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74 ABBOTT'S MONTHLY May 28th, 1930, Alcorn Agricultural and Mechanical College coupling its thirty odd years as Oakland College with its sixty odd years of existence celebrated its one hundredth anniversary, which was participated in by men from the two schools. At the close of the commencement exercises Mrs. Susie Summer Revels Cayton presented the school with a life size picture of her illustrious father, the school's first president, which was accepted by its president, Dr. L. J. Rowan. "Lives of great men all remind us We can make our lives sublime, And departing leave behind us Footprints on the sands of time." Like most men, who acquire fame or fortune and sometimes both, Dr. Revels credited much of his success to the untiring efforts of his wife in his behalf. In other words she proved to be the neck on which that illustrious head turned. If adversities just before the battle caused him to halter she showed him the way to reach the goal. It's always the encouraging word from those in whom we have confidence that causes the red blooded man to retrim his lamp and set it to burning afresh and again set out to do or die. Miss Phoebe A. Bass born and reared under Quaker environment proved to be the right woman in the right place to help an ambitious husband lead a down-trodden group to a higher plane of civilization, and thereby be capable to share in the administration of the affairs of the great republic. A glance at the picture of the family group taken some twenty years after his occupancy of a seat in the United States senate will convince any one of the executive and directability of Mrs. Phoebe A. Revels. With one exception all of that family group have passed out and that exception lies in the personnel of Mrs. Susie Sumner Revels Cayton, who has rendered the writer of this review much valuable aid. The writer being one of those untutored and untrained plantation boys, who early sought guidance and direction from the wisdom and experiences of Dr. Revels, had herein spoken from personal experience. [[line]] That Singular Sengalese Battling Siki (Continued from page 64) [[line]] But Siki was too busy playing with his new-found toys, Harlem and Hell's Kitchen, to fool with Dempsey. He had money now; piles of it; more than he could stuff into the tight pockets of his gaudy suits. He had money to throw away. He threw it away. Walking along the streets of Harlem he would throw it away, with majestic gestures. He spent his money as fast as he could earn it. He was fond of startling the Kitchen by appearing attired in a dress suit, opera cape, tall hat, and tan shoes. A pace behind him at times would trail another giant black Senegalese, bearing a two gallon glass jug. When the fighter felt particularly dry, or upon no provocation whatsoever, he would turn and slap the face of the lordly retainer. That was the signal, and thereupon the huge servant raised the jug. Siki's mouth opened, and a pint of wine was poured down his throat. Not a word was spoken. The procession was resumed. Once he appeared in the Pennsylvania Railroad station with the wine-bearer bringing up the rear; and while he argued with the small gray-haired man at the information desk, he quaffed mighty quaffs from the two gallon jug, until he became so drunk that the aged clerk seized him by the seat of his pants and threw him out into the street, where he sat on the curb and apostrophized on the ingratitude of man. Following his hilarious success, Siki decided that he needed a new wife. On July 23, 1924, he married Lillian Werner, whom many thought to be a white woman but who was really an octoroon, whose home was in Memphis, Tenn. The day after the ceremony was performed, the real complication arose. Gertrude Amphler, a Dutch girl who had come to Paris from Holland in 1921 with the pugilist and had been introduced everywhere as his wife, received news of this new venture into the bonds of matrimony. At that very time she was being dispossessed of the little home in which Siki had left her when he had come to America. Long ago the straggling dollars she had been receiving from Siki had ceased coming, and, after six months without rent, the landlord had told her that she must move. The young girl, penniless and homeless, was forced to seek refuge with another Senegalese fighter, Paul Harms, who had the reputation of being sober and industrious. Madame Harms took care of little Siki while Madame Siki went to work. "That is a thing which I cannot believe about him," sobbed the little Dutch girl. "I have no certificate to show that I ever married Louis," she cried. She pointed to the little fellow playing on the sidewalk with the other children. "Could I have a better certificate?" she asked. The woman told a pitiful tale of love that had failed and of unfulfilled promises, and of the flight from Holland from her parents to be with the fighter. There had been glorious fights and finally the victory over Carpentier; then wealth and happiness for herself and her baby boy who had just been born. But it had all faded, like a cruel dream. People sympathized with the girl. His new wife was shocked to hear of Mme. Amphler. Siki merely shook his wooly head and muttered: "She no wife." It was all good publicity. Stories spread throughout the country. People everywhere wanted to see the Negro fight. Contracts rolled in for his signature. But the fighter himself lost all interest in prize fighting after he had found better battles in Hell's Kitchen. He cared nothing for contracts, and was more apt to start a battle with someone in the audience than with his scheduled opponent. He trained on wine, women, and late hours, and boasted of the fact. He was known in every dive in the Kitchen and in Harlem where liquor was sold. At almost every one he had grinned at some bartender after drinking all he could hold. "Siki no pay," he would say, and then stagger out, laughing. Most of the bartenders knew enough to let him go unmolested. HIS managers matched him with one Battling Nelson, a heavyweight, in order to gain prestige for him and to attract Dempsey. Nelson was the Negro light heavyweight champion of the country. for JANUARY, 1931 75 Just before the fight Siki had a case of bottled beer smuggled into his bathroom, and drank it all. The result was that he lost the decision, and spectators carried away a rather bad impression of him who had been hailed as the new Black Hope. All that he showed was the ability to stand a lot of punishment. Still, Siki made, to his mind, "plenty money" from the bout. He had a large number of signed contracts, so was not worried. He went back to his old days and his habits of street fighting. His last important battle was against Paul Berlenbach. He withstood terrific punches all through the fray but, thanks to another crate of beer which he had imbibed just before the contest, was out on his feet when the referee halted the slaughter. From that time on, Siki was no serious contender for any boxing crowns. He was seldom sober, and when matched with a second-rater in a small town, would please himself about keeping the engagement. Finally, unable to maintain his pace in the rings, he redoubled his battles in the streets. The police warned him several times. He laughed at them. "Ho, ho," he would shout, thumping his great barrel chest with a blow that would have knocked out an opponent in the ring. "Nobody hurt Siki. All like Siki. Him good heart." Soon after he was picked up for dead in the streets. He was carried to the French Hospital in New York, recovered, and left the next morning carrying a reporter under his arm and clothed only in his pajamas. He took a taxi home. At another time his pet monkey got loose in the subway. On his way to the Dundee-Terris bout at Coney Island he boarded a train at Times Square. As the train made its first stop, and as the crowd surged out, the monkey leaped from Siki's lap and darted to the platform. Siki jumped from the seat in which he had been seated and started after the animal, but the door closed and the train started. The monkey hopped straight for a policeman, who lost his balance and fell. He rose, and, accompanied by a crowd, pursued the animal, which led them a merry race to the end of the platform. The monkey then leaped to the tracks and hid underneath the platform edge. A train came in and, when it departed, he was gone. Siki left the train at the next stop and hurried back. When told that his pet had disappeared, he offered a reward and resumed his journey, only to find that the fight had been called off on account of rain. So many and varied were the tales told of the doings of Siki that little credence were given them. In Chicago an editor decided to make a personal investigation. He decided to entertain Siki and interview him at the same time. Right at the start, a futile effort to interview Siki disclosed that his English vocabulary was limited to words like "fight", "Gin", "cabaret", and a varied assortment of unprintable expletives. The wild African apparently found the party not wild enough, so he promptly disappeared. Finally at five o'clock, after an all-night hunt, he was locate at Thirty-first street, near a well-known all-night cabaret, yelling for more gin. Back in New York after his barnstorming tour, Siki was stabbed in the cheek early one morning with an instrument which was probably an ice pick. The cause of the attack was unknown, although it is said that Siki had just finished wrecking a night club within a short distance. "They got me from behind," wailed Siki. "They got me from behind. I wouldn't care if they fight fair." A man was arrested for the attack. Siki would not press any charges against him, saying that he feared for his wife if he did. "I don't want to send him to jail," said Siki. "I take care of him myself." Siki did not live long enough to complete his revenge. He himself was murdered. The night was cold and still. Gales of icy wind whistled down through the narrow canyon of Hell's Kitchen streets. It was late. Still men of both races lurked in the darkest shadows, sinister, foreboding. Death lurked too in the shadows of the dawn for Battling Siki. A horrible, miserable death for one who had risen to such heights. 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