Death

Pancho Villa, flyweight boxing champion of the world, lay last week on an operating table in San Francisco while a surgeon dug at a hideous infected sore which gaped under the teeth of his lower jaw. The thing had begun as a toothache a few days before July 4--the day on which Villa had been scheduled to fight James McLarnin at Oakland, Calif. People at the ringside could see a visible swelling along his chin as he rode McLarnin's punches. A doctor had shot his face with cocaine to dull the pain. Some teeth were pulled before the fight, more after it; the infection crept along the bone like a spark in lint. With thrusting, angry precision--three times more exigent than speed--the surgeon dug at the small heavy jaw in vain. A bubble caught in Villa's throat; he writhed, coughed; a harsh respiration left him. He was dead.

Four children were born, during the early years of the century, to a Mr. and Mrs. Rafael Gellido, natives of the Philippines. Their married life, however, was not happy. One day Mrs. Gellido marched from her husband's home, never to return. She took her son Francisco, a tough little boy of 6. The abandoned Gellido came to the U. S.

Some dozen years later, a young customs official with a sporting turn, one Frank Churchill, saw a tiny Filipino pummel a gigantic stevedore unconscious in the back room of a Manila bar. "Little Pancho Villa," said Churchill (thinking of a certain bandit who had twiddled his fingers at General Pershing in Mexico), "how you can sock." He adopted the youth, taught him how to put one foot behind the other and hit with one hand at a time.

Meanwhile Rafael Gellido was earning his bread in the Barber Asphalt Works at Perth Amboy, N. J. A fellow earner told him about a fighter he had seen at a local arena, showed Gellido a picture of this marvel--one Pancho Villa. "Madre de Dios," cried Rafael, "he looks the same like me." A meeting was arranged.

"Your madre--was she name Augustine?" shyly asked Rafael of the famed pugilist.

"Si!" replied the other.

"Then look good at me--I am Rafael, your popa," said Gellido.

Villa gave his parent $500, told him to leave the asphalt business. As he made more, he gave away more--to his popa, to his loves, friends, servitors. The glitter of a brave color always won his heart; he bought regiments of silk shirts, closets of fine suitings--tired of them in a week, gave the shirts to the bellboy, the suits to whomever passed. He trounced blond Kid Willams, backed up the murderous Bobby Wolgast, fought three bouts with speedy Frankie Genaro. Twice Genaro defeated him, but Pancho battered Jimmy Wilde, England's "Mighty Atom" (TIME, June 25, 1923), gained the flyweight championship of the world. When he trained he hired a jazz orchestra, conducted it in person, hiring his own ukelele players, discharging them at his whim. Once he composed a serenade. Of the $200,000 which he earned with his good fists, he spent $190,000; he studied no lessons, cared not a whit where we are drifting. Yet of him said Governor General Leonard Wood: "He has done much for the Philippines." Said Rafael Gellido : "He was a good boy."

"Pepper" Martin. Having thus taken a gallant flyweight, Death laid a bleak forefinger on the throat of Vincent ("Pepper") Martin, stopped his breath. Martin--a boring, windmill, hell-for-leather youth--first came to fame as a bantamweight, put on weight, entered the junior lightweight division. A fortnight ago he was beaten by Alike Ballerino, Junior Lightweight Champion. During the bout he whispered to his handlers that he had a pain in his chest. He was defeated, went to a hospital with pneumonia, was defeated again.