LIFE ON THE GROUND
him down. Earnest though they were, none came close. The boxing part of the tour kicked off in Tokyo on November 18, drawing a crowd of more than 20,000 to Korakuen Stadium. The United Press reported that Louis received “a tremendous ovation as he entered the ring,” and then “hardly worked up a sweat” as he fought six opponents in one-round sessions. Three of the six failed to last their appointed three minutes with Louis. Seaman Willie Polite
The trip concluded mid-December in Taiwan. Louis made news when he accidentally KO’d a chief petty officer of the Chinese Nationalist Army. The brave fellow, Chang Lo-pe, stood too close as Louis was shadowboxing and took one on the chin. Lo-pe was scheduled to spar with Louis that night but bowed out; he was promptly replaced by Boots deCordova. American sportswriters heard about Louis’ success in Japan and assumed this was how he’d play out the end of his career
On his way home from Japan, Louis stopped off in Hong Kong.
quit after taking a body shot. “He sure can hit,” Polite said. Another of the Tokyo six, Cpl. Buford J. “Boots” deCordova, recalled his turn with Louis as “the most furious round I’ve ever gone through. The crowd was yelling and screaming so loud the building shook.” A military correspondent covering Louis’ appearance at Miyagi Stadium in Sendai reported that Louis “wasn’t pushing himself” as he went three rounds with the 40th Division’s best heavyweight. Yet there were moments when Louis hammered his opponent’s ribs, and another when the Army boxer “grew an inch or two when Joe caught him under the chin with a left.” Later, when people asked what his plans were, Louis grumbled, “No comment.” In between boxing gigs, Louis visited military hospitals in Tokyo, Osaka, Sayama, Tachikawa, Sendai, Yokosuka and Sakai. Spending two hours or more at each location, he cheered up the young men who had been wounded in the ongoing Korean War. As he shook their hands, posed for pictures and signed autographs, Louis was visibly moved at how the
at home. There was just enough left of Louis for promoters to exploit, and if certain states banned him, there were plenty of places where fans would still pay to see him in person, even against fringe contenders, sparring partners or servicemen. But in February 1952, Louis officially announced his retirement from boxing. It wasn’t major news. Most had expected it. Besides, it wasn’t as if he’d vanish. He seemed to be everywhere in those months: He popped up at golf tournaments; he opened a car dealership; and his old fights were being shown frequently on television, along with his film biography, The Joe Louis Story . There was even talk of another exhibition tour in Australia or Afghanistan. Louis’ decision to retire had been made before the exhibition tour, but he’d kept it to himself. He didn’t want the Japanese to think they were hosting some washed-up character. He wanted them to think he was still a threat, still wanting to fight for the title, still a living legend. And that was exactly how the Japanese crowds saw him. The Louis era was over, but the Louis legend was still strong.
“They are near my age. I’d like to fight Walcott for the title. I’m confident I can still win it back,” Louis told the Chicago Herald-American. “Perhaps I can’t beat guys who are young, like Marciano, but I can still handle fellows who are 30 or more years of age.” His problem with back taxes was well-known, but Louis denied it had anything to do with his desire to continue, nor was he looking for “any big payoff.” Louis’ reason was more about his sense of identity, as happens when most people reach the end of their working lives. “If I don’t fight,” Louis said, “what am I going to do? How will I spend my time?” The Illinois Athletic Commission responded to Louis by announcing that he would be barred from fighting in that state. California followed suit. A Chicago physician warned that Louis was aging prematurely and was physically older than his 37 years. National Boxing Association commissioner Abe Green offered to give Louis some leeway but reminded him that New York had an age limit of 40 for fighters. Meanwhile, Walcott said he would not fight Louis and didn’t want to cause him “permanent injury.” Even Louis’ camp advised him to quit. Marshall Miles, Louis’ manager after the war, told author Richard Bak, “None of us wanted him to fight Marciano. We
begged him to retire. Truthfully, he was over the hill. That’s why he held out for the kind of deal we got.” Louis released an official statement: “Bear with me while I think out my future plans.” By mid-November, Louis was off to Japan. It was as if the loss to Marciano hadn’t happened. Louis’ plane landed at Haneda Airport, where thousands of Japanese admirers gathered to greet him. Crowds eagerly lined the streets of Tokyo’s famous Ginza district just to get a glimpse of Louis. Though wire reports claimed he looked “heavy and tired,” Louis was all smiles at a banquet given in his honor. The rapturous crowds, he said, made him “feel like a youngster.” The Japanese branch of the Shriners had organized the tour to raise money for Japan’s underprivileged children. Louis took it seriously, visiting military bases and sparring with servicemen. The Japanese press followed him like sycophants, camera bulbs flashing. Standing tall, Louis walked somberly among the reporters like a gentle giant in a well-tailored suit, looking as sharp as he had in his prime. It became an almost daily press requirement to shoot a picture of Louis posing with some tiny Japanese girl, visiting a baby hospital or sampling sushi. It was cute stuff, but Louis was there to throw punches. For fun, Louis offered $250 to any of his sparring partners who could knock
The Louis biopic was released in 1953, a year after his retirement.
servicemen still called him “champ.” When the occasional soldier advised him to stop fighting, Louis would wink and say, “I’m just getting a little exercise.” Louis also made special trips to Yokohama and Oiso to visit orphanages and present donations from the Tokyo VFW. Meanwhile, newspapers pounced on reports that female jazz singer Shizuko Kasagi (Japan’s “Queen of Boogie”) accompanied Louis everywhere and planned to come back to America with him. Louis always had an eye for the ladies, but Kasagi’s presence was probably just a publicity gimmick dreamed up by a Japanese press agent.
Unfortunately, the tour earned Louis only a fraction of what he owed the government. As Louis wrote in his 1978 memoir, “I looked at myself and wondered what the hell I was going to do now?” It was a question he never quite answered. Still, the Japan trip had been good for Louis in that it allowed him a sort of victory lap. Also, his fans at home, still upset by the cruel loss to Marciano, were probably happy to read about Louis’ overseas adventure. With their hero beating his opponents, honoring American soldiers and being linked with a beautiful female entertainer, Louis’ Far East tour felt a bit like old times.
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