Canada Lee's Knockout Path from Erie to Broadway

Theatre Arts, Volume 25, Number 5, May 1941

Canada Lee took a circuitous path to stardom – boxing professionally for years, which brought him to our region, before going on to become a Broadway sensation. He is pictured here in his role as the lead in Orson Welles's Broadway adaptation of Richard Wright's Native Son in 1941.

In 1941, Leonard Lionel Cornelius Canegata, known professionally as Canada Lee, debuted as the lead in Orson Welles's Broadway adaptation of Richard Wright's Native Son. There was significant fanfare surrounding the show and Lee's performance was described as "thrilling" with "authenticity" and "power." Some even compared him to Spencer Tracy.

His path to Broadway likely surprised even him. While growing up in New York City, he initially studied music and performed as a concert violinist. But in 1921, at age 14, he abruptly quit. He left home and worked for two years in Saratoga Springs as a jockey. There are a few origin stories to how he ended up in boxing rings. In one version, it began in these stables when an adult ex-boxer made a racist comment. The 110-pound teenage Lee allegedly knocked the 150-pound grown man to the ground with such force that another former-boxer stableman decided to take him under his wing and show him the ropes. Whether true or embellished, after returning to Harlem, Lee soon entered the amateur boxing circuits, winning around 90 of his first 100 fights.

This was a time when spectator sports were surging in popularity across the United States. Boxing was second only to baseball with world heavyweight champion Jack Dempsey being as much a household name as Babe Ruth. The entry barrier to learning boxing was less significant than other sports and neighborhoods often had their own boxing clubs. A neighborhood fighter winning a match was a deep source of community pride.

In Pennsylvania, Erie was very much a boxing city. Local fighters such as Max C. Strub and Xenophon "Kid Xeny" Kakouros helped popularize the sport. There were initially two state-approved boxing clubs in operation: Tommy Maxwell's Majestic Athletic Club and Freddy Dailey's Erie Athletic Club. In September 1927, a third was established called the Auditorium Athletic Club, or Audi A.C., formed by duo Jim Carney and Nick Pistory. As there were limited venues in which to fight, the three clubs rotated Fridays at what became known as Carney Auditorium at 11th and French streets.

Carney was an effective promoter, recruiting fighters from all over. Following their club's first Friday program, Erie Daily Times sports reporter Joe Martin described the event as a "high class attraction" that "spared no expense." He predicted enthusiastic support from Erieites who eagerly watched – and, of course, placed their bets.

One of the club's first majorly hyped fights was in November 1927 between Erie's Walter "Heavy" Andrews and Pittsburgh's Jack Zivic. Heavy had the superior right jab, Martin asserted, but Zivic's left hook could give him the edge. All 2,000 seats were filled as the two battled fiercely the entire 10 rounds, both absorbing blows that had taken previous opponents to the floor. The judges awarded Zivic the win, much to the crowd's displeasure.

This was the boxing scene in Erie when Canada Lee arrived in 1928. He was recruited by Carney alongside a cohort of other Harlem fighters. Lee lodged at the recently opened Pope Hotel on French Street, a safe location for Black out-of-towners. He was soon hitting the gym with Bill Purdy, trainer for many of Erie's boxing greats. Lee was described as "graceful" and "gentlemanly" with a "warm, inviting" presence.

Lee was now fighting professionally. He was barely over 20 years old, but was already making a name for himself as a "sensational welterweight" who hit hard with his "dynamic left hand" and a "pile driving right." Some already considered him "one of the greatest fighters in the game" with "a string of wins a mile long."

Locals were excited for Lee's first local fight. "Canada Lee [is] the classiest piece of fighting machinery this man's town has gazed upon for many a moon," penned Martin in the lead-up. His opponent was Pittsburgh's Young Saylor, "a real scrapper" who was "one of the niftiest boxers in the game." He'd recently given Syracuse's formidable Bucky Lawless "a boxing lesson" at a Conneaut Lake fight, who Lee had also recently taken down with a second round one-two to the chest and stomach.

For the first six rounds, Lee was "coasting to victory" – but when he went for an uppercut to the stomach, it landed below the belt. "The blow was recognized as accidental by the crowd," wrote Martin. A foul was still called. Across the sport, professional referees were cleaning up matches where dirty blows and even eye-gouging were once common. This gave Saylor the win. The Erie crowd booed, but Lee "showed so much class" and "there was no hard feeling."

Carney recognized Erie's enthusiasm for the "whizbang" Lee. He offered him another fight two weeks later. Lee accepted. His opponent was Larry Brignolia and the Erie Daily Times predicted the fight would be "one of the greatest ring battles ever seen in Erie." Brignolia was described as a "wielder of wicked gloves," but Lee had a proven record of being able to take hits in the ring, while Brignolia was warned to "stay out of range of Lee's gloves."

The match lived up to the hype. "It was one of those jamborees you might hear about now and then, but you seldom see," wrote Martin. For the first seven rounds, the two "fought on even terms like a pair of bulldogs." Both gave and received a pummeling – jabs and crosses to the face, roundhouses to the head, and "dull thuds to the stomach and body."

"I thought every now and then that one or the other must go down under the barrage of punches," continued Martin. "But neither gave an inch, nor asked for any quarter." As predicted though, Lee had the stamina going into round eight. Brignolia slowed and Lee took advantage, pulling ahead point by point over the final three rounds.

The crowd loved it. "[N]o crowd in the world is half so good as a boxing crowd," the Erie Daily Times proclaimed. "They're real fellows. The best in the world. Jim Carney included."

Carney immediately booked Lee again, this time a rematch with Bucky Lawless. Lawless was hesitant, but Carney made an offer he couldn't refuse. "Bucky figures that Erie is his lucky town and he expects to go in there on Friday night and box the spots off of Lee," his manager said.

In the first round, Lee tripped and fell over. As soon as he stood up, Lawless unleashed "a mile a minute" flurry, connecting a left hook that knocked Lee to the ground for a five count. Lee shook it off and the two went toe-to-toe into the third round before Lee landed a hit that took Lawless to the ground, but was called a foul. The referee gave Lawless the match. This time Lee's corner protested, as did the crowd, but the decision was final.

In August 1930, after a year of fighting back in New York City, Lee was set to return to Erie for a main event at the Carney Auditorium. His opponent was Tommy Freeman, one of the best welterweights in the nation who'd trained in Erie over the past year. The winner of this match would challenge Jack Thompson for the welterweight world title. Predictions varied, but leaned in Lee's favor. What many didn't know was that earlier in the year during a fight at Madison Square Garden, Lee took a hook to the head that detached his right eye's retina. He was now partially blinded in the eye, a secret he guarded closely.

In front of a full capacity crowd, Freeman had the edge for the first two rounds. In the third, Lee delivered a hook to Freeman's chin that sent his mouthguard flying. The crowd roared. Freeman responded with continuous left jabs, which Lee almost certainly had trouble tracking, followed by quick body shots. They went the distance with no knockout, but Freeman won the decision even if "he knew he had been to the races." A month later, Freeman defeated Thompson to become world champion.

Despite the loss and injury, Lee was still fighting well. A few weeks later in Erie, he knocked out Freddy Fitzgerald in the tenth. But as months passed, his vision worsened and he lost numerous fights in a row, mostly in decisions. In 1931, he went out west to cities like Omaha and Sioux City, where he experienced a rollercoaster of wins and losses.

Erie Times News published as THE ERIE DAILY TIMES, March 2, 1933

In 1933, he returned again to Erie, as usual, residing in the Pope Hotel. Training with him were Jacques "Jack" Dessimoz and Cyril Graham, an amateur featherweight using the moniker Young Canada Lee. They hit the gym and local reporters noted they trained in "the old, slangbang style that toughens you up and gets you ready for the heavy grind."

"I always liked Erie," said Lee. "Erie fans always gave me a fine deal and I always tried to give them their money's worth. I hope I get more chances around here to prove that I'm still able to go with the best of them." On March 3, in Lee's first fight back in Erie, the "old ring veteran" won with a knockout in the third, leaving his opponent's face "in pretty bad shape."

A few weeks later though, it was reported that Erie's Chief of Police, William F. Detzel, gave instructions to the trio and their manager, Robert Dessimoz, to leave Erie by the end of the week. The reasons reported were vague and amounted to "all was not well" since they came to Erie. There were no charges, but it appeared that numerous boxers locally were caught up in an investigation by the State Athletic Commission that involved Robert Dessimoz.

"We've been ordered out of town, but we're not going," Lee said, confirming he'd retained legal counsel. "We've not been given any reason for the ousting and we don't know what it's all about."

Some, including Graham and local legend Max C. Strub, were quickly cleared, but any findings related to Lee and Dessimoz remain unclear. As for Lee though, he departed Erie for a fight in Toronto. Now with "a permanent blackout" in his right eye, the loss was his last fight. After nearly 100 professional matches, Canada Lee hung up his gloves.

He was broke though and, still young, he needed a new career. He dabbled as a bandleader, traveling from club to club, before in 1934, stumbling upon something new: the stage.

Lee's first show was Stevedore at the Civic Repertoire Theatre in Manhattan followed by Sailor Beware. In 1936, he was cast by Orson Welles as Banquo in an extremely successful production of Macbeth, a role which Lee credited as changing his life. The Erie Daily Times covered Lee's newfound successes with pride and affection.

When he took on the lead role in Welles' Native Son in 1941, he was experiencing fame well beyond that from his boxing days. The New York Times outright called him one of the best actors in the country. "I'm completely bewildered," Lee said. "I don't know what to do about all of this. I don't know what to say to people or how to act in public."

He still mentioned how much he missed boxing though. The "polite applause of the theater audience," he said, would never compare to the thrill of "the roar of the [Madison Square Garden] crowd when the referee counts to ten over a tough opponent."

Canada Lee played the role of Banquo in an extremely successful production of *Macbeth in 1936, which Lee credited as changing his life. (Photo: Library of Congress American Memory Collection)

"That's a funny thing," reflected Lee after acting at the Garden. "This time I came through [these doors] as an actor. The last time I came through there, I was a professional fighter." The reporter joked that they should write a play about that.

In the early 1940s, he performed in two comedies by playwright William Saroyan followed by a starring role in South Pacific as directed by Lee Strasberg, the father of method acting. In 1944, he was cast in Alfred Hitchcock's Lifeboat. He bounced between theater, film, and radio work, turning down any roles that he found stereotypical.

Due to his increasing civil rights activism and connection to other progressive causes though, he soon found himself the target of anti-communist hysteria and with the FBI's investigation of him, he was blacklisted. When told his blacklisting would be dropped if he publicly named Paul Robeson, a fellow actor and friend, as a communist, Lee refused. During a 1949 radio interview in which he was blindsided with accusations and relentless interruptions, the hosts proclaimed it didn't matter if he was actually a communist. If people thought he was a communist, then he was a communist.

In a public speech covered by the New York Times, Lee denied such claims and scathingly referred to the "lynch mentality" of American radio shows which portrayed Black Americans as "cannibals, dehumanized monsters, clowns, menials, thieves, and liars" while their own voices were "jailed in a concentration camp of silence" and "surrounded by indifference."

When he attempted work on films overseas, his passport was denied, resulting in missed opportunities on film productions of Othello and Native Son. In 1950, Lee and Sidney Poitier were smuggled into South Africa where they successfully filmed Cry, the Beloved Country. It was Lee's final film.

On May 9, 1952, only a year after marrying Frances Pollack, he died in New York City at age 45. While initially reported as a heart attack, his widow later confirmed that it had been kidney failure and that he had slipped into a coma days before his death. Numerous eulogies proclaimed Lee one of the greatest stage actors of his era. The Erie Daily Time referred to his final film performance as "brilliant." Then, of course, there was the legacy of his boxing years. Max C. Strub, who today is one of the few boxers in the Erie Sports Hall of Fame, called Lee the best fighter he ever saw.

"His life was picturesque, yet full of frustrations and great sorrows," his widow wrote decades later, adding, "Admirably, Canada never lost his will to overcome adversity."

Canada Lee was a giant among men," the Canada Lee Heritage Foundation says on its website today. "He combined the courage and heart of a lion with gentleness, compassion, integrity, and above all love for his fellow man."

Jonathan Burdick runs the public history project Rust & Dirt. He can be reached at jburdick@eriereader.com