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Pulp Fiction, 1943 · page 108 of 116

12 Sports Aces, January 1943 — page 108: what you’re looking at

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12 Sports Aces, January 1943 — page 108: Pulp Fiction, 1943

What you’re looking at

# Page 106 from "12 Sports Aces" This page contains story prose from a boxing narrative. The text follows Danny, a former boxing champion who has been defeated and is now running a restaurant in New York with his wife Ellen. His manager Sam explains why he deliberately excluded a rematch clause from Danny's title contract, believing the fighter should retire while he's ahead. Despite having a comfortable life, Danny remains unhappy and struggles with the restaurant business. When the new champion Gaynor visits and mocks him, Ellen suggests Danny sell the restaurant and buy a farm upstate, where he was happiest during a past fighting trip—though Danny is skeptical about farm life.

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

See 12 SPORTS ACES 2 © eee One Orr Ber Orr Pee Ore Pee Orn Per Den Ore or Ore Pen O ore re Ore eB Ore er Orie Oi Oar Oso Bir Bro GinBor en bss Sin O er ne Benen hen Ger re Ber Gen Seeder earr Geshe Ges Pen Geshe Gr Ger Grah- oe Danny had been walloped, but he had grown up in a tough world on New York’s East Side. Twenty minutes later he was all right except for a few bruises and bumps that would take time to heal. “Well, Sam,” he said, “you were right.” Sam shook his head. “You were belted, Danny, but you have a lot of heart. You went good in there until he caught up with you.” “TI got some angles,” Danny said. “When I get the return bout I’ll take him.” Sam said, “What return?” “Why, the sixty-day clause,” Danny said. “It’s standard for a champ. If he gets knocked off for the title he gets a rematch within sixty days. You’re a smart manager. You put it in the con- tract.” Sam said flatly, “Danny, I left it out.” Danny raged. He said that one of the punchies who walked on his heels and shadow-boxed all day would make a bet- ter manager than Sam. He said a lot of other things and Sam listened patiently until he was done. “I did it for your own good,” Sam said. “Because I like you, Danny. I don’t want to see you wind up back of the eight ball ike a lot of other fighters. You got color, Danny, and a fair to middling wal lop. You got heart, and you can box a lit- tl, but you haven’t shown enough to be up top. If yeu want any more fights they'll be run-of-the-mill. With the boys who ain’t so good.” Danny said, “I ain’t so good either, am [?” “I know how you feel,” Sam said, “but you shouldn’t let it get you down, You were the champ three months. You made some dough. You got that nice restau- rant. Hang up the gloves. Enjoy your- self. You're happily married, you got a paying business. What else can a guy ask for?” Danny went home and Ellen was very nice. It was understood that Danny would | hang up the gloves, Hf he kept fighting now he might get badly Hurt. He should knew when to quit. He forgot the busi- ness of fighting. Days he-sat in his restau- rant. He didn’t do too bad, but he didn’t — do good either. He was no longer the champ and that made a difference. He just about broke even and that wasn’t getting anywhere. He wasn’t happy either. He sat at a table by himself and saw a picture in his mind. It was a picture that had been in all the papers the day after the Gaynor fight. A picture of Danny flat on his back with his feet sticking up over the canvas and his head in a reporter’s lap.. Grid Gaynor came in the restaurant one afternoon. He stood at Danny’s table. He said, ““What’s the matter, pal? How come no customers? Is the joint haunted? You got a ghost around the place?” “Sit down,” Danny said. “Order any- thing you like. ’ll have the chef season it with arsenic.” Gaynor said, “T’ll buy it from you, has- been. I’m giving you a break.” Danny told him where he could go and Gaynor grinned and drifted on out. Ellen came in and sat beside him. She said, “Maybe you should sell it, Danny. I think you ought to get away from New York. Besides, running a restaurant isn’t a job for a man like you. You need activity. You remember the time we went up into New England to fight Kryley. It was the first time you’d ever been away from New York. Remember how beautiful you thought the country was? Why den’t we sell the restaurant, Danny, and buy a farm?” “Me on a farm?” Danny said. “A guy who grew up on the pavements? Honey, maybe you’re getting a littl punchy yourself.” “You’d get away from all of this,” Ellen said. “All the people and the sights that - remind you of fighting.” He thought of peaceful hills and a cozy white house with smoke drifting upward from a chimney. And two days later he sold the restaurant to Grid Gaynor and bought a farm. He bought it sight unseen, from pho- tographs in a real estate office. And a week later, bag and baggage, he and Billen moved in. Bhe house was sprawling, unpretentious but comfortable. There was a view across rolling hills. Danny stood at the window looking out. Gomichooks (F@)