Judge — April 16, 1932 — page 30: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

pues | ree Cornerstone laid, 1881 “Everything’s O.K. Now, Boys!” This is our friend, the Receiver. He is passing the good word around that JUDGE is out of the woods—all set and gunning for larger and louder laughs. He has shaken our hand and departed with a smile—no small feat to encompass with a gentleman of so austere a profession. He seems convinced that JUDGE is going to keep old friends and make new ones. As for us. we're so confident that we are issuing a special number next week. the of Judge Don’t Miss It! “RECEIVER’S NUMBER” | honor: Judging the Sports (Continued from page 8) fresh air boys to say about this one? A brawl that figured close to being the hit of the night was one in which a colored Pullman worker fought the junior lightweight champ. The Harlem boy, fed up with handling inanimate upper berths and being Sart called George by every itinerant | drummer, put on the fight of his life against overwhelming odds. He lost but the gallery with him to a Great 3 pment was ex- ed around the ringside when he failed to produce a whisk broom from his trunks and give his ad versary one of those fake brush offs Tops for the evening was reached when a Princeton boy ked away with the open heavyweight title. 1 i ton. You remember the Where the football coach aspirin to every holder of a seat in the home rooting sec tion. This fellow Rutherford, as he is called, fought twice during the evenin, In his first battle he looked liked ready money for any scheming | manager. His second fight wasn't so and he hot but then look at Sharkey, gets paid for flops. This was one spot where you would expect to see some hairy- chested iron worker or a fighting Mick from the West side. But in- stead we had the amazing sight of what the tabloids call a Park Avenue scion battling a sawed off colored boy for principal titular For the amateurs are like their id brethren in this respect The little fellows may show the cl. but the big boys fall harder an oftener and so the heavyweight crown carries the most glory. Mr. Rutherford is not exactly what is known in collegiate circles a “smoothie.” Standing about six feet five inches he is built from the neck down in proportion. I imagine that when the roll is called for the Junior Prom one can find him down behind the gym some- where bending iron bars for fun. So maybe all this stuff we read and hear about mighty muscled blacksmiths and brawny steel pud- dlers is the w.k. bunk. Looking over the above facts I would be inclined to lean toward a theory which | states that a little education counts more in the clinches than a couple of inches on the chest expansion. Before closing, I wish to point a finger at one Irving Jaffee. Here is a product of New York City streets and he is now employed as a Wall St. clerk, For some reason best known to himself, he decided at an early age to become a champion ice skater. With a technic acquired in comicbooks.com