Foreword by Dwight
Would you spar with the Governor? The President of the United States? Well that is exactly what Professor Mike Donovan did in the late 1800s. He wrote a book about his experience in 1909, titled "The Roosevelt That I know". Mike Donovan was considered one of the best practitioners of the sweet science at the time. In this second part, Professor Donovan discusses the characteristics of President Roosevelt.
(Corresponding Podcast)
The Roosevelt That I know Part 2
From the very first I was struck with the kindly nature of the man. Though pressed with full business as he always was, his mind full of problems, with a crowd of importunate office seekers and would-be advisors forever at his heels, he hailed my appearance with genuine delight, and always found time to inquire after my doings and welfare. Sometimes I thought it was the getting away from the exactions of office, the temporary respite from official cares that my coming signaled, that made me so welcome; again, that diplomatic intrigue, the wrangling of officials, intemperate attacks of the opposing party, all of which must be settled with words, mere words, stirred his impatient blood to the boiling point. A box on the ear here, a smash in the wind there, I could readily guess, would have suited his affairs it is the diplomatic "having the honor to be" - but never doing anything. He must hit somebody, hit him hard, and I thought I turned up opportunately to get what was coming to somebody else.
This was my first impression. A mistaken one as I soon learned. However he might have settled political discussions in the ring, or let rivals for a post-office wrestle it out-best two out of three falls to get the job-it was never in his mind to hand out to me the punishment that was theirs. He had come to like me, because he found me an authority in a domain that particularly interested him, because I represented the straightforward method of the real fighting man, who fights because he loves to fight and brings no hard feelings, no animosity into the game.
Many's the time I have been passed through a throng of waiting politicians of high rank, often enough summoned by the sudden bobbing around a door of the President's head, with a: "Hello, Mike, come right in!" It seemed to me that though immersed in political conflicts, that kind of fighting never sufficed to ward his blood, for I never saw a man more willing to take a good jolt just for the pleasure of giving one back.
One day while I was waiting in the office for my turn to see the President, I witnessed an incident which proved the truth of my belief that under his rugged, aggressive exterior there lay a vein of kindliness and sympathy. The last of the long line of visitors was a woman accompanied by a young girl apparently, her daughter, who had been introduced to the President by a man whom I took to be the Congressman from their home. She was importuning the President for a favor which, for some reason, he was unable to grant. The thought flashed through my mind that this woman was trying to get a pardon for her son-perhaps a deserter. The President listened attentively, then shook his head emphatically. "I'm sorry, madam," he said, "but I can't do it." "But, Mr. President," she urged, "won't you-" "Madam," he replied, stepping back as she came toward him, "I can't do it. I cannot do it." As she turned away, very sorrowful, he came toward me. His eyes were sad. The corners of his mouth drooped. His face was flushed deep red. The veins on his neck stood out. He was a picture of distress.
The incident proved the truth of the old rule that a man cannot be a good fighter unless he has a good heart. The first time I was invited to the White house to box with the President was in January 1904. I found him the same enthusiastic, simply democratic, kindly man I had boxed four years earlier at Albany. I have learned, in my association with the President, though it has been confined solely to sparring bouts, that the really great are never pompous; but, on the contrary, simple and sincere. Though he has a quiet dignity that brooks no familiarity, the genuineness of the man, his directness, earnestness, at once puts you at your ease, and the consideration, which seems bred in his bone, warms you to him at the very start.
"Why don't you stay for the reception tonight, Mike?" said he one afternoon after a round bout. "Why, Mr. President," I replied, "I haven't the proper clothes for anything like that." "Oh, you mean a dress-suit. Say, Mike, I'll lend you one of mine." I caught his eye as, with the characteristic movement of the head to the one side, he grinned encouragingly at me and, seeing that he really meant it, I looked from his full figure to my own slender outlines and burst out laughing.
"Why, what's the matter, Mike?" The words were scarce out of his mouth when he caught the reason for my hesitancy-the same ridiculous figure appeared in his mind's eye that I had pictured myself, as wearing his clothes, and he caught the infection, and for some moments we stood facing each other and laughed ourselves hoarse.
"I'll tell you what I'll do, Mr. President," I said, when I had recovered, "I'll hire a dress-suit." So I did, and a disappointing fit it was, thought the best I could do-a pinch in the waist and shoulder, and too long in the sleeves and legs. For a moment I determined to give over the idea of the reception, but on second thought I remembered that I had promised to come and that he expected me. I put on as good a face as I could, and feeling very uncomfortable-about as much at home, in fact, as a sheep in a lion's skin-presented myself at the White House and edged timidly into the background, an uncertain and inconspicuous shadow in the gay throng.
I would shake hands with the President and fade away. I thought I would be a temporary, rather than a permanent, exhibit. He motioned me toward him. As I advanced, the major-domo stopped and said, "Name, please." The President heard him and called, "Oh, there is no need of introducing Mike to me," at the same time reaching out and drawing me toward him. But the President's sharp eye caught me unawares while I was trying to push my shoulders further into the coat, thus to make the sleeves seem not so ridiculously long. "Hello, Mike!" he exclaimed, "I'm glad to see you." He must have noted my discomfort and embarrassment, read it in my face; for leaning over, he whispered, "It's all right, Mike. You look first-rate."It was a great relief; my features relaxed and I breathed freer. Indeed, I stayed for some time, enjoying it thoroughly. I could not observe that I attracted any unfavorable attention and, concluding that my appearance was not nearly as bad as I thought, gave the matter no further concern.
On the evening of March 3, 1904, the day before the inauguration, between five and six o' clock, the President and I had a "go" of some ten rounds. He was as happy as a schoolboy as he stripped for the fray. "After the inauguration tomorrow," he said, "I go out to the Rockies on a hunt for four or five weeks and live the simple life." He loves the Western mountaineers and plainsmen. "Now, Mike," he said, "we must have a good, long bout this evening. It'll brighten me up for tomorrow, which will be a trying day."
We boxed the ten hard, long rounds. He had improved so much in his practice with me that winter that I had to resort to all the strategy that my experience had taught me. After the fifth round I felt like calling a halt, but did not want to appear to be a quitter. We were having it hot and heavy; in an exchange I tried to land a right-hand body blow, ducking to avoid a left-hand counter. Instead he struck me a flush right-hander on the top of the head, knocking me sprawling to the mat. The blow jarred me quite a bit. As I got to my feet, he said: "That's a good make-believe knock-down, Mike." Evidently he did not realize how hard he hit me.
"Mr. President," I rejoined, "I would not let even you knock me down if I could help it." I felt a bit nettled. We started in again, hammer and tongs, and I kept a sharp lookout for his clever play with th left and follow with the right. I will say right here I never was more extended with any man I ever boxed with than in this go. At the close he was perspiring profusely, but seemed fresh enough to go much longer. I sat down and began to puff. He was sitting beside me and said, "Mike, did I understand you to say you are going to march in the parade with the Catholic Protectory Band of New York tomorrow! If so, I would like to have you ask Mr. Ryan, the bandmaster, to has his band play 'Garry Owen' as it passes the reviewing stand." I said, "I will certainly do so, Mr. President, with a great deal of pleasure."
This is the great Irish fighting air, which was played by Irish bagpipes at the famous battle of Vinegar Hill, in Ireland, against the British troops. The air so inspired the Irishmen that they repulsed the regular British soldiers with their musketry and cannons, although they had nothing in their hands but pitchforks and pikes; and gained them the victory. It was to this same tune that Custer led his valiant troop of cavalry to death in the battle of the Little Big Horn.
The next morning I went to the band headquarters, which I had found after an all-night search, and delivered my message to Bandmaster Ryan. He said, "Did the President say that?" I replied, "You may rely upon it." "Well." said he, "I'll play it as he never heard it played before." That afternoon we marched down the avenue, turned the corner at the Treasury Building, Fifteenth Street and Pennsylvania Avenue, and the eighty buglers which comprised the boy band began the first stanza of "Garry Owen." The President, hearing them coming, clapped his hands saying, "Here they come! here they come!" He was so delighted that, when they were passing, he shouted, "Well done, boys! well done!" As I came along in the rear of the band, the President spied me and called out, "Hello there, Mike! How are you, old man?"
Vice-President Fairbanks was on the reviewing stand, and, as I was informed afterward, he inquired, "Who is this Mike?" He was told that it was Professor Mike Donovan, who had been boxing with the President. He said, "Very interesting, indeed." The bandmaster and the boys were extremely proud of the greeting they received from the President, and so was I.
Musings
What a great account of the very nature of Roosevelt. On one hand, he appeared to be an overly aggressive grisly bear. On the other hand, he appeared to be compassionate teddy bear. My favorite quote from this text was, "A man cannot be a good fighter unless he has a good heart". This compassion demonstrates the one side of the dual nature of martial arts. One side violent and aggressive the other calm and empathetic. Which makes me think of what Plato said, "Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a harder battle".
Is kindness and empathy integrated into your training?
References:
Donovan, Michael Joseph. The Roosevelt That I Know; Ten Years of Boxing with the President--and Other Memories of Famous Fighting Men,. New York: B.W. Dodge, 1909. https://books.google.com/books?hl=en&lr=&id=x7QaAAAAYAAJ&oi=fnd&pg=PA8&dq=boxing&ots=MYv8NVrKwf&sig=N21fmrbbSTU8P3S0scqcxphbg9M
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