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Alan Minter, Barry
McGuigan, Michael Taub, Sir Henry Cooper, OBE and
Chris Finnegan, MBE |
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The
stars were out in force for the UK launch of
Michael Taub’s highly-acclaimed book,
Jack Doyle: The Gorgeous Gael, at the On Anon Club
in London’s Piccadilly. |
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Sir Henry Cooper,
Barry McGuigan, Alan Minter and Chris Finnegan were among
the former world, British
and European champions gracing the launch party, along with
stars of yesteryear including ex-British featherweight champion
Sammy McCarthy. In the background with striped tie is MC Chas
Taylor. |
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All
were there to honour the book and the memory of the great Jack
Doyle, the heavyweight boxer, singer and playboy who captivated
Britain, Ireland and America in the period immediately before, during and after the Second World War. |
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Dublin
publishers Lilliput Press were represented by managing director
Antony Farrell and director Vivienne Guinness (above), a member
of the notable brewery family. |
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HAPPY AS BARRY . . . . . |
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Barry McGuigan, the former world
featherweight champion, now an ITV
boxing commentator and winner of the
latest series of Hell’s Kitchen,
says of the book:
‘As boxing biographies go,
this
is a masterpiece.’ |
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Sir Henry, the former British and European heavyweight champion and world
title contender, famed for flooring Cassius Clay (later to become Muhammad
Ali) at Wembley in 1963, says:
‘I have great memories of Jack and this book
brings them flooding back. It’s a joy to read.’ |
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Jack Doyle (1913 -
1978) was a
6ft 5in Irishman with a giant appetite for life. In 1933 he drew 90,000 to
London’s White City to see him fight and was making £600 a week on stage as
a singer. He was 19. By the age of 30 he had earned and squandered a
£250,000 fortune (worth millions today). His motto was, ‘A generous man
never went to hell,’ and he lived his life like a hell-raiser.
In his heyday as
a heavyweight boxer, singer and playboy, his celebrity rivalled that of the
Prince of Wales, and he and his wife – the beautiful Mexican film star and
singer Movita, who later married Marlon Brando – were as popular in the
thirties and forties as were Olivier and Leigh and Burton and Taylor a
decade or two later. |
| This remarkable biography rescues a glittering period of social and boxing
history from obscurity and restores Jack and Movita to their rightful place
in the showbiz and sporting pantheon. Jack’s ring presence and personality
reached back to the days of the Regency Buck and his friendships with the
Royal Family, his fist-fight with Clark Gable, his life as a film star and
gigolo, his throwing of a fight by knocking himself out, and his
extraordinary post-war career as an all-in wrestler, are the stuff of legend
but confirmed here by seven years of exhaustive research, during which
Michael Taub tracked down and interviewed the leading players in Jack’s
life. |
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The book
(£12) is being released in conjunction with the screening of
the RTÉ documentary Jack Doyle: A Legend Lost, for which Michael Taub
acted as consultant and in which he appears throughout. The programme is
scheduled to be screened on RTE1 on New Year’s Day (10.00p.m.).
MICHAEL TAUB
began his career at 17 as a trainee reporter on Boxing News. He became press
officer at Wembley Stadium, deputy sports editor of the Sunday Express and
night sports editor of the Daily Mirror.
He is married with three grown-up
children and lives in Langley, Berkshire. He is author of Danoli: The
People’s Champion. |
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Michael Taub with
Bernard Hart,Chairman
of the Lonsdale International Sporting
Club |
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Or contact:
Antony Farrell, The Lilliput Press, 62-63 Sitric Road, Arbour Hill, Dublin
7, Ireland. |
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More
pictures from
the launch
Left : Daily Express reporter John Lloyd and cabaret
artiste
Stella Starr sing the praises of the book.
Right : Jack Doyle's nephew Chris standing beneath a scene
from Jack Doyle: A Legend Lost,
in which he appears. |
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On the left Sir Henry signs for film producer
Sonya West and (right) is photographed
with Michael Taub and his grandson Charlie.
Below centre: Alan Minter prepares to
plant a left hook on
Charlie's chin. |
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Golden Oldies
Former British
featherweight champ Sammy McCarthy with 1948 Wembley
Olympics boxer Ron Cooper
In demand - Sammy signs |
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Holy Family's
Webmaster,
Bernard Stanley,
takes on the
Champs!! |
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Obituary:
Chris
Finnegan
1944-2009 |
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The
death of
former
Olympic
boxing
hero
CHRIS
FINNEGAN
came as
a shock
to
sports
fans
around
the
world.
Michael
Taub –
who had
known
him
since
their
days at
St
Mary’s
RC
School
in
Uxbridge
(attended
also at
the time
by TV
actor
Mark
McManus,
of
Taggart
fame,
and his
half-bother
Brian
Connolly,
lead
singer
of glam
rock
group
The
Sweet) -
was
commissioned
by
respected
trade
paper
Boxing
News to
write a
two-page
obituary.
Here,
with
Michael’s
permission,
we
reproduce
the
article
–
published
on 6
March
2009 -
in its
entirety.
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GOLDEN BOY WITH THE COMMON TOUCH |
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BOXING was this week mourning the loss of
Chris Finnegan, the former Olympic icon and
triple light-heavyweight champion, who died
in hospital after being stricken for five
weeks with pneumonia. He was 64.
As in his glory days, he battled bravely to
the end, losing his fight for life shortly
after 9am on Monday (March 2), surrounded by
close family.
Movingly, he had sensed the end was near,
pleading, “Don’t let me die without the Last
Rites.” |
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A priest was summoned and the
sacrament administered shortly
before his death. It would have
been great consolation to this
proud and committed Roman
Catholic, who confided he still
knelt at his bedside each
evening to pray, as he had done
since childhood.
A widower, he leaves four
grown-up daughters – Pearl,
Ruby, Coral and Jade – and a
son, Sean. He is survived also
by brothers Mick and Paul and
sisters Patricia and Cecilia.
The funeral service was held at
the Church of Our Lady of
Lourdes and St Michael,
Uxbridge, where Chris had served
as an altar boy, followed by
burial at St Peter’s in Iver. |
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Finnegan, who in his pomp was one of the
sport’s most courageous and colourful
characters, had been not unnaturally
downcast following the death last October of
younger brother Kevin, the former British
and European middleweight champion. |
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Even in grief, however, he had
retained the wicked and, at
times, perverse sense of humour
that had become his hallmark.
When asked days beforehand if he
would be attending Kevin’s
funeral, he remarked: “Why
should I? He won’t be going to
mine.” A twinkle of the eye told
you it was a touch of comic
relief that lightened
momentarily the pain he was
suffering. |
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Younger
brother Kevin (left) with
Alan Minter, whom he fought
three times. |
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During the ensuing four months,
it was evident his emotions were
raw. “I’ll never get over him.
Poor Kevin [a wistful shake of
the head] - when I think of all
we went through together…”
Chris, blond, 6ft-plus and a
southpaw, first hit the
headlines back in 1968 when, at
the age of 24, he won the
Olympic middleweight gold medal
in Mexico, for which he was
awarded the MBE. He turned pro
shortly afterwards and went on
to win the British, Commonwealth
and European light-heavyweight
titles. |
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Chris (right) in his
triple title fight against
John Conteh in 1974. |
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He and Kevin trained each day at the gym
above the Load of Hay in London’s Haverstock
Hill, where Cockney trainer Freddie Hill
ruled with empirical discipline. “Freddie
was strict but he got us fit,” said Chris.
“He was forever shouting and bawling, never
letting up. One day I got fed up with it and
said, ‘Who’s employing who here, anyway?’ I
think he got the message.” |
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Chris with Sir
Henry. |
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Chris was much loved throughout
boxing, not only by his former
opponents but those who never
fought him.
Heavyweight legend Sir Henry
Cooper recalled: “It was such a
shock to hear he’d died. He was
a great fighter, a great
champion. Just look at the
people he fought.”
They included the big-hitting
Bob Foster, a 6ft 3in deputy
sheriff from Albuquerque, New
Mexico, whose fists were as
lethal as his six-shooters. |
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Foster was one of the all-time
greats of the light-heavyweight
division.
Up to the defence of his
world crown against Finnegan
at Wembley in 1972, he had
gained 41 of his 48
victories inside the
distance.
Chris, too, was to become a
victim, succumbing to Foster’s
brain-numbing punches in the
14th round. The epic battle was
voted Fight of the Year by the
prestigious Ring Magazine. “Over
twelve rounds I might have won
it,” he said. “But taking those
punches round after round
eventually drained me.”
Among others to pay tribute were
John Conteh, the former world
light-heavyweight champion who
twice beat Finnegan, and Alan
Minter, the former undisputed
world middleweight champion. |
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Finnegan and Foster:
The calm before the
storm. |
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John Conteh |
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Conteh remembers him as “a
really great guy - one of the
toughest and most talented men I
fought.”
Minter recalls: “Chris was such
a colourful character – a real
one-off. We sparred when I was
training for the ’72 Munich
Olympics (Minter won bronze). He
later told Kevin, ‘Watch out for
a kid called Minter.’ Talk about
being prophetic. I went on to
have three absolute wars with
him.”
Detached retinas sustained in
British title battles with
‘Gypsy’ Johnny Frankham – a
friend since his amateur days -
ended Chris’s career. |
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The first took place in June 1975 at a
packed Royal Albert Hall, with hordes of
fanatical Frankham fans up from Reading to
turn the famous baroque musical venue into
an ear-splitting bear pit. The two pals
proceeded to prove their mutual regard for
each other by engaging in fifteen rounds of
savagery. |
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Chris confided: “I got cut late
on. The referee, Harry Gibbs,
who was the best in the world,
came over to my corner at the
end of the fourteenth round.
Freddie was trying hard to stem
the bleeding. Harry said, ‘Let
me see it, Freddie.’ Freddie
said, ‘Clear off, Harry, the
cut’s okay’. But Harry insisted:
‘I’m the referee, Freddie. I’ve
got to see it.’ Again Freddie
wouldn’t let him.
So what does Harry do? At the
end of the fifteenth and final
round, he goes straight over to
Frankham’s corner and raises his
hand. The roof nearly came off
and I was gutted. I couldn’t
believe the decision; I thought
I’d won it. |
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Harry Gibbs |
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“Harry and Freddie went back a long way;
they’d been to school together – they were
old mates. Freddie must have thought he
could speak to Harry how he liked. But he
cost me that fight, no doubt about it; he
should have let Harry see the cut.”
Chris ran into Gibbs at a reception a short
time afterwards. “I had no ill feeling
towards Harry; in fact, I marched straight
across to shake his hand. |
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Frankham and
Finnegan (right) wage war at
the Albert Hall. |
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“Harry obviously thought I was
going to tear him off a strip.
As I got near, he said, ‘I know
how you feel, Chris, and I can’t
blame you; I should have given
you the verdict. But Freddie
refused to let me see the cut
and I couldn’t let him away with
it.”
Chris was to get his revenge at
the Albert Hall four months
later, regaining the title by
beating Frankham on points after
another fifteen explosive
rounds. |
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Victory came at a price, however. Not long
afterwards, when travelling back home after
training, with visibility poor and the rain
lashing down, Kevin asked Chris to read out
the number plate of the van in front.
“Number plate?” he said. “I can’t even see
the bloody van.”
Tests at Moorfields confirmed he had
suffered serious damage to both eyes and
would require an immediate operation. His
career was over after 37 fights, of which
he’d won 29 – 16 inside the distance - and
drawn one. He retired as champion.
“I was suicidal. I wasn’t qualified to do
anything apart from running up and down
ladders with a hod full of bricks.” |
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But at 31, he was too young to
be lazing around kicking his
heels. He and wife Cheryl –
who’d been his childhood
sweetheart and most vociferous
cheer-leader - took over a pub,
the Walmer Castle in Peckham,
south-east London. Chris was a
renowned drinker, prompting
matchmaker Mickey Duff to crack:
“It’s like putting a sex maniac
in charge of a brothel.”
The venture was short-lived.
Chris may have been in his
element consuming alcohol but he
was no good selling it and he
and Cheryl repaired with the
kids to the bucolic splendour of
leafy Ickenham in Middlesex,
where they took a flat. Cheryl
died of bowel cancer in 1991 at
the age of 46. |
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Minus the sight in his right eye and
suffering excruciating pain in his knees,
his life in later years was nonetheless
happy and undemanding.
Although he kept a supply of cider at home,
he enjoyed occasional visits to his local,
where he’d sit supping voluminous pints of
lager followed, occasionally, by his
trademark chaser: a double brandy with two
cubes of ice. The cringe-making jokes were
endless but people laughed – or more often
groaned - with respectful politeness; after
all, the man was a legend. |
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He bemoaned the fact
that all the great
characters had
disappeared from
sport and been
replaced in the main
by boring, unsmiling
automatons.
He recalled with
awe-struck reverence
some of the
colourful giants of
the past: men like
Alex ‘Hurricane’
Higgins, George
Best, Terry Downes
and
John McEnroe.
He omitted to
mention himself.
Like them, however,
Christopher Martin
Finnegan, MBE,
Olympic middleweight
gold medallist of
1968, triple
champion
and world title
contender as a
professional,
has earned his place
in sporting
history.
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© Michael Taub, 2009
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