Foreigners (9 page)

These days fighters tend to enter the ring to loud,
thumping music of their own choice, with laser beams
cutting through the air and a razzle-dazzle of a performance
that is more akin to the circus than a sporting event.
On this particular July evening, the lights were dimmed
and the spotlights picked out Turpin as he entered the
arena to nothing more than loud cheers of encouragement
from those who were able to strain their necks and get a
glimpse of the lad from Leamington Spa. Some spectators
stood on their seats as the British champion edged
his way towards ringside, and then Turpin ducked through
the ropes and stepped into the ring where finally he was
visible to the sell-out crowd. They noisily and enthusiastically
cheered the coloured lad, and then the champion
appeared and he, in great contrast to the low-key entrance
of Turpin, seemed to revel in his self-assigned role of
showman. His hair was slick and straightened, with not a
single lick out of place, and he flashed a broad smile for
the cameras. As he moved towards the ring, draped in a
white robe with a blue silk gown on top, he bobbed and
weaved as though eager to let everybody know that he was
ready for business. Behind him, like courtiers traipsing after
a prince, were his attendants, all uniformly pristine in blue
and white tops with the words 'Sugar Ray' emblazoned
on their backs. Having climbed into the ring the champion
bowed respectfully to all four sides of the arena, and
then he turned to acknowledge the challenger who was
visibly sweating in his corner. As the announcer began to
declare that the feature contest of the evening was about
to commence, Robinson made a display of not taking his
stool, preferring instead to bounce ominously from foot
to foot in his corner, and bang his gloves together as though
eager to get the proceedings over and done with. The
prince of the ring stared at his English opponent, who
appeared to have dead man's eyes, and Sugar Ray wondered
if the Limey was yellow. Turpin sat slumped on his stool
as though awaiting his fate. From where he was sitting he
could see the Movietone cameras already whirring with
activity for, whatever the outcome, the newsreel of this
fight would soon be broadcast in all the major picture
houses in Britain. The referee, an ex-heavyweight from
Scotland named Eugene Henderson, signalled to the
fighters to ready themselves, and Turpin drew himself to
his full height knowing that there was now no turning
back.

A little over an hour, and fifteen gruelling rounds later,
Turpin slipped an arm around the American's shoulders
and escorted him back to his corner in a gesture of respect.
The fight was over and the 18,000 voices in the Earls Court
Exhibition Hall were raised as one, singing chorus after
chorus of 'For He's a Jolly Good Fellow!'. The BBC's
unashamedly patrician Raymond Glendenning, with his
handlebar moustache and clipped received pronunciation,
posed the rhetorical question to the whole nation. 'Who
has won?' Those who were present at the fight had no
doubt who had won, but Glendenning kept the whole
nation, including the king, on tenterhooks. In the ring,
Turpin congratulated Sugar Ray and his corner men, and
a breathless champion patted his British opponent on the
back muttering, 'Good fight. Good fight, kid.' Eugene
Henderson saw that both fighters were in the American's
corner and he knew that there was no need for him to
consult his scorecard. He walked over and raised Turpin's
hand, at which point Glendenning's words exploded across
the beleaguered nation. 'Turpin has won! Turpin has won!
Turpin, Randolph Turpin, twenty-three-year-old from
Leamington Spa, is the new middleweight champion of
the world!' George Middleton, Dick and Jackie Turpin,
and Turpin's trainer, Mick Gavin, leapt across the ring and
hugged the new world champion, while in the hall pandemonium
broke out. The chorus of 'For He's a Jolly
Good Fellow!' increased in volume as Robinson climbed
his way out from the ring and shuffled in the direction
of his dressing room, leaving Turpin to bask in the applause
and cheers of the Earls Court crowd.

Once he reached his dressing room, the new world champion
showered quietly and then got dressed. His brothers
were clearly far more excited than he was, and they pressed
him to tell them what Sugar Ray had said to him. Turpin
thought for a moment and then said that Robinson had
told him, 'You were good. Real good. Just like everybody
had said you were.' Turpin knew that he had fought well,
his seventy-four-inch reach keeping Robinson at bay, his
wide stance allowing him to maintain his balance, and his
upper body strength enabling him to bully the American
in every clinch and inflict a wound over the American's
left eye that would require fourteen stitches. In between
rounds Turpin had remained calm and relaxed on his stool,
his legs spread out before him and his elbows resting up
on the ropes, but each time the bell rang he sprang to his
feet and his superior conditioning and unorthodox
crouching style eventually left Robinson battered and
exhausted.

Randolph Turpin was now the undisputed 160 lb
champion of the whole world, but he seemed temporarily
bewildered, as though this title was not what he had been
seeking, and the events of the evening had been a strange,
unsolicited, consequence of simply doing what he enjoyed.
As the Turpin group left Earls Court, they could hear
those inside the Exhibition Hall still singing 'For He's a
Jolly Good Fellow!'. Outside in the car park, and in all
the streets leading to the Earls Court Tube station, there
was cheering and joyous celebrations the like of which had
not been seen or heard since VE Day some six years earlier.
However, Turpin seemed untouched by all of the exuberance,
and he simply smiled as though unable to comprehend
whatever forces he had just released in the soul of
the British nation. Meanwhile, a chastened Robinson,
having had his stitches administered in the privacy of his
own dressing room, sought to avoid the press by seeking
out a nearby Earls Court bed and breakfast. In the morning
he would leave quickly on the first boat train to Paris,
from where he would fly home to New York City. He left
instructions that his entourage should make their own way
to France as soon as possible.

In the morning a practically unblemished Turpin awoke
in his hotel room bright and early, and he decided to go
out for a short stroll with George Middleton and try to
walk off some of the stiffness in his muscles. The country
had partied hard and long on the previous evening, but
Turpin had avoided the limelight and got his head down
for a good night's rest. This morning it was not so easy
for the new champion to avoid the crowds, but Turpin
and his manager, with the assistance of the hotel staff,
managed to sneak out of a back door. Predictably enough,
the British newspapers were full of reports of Turpin's
almost unbelievable victory, and triumphant stories were
blazoned across both the front and the back pages. In the
United States, reporters were aghast, not only by the fact
that Robinson had been defeated, but by the manner in
which he had been so easily outboxed, outjabbed and
outmuscled by, of all people, a Limey. The only possible
explanation was that Sugar Ray's constant whirl of
European social engagements, his nightclubbing, golf
games, exhibitions for money, and constant travelling, had
taken their toll on the great man. Surely there would be
a rematch?

Back in Leamington Spa, the mother of Britain's new
sporting hero had listened to the fight on the radio. When
reporters eventually beat their way to her door in order to
secure a quote, she gathered her wits about her, looked
them straight in the eyes, and, reluctant to distinguish
between Randolph and her two other fighting sons, she
told them, 'I am proud of my sons. A lot of people thought
they were nothing. Well, my sons have shown them.' She
knew that all of Leamington Spa, and the nearby historic
town of Warwick, where Turpin had spent some part of
his childhood, was abuzz with excitement. Turpin's mother
assured the reporters that either later today, or tomorrow,
her world champion son would be coming back home.
Before the fight she had heard her son cautiously suggest
that victory might mean a new car and a new house for
him, but with a mother's instinct she sensed that it would
probably mean much more than this for her son. She
worried, for she knew that young Randolph did not possess
the business acumen to surround himself with the right
people, and he was by far the most sensitive of her children,
but why worry about this now? Maybe when he came
home she might talk to him about things, but her youngest
son could be strangely reserved and moody, and she did
not imagine that he was about to change.

On 12 July, 1951, less than forty-eight hours after his
dazzling victory at the Earls Court Exhibition Hall, Turpin
was back in the Midlands where the mayors of both
Warwick and Leamington Spa, the two towns that could
claim to have produced the boxer, organised a joint reception.
Turpin was seated in the back of an open-top black
Humber limousine, democratically perched between the
mayors of both towns, and he began his victory journey
in the narrow medieval streets in the centre of Warwick.
He had never heard of these men, but they certainly knew
his name and they continually pumped his hand, and
slapped him on the back, and posed with him for photographs.
A bemused Turpin understood that this was likely
to be the way for some time, but this was not a life that
he was eager to get used to. The car was twenty minutes
late leaving Warwick because, having just arrived from
London, Turpin had decided to take a nap and he had
overslept. This delay meant that they would be late arriving
in Leamington Spa for the official reception, but the mayor
of Leamington let the new champion know that he should
not worry for they would just tell the press that the car
had suffered a punctured tyre.

The journey did not take long, and all along the way
people waved and cheered as the Humber limousine glided
by. A somewhat shy Turpin followed the lead of the
mayors and waved back, and as the car eventually turned
into the centre of Leamington Spa the crowds became
denser, slowing the Humber's progress almost to a halt.
Clearly most people had taken the day off work, for over
20,000 cheering people thronged the streets. Bright
streamers and banners were hung from every available
place, a brass band was thumping out music, and up
above an RAF jet from the nearby base was doing victory
rolls and loops in the sky. This was the greatest day in
the town's history, and all of this was due to the success
of one man. At the sight of their all-conquering hero
the crowd began to sing 'For He's a Jolly Good Fellow!'
and their overwhelming adulation finally brought a lump
to Turpin's throat. Surely all of this could not be for
him? The limousine drew to a halt outside of Leamington
Spa Town Hall, and Turpin looked up and read the sign
that was hanging from the balcony: LEAMINGTON SPA
WELCOMES THEIR CHAMPION RANDOLPH TURPIN.

Turpin stared at the banner and had to be prompted
to leave the car. He entered the town hall, where the first
man to greet him was John 'Gerry' Gibbs, the police
inspector who had founded the Leamington Boys' Club,
and who first saw promise in the fourteen-year-old Turpin.
The new world champion warmly shook hands with his
old mentor, and then made his way up to the balcony.

Photographs of Turpin on this special day show a handsome
man in a double-breasted beige suit, a smart blue silk
shirt, and dapper white shoes. However, Turpin appears to
be a little confused. In almost every photograph he seems
to be avoiding full eye contact with the camera as though
hiding from somebody, or himself. Perhaps the most
disturbing photograph of the day shows Turpin flanked
by the two lord mayors in a wood-panelled room in the
town hall. The mayors pose stiffly in pinstriped suits, while
Turpin has his right arm draped loosely around his mother
and he supports his young son in his other arm. A feeling
of palpable discomfort radiates from the photograph, and
nobody seems entirely comfortable on what should be a
joyous occasion. The modest new world champion eventually
stepped out on to the balcony of Leamington Spa
Town Hall, and the roar from the crowd was almost deafening,
as was the high-pitched drone of cine and newsreel
cameras. The mayor of Leamington Spa urged him forward
('Go on, son') and Turpin took the microphone that was
proffered. For a second he looked at the sea of white faces
which swam out before him in all directions, and then he
began to read from a speech which his manager had prepared
for the occasion. 'It was a great fight on Tuesday and I am
naturally very proud to bring the honour of the
middleweight championship of the world back to England
and Warwickshire.' Then Turpin stopped and looked again
at the crowds of people before him. 'I must tell you how
grateful I am to my manager, my trainer, my family and
others who have helped me so much throughout my
career . . .' Again Turpin stopped speaking, and this time
he handed his speech to one of the mayors and addressed
the crowds directly. 'Well, I'm not much at making speeches
but you all know what I mean. Thanks.' He waved to the
crowd and handed the microphone to somebody else. At
this point George Middleton led an elderly Beatrice Manley,
Turpin's mother, on to the balcony, and Turpin took her
in his arms and gave her a kiss. Ailing now for some years,
and suffering from a partial loss of eyesight, she was
nonetheless the proudest woman in Leamington Spa and
she had worn her best hat to prove the point. The coloured
baby that, much to some people's disgust, she had given
birth to twenty-three years ago in this very town was, on
this day, the most famous man in England.