I began boxing professionally at 16. My first fight was a victory and earned $7.50, which I took home proudly to mother. She said to me, 'You can be a champion if you have enough faith.' Despite having 10 children to care for, she always had time to share her ideals with us.
From then on I fought often, but not very profitably. Once I knocked out an opponent, who hit his head so hard on the mat that he had to be taken to the hospital. I prayed all night for him. From that moment on I've never failed to pray for all my opponents both before and during a fight.
For 14 years I boxed in and about Camden, New Jersey and Philadelphia, never making more than enough money to pay creditors. One good opportunity was lost because I contracted typhoid and needed a year to regain my strength. Once I broke my right hand, then returned to action too soon and broke it again.
Several fights I lost from sheer weakness: there just wasn't enough money to buy the right kind of food. After 14 years of constant hunger, bruises, frustrating defeats and empty Christmasses for my family, I retired from boxing in 1943. At the age of 30, the fight world considered me washed up.
This period of my life was the lowest. My mother, whose faith and courage had always guided me, died.
Meanwhile, I did odd jobs such as driving a garbage truck and digging sewers. My income never could be stretched to provide adequately for my wife, Lydia, and our six youngsters. Lydia never lost her trust in me, and because of her patience and resourcefulness somehow we managed.
During the winter we would put the kids to bed at 5:30 in the afternoon because we couldn't afford the coal to keep them warm. Many of our windows had cardboard in them. The early morning hunger cries of my youngsters still haunt me at times.
I don't think I ever really lost the dream of winning the heavyweight championship. For a simple man like myself, I felt it was my only hope of real achievement. So when a local boxing promoter named Felix Bocchicchio visited me one day in 1944 and offered to help me on a comeback, I accepted.
The next morning, when my kids awoke crying from hunger pains again, I made this fervent prayer: 'Dear God, if I ever win the championship, I'll devote the rest of my life to youth work in an effort to spread Your word.' I knew such a dream could only come true through prayer and faith; it was the best contract I ever made.
Things began to go much better: good matches came my way and I won most of them. Fortunately, I have always kept in good condition and never smoke or drink. Then I broke my left hand in one fight and lost. Months later in my next fight, I broke my other hand.
Each time they were ready to count me out for good, but each time I came back. Faith in God gave me faith in myself. Prayer was the steadying link between us.
My first big chance for the championship was against Joe Louis in 1947. At the end of 15 rounds I felt I had won the decision - that my goal had been reached. But the judges awarded the decision to Joe. That night I returned to the hotel room alone and read the Bible until my disappointment and discouragement were gone. I would try again.
I had other chances at the title, yet each time this final achievement seemed out of reach. Perhaps God did not mean for me to be champion. What would have been my last opportunity came in July 1951 in Pittsburgh.
When I won in the seventh round, I felt I was 16 years old, not 37. For 21 years I had dreamed and prayed for this night. I wanted to shout out my joy and beliefs to the whole world; I wanted God to know that I hadn't forgotten that vow I had made seven years ago.'
- Jersey Joe Walcott
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