26.03.06 – by MIKE DUNN: It was December of 1927. Tommy Loughran had just laid claim to the undisputed light-heavyweight championship with a fast 15-round decision over slick Jimmy Slattery, the National Boxing Association champion. The fight had taken place at Madison Square Garden.
Loughran, who already owned a piece of the title courtesy of a hard-fought decision over Ireland’s Mike McTigue, had outpaced and outjabbed the lightning-quick Slattery before a large crowd. Now the Philadelphia native had sole ownership of the championship. Most newly crowned champions take a well-deserved break from the ring. Loughran, who would have 174 fights in his distinguished career, wanted no part of a long layoff. Loughran liked to stay active and wanted to take advantage of his recent popularity among New York fight fans. So he and manager Joe Smith signed to put the title on the line at the Garden less than a month later. The chosen opponent for Loughran’s first defense was Leo Lomski, a slugger from the Pacific Northwest who had been making a name for himself.
Lomski, who owned a 55-5-2 record, didn’t possess a reputation for ring generalship. He was a two-fisted slugger with a lethal right cross. Like most sluggers, he was also a crowd-pleaser. In November of 1927, he had made his debut at Madison Square Garden and outpointed up-and-coming Yale Okun. Over the summer, Lomski had come to Long Island and had beaten both Harold Mays and highly regarded Maxie Roosenbloom. Lomski may have been a native of Aberdeen, Wash., but he was now a known commodity in New York.
So the hard-hitting Lomski was a natural choice as challenger to Loughran at the Garden. He was a fan favorite with a puncher’s chance and one of the ring’s great nicknames, the Aberdeen Assassin.
The truth is that Loughran didn’t take the Assassin too seriously. Loughran was a master boxer who had been in with some of the ring’s toughest brawlers. He had engaged Harry Greb and Mike McTigue five times each. He had been in three times with Young Stribling. Early in his career, he had lost a decision to current heavyweight champ Gene Tunney. He had battled to a draw with former champ Jack Delaney at Philly’s Shibe Park in the summer of 1925 and had beaten Georges Carpentier at Sesquicentennial Stadium in South Philly in the summer of 1926. In light of those achievements, the Assassin didn’t seem to pose too great a threat to Loughran’s crown.
Still, Lomski had to be given a puncher’s chance. There was a reason, after all, that he was called the Assassin. Loughran went into the ring that night before approximatley 15,000 witnesses as a 3-1 favorite.
Loughran may have been a bit too lax or confident when the battle started. Just 30 seconds into the fray, Loughran landed some stiff jabs but was a bit slow moving away. Lomski jumped in with a wicked right hand and landed flush on Loughran’s chin. The champ went down flat on his back. It was only the third time in Loughran’s career that he had tasted the canvas and the first time since the Tunney bout in 1922.
Loughran sat up quickly but was clearly in some difficulty. Jim Dawson wrote in the New York Times that Loughran “had a dumb, mystified expression on his face, for all the world a reminder of Gene Tunney in that seventh round at Chicago with Jack Dempsey.”
Ironically, in his effort to get to a neutral corner as quickly as he could, Lomski accidentally collided with the ref. It was speculated after the fight that Loughran may have an additional few seconds to recover as a result.
Loughran got up at nine and instinctively moved backwards, frustrating Lomski’s attempts at a knockout. For a minute or more, Loughran moved in and out, back and forth and grabbed Lomski whenever the Washington slugger got too close. With a minute left in the round, Loughran began fighting back. With 30 seconds left in the round, it appeared that the champion was out of danger.
With less than 20 seconds left in the round, however, the dangerous Lomski struck again. Loughran was moving toward his own corner with Lomski in pursuit when it happened. If anything, this right-hand bomb was even harder than the first. Loughran simply collapsed to the canvas and for a few long seconds looked for sure like a KO victim.
Somehow, Loughran managed to dance through the cobwebs in his brain and force his body to ascend just before the fatal 10 count. He was in worse trouble now than before, but only needed to fend off Lomski for a matter of seconds before the bell mercifully rang.
In the second round, Lomski was still the pursuer and Loughran beat a retreat. The challenger tried vainly to put over another of his deadly right-hand bombs. The complexion of the bout changed late in the frame when Loughran caught Lomski flush with a right of his own and stunned him.
In the third round, Loughran used his jab to keep Lomski off stride. By this time, it was apparent that Lomski was fighting with basically one arm. He had broken his hand while knocking down Loughran the second time.
From the fourth round on, Loughran was safely in control, using his considerable boxing skills and footwork to frustrate the heavy-hitting, plodding challenger. The rest of the bout fit a predictable script with Loughran winning round after round on the scorecards. Still, Lomski gave a good account of himself in spite of falling behind on points. Even fighting one-handed, the Assassin landed a series of hard hooks to Loughran’s rib cage throughout the fight.
According to legend, it wasn’t until the end of the fourth round that Loughran finally “came to.” He told Smith between the fourth and fifth rounds that he was OK but that he couldn’t remember anything that had happened up to that point. Smith told his figher, “You’re the boss now, just work on him.”
Loughran did, winning a lopsided decision to retain the title. The scoring of the ref and the judges didn’t reveal just how close this had been to an upset by Lomski.
The bottom line was that Loughran found a way to win, like the great ones do. In his report the next day, Dawson wrote, “Loughran is one of the greatest ever to hold the title, he had to be to survive.”
Mike Dunn is a boxing historian and writer living in Lake City, Mich.