Misfortunes of a Monster

(See front cover)

Perpetually hampered by the fragility of the normal human beings with whom circumstance compels him to associate, Primo Carnera, 269-lb. Venetian prizefighter, was last week inconvenienced more sadly than ever before. Scheduled for Oct. 1 was his fight against loud, 203-lb. Jack Sharkey of Boston, still the foremost U. S. contender for the heavyweight championship despite poor fights against Champion Max Schmeling and Middleweight Mickey Walker. Eight days before the fight, Sharkey inspected his left hand, discovered that his third and little fingers were slightly swollen at the knuckle. Convinced that such a hand was no fit instrument with which to assail the long lantern jaw of Primo Carnera, Sharkey called in four doctors to attest his injury, demanded a postponement. The postponement was first denied, then granted, to Oct. 12. To disappointed Monster Carnera, deprived of his first real chance to prove the much-ridiculed contention of his manager, Leon See, that Carnera is the greatest heavyweight fighter in history, a substitute for Sharkey was suggested: onetime (1927-29) Light-heavy weight Champion Tommy Loughran, whom Carnera outweighs by 80 Ib. Carnera declined to fight Loughran, said he would fight Sharkey or no one, roared words to the effect that Sharkey was afraid.

Since Carnera arrived in the U. S. almost two years ago (in an extra-large berth specially constructed for him on S.S. Olympic--TIME, Oct. 28, 1929) he has established himself as the most thoroughly publicized if not the ablest pugilist in history. By this time, everyone knows that he is 6 ft. 6 1/2 in. tall; that his shoes are Size 20; that his walking stick on days when his managers expect him to be photographed, weighs 9 Ib.; that his neck is 20 in. around; that all other parts of his body, as is not usually the case with giants, are proportionately huge. For breakfast, when in training, Carnera eats two or three grapefruit, a dozen pieces of toast, two or three fish, a large steak, a bowl of fruit salad, several bowls of tea with cream. When not in training he drinks as many as three bottles of champagne at a sitting, eats twice as many grapefruit, breakfasts on cornflakes which he prefers to pulverize by wrapping them up in a bath-towel and pounding the towel on the floor. Friendly, sociable, he likes to frighten the patrons of cabarets with his ferocious grin. For dancing companions, he prefers smallish, plump girls to one of whom (Emelia Tersini) his engagement was rumored and denied during the last year.

Less widely known is the early history of Primo Carnera. Born in Sequal, near Venice, oldest son of a mosaic worker, he quickly outgrew an apprenticeship to his father, worked in a cement factory at Nantes where he applied for French citizenship. Discharged from the factory, he joined an itinerant carnival, improved his muscles by wrestling with third-rate professionals, yokels in French villages. When the carnival disbanded, Monster Carnera bloated to 285 Ib. He was observed by a French pugilist, Paul Journee, who made friends with Carnera, telegraphed his onetime manager, Leon See, about the discovery. Manager See inspected Carnera, decided he was "a generosity of nature," took him to Paris to teach him how to fight.

Carnera was a surprisingly apt pupil. He soon learned how to defend himself with a clumsy left jab, how to move his immense feet with astonishing legerity. He won a bout against W. L. ("Young") Stribling by being fouled; Stribling won their second fight the same way but afterward told friends he would never fight Monster Carnera again. Since his arrival in the U. S., backed by a group of prosperous but shady entrepreneurs, Carnera's career has been less glorious than fantastic. His first opponents--Big Boy Peterson, Elzear Rioux, Cowboy Owens-- were known to be incompetent but their feeble opposition to Carnera suggested that they had been bribed to lose. Suspicion concerning the Monster's abilities became almost universal when another adversary, Bombo Chevalier, stated that one of his own seconds had threatened to kill him unless he lost to Carnera. Against the huge, lazy, amiable Negro George Godfrey (249 lb.), he won on a foul. But only one of 33 U. S. opponents has defeated Monster Carnera--fat, slovenly Jimmy Maloney, whom Sharkey beat five years ago. In a return fight, at Miami last March, Carnera managed to outpoint Maloney.

Prizefight experts have universally derided Carnera. They have coined names-- "Fiddle-Feet," "Satchel-Feet," "Ambling Alp," "White Whale," "Carnivorous Carnera," "Snaggle-tooth"--to make his heroic stature seem deformed. This worries not at all his tiny, suave, hook-nosed Anglo-French manager, Leon Sze who, in Carnera's presence, has been observed bending his knees to make Carnera seem even bigger. To show his scorn for Carnera's detractors, M. See uses a motto on his stationery: "The dogs bark: the caravan passes." Like a large proportion of the sporting public, he believes, whether prizefight critics believe it or not, that Carnera cannot fail to win the world's heavyweight championship as soon as he is given a chance to fight for it, and that he may win the world's wrestling championship after that.

Monster Carnera has partially absorbed his manager's point of view. No longer a placidly exaggerated cement-mixer or a down-at-heel and hungry wrestler, he has grown proud of his monstrosity, now regards his own size as the proper one and smiles at the deficiencies of normal-sized persons.* In the ring, he grunts loudly and grimaces, dances lightly on his great feet, lunges quickly with his fists. Out of the ring he dresses in loose, bright-colored clothes, snorts and smiles down at the jabbering crowd which always follows him. Immune to fear, ennui, embarrassment or surprise, he was not offended when boxing commissions suspended his activities in 33 States, nor humiliated when he was forbidden to dine with other guests in Atlantic City's smart Ambassador Hotel while attired in a green polo jersey. With the exception of his U. S. manager, handsome William ("Bill") Duffy, who was recently (TIME, June 29) catalogued as one of Manhattan's six foremost public enemies, all the members of Carnera's entourage are physically picayune. His boxing gloves, specially made for him, are heavy as those which ordinary heavyweights use for practice. The seat of his automobile, which once caught fire when he was driving it, is placed a foot farther back than customary. In repose. Carnera's face is pensive, almost presentable; it is shocking when he laughs or shouts. He speaks, when spoken to, in a guttural mixture of English and Italian, which almost amounts to a monstrous language of his own.

* Monster Carnera would be unable to smile at Orchestra Leader Paul Whiteman who once weighed 305 lb., is now reported to have reduced to 210. He would have been impudent if he had smiled at the late William Howard Taft who weighed 340 lb. while in the White House, later got down to 250. The Ringling Circus giantess Ima Whale weighs 630 lb. Heaviest monster in history was Daniel Lambert who weighed 739 lb., died in England in 1809. A monster less cheerful than Carnera is Mathias Sticz, 506 lb., who tried to kill himself at Budapest in 1929.

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