Distinctly Montana Magazine

36 D I S T I N C T LY M O N TA N A M A G A Z I N E • W I N T E R 2 0 2 3 - 2 4 T O REALLY UNDERSTAND WHAT HAPPENED ONE HUN- DRED YEARS AGO IN SHELBY, MONTANA, you have to first understand that, back then, boxing was big. And we mean big. Because the fights weren't just matches, they were so- cial milieus. People went to the fight to talk, to drink, to pitch woo, to see and be seen. Deals were struck and lovers embraced at the fights. Children might attend, and if they didn't, they were huddled around the radio at home, listening. So: boxing wasn't just boxing, it was very nearly the national pastime and Jack Dempsey was the undisputed king. In 1923, the very same year he would almost ruin the little Montana town of Shelby, he graced the cover of Time magazine. His fighting style was bob-and-weave mixed with constant, unrelenting at- tack. It's because of Dempsey's doggedness in the ring that we have a rule that a fighter has to go to the corner and give a downed fighter a chance to get up. If Dempsey had it made, then Shelby, Montana, was on the make. The little Hi-Line railroad town had been on the map since the late 19th century, but had fallen on hard times when homesteading in the region went bust. But in 1921, oil was dis- covered north of Shelby. Within months, the town filled with oil field workers, geologists, and drillers. Buoyed by the oil boom, Shelby decided to try and become "the Tulsa of the Northwest." Various slick investors and boosters conceived of get-rich-quick schemes involving the sale of whole subdivisions of potential residential areas in Shelby to speculating newcomers. By 1923, the real estate boom had cooled, but the oil money still flowed. James Johnson, who by many accounts owned most of Shelby, had a son named "Body" Johnson. Body happened to host a boxing event and was surprised by the turnout. Then he happened to see a headline one day—a boxing promoter in Montreal was willing to put up $100,000 (about $1.75 million in today's dollars) if Jack Dempsey, heavyweight champion of the world, were willing to defend his title there. Dempsey declined, but what if the money were better? In truth, all Johnson and his cohorts were expecting from the offer that they made to Dempsey's manager, Doc Kearns, was another headline, and to see Shelby's name in newspaper print across the country. They certainly didn't think that they would get an answer from Dempsey's people when they sent him a telegram offering him an astonishing $200,000 to fight in their town. This was, as historian Jason Kelly writes, "a sort of prac- tical joke for civic enrichment." But when Kearns wrote back, they found themselves in a tricky position—if Dempsey accept- ed, they were on the hook for a lot of money. Because, of course, it wasn't just about the money in the boxer's purse. The sheer infrastructure needed to pull off the scheme would dwarf the amount offered to Dempsey. Shelby at its most affluent was still a town of only 500 residents. Some es- timates suggested as many as 40,000 could descend on the town to watch the match. There was the expense of a massive stadium, Dempsey's housing, and even 35 miles of extra siding to accom- modate parked trains. In a flurry of tricky moves, Dempsey's manager agreed to the match, provided someone from the Shelby camp travelled to New York City and pay Kearns $100,000 upfront. The remain- ing $100,000 was to be put in Dempsey's purse, payable later. by SHERMAN CAHILL

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