RENEE MONTAGNE, host:
And this weekend marks the 100th anniversary of a famous boxing match that gave birth to a controversial phrase. Commentator John Ridley takes us ringside.
JOHN RIDLEY: There's probably no more charged phrase in all of the American lexicon than the great white hope, signifying the pride of one race over another. It came into existence some 100 years ago, in the era of Jack Johnson, the great American heavyweight fighter who happened to be black.
Though black and white boxers often matched up, at that time the world heavyweight championship remained a whites only proposition. That a black man could challenge a white man in the squared circle, let alone defeat him, was simply too incendiary to be allowed.
But Johnson, a guy who basically lived his life with a metaphorical middle finger raised in the air, wasn't about to be relegated to being the Negro champ.
He literally chased Canadian champion Tommy Burns around the globe until Burns gave Johnson his shot.
On December 26, 1908, after beating Tommy Burns in 14 rounds, Johnson was crowned the first black world heavyweight champ.
Well, now, this injustice could not stand. A champion of the cause had to be found to win back the title. Which brings us to Jack Number 2: Jack London, the noted American writer, who summed up all of the collective teeth-gnashing calling for a great white hope to step up and win back the race's pride.
London begged former world heavyweight Champ Jim Jeffries to come out of retirement, and as he put it, remove that golden smile from Jack Johnson's face. The White Man, London continued, must be rescued.
That, of course, makes London something of my own personal Wagner; terrific artist, lousy humanitarian. But at the time - one after the other - hopes stepped up, shouldering their race's aspirations. And with equal regularity, Johnson dashed them, defeating all comers.
And then, in 1910, Jim Jeffries grandly un-retired - largely at the urging of people like London. Jeffries announced to the world that he would reclaim the heavyweight championship for the white race.
And so, one hundred years ago, July 4th, 1910, on a specially built stage in Reno, Nevada, Johnson and Jeffries squared off. The fight was called the battle of the century, no matter the century was only 10 years old. Sixteen thousand people in attendance. Another 1,500 bum-rushed the gate. The rumor at the time: there was a gunman in the audience. If Jeffries didn't drop Johnson, the gunman would.
Truth is, Jeffries was a lousy candidate to bear the standard for his race. He came into the fight overconfident and out of shape. A fight that was originally scheduled for an amazing 45 rounds lasted only 15. After being sent to the canvas for the first time in his career, Jeffries quit rather than suffer the humiliation of a knockout.
This second great Independence Day was marred by white riots in the fight's aftermath that left dozens of people of color dead across America. But dead, too, was the notion of the great white hope, though its ghost still haunts us today.
For his involvement in all this, writer Jack London tends to get a historical pass. His racial attitudes aren't taught alongside his writings, which leaves that kind of educating up to the individual. Neither Johnson nor London were perfect people. I teach my kids the wholeness of both. Some would say that London's views aren't germane to his work, but 100 years later, I say that helping to popularize the concept of the great white hope has had more of a cultural impact than "To Build a Fire" ever did.
MONTAGNE: John Ridley, his writings include "The American Way," a comic book series set in the 1960s.
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MONTAGNE: This is NPR News.
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