True story.
Nothing in life came cheap for Hezekiah Orville "Awful" Gardner.
He came into this world some time in 1825 (no record survives as to the exact
date) and died seventy years later languishing in an Insane Asylum. He spent the
years in between earning every bit of his nickname – he wasn’t “Awful” as in
bad, he was “Awful” as in bad-ass mean – before eventually embarking on one of
the most dramatic life turnarounds the sporting public has ever seen.
Awful was a
notorious prizefighter in the 1800s, back in an era when bare-knuckle boxing
matches could be deadly affairs, more gladiator battles than sporting events. Upon
retiring from the ring, he became a trainer of other street-tough boxers like
William “Bill the Butcher” Poole and John “Old Smoke” Morrissey. He was also,
in his spare time, a reckless drinker, gambler and womanizer, and a murderous thug
who ran from the law and eventually found the Lord instead, becoming America's
first celebrity athlete turned Christian convert. All this before he was locked
up and put away for the rest of his life.
Simply put, Awful
Gardner was born to fight, growing up a Bowery thug on the mean streets of New
York City where he ran with a tough crowd and made good use of his menacing size
and foul temper. As for his ham-fisted, punching ways, he honed that craft in dark
alley beatdowns and barroom brawls before the lure of the ring and a ‘real’
career drew him in.
His exploits
often found their way into the newspapers of the time – for better and for worse.
And why not? Awful was a brute of a man—in and out of the ring. He was the Mike
Tyson and Andre the Giant of his time, striking fear in every man he went up
against, once even biting off a fellow pugilist’s nose (or some said it was an
ear -- whatever).
His biggest triumph
in the ring came in 1847 when he beat fellow heavyweight Allen McFee in a
33-round bloodbath that won him sporting recognition from coast to coast.
On the family
side of things his story was just as remarkable. Awful was a brother to four
other giants, each of whom eventually found a calling as prizefighters as well,
including younger brother Howell "Horrible" Gardner. Awful and
Horrible. Picture those family gatherings around the dinner table. Oh, how proud
Momma Gardner must have been.
But wherever Awful went, trouble followed close
behind. He killed a man in a street fight and had to flee to Canada to escape
the police. Then, as if that weren’t enough, he had an
only son, whom he dearly loved, only to have the boy die in a drowning
accident. Sometime shortly after his boy’s death Awful snuck back across the
border and came home. According to legend, he was standing at the rail in one
of his old haunts, a New York City saloon, when he had a vision.
His mind
was clouded with heartbreak and whiskey when he staggered outside to get some
air. He couldn’t help but look up into the clear night sky at a particularly
bright star.
“I wonder
where my little boy is tonight?” he whispered, looking at that star as the tears
started forming. “Wherever he is, I’ll never see him again in the hereafter.” Then
the thought came quickly, “Not unless I change my life.”
The
sweating hulk that was Awful Gardner fell back against the wall and buried his
head in his hands, sobbing.
This was it, the
pivotal moment of his life. As Providence called, Awful answered. And sure
enough, one of the meanest sons of bitches to ever set foot in a boxing ring soon
thereafter changed his ways. He gave up drinking and brawling and picked up the
Good Book instead. The anger, rage and brute force that had coursed through his
veins and consumed him all his life began to dissipate. He became witness to
his own miracle, a transformation he wanted to share with others, so he took up
– of all things – preaching.
The man who once
served a six-month stretch in Sing Sing for bodily assault returned there not
as a prisoner but as a sincere and devout man speaking the Word of God. And it
worked. It was reported that through his visits to various prisons and city
slums he converted hundreds of lost souls to the Christian way. Even “Horrible”
Gardner was compelled to follow the righteous path after his brother got
through to him.
No fairy tale is
complete without a happy ending, but alas, this is no fairy tale. There would
be no happy endings for Awful Gardner. His life ended up being one long losing bout
with the devils in his head, even though, as they say, he fought the good fight
till the end. The official reason why someone saw fit to commit him to an
Insane Asylum is lost to history, but it isn’t too much to assume it had to do with
his past catching up with him. (Spend enough time in the ring having another
man’s bare fists crash into your head and bad things are going to happen to the
brain.)
What does all this
have to do with birthdays? Not much, really. Except to say that it’s right and
proper to take a moment – as we often do on birthdays – and remember that even
the worst in us, in the end, is not beyond hope of redemption.
So Happy
Birthday, Awful Gardner, wherever you are. Your story lives on.
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