JIM TULLY – The Bruiser. Greenberg, hardcover, 1936. World, hardcover, 1943. Bantam #67, paperback, 1947. Pyramid #53, paperback, 1952. Kent State University Press, softcover, 2010.

   â€œHe was a broth of a boy — as weak as water and strong as a broken dam.”

   What a quote, right? Tully can really turn a phrase.

   The book’s about the rise and rise of Shane Rory, from hobo to heavyweight boxing champion of the world.

   There are terrifically vivid, livid scenes of the fights and the backstory, the training, the gambling. And the language rings true. Truly wonderful vintage vernacular, written by a road kid and pugilist of his own experiences and things he’d heard.

   The problems come when Tully tries to weave in a typical Hollywood melodrama. Shane Rory dreams of a pure midwestern maiden from his youth — and she of him. And at the end their shy romance finally blossoms — just as he wins the heavyweight belt. He immediately cedes the belt (to a hobo friend from his youth, no less) and leaves with the maiden for her pure and fertile farm she has just inherited from her grandmother. Fade to black with violins. Roll credits. Yech.

   Anywho, the getting there is still worth the trip for the clipped true prose of the street.

   Some more pith from the book:

   â€œYou’re a nice looking kid — how long you been a bum?” “Ever since I can remember,” was the answer. “And you?” He turned to Negro.” “Afore that.”

   â€œI hits ’im so hahd I jes’ blas’ his brains right outta de top o’ his head—if dem ropes haden been deah — he’d be a rollin’ yit.”

   â€œI’m just oozin’ out of the picture like I oozed into it.”

   â€œIt’s a rough world Shane — as warm as the very devil when the referee’s raisin’ your hand, and cold as a hangman’s heart when he ain’t.”

   â€œHis brains begun to rattle like dry peas in a pod.”

   â€œLet it be forgotten like a flower is forgotten; forgotten as a fire that once was singing gold.”

   â€œNow you’ve got everything — but for God’s sake don’t develop brains. That’s what kills people.”

   â€œWhen life itself is a lie one more or less won’t matter.”

   â€œEven the hangman’s under sentence of death.”

   â€œWhere was Moses when the lights went out? Sitting in the window with his shirt tail out.”

   â€œWe’re both Irish and we have traditions: a kindlier race never tore a man to bits.”

   â€œYour mother’s ghost — if you weren’t hatched out of a buzzard’s egg — would haunt you.”

   â€œAll you have to do is wring the diapers of your mind.”