They didn’t call boxing “the red light district of sports” for nothing, as the great Jimmy Cannon once remarked. With its history riddled with tales of corruption and questionable dealings, the sport has often been marred by suspicion. Controversial bouts are numerous: remember the murky Jack Sharkey vs. Primo Carnera rematch, Jake LaMotta’s unexpected loss to Billy Fox under dubious circumstances, or the puzzling decision in Johnny Saxton vs. Kid Gavilan. Don’t forget the baffling sight of Bruce Seldon finding the canvas seemingly without a punch from Mike Tyson. But when Jack Johnson faced Jess Willard in Cuba for the world heavyweight title, it was a different story altogether. Here was a match where, despite claims of a fix, no foul play was involved.
Johnson’s assertion that he didn’t genuinely lose to Willard seems understandable when you consider his pride and prowess. Known as “The Galveston Giant,” Johnson was a master technician in the ring. Dropping his title to a rival perceived to be beneath him in skill must have stung deeply. This led a proud man like Johnson, years later, to concoct an intricate narrative to explain an outcome that stunned the boxing realm. Willard’s triumph remains one of the sport’s biggest upsets.
Let’s rewind to Johnson’s reign as boxing’s first black heavyweight champ, a title he captured in 1908. Defying societal norms and openly resisting America’s racist standards, Johnson lived life his way—flouting wealth, stirring controversy, and disregarding the era’s taboos by associating openly with white women. Had he not held the heavyweight crown, it’s likely Johnson would have met a violent fate in a nation where such behavior could spell death for a black man.
Faced with Johnson’s audacious reign, America desperately sought a “Great White Hope” to dethrone him, a term born of his defiance. The most famed attempt was in 1910’s “Fight of the Century” against former champ James J. Jeffries. This bout took on monumental cultural significance, though for troubling reasons. White America placed its hopes on Jeffries to “right” the racial imbalance, but they were left stunned when Johnson dominated, his grin mocking their expectations until Jeffries was finally relieved in the fifteenth round. The ensuing race riots were a grim testament to the fight’s societal impact, with Jeffries himself conceding post-fight that he could never have beaten Johnson, even at his peak.
Despite this, Johnson hardly earned respite from persecution. He didn’t cave to societal pressures like Joe Louis did later. Instead, in 1912, the Mann Act—a prejudiced law criminalizing interracial travel—saw him arrested. Convicted the next year, Johnson fled America to avoid prison. With few chances to defend his title abroad, he took up an offer from American promoters to face Willard in Cuba, drawn by a lucrative purse.
Jess Willard, dubbed “The Pottawatomie Giant,” emerged as another contender to restore racial balance by seizing the title for the supposed superior race. A behemoth at 245 pounds with a towering frame and an imposing reach, Willard brought power and endurance to the ring, strengths that would prove pivotal. Despite these assets, few saw a Willard victory as plausible. The match drew interest more for the rarity of seeing Johnson defend his title near U.S. soil after a long absence, rather than any belief in Willard’s capability to dethrone him.
The fight took place in Havana’s Oriental Park on a blistering day, scheduled for a marathon 45 rounds. Johnson surged ahead, landing brutal hits in the opening rounds, at times seemingly toying with Willard. In the seventh, he cornered and battered the bigger man. Johnson controlled the early stages, but Willard, surprisingly resilient, held on. As the bout wore on, Johnson’s stamina waned, while Willard’s endurance began to swing the momentum.
By the later rounds, the dynamics shifted. Johnson, visibly fatigued, faced pressure from a revitalized Willard. Gone were his taunts and confident grins as his legs trembled beneath him. During the 25th round, Willard landed a powerful right to Johnson’s chest, leaving the champion struggling for breath. Before the next round, Johnson asked his corner to remove his wife, citing his weakened state. It was her sudden leaving that Johnson later cited as evidence of a dive, claiming he threw the fight for safe return to the U.S.
As the 26th round began, Johnson, depleted and weary, was a shadow of his earlier self. Willard followed up, connecting hard. A decisive right knocked Johnson to the canvas, leaving him to be counted out. Thus ended Johnson’s dramatic reign as world heavyweight champion, with Willard unexpectedly emerging victorious.
Post-fight, Johnson accepted his defeat gracefully, advising Willard in the ring to safeguard his well-being and finances. However, bitterness grew, as he later griped about promised but unpaid sums and then insisted he lost purposefully for a chance to dodge legal woes back home. No solid proof of such a deal ever emerged, though Johnson stuck to his narrative, penning a lengthy “confession” sold to Ring magazine, claiming his wife’s departure signaled him to take the fall.
Yet, scholars and historians have consistently dismissed his claims. Willard himself remarked on the absurdity, saying, “If Johnson throwed that fight, I wished he’d throwed it sooner. It was hotter than hell down there.” The notion is riddled with inconsistencies, particularly given Johnson’s dominating performance for much of the fight. Why would he risk knocking out his opponent if he planned to lose intentionally?
Referee Jack Welch recounted how Johnson appeared poised to finish Willard early on, while promoter Jack Curley noted Johnson’s decline from peak condition, arguing that he was simply overtaken by a younger, fitter challenger.
Ultimately, Johnson’s hearsay cast an unfair shadow over Willard’s legacy. His win over Johnson should be celebrated as a significant achievement, yet it’s often overshadowed by his later, brutal loss to Jack Dempsey in 1919. As for Johnson, he returned to America in 1920, served a brief prison sentence, and continued boxing, though he never reclaimed heavyweight glory. — Robert Portis
