Boxing: Carnera's family sheds new light on tale of sad exploitation

Published some 50 years ago, and subsequently advertised by Columbia Pictures as a film that told the naked truth about professional boxing, Budd Schulberg's novel The Harder They Fall was unquestionably based on the criminal exploitation of Primo Carnera, the gigantic Italian circus freak who knocked out Jack Sharkey in June 1933 to become world heavyweight champion.

Schulberg and Hollywood did not, of course, mention Carnera or admit that he was the prototype of Toro Moreno, a simple bewildered Argentinian who fell into the clutches of scheming managers and sinister racketeers who manoeuvred him into a title shot through a series of fixed fights. Released at a time when the newspapers were full of investigations into boxing, The Harder They Fall made more money than Carnera made for the mob that used him.

By the oddest coincidence, I had no sooner re-read Schulberg's novel (he once told me his intention was purely to help rid boxing of corrupt influences) than an invitation came to meet up with latter-day members of the Carnera family who have contributed to a lavishly produced book that puts the Italian's career into a much more favourable light than the Hollywood version.

Standing 6ft 6in and weighing almost 19st, Carnera dwarfed his contemporaries in the heavyweight division, but, if technically limited, relying mainly on a stiff left jab and a right uppercut, he was no mere freak promoted as a legitimate contender purely on the basis of his physical enormity. As much as history suggests that Carnera was crude, with little semblance of boxing ability, he was probably a good deal better than Jess Willard, the other 6ft 6in-plus champion, who defeated Jack Johnson for the title in Havana, Cuba, in 1915, then lost it to Jack Dempsey.

The release of The Harder They Fall acquainted Carnera with the demoralising possibility that many of the victories that led up to the challenge for Sharkey's world title were rather more the results of astute matchmaking. "Daddy told us that he never knew that," writes Carnera's daughter, Giovanna Maria. "He told us that he never knew and that the decision only depended on the boxing ability of the opponents. He was too naïve. We are sorry to say so, but it is like that. His relation to arranged bouts [a book, Le Mystère Carnera by Carnera's first manager, Leon See, lists numerous fixed fights between 1928 and 1931] is to be found in his naïvety, which came from the goodness of his heart. We do not want to sanctify him, however the importance of what he did and and his honesty helped him to survive everything and everybody. Moreover, he was sure of one thing: "The world title match was not fixed." According to him: "It was too important and could not be fixed."

What is true that Carnera suffered a great deal from the release of The Harder They Fall. "That's not true, that's not true. That is not my story," he said. "I haven't done any harm to anybody, why do they want punish me? I have retired from boxing [a career as an all-in wrestler proved lucrative and kept Carnera employed all around the world until his retirement], why do they want to treat me so badly?"

The Harder They Fall would haunt Carnera even in the short time that was left when, seriously ill, he returned from California to his birthplace of Sequals. Giancarlo Governi, an RAI (TV) director, who produced a documentary of Carnera's life, said: "Carnera was one of our 'fathers'. He gave an important contribution to Italy's fame. Shortly after he came home to die The Harder They Fall was due to go out on our network. I said that I felt it was better not to broadcast it, but they went ahead." Carnera was deeply hurt. "I come home to die and my ungrateful country pays me back like that."

If the extent of Carnera's technical limitations made it impossible to think of him as a true world champion, nobody questioned his courage. When losing the title to Max Bear in his third defence, Carnera was floored 11 times before the contest was stopped. Carnera was officially paid $152,870, but it is doubtful if he saw much of that sum. Within two years he was cast aside penniless. A victim.

Recently, in a nationwide poll, Carnera was voted among the 20 most important Italians of the 20th century. And nobody can say that this is not the unvarnished truth.

* My Father, Primo Carnera. By Umberto and Giovanna Carnera. (Published by SEP Editrice, Milan, Italy).