Random House, 471 pp., $27.95
Ivan R. Dee, 364 pp., $27.50
Nearly eighty years later, my father can still recall the scene outside the Windsor Hotel in Montreal: the dashing and immaculately dressed young man in a felt hat standing by a sleek car—a Packard, probably, or maybe a Cadillac—supervising the bellhops as they loaded his luggage. The man in question was Gene Tunney. He had retired from boxing at the age of thirty-one and was on his honeymoon, having just married a Carnegie heiress from Greenwich. Even though he was watching from a distance down Piel Street, my father can also remember the aura that Tunney emitted: 'very supercilious,' he says.
Review, 4883 words
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