By Ted Spoon – Think of a boxer hailing from Cornwall with chalky complexion and red locks and a certain blacksmith is sure to pop up. This one didn’t travel to New Zealand however, he never won a world title, and a full head of hair made up the tip of his figure.
Caucasian fighters and bent noses go together like English football and disappointment, but this fellow’s conk was pleasantly straight; a sure tribute to the trickery that rolled off a record of 113-14-9. Just a handsome brute he wasn’t, and after moving one reporter with his rich dialect it was believed that he could “make Gene Tunney cerise with envy..”
With an impressive collection of British titles the legacy of Len Harvey whiffs a bit of ‘close but no cigar’. Henry Cooper would later be exalted for winning the Lonsdale belt outright, which while a fantastic feature comes as something of historical bravado to compensate for his failure on the world stage.
Technically, with no universal gold to show for his efforts, Harvey didn’t clear the last hurdle either, but with victories over underappreciated technicians like Marcel Thil, Dave Shade, Larry Gains and Len Johnson, history insists we place him a few echelons above our ‘Enerny.
During the 1920’s it meant a great deal if the yanks made a fuss over a non-American. The immortal Jimmy Wilde was hugely anticipated, and while it wasn’t quite the same commotion with Harvey he was nonetheless given some of that red carpet treatment before radios were commonplace.
His spoiling tactics weren’t to everyone’s tastes, and it was frustrating for England to watch him come up short in fights a man of his fabric should have been winning, but there remain moments in that 22 year career which sparkle with all the promise of tomorrow.
Had you asked him how many bouts he’d partaken in around 400 would have be the answer. Wilde claimed a stonking 800+ and the explanation was boxing booths. These temporary set-ups were very popular in the early 20th century, allowing daring souls to make a quick buck. It wasn’t the safest exercise, but it was a sure way to whip a boy into a man.
Officially beginning his journey in Plymouth, that Len was under 13 shows just how thoroughly he was indoctrinated into the hurt business.
Cornwall has always been something of a haven for artists, and while men and women interpreted the rugged good looks of the coastline with a brush, Harvey was learning how to hit and not get hit. Weighing well under 100lbs, the southern Brit partook in many six round bouts; going hammer n’ tong at an age when many pioneers hadn’t even found their calling.
As puberty kicked in Harvey grew into a huge flyweight. At 16 he completed his first fifteen round fight and less than five months later he lasted twenty. These statistics were remarkable for the time. Considered today they are incredible.
No nasty experiences were set to haunt Len, dropping a few decisions was as bad as it got, and after four years duking it out he moved directly into ‘The Big Smoke’.
Over 20lbs was put on in less than a year as men with local prestige were dusted. The filling-out process continued, passing at welterweight where an attempt was made for the British title. Harry Mason managed to hold Len to a draw, but the latter’s flair was beginning to seize attention.
One more loss preceded a blinding string of success. Len Johnson, Manchester’s coloured dynamo, outpointed Harvey over twenty. Forever relegated to the ‘Empire’ belt, you could only sympathise with the ebony whiz, a fighter who had about as much chance of prospering as there was of Al Capone losing the cigar.
They would meet once more, but first came middleweight where Havery’s six foot frame inherited more muscle. Jack Etienne and Jack Hood were well beaten, names that mean nothing today but any contemporary would’ve gladly informed you of their ability. Victory over Alex Ireland bagged the Empire and British middleweight titles and a blooming Marcel Thil was outfoxed.
Labelled a “nervous starter”, Len’s overall knowhow made his boxing effective as well as attractive.
Shining in England was one thing, but by 1930 America was the undisputed mecca of punching for pay. Even with the Great Crash the level of participation in New York was absurd, and if you truly wanted to ‘make it’ a trip there was indispensable. The time for Len to bridge the Atlantic was at hand, but some validation was requisite.
As it happened Dave Shade was in town. The experienced Californian had troubled the likes of Jack Britton, Maxie Rosenbloom and Mickey Walker. It mattered not that his best days were a couple of seasons ago, there was still plenty of gas left, and upon entering the Royal Albert Hall his tank was full.
‘The Times’ newspaper had been covering boxing since 1785, way back when Daniel Mendoza was ruining faces with his knuckles. It offered a degree of intimacy that few papers could match and when Harvey became the topic they were quick to notice his fluctuating form. To at least trouble Shade he would need to be in the pink.
That tentative starting reappeared and proved about as useful as malaria. The American didn’t need prompting and snatched most of the early rounds. Len’s quickness of foot and stern right hand evened things up but a visit to the canvas in round twelve left him with serious ground to make up. This he acknowledged and forced the pace in the 13th, 14th and 15th.
Boos were audible when the decision was rendered. Many felt it was draw material but Harvey was the one whose hand was raised. Apologies weren’t in order and that voyage to the States followed.
While Britain remained sceptical, America was fairly expectant. They were also repulsed when they witnessed the Brits nightly supper (Welsh rabbit) which they described as having the appearance of “creamy smoky gum rubber”.
When Len got round to greeting Madison Square Garden a rough-housing Vince Dundee was ready for him; or so it seemed. There was nothing tentative about Harvey this time, twice decking Vince in the opener for counts of eight and nine. It wasn’t to be an early night however. Dundee gathered his senses, tucked his chin, and stormed forth.
A quick and gutsy battle unfolded. It went the appointed twelve and Dundee managed to claw the decision. They fought a month later, again it was close and again Dundee was given the nod. Even more observers thought Len had won with his cleaner punching but America’s fondness for persistence over precision had the last say.
Jackie ‘Kid’ Berg enjoyed lots of success over the Atlantic because he fought like one of them, smothering and slugging until something broke. Harvey lost simply by being too British.
It wasn’t a knock on his reputation but disappointment after losing is unavoidable. Len fought once more in the land of Stars and Stripes but the bad luck continued when he was said to have “exercised a monopoly” of backpedalling in losing to Ben Jeby. Three consecutive losses were a little raw for his palette, and so back home he went.
It hadn’t been a pointless tour. The experience rubbed off on him, shaping a different fighter. The swift feet and neat counters remained but lots of arm locking and rabbit punching were thrown into the mix, symbolic of that ‘American in-fighting’. It was enough to defeat an older Len Johnson, but Marcel Thil got his revenge, and when McAvoy repaid an old favour it looked like Harvey had dug his own grave with his “negative cleverness”.
With expectation’s guard lowered, Len hit home with that ‘potential’.
He was looking a bit drawn at 160lbs and welcomed light-heavyweight. Outpointing Eddie Phillips for the British title was more a nice statistic than impressive, but when it was announced that Len wished to face Britain’s undefeated heavyweight champion it was difficult to tell whether the Cornishman was going with his head or his heart.
Jack Petersen had youth and knockout power. The actual weights were 176lbs to 168lbs, but back when spare flesh was one of the deadly sins 8lbs usually indicated a good size advantage. Height and reach were with Jack, but he clearly wanted to make a statement and rushed his opponent.
As was customary, Len fell behind; but he didn’t fold. A glancing right made him take in knee in the third and he was viscously pressed upon rising. Not without difficulty Harvey began to read the repetitious moves of his opponent. That knack for spoiling got Petersen in a muddle, and when a cut was opened it sapped his strength. Good use of the ring and heavy counters stifled the bigger man, allowing the underdog to finish on top.
Petersen received his first defeat and Harvey received his title.
In less than a year Len had skewered the middleweight, light heavyweight and heavyweight belts. It wasn’t quite the achievement of Henry Armstrong’s world triple, but then that is a cruel comparison. By any standard it was mighty impressive, and there was one more title to be squeezed into the twelve month period.
Larry Gains Empire heavyweight title was his after fifteen. The conqueror of Primo Carnera had ripened, but seen as this was more a box-off than tear-up, Harvey deserves extra points. Gains wasn’t the empire champion for nothing, but Len consistently used his sporadic left, taming a man with just as much experience and who weighed a couple of stones heavier.
There were more of those romantic instances when Harvey looked like the pugilist England had suspected he could be, but always there to terminate celebrations was a performer who found gratification in pleasing himself, not the judges. Even when a closed eye forced Len to retire in his rematch with Petersen, it had not been a question of getting outfought but of somebody who mused over his arsenal instead of picking a weapon.
In 1936 a brave effort against John Henry Lewis ended in defeat. For once Harvey was genuinely bullied, lacking the strength of the world’s 175lbs champion. When Lewis relinquished his honours in ’39 Harvey’s victory over McAvoy was viewed by the BBBofC as a world title fight. No surprise that America saw things differently. That the wonderful Billy Conn was moments away from scorching the division made it a particularly weak claim.
After almost three years out of action Harvey opposed Freddie Mills, a man charged from top to toe with that ‘Bulldog spirit’. There was little hope and a second round knockout said as much – the only time Harvey never escaped a round.
It was 1942 and Len was already a part of WWII. Due to his individual excellence he was made an Officer. His retirement was spent as a proprietor of a pub. In 1976 he passed away and in 2008 he was inducted into the Hall of Fame.
Since the age of 17 Harvey had been inseparable from his future wife, Florence. Like Fitzsimmons beloved Rose, she wasn’t useless eye candy and made sure Len got national grub for training, even if it meant offending the French.
Years later, manager Dan Sullivan shared his two cents; “He should have left romance for much later, marriage stopped him being a killer.”
Happily pulling pints until the final bell; it didn’t stop him from charming his customers.