Two Ton Tony Galento

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Tony Galento

 

     If you are old enough, you probably remember the pictures of "Two Ton" Tony Galento, back in the 1930s, hoisting a stein of beer from behind the bar of his Orange, N.J., tavern.

     The accompanying taglines usually announced that Galento was in serious training for his next bout. The photo was accompanied by the quote, "I'll moider the bum." More often than not, Tony did just that.

     Visiting in Midland, Tony, now 57, perhaps mellowed a bit, looks fit enough to step back in the ring today. He weighs 220 to 225. For his title bout with Joe Louis, he weighed 244 and for his fight with Max Baer, he weighed 257.

     "But I had been sick before both fights and wasn't in top shape."

     Galento's visit Saturday was in connection with the Midland Aerie of the Fraternal Order of Elks Jimmy Durante Children's Fund Benefit dance.

    

     Galento recalls his fight against Louis June 28, 1939. "He banged me up pretty good, but I shoulda beat him."

     He explains, "I fought a stupid fight. The New York Athletic Commission threatened to hold my purse and bar me from fighting in New York if I used any rough tactics. I shoulda ignored them, like I always had before."

 

     The result was a fourth round knockout of Tony, who was badly cut up during the fight, but not before he decked Louis with one of his famed left hooks.

      "Even then I might have beaten him, but the ref kept shoving me to a neutral corner while keeping an eye on Louis to make sure he was okay."

     At 5-8 or 5-9, Galento was considerably shorter than most of his opponents, but that didn't prove any handicap.

     Tony demonstrated how he came in low, hooking his left to the bread basket, looping his right to the head and finally hooking his left behind the neck to make sure his victim was in the right place when the top of his head came up with skin-splitting effect.

     "I carried my hands at my sides because my water soaked gloves were heavy, but when I brought them up, it was like swinging a block of concrete.

    

     Galento said whenever he missed a left hook, the karate chop to the throat on my way back was even more effective. "Sure they’d warn me and take the round away from me, but the other guy was scared to death by the time he came out for the next round."

 

     Against Baer, he missed a left hook as Max ducked inside. The blow landed on the back of Baer's head and Tony broke two knuckles.

      In one of his early fights against a fellow named Gallagher, the New Jersey fighter, sometimes referred to as "Beer Barrel Tony", recalled how he landed a sense-robbing hook.

     "When I hit them, they fell forward. This bum's head hit my eye on his way to the canvas, opening a cut that took 14 stitches to close. The ref looked at my eye. 'You can't continue with a cut like that.' 'I can't continue', I shouted, 'What about the guy on the floor. He ain't moving.'"

     He fought Lou Nova in Philadelphia, one of the bloodiest fights of all time. He finally stopped the Yoga ex football player from UCLA in the fourteenth round.

     "Most of the blood was his and it dripped all over me, so it looked like I was cut pretty good, too. I'll say one thing about Lou, he was one guy I couldn't bamboozle. I beat a lot of guys before I ever got in the ring by just talking loud and tough. At the weigh in with Nova, I reached over and yanked some hair out of his chest and he wanted to fight right there."

     Since quitting the ring, Galento has made a bundle as a wrestler and wrestling ref. He took to the stage as Big Julie in "Guys and Dolls" starring Sam Levene and Vivian Blaine. His movies include "On the Waterfront" with Marlon Brando, Lee J.  Cobb and Eva Maria Saint. He has appeared on the Mike Wallace and Jack Paar tv shows.

    

      Tony is a non-stop, cigar-chomping talker. Every few minutes, he stops long enough to light one of his 25-cent cigars and cuss because the thing won't stay lit, not realizing he has been talking so long that he hasn't taken a puff the last 10 minutes.

 

     He's got quicker moves than Gale Sayers in a broken field when it comes to switching subjects from the fight game to his prohibition days experiences.

     "The only way to beat Louis or Clay is to keep on top of them all the time," he analyzes. "You gotta be an offensive  fighter. It's the only way." Tony didn't specifically define his interpretation of "offensive."

     "I once knocked out a guy in two seconds, but they called it a four-second knockout. When the bell rang, he had his back to the ring, flexing his arms on the ropes. I got across the ring and, as he turned around, caught him right behind the jaw with a left hook. He was out. Now, I ask you, how long does it take a guy to turn around, two seconds or four seconds?"

     "I owe a lot to newspapermen. They've done a lot for me in the last 30 years, although I was never champion. I drop them cards from wherever I go. I like to do that. People remember you then.

     "Say, by the way, where's that newspaper man you said was coming over to talk to me," he asked.

     Someone said, "Tony, you've been talking to him for an hour."

     The newspaperman, bewildered by the most confusing talkathon in history, finally got in a question during the brief look of surprise. “Did you ever meet Casey Stengel," thinking to himself, "What a match."

     "Yea, I met 'em all, Babe Ruth, Casey Stengel," he said it nonchalantly, like he'd verbally "murder the bum."

 

     Apparently, Tony knew to whom he was talking that day. Every once in a while, he'd send me a post card from Italy or some place. I felt honored, but he didn't need to do it so I wouldn't forget him. Tony wasn't someone you'd ever forget.