found that I had not the beating of them, then I resolved to stick to my trade.

My First Pro Fight

My first appearance as a professional was at the Empress Stadium with Fred Lowbridge, lightweight champion of the Midlands, and, sitting in the dressing-room at the National Sporting Club headquarters, I started to figure out the way I would fight.

I remembered that Lowbridge had defeated some of the finest men in England, and that he was strong and a hard puncher. It was then that I began to doubt if my stamina would last out. I have only a hazy idea of the many things that were said to me in the room that night, and still do not remember anything that happened from the time that I left the dressing-room until I sat in the corner waiting for the gong.

The moment the gong sounded Lowbridge came out of his corner and gave me my first professional punch. It was a right hand to the head. That had the effect of steadying me, and I immediately forgot all worries and doubts which had troubled me earlier on.

The first time I caught him with a left hand and saw him go back on his heels convinced me that there was no magic about a professional fighter, and, according to the reports, I won the fight fairly easily.

Change of Attack

My next opponent was Boyo Ress, now champion of Wales. With the encouragement given me by the newspaper writers I felt that I had a good chance among the top-liners. Boyo Rees was certainly a problem to me, as I had not met his kind before, a strong two-handed fighter, who ducked and bobbed and hooked, slipping my left hand and coming back to me with strong body punches.

At the end of the first round I went back to my corner trying to map out a plan of campaign. I came out in the second round with the fight mapped out, and proceeded to put my plan into action. Boyo tried to adapt himself to my new attack, but, reading the papers afterwards, apparently this was with little avail. With one eye partly closed and his face bleeding badly, it was a glorious set-to, and again I had defeated another champion.

There were many comments about my defence being tightened, and I had a different type of opponent for my next fight in Freddie Wilcox, a good tough boy with American experience, who was expected to bother me with his continuous attack.

Wilcox certainly set me a problem, and in the first round I realised that to get on top I would have to change my style entirely, and not box as much as I had done in my previous bouts, but to fight. It was a grand scrap, and ended in the fourth round with Wilcox retiring. That was my undoing. I began to get over-confident, and felt that I should be fighting a champion, and I did fight a champion.

I Take a Count, But -

On April 4 I met Jim Cameron, ex-champion of Scotland. Cameron, a long-range fighter with a heavy punch, seemed to have no fear of my left hand. Coming out for the third round, he hit me with a perfectly timed right hand, and for the first time in my life I took a count. Many times I have asked professional boxers "What does it feel like to be knocked out?" And I heard many explanations, but it might be of interest to readers to know my feelings.

I remember distinctly the blow hitting my chin. I do not remember hitting the floor, but apparently I started getting up on one knee, and there in front of me I saw rows and rows of evening shirt fronts that appeared to me to be jumping up and down. A gong seemed to be ringing in my head, and through it all came a very thin voice saying - "Four-five-six," and through the fog I heard my father shout - "Get in close."

I was trying to remember how many they counted before one was reckoned to be out, and I have a distinct recollection of imagining that the count finished at 8, and it was on the eighth count that I got to my feet. My brains cleared, and I saw in front of me Cameron, whose right hand seemed to me to be as big as the side of a house, swinging towards my chin. At that moment I knew that I had him. I knew that he thought I was defenceless, and that he would make no effort to protect himself, but would only be bent on delivering the final k.o. blow.

As he moved in I heard the house scream for the kill, and I swung over a perfectly-timed right hook, which went flush on Cameron's chin. He started to topple sideways, and I caught him again with a right hand before he hit the floor.

My First Real Lesson

I was in full possession of my senses, and walked to a neutral corner, feeling in my heart that Cameron would not get up and beat the count. They counted ten, and the seconds lifted his limp body and carried him back to his corner.

It must have been a great disappointment for him after downing me for a count of eight to be knocked out himself in the fraction of a second, and that taught me my first real lesson as a pro.

It proves that whilst you are on your feet you can always win, no matter how black things may seem to be. I doubt very much whether I will ever get another similar thrill. The crowd was wonderful to me, and the newspapers added more encouragement to what they had already given me.

The next fight was at the Stadium Club, when I defeated Hal Cartright in the seventh round, the referee stopping the contest. I followed this up by defeating Johnny Mack on points.

My next opponent was Johnny Softley of Poplar, conqueror of Roy [Eric] Boon. I believe this was the first time Softley ever retired to an opponent: I stopped him in five rounds. He is one of the gamest, toughest boys I have ever met, and really a great sportsman. My next match was with Tommy John, conqueror of Frankie Hill. I defeated him in two rounds.

Advice to Amateur boxers

There is very little difference really between amateurs and professionals in sportsmanship. Professionals are tougher in every respect than amateurs, but during my contact with them I have found that they are generous in defeat as well as victory. They give no quarter when fighting, but the moment the last gong sounds they are the first to congratulate you on a good show.

I would like to warn amateurs that in turning professional they must be prepared to have much harder fights than in the unpaid ranks. They must learn to defend themselves at all times and be prepared to take many harder knocks than they are used to as amateurs.

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