Lunch Break

Two men, usually with high trousers and thick mustaches, would step into a ring with no protective equipment whatsoever, and, as the name suggests, use their bare knuckles to subdue the other. It is, as they say, a sport of gentlemen, the origin of modern day boxing, and a romanticized image of nineteen in early one yeth century manliness. After all, historical figures like Teddy Roosevelt actively participated in it, and

he certainly had the mustache to make the grade. The fact that bare knuckle boxing originated in prison fighting shouldn't be that surprising by most estimations. The sport arrived in Australia in sev with convicts from the British first Fleet of Prisoners sent there. Within a few years, the first recorded fight took place in New South Wales. After a few more decades, the sport had finally become a more gentlemanly affair, just two fellas, knuckles primed, ready to beat

on each other until the other gives up. The sport found such a footing in Australia that by the mid nineteenth century, boxers the world over were flocking to the Rings of Victoria, and that's where one of the most peculiar matches of all time was staged. In one corner, a guy named James Kelly, an Irish immigrant of some boxing acclaim, fresh off of victory over a local Australian

fighter known simply as Hammy. In the other corner, Jonathan Smith of British origins, who had built a decent reputation in Britain and the US before trying his luck in Australia. Two well respected boxers, two veterans of the ring, and all the anticipation in the world. Neither Smith nor Kelly, nor even the crowd spending their morning around the ring could have known what sort of match was in store

for them that day. But despite heavy rains the night before, thousands of spectators turned out to watch these two mustachioed titans duke it out, and as the match began, bright and early at nine am, the crowd was in full swing, and those two boxers did as two boxers often do. They jabbed and fainted, landing more than a few blows on each other, and by the end of the first round, the crowd was buzzing with energy. Two hours later, though,

things began to take on a different look. The crowd was restless, closing in around the fighters in an attempt to push the match along. By round eight, James Kelly had suffered his worst blow of the match, earning himself a bloody nose. By round twelve, the biggest highlight was well still the bloody knows, and by round fourteen, now more than five hours into the match, the highlight was well still that nose and people talking about how it

had caused James Kelly a great deal of annoyance. By around fifteen, the booze and hisses began to float in from the crowd, no doubt encouraged by the beer that had been flowing for hours. With neither boxer willing to take a risk, the fight looked like it would continue

on for eternity. Finally, in round seventeen, James Kelly, his bloody nose apparently no longer a problem, taunted Smith into finally fighting, at which point Smith threw a wayward punch that was quickly countered by Kelly, causing Smith to call it quits. They shook hands and the fight finally concluded after six hours and fifteen minutes. It was the longest

bare knuckle boxing fights of all time. In the papers the next day, the match was reported in detail, the writer having to exercise a bit of creative to write more than a sentence about each round. To be honest, the morning reader might have found more entertainment in the ads next to the article, including one that offered a cure for gingervitus and truth be told. After over six hours of waiting, very little drama, and no satisfying knockout at the end, I'm guessing anyone who stayed for the

full match would have preferred a little dental work. Talent is kind of a nebulous concept. Some people believe that talent is innate, that we are born with it and don't really improve upon it as we grow. Others see talent as something to be taught that with enough training and experience, anyone can become an expert musician or painter. But when it came to acting, James Cagney once said, learn your lines, find your mark, look him in the eye, and tell him the truth. To him, talent wasn't really

part of the equation, and maybe he was right. Perhaps a skill like acting could be taught to just about anyone off the street. In fact, actors Nadine and Katherine Dennis discovered Hollywood's next big star just by taking a walk. The pair had found him when he was young, abandoned by his parents and fending for himself on the streets of her sins. They took him home and cleaned him up.

Soon after, his hidden talents started to show. For one, he could do anything on command, cross his eyes, laugh, drink from a bottle. The little guy could handle whatever the pair threw at him, and since they already lived in Tinseltown, it wasn't hard to imagine how they could capitalize on this new addition to their family. They just

needed a name, something with pizzazz and star power. Legend has it that they took his name from a comic strip published in the papers at the time, which featured a character name Puzzums, so that's what they called him. Puzzums got his big break after appearing in a Los Angeles pageant in The Times had printed photos of him doing tricks for the audience at only a few years old.

From then on he was a star. He was signed to his studio by producer Max Sennett, who had made a name for himself producing slapstick films featuring the Keystone Cops. Possums contract was for three years, at fifty bucks a week, more than Katherine and Nadine had been making combined on

their own, not too shabby. He started showing up in silent comedies like The Chicken about a family dinner gone ray, or Run Girl Run, in which Carol Lombard played a track star trying to sneak away to see her boyfriend without the coach finding out. Before the big meat. Possums even acted for Cecil b DeMille and performed alongside heavyweights like Will Rogers, often poised as the comic relief in

a scene. The actor once had to play Checkers while sitting in a high chair and dressed in silly hats and glasses for publicity shoots and drink from a baby bottle from time to time, and at his peak his pay increased from that healthy fifty dollars to two fifty dollars per week, and pretty soon he was working for any studio in need of a ringer. Sadly, his life was cut short after one of his teeth became infected.

Possums died in nineteen thirty four, but don't worry. Fans can still pay their respects by visiting his grave at the Los Angeles Pet Memorial Park and Creamatory. That's right, Possums was a cat, and one with more talent than most dogs and humans in Hollywood at the time. His career jump started a tradition that has carried on right

up to today of pets performing in films. There was Orangey, the orange tabby scene in films like nineteen sixty Ones, Breakfast at Tiffany's, and Mr Bigglesworth, the hairless sphinx belonging to Dr Evil in the Austin Powers films, whose real name was I Kid You not Ted knud Gent. Even today, whenever a film calls for an animal to react to something in the scene, it's often not special effects or a puppet being operated from behind the scenes, it's a

trained animal working like any other performer. Cats often get a bad rap for being distant or hard to control, but possums and those who followed in his little footsteps prove those naysayers wrong. Sometimes being a good actor doesn't involve decades of studying or method training. Sometimes all you need is the ability to nail the perfect take. I hope you've enjoyed today's guided tour of the Cabinet of Curiosities. Subscribe for free on Apple Podcasts, or learn more about

the show by visiting Curiosities podcast dot com. The show was created by me Aaron Manky in partnership with how Stuff Works. I make another award winning show called Lore, which is a podcast, book series, and television show, and you can learn all about it over at the World of Lore dot com. And until next time, stay curious.