The story is told in McDonald’s History of Marshall County of the only prize fight held in Marshall County:
The prize fight was to take place at Baugherville, on the Lake Erie & Western Railroad, about nine miles northwest of Plymouth between Lou C. Allen of Chicago and H.C. Hanmer of Michigan City, middleweights, on the evening of April 30, 1891. That afternoon some of the local boys were told about the upcoming event. “The favored few who were let into the secret were on tiptoe of expectation, and preparation was made to pull out quietly by livery teams about 9 o’clock. The secret was to be kept from Sheriff Jarrell and from those who would likely give him a pointer in that direction.”
It was not easy to get there. “The night was dark and the corduroy road through the woods was more than ordinarily rough. Some of the drivers lost the direct road and went a considerable distance out of the way; others ran into ‘chuck holes’ breaking a spring or a single-tree or something of that kind, but where there is a prize at the end of the goal there is always a way found to reach it. On they went, helter-skelter.
“The prize ring was in a large barn near a sawmill and a lumber yard near the Lake Erie & Western Railroad, a short distance northeast of Tyner. Lumber was piled up and scattered about everywhere, and there were acres of sawlogs and slabs and log wagons. There were no lights about to indicate that there was anything unusual going on, and those who were not familiar with the lay of the land had to feel their way in the dark.
“The Lake Erie fast train from the north arrived at 11 o’clock, bringing the pugilists and about 150 sports (fans) from Chicago, Michigan City and other points along the line, and it was but a short time until the preliminary arrangements had all been completed. A twenty-four-foot ring had been measured off, the building was gorgeously lighted, and in the glare of the kerosine the lamp of Aladdin would have cast but a faint glimmer. The 175 spectators who had each paid an admission fee of $5 were seated about the ring as conveniently as circumstances would permit, and the remainder were stowed away in the haymow, in balcony rows, one above another, from which elevated position they were enabled to look down upon the interesting spectacle before them through the large opening in the center.
“The gladiators were stripped to the skin and took their places in the ring, accompanied by their backers, trainers, seconds, umpires, spongers and assistants.” Also in attendance were a couple of Chicago newspaper reporters. “The doors of the barn were locked and guarded, and the doorkeeper was ordered not to admit anyone under any pretext whatever. Time was called and the pugilistic pounders came smilingly to the scratch. They knocked away at each other with all the strength they possessed. There was no doubt they meant business from the word ‘go.’ The first round was a success, and applause greeted the bruisers as they retired to their corners to be rubbed down.”
But when that many people know a secret, it is hard to keep. “It was late in the evening when Sheriff Jarrett was informed of what was going on. He and his deputies, Eugene Marshall and William Leonard, and Plymouth marshal William Klinger “pulled out from the county seat shortly after 9 o’clock and drove rapidly toward the seat of war. He had the misfortune to break his buggy, which delayed him, and he did not arrive until the first round had been fought.” The sheriff asked the doorkeeper to be admitted. “That distinguished dweller in the tents of iniquity informed them that under no circumstances could they be admitted, whereupon the sheriff jerked the latch off, opened the door, and he and his deputies rushed in upon the pugilists and their assistants, who were standing in the ring ready to commence the second round.
“Then ensued a scene of consternation which no pen can describe. There was a general stampede for the door and in the rush and confusion several were run over and knocked down. Some of the lights were turned out, and for a few minutes it seemed as if pandemonium had been turned loose. Both principals escaped the officers and got out of the building with only their thin fighting suits on. In the melee that ensued, trainer Ed Corey and seconds Con Cavanah and Dick Ford were captured. The remainder got away. Hanmer was so cold with only his tights on that he could not stand it and returned in search of his clothes. He was captured by the sheriff. Allen, the other principal, took the railroad track north as fast as he could run and never stopped until he reached Walkerton, where he boarded a freight trip for Michigan City and made good his escape.
“The spectators – well, they were panic-stricken and, if anything, were worse frightened than the fighters. When the sheriff and his party entered, the rapidity with which that audience dispersed has never been equaled in this part of the country. They did not stand on the order of their going, but they went at once. It was every fellow for himself, and the devil take the hindmost. As soon as they got out of the building they took to the woods as fast as their legs could carry them. They tumbled over one another, went head over heels over saw logs, log wagons and lumber piles, skinned their shins and bruised themselves up generally.
“Those who were in the hayloft, most of them Marshall County fellows, were all captured without an effort. They had climbed up on a ladder which had been removed when the fight began, and there they were, prisoners and unable to make a move for liberty. So, they scrambled back as far as they could and covered themselves with hay, except their feet, which stuck out in irregular sizes all around the first row, and waited further developments.
The suspense did not last long. One of them came near smothering in the hay and yelled out, ‘Put up that ladder. I can’t stand it with this d____d gang any longer.’ The ladder was put up and you would have just died laughing to have seen capitalists, merchants and businessmen, old men and young men, bald heads and gray heads, married men and single men, backing down that ladder with hayseed in their hair, and on their hats and all over their clothes. As they reached the floor, one of them remarked, ‘What in ____ would my wife say if she could see me in this fix?’”
There were probably many married men who would shortly find out what their wife would say. “They were greatly relieved when Sheriff Jarrell informed them that he had no use for them, and they could go about their business.” The four who had been arrested were each fined $50, which was promptly paid. And thus ended the only prize fight ever witnessed in Marshall County.”
I would imagine that most of those married men suffered harsher punishment than the prisoners, don’t you?
It may not surprise anyone that Daniel McDonald was a newspaper owner and editor. His writing style is so highly entertaining. Come on in to read more from his History of Marshall County. The Museum is open 10 a.m. – 4 p.m. Tuesday through Saturday.