“Tiger” Jack Fox came within a few punches of bringing the world light heavyweight boxing crown to Spokane in 1939 . . . .

The apex of Fox's career came that year, when he fought Melio Bettina for the light heavyweight championship in Madison Square Garden. John Henry Lewis had vacated the title to join the heavyweight ranks and Fox was the overwhelming favorite to win the elimination tournament.

But a few days before the fight, Tiger was stabbed in a hotel in Harlem. The 10 inch blade missed his heart by only half an inch and doctors doubted whether he would live, let alone fight again.

Two months later, still not fully recovered, Fox climbed into the ring with Bettina. The fight had to be stopped in the ninth round when Fox couldn't continue.

Fox had other notable accomplishments. He scored both an eighth round knockout and later a 10 round decision over Jersey Joe Walcott, the fighter who later became world heavyweight champion.

Fox scored 82 knockouts in his checkered career, 24 of them in the first round. Only Jack Dempsey won more one round KOs.

Fox was a legend not only for specific feats, but for the length and variety of his career. When he died April 6, 1954, at the age of 46, fans recalled stories spanning his long ring career.

Northwest boxing rings were home to Tiger Jack Fox for virtually all of his active 18 years as a boxer. And for many of those years a Spokane boxing card was hardly complete unless Jack fought the main event.

After announcements of retirement that spanned about 10 years, Fox fought his last fight in December, 1950, when he was permanently injured in a Twin Falls, Idaho, match with Jose Ochoa.

In June 1951 he was found paralyzed in his hotel room, the victim of a stroke. He was broke and hungry and little hope was held for his recovery. But he recovered enough to hobble through the streets with a cane and had partly recovered his speech.

Prominent among the memories of Fox was the ease and speed with which he spent money. He often would be bumming smokes the Monday after a rich Friday pay off.

And the old “evil eye” came up for some talk. Fox always maintained that the reason he lost to Bettina was because of Evil Eye Finkle (real name: Jimmy Grippo, Bettina’s trainer), who fixed his lethal gaze on Fox from Bettina's corner. His belief in mysticism got another boost after the paralyzing stroke, when a faith healer was said to have cured Fox enough to walk with the cane.

Kaley Sonners, who often worked Jack's corner, remembered that Fox always had a kind word for the youngsters Sonners tutors in boxing. The Tiger would seek out the youngsters and asked them about their progress, passing on advice on points of style.

“What a man he was,” Sonners said. “And what a fighter.”

Sonners has recounted a time when he and Jack Powers, who was managing the Tiger, had taken Fox to Edmonton for a fight. Jack's opponent got wind of what was in store for him and never showed up. So, rather than kill the card at the last minute, Sonners offered to face Fox.

All concerned, including Fox, advised Sonners to fold at the earliest opportunity. Fox agreed not to hurt him, since Sonners was out of shape.

But Sonners would have none of that. “If I'm goin' down, you gotta put me there!”

So in the third round Fox, who had been careful not to hit Sonners in his tender midsection, planted a solid right hand between Sonners’ eyes. Down he went. And up he came, despite whispered instructions from Fox to stay down.

So Fox gently dumped him again with a punch between the eyes, so as not to cut him. Up came Sonners.

Fox shook his head, walked across the ring with his right hand cocked about waist high . . . and that's as much as Sonners remembered.

Tiger Fox was more than a fighter to his fans. Some of them virtually grew up in boxing with the ancient gladiator, who for years was the fight game to the Inland Empire.

Few of the people that saw him swagger jauntily down the aisle of a boxing arena will ever forget it. Fox would swing toward the ring, robe open, red gloved hands waving to friends, grinning at the crowd. His grin was big and the hole where his front teeth used to be only added to his charm.

There's lots of things . . . take the time he fought an exhibition with Joe Louis in 1947.

Things started out just ducky. The champ was showing the crowd the correct manner to use in boxing with an inferior opponent. Suddenly, whammo! The old Tiger banged Louis on the side of the head and capered away, shaking his head like a bull in trouble with picadors. Louis shook his head and waded in.

They stood toe-to-toe for a few seconds, pounding away at each other. Tiger finally skipped away; grinning and bobbing up and down. In a later round Louis backed Tiger into the ropes and drew back his right. "Whoosh!" shouted Tiger, holding up both hands and creeping off the ropes with a grin on his face. He took up a John L. Sullivan stance behind Louis and away they went again.

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