From The Archives: Jimmy Brown (1950s text comic)

A 1947 issue of Tit-Bits magazine with an article about hyping up a young Randolph Turpin is a neat curiosity though not impossibly rare. Today's copyright-ignoring exclusive is 'Jimmy Brown, Sportheld'.

A popular tekststrip in midcentury Holland, I'm told that "his adventures appeared weekly in Sportief, but also in several regional newspapers". A text comic is, as you've probably guessed, less art-heavy than the average comic. This series, featuring the eponymous chimpanzee in various sporting adventures, was written by Sportief editor Herman Johannes Looman (1906-2004) and illustrated by Carol Willem Voges (1925-2001).

Jimmy, our sportheld (lit. sport hero), gets up to quite a bit. In the excerpt above he's a racecar driver, elsewhere he takes part in Elfstedentocht, in the piece below he had a brief boxing career, which is why you're reading about it on this boxing site. It's not the first story in the series but it was a newspaper comic strip, you're supposed to be able to pick it up anywhere.

And if it needs spelling out, what's special about this obscure comic is that I found a digital scan of a 1970s reprint and personally translated it just for you. The first time it's ever been translated to English as far as I know. I'll be cropping the Dutch text out so it's as seamless a read as possible. There's a link to download the comic in the original language at the end.

As a Boxer

Originally published from July 19th, 1950 to November 14th, 1950.

Jimmy Brown cut a despondent figure. A while back a pair of brainless boys in blue picked him up for vagrancy and transferred him to Artis, the Amsterdam Royal Zoo, where people had locked him up in a monkey pen. He was a truly bored ape and if he didn't happen to get hit with an engagement to Dina, a not unattractive chimpanzee, he would've blown the joint a long time ago.

Jimmy had to be okay with it, that all sorts of curious people spent hours standing to look at him, while they encouraged their kids to throw peanuts and biscuits at the sweet old ape. Often Jimmy preferred to doze off sitting with his back to the crowd. "Sweet old ape," he would grumble, "I just wanna let them see once more how sweet and how old I really am." And then with melancholy, he thought of the times that he celebrated his sporting triumphs....

The one he disliked the most was a certain Mr. Carl Cashson, a retired lamplighter, who made a tour of the zoo every afternoon and never forgot to visit Jimmy and Dina. Mr. Cashson yelled all kinds of insipid jokes and didn't even spare Jimmy being target practice for pebbles, no matter what it was it made Jimmy gnash his teeth in frustration.

Sometimes, if he was determined to get Jimmy to turn around, Mr. Cashson also prodded Jimmy with the point of his parasol between his ribs. Jimmy's blood began to boil and he would have loved nothing more than to give Mr. Cashson a beatdown with his own parasol. Once however, Mr. Cashson very sneakily pinched Jimmy's haunch and then Jimmy flew into such a raging fury....

....that he clutched two bars in his strong hands with a roar.... these he pulled apart as easily as you or I would pull apart curtains.... In that very moment a gap emerged in the bars, big enough to let Jimmy Brown and all the other apes escape from their monkey cage. The first who noticed that was Mr. Cashson himself, whose hairs stood on end as he recoiled and ran screaming for his life.

"Dina, come on," called Jimmy, "I'm gonna make mincemeat out of that old grouch, the one who harassed us every afternoon." As fate would now have it, Dina was at that moment napping in the corner of the monkey pen, so Jimmy, who did not want to abandon his fiancée, had to first shake her to her senses. "Now wake up," cried Jimmy. "There's a gap in the bars. We're getting out of here and while we're at it we can settle the score with that wisecracker."

"Hey, what's going on, man?" asked a sleepy Dina. "Is something the matter? What's all the hubbub?"
"Get up, woman" shouted Jimmy, who was beside himself and completely forgot that he otherwise whispered sweet nothings in Dina's ear. "If we get a move on, we'll be free and moreover we can get our own back on the old fart. Do you see that gap in the bars? I did that, when I lost my temper."

Instead of eagerly jumping up and blowing the joint with Jimmy, a slightly bored Dina began to yawn. "And what do we have to do outside the cage, Jimmy?" she asked, "And who would take care of our food and drink? And you just thought that the zookeeper would think it's fine, that we...."
"You animal!" shouted Jimmy, who forgot he still called her "my honeybun, my beautiful little pumpkin" just yesterday. "You have the soul of a slave, you're not worthy of freedom!" And in the next blink of an eye Jimmy disappeared.

Jimmy Brown worked his way lightning-quick through the gap in the bars and ran through the zoo, stared at by all sorts of startled pedestrians. He stormed straight through a bed of geraniums and disappeared behind the giraffe enclosure. There he climbed, unseen, over a high fence and stood the next moment in the quiet, stately Park Street. I still have an axe to grind with that Mr. Cashson, he thought, but first I have to get a set of clothes on me, because now I'm walking in the limelight.

The front door of the premises at 37 Park Street stood wide open, the baker Williams had just gone upstairs to deliver Mrs. De Jong half a rusk and three buns. Jimmy snuck inside, hiding himself for better or worse in the bike shed behind the door and later saw the baker Williams leaving the house, whilst he closed the front door behind himself with a mighty thump. Upstairs he heard Mrs. De Jong grumbling at Mr. De Jong, because she had to come all the way from the attic to help the baker, while he was sat in the front room napping away.

Sighing and out of sorts, Mrs. De Jong disappeared again to the attic, which gave Jimmy, in turn, the courage to wander upstairs. He had ended up in a tidy house. Upstairs in the corridor hung a neat, brown fur coat, which Jimmy looked at with delight. But he became distracted by a delicious scent which came from the kitchen. Jimmy lurked in.... There was nobody, but on the stove was a pan where three big balls of mince lay simmering.... Jimmy's mouth began to water.

"Pssst," went Jimmy to the meatballs, but they lay calmy simmering. "Yeah, if you aren't going anywhere then I'll take you away," mumbled Jimmy, who fished one of the meatballs out of the sauce with his fingers. "Frightfully delightful," he muttered, while one by one he stuck them away between his molars. "A little hot, but a wonderful flavour." In that moment, a voice echoed through the house. "Hubby!" yelled the lady from the attic. "Go take a quick look to see if the meatballs aren't overcooking."

Jimmy stood chewing to await what would now happen. He heard stumbling in the adjacent room and a little later a shuffling gait approached. Then in the doorway appeared a lumbering, bearded figure, that shortsightedly peeked over his pince-nez into the kitchen. He wanted to step inside, but when his gaze fell on Jimmy, he recoiled backwards. "S-s-sweetheart h-help," stuttered Mr. De Jong, "that seems to be an ape from Artis, that is sitting in our kitchen. Marie-ie-ie," he yelled upstairs, "come 'n' see."

Mrs. De Jong came grumbling down from the attic. "Oh what is it now," she snapped, "can't do anything by yourself, can y....". But when she noticed the deathly pale face of her husband and his eyes full of horror, which he kept fixed on the kitchen, she immediately fell quiet. The feeling of impending disaster snuck up on her. "What's the matter, John?" she asked most unsettled. "There's an.... I believe there's an ape sitting in the kitchen, such a great ruddy ape and I believe he has our meatballs." At that moment Mrs. De Jong let out a terrified scream.

This was for Jimmy the moment to take action. He jumped up, rushed out of the kitchen and gripped Mr. and Mrs. De Jong with his strong hands, dragged them in the kitchen and stuffed them one by one in the cabinet under the counter, which he carefully put the latch on. Mrs. De Jong still tried to struggle back, but one sturdy squeeze of her nose was enough to tame her for good. Jimmy locked the kitchen off and strolled into the living room.

The survey, which Jimmy undertook in the De Jong residence, first became interesting for him, when he discovered the wardrobe of the man of the house. There hung all sorts of posh suits for which Jimmy had little fancy. An exception made up a rather pretentious summer fit, light-green and checkered brown, that he hastily tried on and that sat made to measure. He found a tyrolean hunting hat next to it which also didn't look too shabby. After letting his feet disappear into a splendid pair of light-yellow shoes, Jimmy left the house with great content.

Jimmy strolled care-free through the city. He had taken a little money out of Mr. De Jong's wallet with him, not a lot, because he didn't want to become a thief and inter alia had armed himself with with a walking stick. He felt really very satisfied and noticed, to his delight, that almost no looked at him. Hey, he thought, the people aren't all that beautiful now either. I don't stand out as an especially ugly example. Here and there he loitered outside stores, until a poster caught his attention.

Jimmy had a bit of trouble deciphering the letters, but eventually he succeeded in reading the announcement:
TO•NITE - ODEON - 8PM
Top fight between Billy the Bruiser and Big Bludgeoner for 12 rounds of 3 minutes.
An open class contest between two undefeated super-champions, who are both prospects for the world's championship at middle-weight.
Who will get to challenge 'El Ariete'?
Well, thought Jimmy, I'll go check it out.

That evening Jimmy sat in a good seat watching the boxing matches in the Odeon building. It reminded him of the days, that he himself was still an active sports practitioner, when he still celebrated triumphs as a footballer and cyclist. The undercard only moderately interested him. Those guys rattled each other a bit, but Jimmy found it merely a tame spectacle. Well if that's what boxing is, he thought, they're surely afraid to hurt each other. I only hope that later, Billy the Bruiser and Big Bludgeoner are cut from a different cloth.

But this spectacle also struck Jimmy as terribly disappointing. They were well-set guys, who stood opposite each other there in the ring, but Jimmy was of the opinion that they were caressing each other more than they were exchanging blows. He sat there watching a little sleepily, but when the men stood minutes-long in the fifth hanging in each other's arms like two fools in love, then Jimmy suddenly became so mad, that he stuck his fingers in his mouth and let such a dreadful whistle be heard, that even the two boxers found themselves startled.

Immediately came a high-and-mighty usher to order Jimmy to knock off that ear-splitting whistling. Otherwise he would be forced to escort him out of the hall. "Grrr," grumbled Jimmy, "you and what army, pal?" he asked. "We gotta swallow this half-cooked tripe and ask for seconds? Is that what we're paying our hard-earned money for?"
"That fellow is right," yelled a man behind Jimmy and expressions of support flowed from other corners too. The usher became so nervous, that he began to tug Jimmy's sleeve.

"If you don't let me go," raged Jimmy, "then I'll beat you to a pulp."
"Get outta here!", screamed the usher, "or I'm calling in the police...."
An awful tumult broke out. Anyone and everyone stood on chairs to shout, but out of the nowhere people heard a hard blow and people saw something soaring through the air with a grand arch. It was none other than the usher, Jimmy's one, who had made himself angrier and angrier and received a sunday punch. The fight in the hall, which then followed, was indescribable.

It took quite a while, before the peace in the hall was restored. Some cops called by the brass made sure of that. With their truncheons they dealt out some whacks, but when it came to arresting Jimmy, who was pointed out to them by the manager as the cause of all that racket, they weren't budging. An odd fellow had immediately come to his defense and he spoke with so much emphasis about the unmitigated innocence of Jimmy, that the two officers (somewhat disappointed) slinked away empty-handed.

The odd fellow went to sit next to Jimmy, but when one tried to offer his hearty thanks for the unexpected assistance, the other didn't want to hear a word. "Think nothing of it," he said, "on the contrary, it is I who should be thanking you!"
"Me?" asked Jimmy most surprised. "In heaven's name, what for?"
"For the magnificent knock that sent that usher into next week," said the stranger. "Ah, that was a thing of delight. I shan't forget it in this lifetime. Now that's what we experts call a bone-crushing blow. It was high-class professionalism, good sir. You have my respect!"

Jimmy Brown was a little embarrassed under all that praise. "Honest 'twasn't much, mister, that lovetap."
"It wasn't much?" exclaimed the odd fellow. "But if a man as I, Russell Roosevelt, aver, that that was no lovetap but a scientifically perfect uppercut, then perhaps you'll say more!!". Jimmy Brown looked Mr. Roosevelt over a tad surprised. "Whether you or the baker on the corner said so it'd make no difference to me." Russell Roosevelt began to laugh. He grabbed Jimmy by the arm and whispered: "Come with me."

Mr. Russell Roosevelt took Jimmy with him to a café, where he treated him to a double helping of egg sandwiches, while for himself he ordered a nip of brandy with sugar. "You have to know then, Jimmy," said Russell Roosevelt with a modest smile, "that I am great expert in the field of boxing. I can say that I need only look at someone to know whether a boxer lurks within or not. And now I can give away, Jimmy, that, when I saw you sitting in the Odeon just then, my heart started beating outside of my chest. What sat there, is no ordinary someone, I thought, that is a prince, a king, no - an imperator under the boxers. I'll grow a tail if it's not true, Jimmy."

"I sat watching you precisely with great delight, Jimmy," said Mr. Russell Roosevelt with an earnest tone, "when you began to kick up a fuss over that prom dance between Billy the Bruiser and the other pudgester, and later when you got into mischief with that usher. And then came the blow, that magnificent blow, which was of scientific perfection, that I began squirming in my chair. The blow was formidable. This was the cleanest straight right that human eyes had ever beheld." Mr. Roosevelt's eyeballs began to spin like a slot machine as he ordered another shot of poison. "That blow was worth more than a pretty penny, Jimmy Brown, twas a fortune, a great big fortune....!"

Jimmy Brown sat staring at Mr. Roosevelt a little glassily. That this one sat telling him there was a great boxing champion hidden with him was very heart-warming, yes, that filled him with deep joy, but that he could earn a fortune with him left him ice-cold. He, as ape, had already noticed earlier that money in the human world means a great deal, but he had never understood why, because he found that that disgusting paper tasted awful and he had also once tried to nibble a few dimes and quarters which ended badly. "Just let me know where and when I can come train with you, mister." said Jimmy simply. Mr. Roosevelt had to resist the temptation to press the impressionable ape.

The next morning the boxing training of Jimmy Brown commenced posthaste, this under the auspices of no other than Mr. Russell Roosevelt himself. It began with simple deep squats and a little weightlifting. But after a while Jimmy was allowed to try his strength on the bag, which he began to bombard with such fire, that within five minutes the thing was as leaky as a sieve. Mr. Roosevelt stood watching with an overjoyed face. "Can't let it get to me that he's already punched holes in ten bags," thought Mr. Roosevelt, "that punch'll soon bring in money to cover it twice over."

When Mr. Roosevelt first taught Jimmy Brown the principles of boxing, he hastily put a pair of brand-new boxing gloves on him, something which made Jimmy rejoiceful, that he was within a hair's breadth of giving Mr. Roosevelt a red-hot punch in the face from sheer joy. "I can see it, Jimmy," he said, "you're just raring to finally get to box a match, but we're a long ways away from being that far. I must first pull together some sparring-partners with whom you can practice some. I shall go find a few sturdy boys, because naturally they must be able to take a punch."
"Lemme at 'em," growled Jimmy menacingly. "How many ya got? Ten?"

The next day Mr. Roosevelt introduced Jimmy to Henry Hands. "This is your training partner for today, Jimmy," he said. "Give Henry Hands a hand." Jimmy looked at Henry Hands a bit suspiciously. Evidently, these past few days Henry Hands had not shaved, not washed, and, judging by his clothes, spent that time sleeping in the gutter. He sneered meanly when he saw Jimmy. "So, this is the misfit, that I have to try and teach the noble art of boxing? By the looks of him, I doubt if I'm gonna be able to," he hissed. "I've seen guys who looked a lot more switched on upstairs and they amounted to nothing." Jimmy Brown found Henry Hands to be no kind man.

Such a training session is always held in a real ring and a little later Jimmy and Henry Hands climbed through the ropes, followed by Mr. Roosevelt, who would give Jimmy technical pointers in the meantime. "Now you only have to try, Jimmy," he said, "to parry Henry's punches. Nothing more is expected of you. Do not even attempt to hit Henry. That will come later. First we must improve your guard. Ok gentleman, let's go!" Though Mr. Roosevelt had not yet finished speaking, Jimmy already ate three hefty shots from Henry Hands. One on his ear, one on his nose, and one in his stomach.

"Block, Jimmy, cover up, protect yourself!" shouted Mr. Roosevelt when he saw Henry Hands landing on Jimmy at will, because Henry Hands had some boxing wits. Jimmy Brown did what he could. He tried his best to avoid or catch the drum roll of blows and punches to no avail. The gloved fists of Henry Hands struck him without mercy. Jimmy started to despair. When Jimmy got hit with the latest finishing blow, from which our poor ape was left with blind staggers, Henry Hands angrily removed his gloves, climbed out the ring looking as black as thunder, and snarled to Mr. Roosevelt: "Give me another shout when that meatball can do some more. I, Henry Hands, ain't getting a kick out of this."

Jimmy Brown was truly confounded by the boxing lesson Henry Hands had given him and he saw up-close, that he still had much to learn, before he would be an ingenious boxer. But nobody would get away with calling him "meatball", not even Henry Hands, who all in all was in fact just a churl. Grinding his teeth with rage, he leaned over the ropes and shouted in a quarrelsome tone at Henry Hands, who was just planning on leaving the gym: "Heyyy, rude fella, come back for a moment if you've got the guts, then we'll see who's the meatball 'round here!" When Mr Roosevelt heard these provocative words, he almost sank through the floor from shock. "Jimmy!" he cried with a quivering voice, "tell Henry Hands, that you did not really mean that."

"He doesn't have to say any more to me," said Henry Hands, who pushed Mr. Roosevelt aside and started to climb in the ring again. He quickly took his jacket off, rolled up his sleeves and said to Jimmy, while he looked at him askance: "If you've got friends or acquaintances to say your goodbyes to, better do it quick, jackass...." Jimmy thought he would collapse from sheer rage when he heard this abusive language. He made a brisk move and before Henry Hands knew it, Jimmy had him by the nose, and radically revolved his two strong fingers. Henry Hands let out a chilling yelp, wanted to do something back, but in the next blink of an eye Jimmy had given his chin a hammer blow, whereby the other flew out of the ring with a graceful arch.

With a dull thud Henry Hands got put on the floor next to the ring, where he lay still as a bag of salt. "What've you done, what've you done!" shrieked Mr. Roosevelt. "How can you start a quarrel with this gentleman. When he soon comes to, he'll make applesauce out of you. He used to be one our best boxers, a mighty technician, who only never became world champion because he could not turn down a beer, but he knew more about boxing than Professor Einstein knew about the theory of relativity. And there you go quarrelling with him. Flee Jimmy, for heaven's sake, flee. Just look, he's coming to and if he gets you then you're beyond saving." Mr. Roosevelt was at such a loss he did not know where to begin.
"Genuinely, Henry," he called, "'twas an eentsy accident, Jimmy did not mean it so. He will gladly offer his apology."

"I will absolutely not offer any apologies," bellowed Jimmy Brown angrily. "Let 'im come up here, I'll offer him something he'll remember on his deathbed." Mr. Roosevelt, in anguish, clung onto Henry Hands, who meanwhile was back up to scratch. "Henry," he cried, "good old Henry, don't be so mad at the chap. Spare him. Really, he did not mean it so. He was only joking around with you." But Henry Hands pushed aside the yammering Russell Roosevelt with unmannerly force and climbed in the ring with gritted teeth. "Look who's back!" sang Jimmy mockingly. "There's my special little guy again. He's back to get other boop on the nose from his uncle Jimmy." When Mr. Roosevelt heard this, he closed his eyes and fell weak. Fuming purple with anger and eyes bulging, Henry Hands walked up to Jimmy Brown.

Jimmy Brown looked disdainfully at Henry Hands, who prowled towards him like a panther. "Russell," he shouted down below, "wake up, then you'll see the most beautiful blow to ever be delivered in a boxing ring." This however was all too overconfident, because Henry Hands had not for nothing once almost made it to world champion. With full strength he gave Jimmy a right straight. It was a booming shot, hard enough to fell a bull of 800 kilos. He immediately retreated a few steps to enjoy the full splendor of this champion punch, for he knew that Jimmy would collapse in on himself like an underbaked cake. To his bewilderment he saw Jimmy instead standing with a friendly smile. "Was that you, nancyboy? Or did a fly just so happen to land on my chin?" asked Jimmy sweet as honey. And in that same instant he tore towards Henry Hands.

Henry Hands did not have the time to blink his eyes even once. Jimmy hit him with his left fist approximately two meters into the air, like a tennis player beginning to serve by throwing the ball in the air, and with his right fist he gave Henry Hands such a frightening wallop, that in the next second he lay on the pavement outside of the gym gasping for breath. He had punched him clean through a 5cm thick oakwood door. "Water, pour me a glass of water," groaned Mr. Roosevelt, who witnessed the last part of the slugfest sitting on the floor and who no longer knew if he should believe his eyes. "J-j-j-jimmy." he stuttered, "t-t-this was p-p-perfect. Why in heaven's name did you let that worthless fellow unload on you so in the beginning?" Now, however, it was Jimmy's turn to look surprised. "You outright told me to not even attempt to hit him. I had to only think about my guard."

Mr. Roosevelt dragged Jimmy next to him on a bench. "We have to get to the heart of things, Jimmy," he said in a hushed tone. "This memorable afternoon has taught me much. You have no need whatsoever for a guard, because if they hit you you'd hardly notice that and a-...."
"Hardly notice that?" asked Jimmy in an indignant tone. "I don't feel those taps one bit. I thought just then when that guy tried to hit me, that there was a mosquito resting on my cheek...." Mr. Roosevelt looked speechless at Jimmy, but then he could no longer hold it together. Emotional tears streamed down his cheeks. "Boy," he sobbed, "if that is true, then I, Russell Roosevelt, within a year see the chance to make you world champion of all weights." Now, Jimmy also had to flick away a tear.

Mr. Roosevelt made Jimmy Brown follow one training regimen. He had to jump rope and shadowbox. He had to swing against the heavybag and practice on the speedbag. "You just carry on like so." said Mr. Roosevelt. "Practice until the wheels come off and then I will see if I can't rustle up your first opponent for next week. Maybe that Mike Mauler will be up for a little match. I only fear, that he would not have much appetite to step in the ring against a completely unknown boxer. I shall try to make him the most financially generous offer possible, perhaps then he will bite." Now, Mike Mauler did bite indeed. He was always in need of money and when he heard that he would be competing against a débutant, he figured it to be an easy way to earn money.

Mike Mauler, who did his name justice and indeed knew his way around a maul, came to meet Jimmy Brown the next day. He came to take the temperature right away, because he wanted to know who he would be up against next Wednesday evening. "He's a kid with talent," Mr. Roosevelt had told him. "but he's really no match for you. It would be much better if he kept training another six months, but he wanted to have a match at all costs and he will just have to see for himself. I have warned him." Mike stepped up to Jimmy with a cocky smile and said cheerfully: "Hiya heavybag, you're giving boxing a go and chose me as your first victim?" Jimmy looked at Mike Mauler suspiciously. Was there really another one like Henry Hands?

Mike Mauler went to sit with Jimmy and Mr. Roosevelt at a cosy table in the corner of the gym to chat. "This match of ours has been decided to be 10 rounds of 3 minutes," he said, "but after the third round I think I'll have had my fill. Then I'll end things. Brown, I'll give you an uppercut and then straight away you kiss the canvas for the count of 10. Simple, that you know that in advance, then I don't have to hit you so hard and at least you won't have a headache the next day. Now, what do you think of my proposal?" Jimmy looked at Mike Mauler surprised. "Do you mean, that....?" But before he could say anything further, Mr. Roosevelt gave him a shrewd jab in the rips. "That is a wonderful idea, Mike," he said approvingly. "Only I find three rounds somewhat short. Should we not do another two? You understand that Jimmy has to make a bit of name for himself."

"No, Russell," responded Mike Mauler, "In the fourth round I'll finish it. If I leave him standing any longer than that, it would be bad for my name. You understand that." Then Jimmy could keep it together no longer. He stood up angrily and walked out of the gym. By the door he turned around and shouted "And do you know what would be bad for my name, Mr. Mauler? That I would let a half-pint fighter like you stand over me for a 10-count. I hope, that I have said that clearly enough." And then Jimmy slammed the door behind himself with a bang, Mike Mauler was left perplexed.
"W-w-what-did-he-say? Half-pint fighter? Listen to me, Russell. I won't let myself be insulted by such an oaf. What I just said about fourth round is off the table, you hear me. I'm not planning to allow such a jumped-up piece of work to climb in the ring a second time. Come hell or high water, he's going in the first round. Or my name isn't Mike Mauler."

The next day Mike Mauler and Henry Hands, his sparring partner, boxed a few rounds at a furious tempo so they could step in the ring in good condition. Something was bothering Mike Mauler and Hands had damn well noticed. "I don't know what's up with you, Mike," he called out, "but if you fight like this in the match against Brown, then I predict a spectacular loss, you understand!! What you're doing now is not boxing, but idleness and dilly-dallying." Mike Mauler growled back that he promised he was going to floor that hatchling Brown in four rounds and he'd do it too!! When he, the great Mike Mauler, would suffer a defeat, then he would for the rest of his life take no step in the ring. Capeesh!? "Just be careful, buddy," was all Henry Hands could muster. "With that Brown you'll have to keep your wits about you. He's no run-of-the-mill bum!!"

Mr. Roosevelt was rather a tad worried that Jimmy could have stage fright for his first match. He wanted him to drink all manner of nerve-calming medicines, like Hoffmann's drops and valerian, but Jimmy laughed in his face. "What for, Mr. Roosevelt?" Jimmy had asked. "Why do I have to drink that stuff? Did you think, maybe, that this fist doesn't have the strength to knock that half-pint Mauler clean out the ring? I could beat him with my eyes closed." Mr. Roosevelt was not sure if Jimmy was actually filled with that kind of confidence or was trying to talk away his angst by boasting. He took a few very deep breaths and then took ten drops of Hoffmann's drops and a sip of valerian, because he felt as shivery as a chihuahua, when he thought of Jimmy's first contest.

That evening in the Odeon, some amateur fights would finish first and after that Jimmy Brown and Mike Mauler would appear in the ring. Jimmy had gone to the Odeon and arrived there together with Mr. Roosevelt, who gave Jimmy a quick massage which he found so relaxing that he was lulled into sleep. Mr. Roosevelt stood looking at this scene with big eyes. "What an Adonis he is," he murmured. "I only fear that he is already too calm, for a boxer must always have some pre-match nerves. That is always good."

"Jimmy!" he shouted. "Wake up. Soon you must box the first match of your life and therefore you must not be sleepy."
"Ah-sweetie?" asked Jimmy dreamily. "Wuzzat about boxing? Say, can't you grant me this one little nap?" Mr. Roosevelt threw his two arms in the air in exasperation.
"So peaceful." he hollered. "And this is what I have to make a world champion from!"

But when Jimmy Brown climbed in the boxing ring for the first match of his life, he did not seem at all sleepy anymore. He went to sit on the stool in his corner with a foreboding look on his face and let Russell Roosevelt whisper some more advice in his ear, advice that he was not wholly listening to. The reason for this furious mood of Jimmy was that while clambering in the ring, he had seen Henry Hands sprawled out in the seat for esteemed guests and looking at him so contemptuously, that Jimmy's blood was boiling in advance. In the corner of his opponent, Mike sat schmoozing with Leonard Long, who has been Mike's trainer for forever and a day. He was receiving last-minute instructions, which he had to dwell on, that Jimmy's guard was no bigger than a matchbox.

When the bell for the first round rang, Mr. Roosevelt had to get something out. "Go for it, Jimmy," he whispered. "'Tis about your future." And about mine, he promptly thought behind closed doors. Mike Mauler stormed across like a bullet and before Jimmy knew what was happening, he had received a shot on the jaw, which generated cries of delight from the big hall in the Odeon. Jimmy, who was already not in the best of moods, now burst into a fiery rage. Therefore, he did not notice that everyone was left speechless by the fact that he had not even wobbled under this assault from Mike Mauler. Moreso than anyone, Mike sighed with disappointed. I'll have to give him another one. Our friend here still has his knees under him, he thought. But that was the last thought Mike would have in that moment. He saw something flash....

Yes, Mike Mauler saw something brown flash by and then he saw no more, everything became black. The spectators did see more. Although Mike had a sturdy defense, they saw Jimmy push through his opponent's guard an uppercut so formidable, so terrific, so booming, that Mike rose out of the ring like a hot air balloon when the captain cuts the tether. In the next blink of an eye, he bonked his head on the highest part of the ceiling and then descended with great speed.... Jimmy saw him coming.... everyone saw him coming.... "Psssst, Henry," Jimmy called to Henry Hands, who sat watching with eyes as big as chicken eggs. Henry looked over at Jimmy and by then it had happened. With an effortless tap of his right fist, Jimmy had shot his returning opponent back out of the ring and hit him precisely in the direction of Henry Hands.... In the hall pandemonium broke loose.

Referee Tommy Teller pushed through the ruckus that exploded in the Odeon with aplomb. He saw Mr. Mike Mauler slumbering like a precious infant in the arms of Henry Hands and quietly counted to ten, after which he approached Jimmy and stuck his right arm in the air to signify the knockout victory achieved. The people in the hall thunderously cheered Jimmy, who in turn heartily thanked them by blowing kisses with his left and his right. Russell Roosevelt was sobbing as he climbed in the ring, sobbing from emotions and gratefulness of course. He now allowed press photographers to take pictures of him and Jimmy together in all sorts of poses. And to every reporter, who wished to hear it, he said: "Jimmy Brown is my discovery. He has granite in his right hand and uranium in his left, but the latter he saves for more important occasions."

Russell Roosevelt always held that one should strike when the iron is hot and the very next day after the amazing K.O. win of Jimmy over Mike Mauler, he made his way to the manager of Big Bludgeoner, with the goal to arrange a match between Jimmy and Big. Dave Ducatman, for that was the name of Big Bludgeoner's manager, was receptive to such a match, because he had read in the newspaper that Jimmy had become the darling of the public with one punch, and he knew from experience that the public would come to watch their darlings and would be prepared to pay the inflated price of admission. First, naturally, he dismissed the proposal out of hand, but when consequently he won concessions, that he and Big would receive three-quarters of the pot of gold win or lose, then he munificently said, excellent! After which Russell Roosevelt walked home in good spirits.

Jimmy Brown was not overjoyed when he found out from Mr. Roosevelt that next week he would be in the ring with Big Bludgeoner, no less. He shrugged his shoulders disrespectfully. "Yeah, that bum I saw that evening when I first met you, fighting against that other can. I'd love to know when you'll finally rustle up someone who'd be worth breaking a sweat for for once."
"Jimmy, Jimmy!" Roosevelt yelled in frustration, "do not speak so haughty. That will be your undoing. With that mentality, you would underestimate your opponents and that is something frightful. Believe me when I say that it has been the death of many promising boxers." Jimmy yawned and pretended not hear.
"I'm reading something here in the newspaper about Joe Dynamite. Can't I take him?"
"But Jimmy," wailed Russell Roosevelt, "that is none other than the champion of the world. That is the world champion himself!!!"
"What of it?" asked Jimmy, lost in thought.

Big Bludgeoner also got a rude awakening in his match against Jimmy Brown. In the first round he managed to treat Jimmy Brown to three hefty swings, but then he had had enough. He took two steps forward and then so quickly shot his right fist at the jaw of his opponent, that practically none of the five thousand spectators had seen, that Jimmy had given Big Bludgeoner a haymaker. But Big had felt it and that was all that mattered. His eyes rolled pitifully a few times and then he deflated like a balloon that had been pricked. The roar of the cheering crowd exploded anew, after referee Teller had solemnly counted to ten. Nobody actually noticed that two men were sitting in the stands, who saw the significance of this and immediately left without cheering.

The two men were none other than Henry Hands and Mike Mauler. They left the Odeon building as quickly as possibly and made their way to a small bar in the vicinity. "Now, what did I tell you," said Henry to Mike. "This gentleman is a danger to boxing. First he pummelled me to dust, then you, and now Big. If he gets the chance, he'll beat us all to a pulp and now I'm wondering if we're so willingly going to go to the slaughterhouse. If this carries on then in less than half a year we'll all be out of dough. Then there will be only one boxer, who the people will come to see." Mike Mauler sat with a pensive look.
"You're right," he muttered gloomily, "but how do we end this? Soon he'll take out Timmy Tillman, Ben Bonecrusher & Hans Holyfield, and then we'll watch with the rest of them how Mr. Brown becomes world champion and rides off into the sunset with our moola." Henry leaned close to Mike and whispered something in his beautifully formed cauliflower ear....

While Jimmy Brown withdrew to his training quarters with Russell Roosevelt to prepare for his upcoming match against Billy Bruiser in peace, Henry Hands and Mike Mauler sat brooding over their malicious plan. They hashed out every last detail and, when they concluded that nothing could thwart their plans, they began to fiendishly grin and said to one another: "That's that settled. We'll see each other after the Bruiser fight and off with our heads if that's not the immediate end of his career as a boxer. Really, we're providing the sport of boxing a great service by getting rid of that dangerous beast once and for all...."
Meanwhile Jimmy, oblivious to any danger, practiced so hard that sparks were flying. Russell Roosevelt had chosen a new sparring partner for him - a certain Battling Bull - and this one got such a flogging every day that he stridently hoped the evening of the big match would quickly fall.

In the meantime Mr. Roosevelt was not managing to inspire one bit of fear in Jimmy Brown for his new opponent. "Tis one of the most knowledgeable and strongest boxers who we have here." he said to Jimmy. "You see him only as a ragbag who will hit the deck after one clip around the ear but I assure you, that you, if you keep thinking this way, will eventually come to grief. Stay alert, Jimmy, never underestimate your opponents. That is the worst thing you could do!" Jimmy was listening to his coach but only with half an ear. He amused himself in the meantime with the punching bag, which he worked with both hands as though the thing was a Turkish drum. "Good, Russell, good," he grumbled. "I will stay alert, that's my promise to you, but you really have to show up with a complete different kind of opponent, before I can get any enjoyment. If it carries on like this with these weaklings, I'd rather be playing ping pong." Mr. Roosevelt sighed deeply.

For one inscrutable reason or another Jimmy Brown found himself, once he was in the big hall of the Odeon, standing opposite his opponent Billy the Bruiser, this kind man. It could be a brother of mine, he thought fondly, and therein was Jimmy not entirely wrong, because Billy did indeed look more like a chimpanzee than a human. He was truly hideous. Jimmy however thought him by no means ugly, but he thought him sympathetic too, and that is why he greeted his rival with a wide smile on his face. Billy, who was not generally used to this kind of friendliness in the boxing ring, took Jimmy's sunny disposition the wrong way. I won't let myself get laughed by anybody, he thought. And in the first round he treated Jimmy to a series of blows which were so hard, that would make concrete bunker fall apart.

Jimmy was having a great time with Billy the Bruiser, who was doing his best to live up to his name. "'Tis a brave boy," he thought. "look at 'im doing his best. He doesn't have the fists to pummel my face. He's working himself into such a sweat that I'm beginning to have sympathy for him." Meanwhile, Mr. Roosevelt sat and abided at ringside.
"What's the matter with him, what's the matter with him?" he whispered to himself. "He's letting himself get hammered like a stockfish and stays staring like a half-wit, laughing without moving a muscle, and when he does stick a hand out it's more petting than punching." Mr. Roosevelt began to bite his nails out of nerves and every time Jimmy came back to his corner at the end of the round he raged at his pupil so much that people in the hall could hear. "Ah what," laughed Jimmy, "why should I beat that stand-up Billy to a pulp? I don't really have to always win. That good kid isn't even standing in my way." When Mr. Roosevelt heard that, he almost fainted from all the distress.

In the eight round Mr. Roosevelt's was on the edge of a nervous breakdown. With the most care-free face in the world, Jimmy Brown had let Billy the Bruiser use him as an anvil for the whole fight. He had treated him to such formidable punches that would uproot a mooring post. Not Jimmy however, who seemed to be having immense fun and every now and then said something to his opponent. "Well I would also have an exchange with him." hissed Mr. Roosevelt to Jimmy, when he got the chance to breathe between the eight and ninth round. "What are you actually saying to him?"
"That he shouldn't tickle me so," answered Jimmy guilelessly. Mr. Roosevelt gasped for breath. "Yes, keep being friendly to that Billy. Let him slaughter you. But surely you must not have known that he just told a reporter from 'De Mepper' that he sees in you nothing other than a calf in the form of an ape." In that moment the smile on Jimmy Brown's face passed away....

"He thinks I'm a calf in the form of an ape, does he?!" grumbled Jimmy, as he came out of his corner once again after the bell for the ninth round. "But he forgets himself a little. I can't put him to sleep with bad intentions, but I won't yet let myself be insulted by my best friend." Jimmy waved his right fist a little.... something flashed.... and then Jimmy hit Billy the Bruiser through the ring ropes which snapped like threads of yarn. In the next blink of an eye the body of Billy the Bruiser landed with a booming thud on the reporters' table, who themselves had no time to save their inkwells. It was dead silent in the Odeon for a moment, but then such an uproar broke out, that the building began to shake on its foundations. "Hurrah for Jimmy Brown, the greatest knockout artist in the world," shouted one excited man. "There, that's better than a calf," mumbled Jimmy, who offered the referee his right arm, in order for him to raise it in the air. When Mr. Roosevelt saw this profound gesture, tears of gratitude rolled down his cheeks.

After the conclusion of Jimmy's glorious victory over Billy the Bruiser there was an intimate supper held in the restaurant of the Odeon by none other than Mr. Roosevelt, who through this incredible knockout victory of Jimmy's had come to realise that now, gradually, thoughts could be had about a match for the world championship against Joe Dynamite. On that subject everyone, at the table at least, was in agreement. In between two bites of smoked salmon Mr. Roosevelt announced, that the next day he would send a telegram to Mr. Sammy Goldfield, Joe Dynamite's manager, to challenge the world's champion for a title fight of 15 three-minute rounds. This notification was met with resounding applause by all the dining companions and it was Jimmy Brown himself, who received the biggest applause. Due to which he could barely notice that one of the waiters was whispering something in his ear....

"Mr. Brown," said the waiter, "in the foyer by the head porter are two gentlemen, who personally wish to speak to you over a matter of the utmost importance".
"Right," said Jimmy, "I'm coming." He actually found it very momentous, that men wanted to speak with him about something of great importance. He stood up, wiped his lips with a serviette and left the dining hall. Neither Mr. Roosevelt nor any of the other guests took notice of that. They were far too busy talking to each other. When Jimmy arrived in the foyer, two men approached him with outstretched arms. "Jimmy," they said, "our very heartfelt congratulations for your magnificent win over Billy the Bruiser. It was amazing, it was the most impressive victory that we have ever seen fought in the boxing ring." Though Jimmy stood somewhat surprised listening to this lofty praise, because it was Henry Hands and Mike Mauler, who stood before him with wide smiles on their faces....

"Yes, Jimmy," said Henry Hands, who had the first word, "you no doubt will be surprised, that we came to visit, but we wanted to start by asking you to no longer be angry with us, because our hearts could not tolerate that such a great boxer as you, who on top of that is such a good person, would be angry with us. We have seen, how you gave Billy a fair chance in the ring and that moved us to tears. That was very noble of you, Jimmy. You have hereby proven, that you are a gem in the sport of boxing...." When Jimmy heard these heartfelt words, he couldn't help but smile. "Come on guys," he said, "think nothing of it. I always say 'live and let live'. That's how you get the farthest."
"We feel exactly the same way," said Mike Mauler. "And we're sincerely delighted, that peace is signed between us again and this time for good, we hope." Now Jimmy was the one with his hand out. "You can bet on that, chaps," he said from the heart.

"But Jimmy," whispered Henry Hands, "other than coming here to ask to be good friends, there's one more thing. You see, we were at a beerhouse we sometimes frequent, and yesterday we heard something, something that shocked us a little. Mike and I sat and talked about it long and hard and we came to the conclusion that it is our moral obligation to inform you about it. There's danger, Jimmy, a great danger...." Henry Hands and Mike Mauler pulled such serious faces, that Jimmy was really becoming a bit intrigued. "What sort of danger?" he asked. Henry and Mike looked at each other and then cast a few shifty glances around themselves. "The walls here have ears, Jimmy," he whispered. "Let's go outside for a second, then we can talk freely in Mike's car. You'll be grateful to us later..."
"Right," said Jimmy, "but let's not take too long, otherwise Russell Roosevelt will become worried that I won't come back."

Without harbouring a single suspicion Jimmy walked outside with Henry Hands and Mike Mauler and the three of them headed straight towards Mike's car, which was parked next to the trottoir. Henry opened the door and crawled inside. After that followed Jimmy and then Mike. They sat next to each other in the backseat and what came next happened so quickly that Jimmy could scarcely remember it later. Mike picked up a tin box to his knees and he carefully began to open it. Then all of a sudden he grabbed a white cloth that he pushed under Jimmy's nose with lightning-speed. Jimmy struggled back against it, but he immediately got such a dizzy feeling, that within seconds he sagged like a bag of salt.... "He's had his fill, Henry," shouted Mike. "Now go, step on it, let's get out of here!"

First through dark streets, then along dark roads rode the car of Mike Mauler at high speed towards an unknown destination. Henry Hands sat behind the wheel and behind him sat Mike and Jimmy. Mike kept a close eye on Jimmy and every time he made an attempt at recovering, he let him have another sniff of the chloroform rag.... Meanwhile, the disappearance of Jimmy Brown remained unnoticed in the restaurant. Mr. Roosevelt was the first one to catch wind that Jimmy was no longer there. Immediately a feeling of unease snuck up on him. "Jimmy, where is Jimmy at?" he asked. But nobody could give him an answer. At a gallop he walked to the porter to ask him if he had seen any glimpse of Jimmy. "Yes, sir," he said, "he was standing just here talking to a pair of gentlemen and then he went with them. I have not yet seen him come back." Mr. Roosevelt became very pale. He muttered an imprecation and in turn ran outside.

Wringing his hands, Russell Roosevelt stood for a while outside the Odeon building pacing back and forth. "What could have happened?" he mumbled. "If you ask me, they lured him away, but who would have done that? And what is the reason for kidnapping my poor Jimmy?" Mr. Roosevelt understood, that he hurried nothing along by idly walking in circles. He resolutely shouted a taxi and thereafter he rode swift as an arrow to the police headquarters, where he sought permission to enter the office of Commissioner Bernard. Luckily, he was present. Very patiently he listened to the story of Mr. Roosevelt and when it was finished he turned up his moustache and asked: "Does this Mr. Brown perhaps have enemies that would be interested in getting rid of him?"
"Enemies, Mr. Commissioner?" answered Mr. Roosevelt. "Jimmy is the most upright man to walk on two legs. He would not harm a mosquito."
"No, not a mosquito," said Commissioner Bernard, "but I have heard, in fact, that he makes short work of his opponents...."

Together with Inspector Birling and a pair of officers, Commissioner Bernard proceeded in a police car towards the Odeon building where he severely put the porter through his paces. "You saw that Jimmy Brown was stood here in the foyer talking to two gentlemen. Did you know these two men, porter?" he asked in a strong tone.
"I did not, Mr. Commissioner," answered porter Keynes, "but they did seem oddly familiar. 'Twas as though I had seen them earlier."
"Did they perhaps have flattened noses and eyebrows that grew onto each other?" asked the commissioner.
"Why yes, somewhat," mused porter Keynes. The commissioner gave Inspector Birling a knowing look and then turned to ask Mr. Roosevelt if he was in a state to gather photos of all of Jimmy Brown's opponents within half an hour, those he won against inside the distance. Mr. Roosevelt quickly nodded yes and ran off.

Mike Mauler and Henry Hands brought Jimmy to a remote and uninhabited country house. They had tied his hands and feet with thick ropes, stuffed a cotton rag in his mouth and then threw him in the cellar where the only company he encountered was a family of rats, who greeted him with open-hearted delight. They evidently saw in Jimmy a desirable meal. Though Jimmy himself had not noticed all this and when he finally came to his senses, the night was almost over. It took a while until it dawned on him what had happened. He was having trouble breathing and on top of that, had noticed to his rage, that he could move neither his arms nor his legs. He began to growl out of anger, tugged at the ropes with which he had been bound and with an almighty effort, he managed to get the cotton rag out of his mouth. "It's not fresh air but it'll do," muttered Jimmy.

Jimmy Brown took a deep breath. He still had a dull feeling in his head, but the circumstances, that he could not move neither his arms nor his legs, made him so angry, that he did not even consider whose handiwork had put him in this unpleasant state of affairs. He held only one desire: to rid himself of those restrictive ropes. They had tied him up by the book and initially it was immovable. This continued until Jimmy burst into a terrible furor. All of a sudden, the veins on his forehead began to swell, he let out a bone-chilling "jungle"-cry, then he inflated his mighty lungs extra full, tensed his muscles until they looked like suspension cables and.... with an explosion of all his strengths he put an enormous pressure on the ropes which bound his arms together.... They broke off like they were threads of yarn....

Mr. Roosevelt nervously gathered all the photos of boxers who had been in the ring with Jimmy and then moved headlong to the police station, where puffing and wheezing he handed them over to Commissioner Bernard. First he looked over them himself before handing them one by one to the porter from the Odeon, questioning him on if he remembered seeing any of these men. "Yes," he answered, while reflecting closely on the photos, "I believe with certainty that this was one of the men, who stood speaking with Jimmy Brown in the foyer of the Odeon and later left with him...." Commissioner Bernard and Mr. Roosevelt gave each other a stern look. The porter from the Odeon had pointed with his finger to the photo of Mike Mauler. "And if you ask me," said Keynes, gesturing to the picture of Henry Hands, "then this was the other one." The commissioner jumped up out of his seat. "Inspector," he ordered curtly, "start up the paddy wagon!"

The police van, crewed by the commissioner, Inspector Birling and four officers, raced through the streets of the city at a breathtaking speed. "They must be hanging about in 'The Drunken Dragoon'," Mr. Roosevelt had attested and that became their target. There the policemen came across very illustrious company, which the coppers received with undisguised distrust, but Mike Mauler and Henry Hands were not present. Slightly disappointed the men climbed back in the car, but without giving up hope the treasure hunt continued. Hasty visits were made, first at residence of Henry and Mike, then at all the social events and establishments where people of their calibre tend to gather, but nowhere could a trace of the pair be found. "This is bitterly disappointing," grumbled the commissioner, "because we can now be sure, that their little comrades have long since warned them in the meantime and it will by no means be easy to promptly catch them red-handed." He thought on and then told the driver of the van: "Drive back to 'The Drunken Dragoon', William!"

With sirens wailing the police wagon stormed through the streets with squealing brakes before stopping in front of The Drunken Dragoon. Commissioner Bernard jumped out alone and headed inside. His reception was not especially friendly. The company inside knew the commissioner well and that he was not one to be trifled with. He glanced around and with big steps approached a certain Binkie, who was known to do all sorts of odd jobs for figures in the boxing world. "So Mr. Binkie," spoke the commissioner, "I'm going to ask you a few questions, but for your sake I recommend that you respond without getting caught up in lies, because otherwise you yourself will be in the clink....!" Binkie stared daggers at the commissioner and grumbled: "Ask away, I've got nothing to hide."
"So," said commissioner Bernard, "if you have nothing to hide, then you simply must tell me, where Messrs Mauler and Hands are right this instant!"
"Mike and Henry?" asked Binkie. "I haven't seen them in weeks."

Meanwhile, Mr. Roosevelt had returned to his house in a state of despair. Jimmy had disappeared without a trace and this gave him a deadly unease. It was clear, that Jimmy had walked into some kind of trap and now the police were on the case, but who could guarantee him that they would successfully bring Jimmy back? Mr. Roosevelt paced back and forth in his house for the whole evening and when it was time to go to bed, he continued pacing back and forth, so much so that it drove the neighbours mad. Every now and then Mr. Roosevelt would wring his hands from the hopelessness or pull his own hair from the misery. "There goes my meal ticket," he would wail. "For once I had finally discovered a boxer with a promising future, then miscreants appear to take my good fortune. If it weren't so deeply tragic, it would be a scandal." Mr. Roosevelt stood on the verge of bursting into tears, when suddenly the phone rang....

"Hello, this is Roosevelt!" said Mr. Roosevelt, "is that you, Mr. Commissioner?"
—
"Is that you, Mr. Batman?" said a voice on the other side of the line in a frolic tone.
"Listen here, Mr. Commissioner," said Mr. Roosevelt, "I am absolutely not in the mood for jokes. So: could you be so kind as to tell me whether you already know something?"
—
"Look 'ere" said the voice, "I know for sure that I'm no commissioner and if I had anything to tell it would be that that Henry Hands and that Mike Mauler are a pair of rascals, who last night...."
—
Then Mr. Roosevelt heard who he was speaking with. "Jjjjjimmmyyyyy!!!", he said with a voice breaking from emotion. "Jjjimmmyyy, is that you?! I daren't believe my own ears. Say that it's you. Tell old Russell Roosevelt that's his best friend in the whole wide world and that he's okay...."
"I'm all right," said Jimmy Brown, who didn't quite understand what all the fuss was about. "For goodness' sake, why are you screaming like that?"

Mr. Roosevelt was completely head over heels that he had unexpectedly received a phone call from Jimmy Brown and it took a while before he could ask in a normal voice, what had happened with him and where he was right now. "I was kidnapped, so to speak," answered Jimmy Brown, "by none other than Henry Hands and Mike Mauler. They lured me away and then made me inhale some kind of substance and then I lost consciousness and then they tied me up with some rope and then they threw me in a dark cellar and then I regained consciousness and then I pulled apart those ropes and then I rammed the cellar door and then I tied up those two bums with the same rope they bound me with and strung them up by their toes on a pear tree and they're still hanging there now." That was the story, that Jimmy very calmy recited for Mr. Roosevelt.

"You strung them up by their toes, Jimmy?" asked Mr. Roosevelt, whose voice was hoarse from dismay. "In heaven's name quickly untie them, because otherwise they will stay there and soon you will be arrested instead of them. But tell me something first, where are you actually?"
—
"I'm phoning from the hall of a big country house called 'Vossemaere", but where that is, I don't know."
—
"I do," said Mr. Roosevelt triumphantly. "That is 15 minutes outside the city. Wait for me, I'll be with you in less than half an hour." Mr. Roosevelt threw the phone on the hook and immediately dialled a new number, the number of Commissioner Bernard. But just as someone on the other side of the line said 'hello, you're speaking with the police', Mr. Roosevelt put the phone down with a pondering face. "If I tell them everything now, that Jimmy Brown is back," he mumbled, "then the jig is up. I must first try to get some good press out of this."

Russell Roosevelt jumped in a taxi and let himself be brought at a racing pace to "Vossemaere". In the dark of the night he could just about struggle open the big garden fence. It was also pitch black in the garden, but behind one of the windows of the beautiful country house he spotted a faint glow. He climbed the stoep and let the knocker of the hefty oak door descend. Moments later the door opened and there appeared Jimmy Brown, clothed in a dapper banyan. He smoked a fat cigar and he looked extremely satiated. Mr. Roosevelt was so happy that he could see Jimmy in the flesh once more, that he wanted to throw his arms around him, but he knew that Jimmy was not fond of that sort of cordiality. "Where are Henry and Mike?" he asked all of a sudden. "I really hope you haven't wrung their necks."
—
"I plucked them out of the pear tree," said Jimmy, "and to help revive them a little, I dumbed them both in the bathtub."

When Jimmy and Mr. Roosvelt had recovered a little from the joy of being reunited and Jimmy gave over another detailed account of how he was kidnapped by Henry and Mike, they headed towards the bathroom of the house to see how it was going with those two lowlifes. The pair of them were lain there more dead than alive in the bathtub, which stood half full with water. They blinked with their terrified eyes, when they descried Jimmy. "Fantastic," said Jimmy with a grin on his face, "now we'll add a little boiling water and then we'll warm up the gentlemen until they look as red as lobsters...." Henry and Mike were just coming to their senses to hear these threatening words with dismay. Their eyes bulged out of their heads from fear and when they saw Mr. Roosevelt appear next to Jimmy in the doorway, they began to plead to him as hard as they could. "Mercy, Russell, mercy!" they begged. "First he whupped us and then he hung us by our toes in a pear tree and now he wants to cook us well too!"

"No," said Russell Roosevelt, "Jimmy will not pour boiling water on you, but he will tie you up and put you in that state in the same cellar, where you had hurled him, and what happens next you shall see." Henry and Mike didn't utter a sound, when they heard this judgement. It seemed in any case more preferable to being cooked alive in a bathtub. Jimmy fished them out of the bathtub and with the same rope that they tied around his hands and feet, tied them so tight that they began to wail again. "Grit your teeth, eh," snarled Jimmy, "otherwise I'll make stockfish out of you." Once the two scoundrels had ended up in the cellar good and proper, Mr. Roosevelt and Jimmy held court. "Now I'll calmly go back to the city and tomorrow I shall tell the gentlemen of the press a tale about your disappearance, so thrilling and gripping, that they could fill a whole paper writing the story. You understand, that that is the most beautiful advertisement for your match against Joe Dynamite, who is the next step in our plan." Jimmy nodded, but actually he really did not care.

Indeed, the next evening the papers were filled with the mysterious disappearance of Jimmy Brown. Mr. Roosevelt had informed the gentlemen journalists thus. He had told them, that Jimmy was such a virtuous boy, that in fact he would rather have become a baby-sitter or an administrator for the Confectioners Association and that he only became prizefighter because he was simply born to be the world's champion. "I want to reveal that you, good gentlemen," Mr. Roosevelt had said, "that Jimmy Brown is the greatest world champion of all time. Even those who only know so much about boxing know that much, anyone could understand it, anyone who saw him stand in the ring for two seconds. He was born a world champion and if he eventually must dance with Joe Dynamite, then I know, for certain, who shall win. But unfortunately, my good gentlemen, his opponents knew that too and therefore they have been so criminal in their attempts to get rid of him. I say to you that this is a great and outrageous scandal." The gentlemen of the press found so too and they wrote touching stories in their assorted papers. "Where is Jimmy Brown?" they wrote in larger-than-life headlines above their articles.

Mr. Roosevelt had very clearly and bluntly told the journalists that he thought Jimmy Brown's opponents were so criminal that they would try to get rid of him and these imputations were in printed in all newspapers with big letters. It was no wonder then that Joe Dynamite, the pound-for-pound world champion, took notice of that. Joe Dynamite had a quick-tempered nature and from the slightest thing he disliked, he would explode in an almost literal sense of the word. And now, he did not like the remarks from Mr. Roosevelt, not one bit. He began crumpling the newspaper, where he had read the accusations, into a ball which he threw with great strength at the head of his manager while emitting such ghastly yells, that the window pane began to shatter. He also began to so gnash his teeth, that his right canine came loose. He spat the thing with a scornful gesture out of his mouth.

In the same newspaper wherein derisive words were sent in Commissioner Bernard's direction, because he was still fruitlessly seeking the missing Jimmy Brown ("it is time for someone more up to the task to be appointed commissioner of the police", wrote one of the papers), there was something else too. Mr. Joe Dynamite had namely organised a press conference, at which he spoke to reporters with such thunderous force, that he had twice punched through an oakwood table with his right fist. "It's dead simply an extraordinary insult for that piece of work of Mr. Brown's to dare say, that he was gotten rid of by the boxing world, because it had become afraid of him. And that is something, that I, Joe Dynamite, take personally, because the boxing world, that's me, if I do say so myself. I, Joe Dynamite, feel deeply offended and the sooner they fish up that Jimmy Green or Black or Brown or whatever that braggart is called, the better it is for me. Then I'll feed him my fists until he retches."

When Russell Roosevelt had gleaned how furiously worked up Joe Dynamite had made himself over what he'd said, he gleefully rubbed his hands. At the "Vossemaere" estate he let Jimmy hear it. "It's all coming together now, Jimmy," he said jubilantly. "Joe is as angry as a wasp and he had said that they just have to quickly fish you up, then he will let you enjoy some of his gloves. We've got him right where we want him. And do you know, what we're going to do this afternoon? Today, Jimmy Brown will personally deliver to the police the two crooks who kidnapped you, and then you will dish out a splendid story of how you freed yourself and turned the tables on them. After all, that's no exaggeration. And you shall then see how public opinion reacts to that."
"I'll go get them," yelled Jimmy, who already began to grin at the thought that he would again have some alone time with Messrs. Mike Mauler and Henry Hands to keep himself busy.

Somewhere in the surrounding area Mr. Roosevelt rented from a small crofter, who happened to be in bed with a soar throat, a dray with a horse. It was a rather unsteady vehicle and the Rocinante also had its best days behind it, but Mr. Roosevelt could not care less. With a few nails he secured two chairs to the floor of the wagon and thereon were Mike Mauler and Henry Hands tied with ropes, the hands on the back and the legs against the chair legs. Jimmy had taken care of that business himself and judging by the looks of the faces that the two captives were wearing, they were not having fun. "What are you going to do with us, Jimmy?" they asked very timidly.
"We've sold you to the abattoir for a bottom barrel price," said Jimmy, "and that's where we're taking you now." Henry and Mike did not believe that, but they were not completely at ease either.

Meanwhile Commissioner Bernard and Inspector Birling continued walking – with increasingly sombre faces – on the search for the missing Jimmy Brown. The commissioner was already once summoned by Mayor Dikkerdak, who in no uncertain terms had told him, that he was not pleased he was commissioner. "The boys of the press are becoming displeased with you," he had said, "and those are jokes, that always land directly on the head of the mayor, because I am the highest police-authority here in the city. If you do not find that Jimmy Brown within two days, then I am of mind to personally involve myself in this disagreeable case." The commissioner walked away, like a schoolboy who had received a scolding. But back home he told Mrs. Bernard his piece on Mayor Dikkerdak, who long story short he described as a meatball.

By way of telegram Mr. Roosevelt had invited the whole press to gather that afternoon, when the clock strikes one, at the terrace of the Society 'Ons Genoegen' by the market, "in order to become acquainted with surprising news." Nobody let this pass them by, because due to instinct, a characteristic of journalists, they could smell big news and by one o' clock at the terrace of 'Ons Genoegen' it was a va-et-vient of reporters and editors, who full of impatience waited for events to unfold. And it was at the strike of one that they all suddenly walked onto the street together, because in the distance they could hear the cheering of a great congregation, which was thronging around something they could not yet discern, but which slowly moved in their direction.... Mr. Pete Pencil from The News of Yesterday got the idea to climb on a chair and shouted out in ecstasy; "I'll hang myself, if that's not Jimmy Brown coming down there." At that moment there were already reporters, who hastily wetted their pencils and frantically began to write.

With a certain pomp the wagon stopped at the terrace of Society 'Ons Genoegen'. On the perch sat Mr. Roosevelt (who for this occasion had slipped into a tailcoat) and Jimmy Brown, who could not stop pulling a somewhat triumphant face. Behind their backs sat, firmly tied to the chairs, the two kidnappers, who still looked glum. "Good gentlemen!", shouted Russell Roosevelt, rising from his seat with a broad gesture towards Jimmy, "may I introduce to you all.... Jjjjimmy Brrrrown, the man who was kidnapped by two thugs but who through his nonpareil strength and incredible courage was able to free himself, and who has chosen this day to personally supply these assailants to the police authorities." Jimmy clambered from the perch at once and began to shake hands with all the reporters. "You cannot be friendly enough to them," Mr. Roosevelt had said to him.

Jimmy and Mr. Roosevelt filled in the press as much as possible. He told them everything that had happened and for the fun of it even let a pair of reporters tie him up with a thick piece of rope as tightly as possible, so that he could again undo his shackles with one motion. It did not fail to make a deep impression on the gentlemen of the press and the many bystanders, who had flocked in the meantime. In front of the terrace of "Ons Genoegen" it stood black with people and underneath it were a few, who surrounded Mike Mauler and Henry Hands in a threatening manner. It was fortunate then, that a few officers came by, who initially thought there had been a traffic accident. One of them spotted Jimmy Brown and he rushed to the phone to relay a message to Commissioner Bernard, that the would-be disappeared boxer had come up for air.

Under loud siren calls the car of Commissioner Bernard pulled up and it was a glorious moment in the life of Jimmy Brown, when he could hand over the two bad guys with a jaunty wave of his arm to the police. "I roughed them up a little, Mr. Commissioner," he said simply, "because they were obstinate at first but besides that I've done them no harm."
"He has too," cried Mike and Henry as though out of one mouth. "He strung us up by our toes in a pear tree." The commissioner however paid no attention to that. He was overjoyed that he could put the perpetrators in a cell and he graciously stood for a few photos that snapped him from different angles, while he shook Jimmy Brown's hand for an age. Mr. Roosevelt gleamed from delight. And turning to the press again, called out "Additionally, I have something more to share, good gentlemen. This morning, Jimmy Brown officially sent a challenge to the world champion of all weights, the good sir Joe Dynamite!"

The disappearance and reappearance of Jimmy Brown had kept public opinion busy for days and the name Jimmy Brown had, thanks to the smart little game of Russell Roosevelt, been displayed on almost every edition of the frontpages. It was also no wonder then, that the manager of Joe Dynamite, who was called Hank Moneymaker, was receptive to accepting Jimmy Brown as a challenger to Joe Dynamite. "We'll be sure to make good figures in any case," he said to Joe, "because rest assured, that people will come out of the woodworks to see if that Jimmy Brown, who they've read so much about, can also box a little."
—
"And can he box?" asked the world champion in a mildly concerned tone. "I'm not planning to lose my title to the first willy-nilly scrapper who comes along and I would like to stay as champion for a few years." Hank Moneymaker took a meditative drag of his cigar. "You've got a point there, Joe," he mumbled.

The next day Mr. Roosevelt received a letter wherein he was invited to participate in a "high level" discussion with "he, who calls himself Hank Moneymaker". The two men met in the 'The Drunken Dragoon' where these sorts of roundtables are mostly held. "Look 'ere Roosevelt," said Hank. "Because of that business, your pupil is basking in the glow of publicity so to speak, and in that regard it's music to my ears. But to tie the world title to such a bout now, Joe doesn't think much of it and by the way I don't either. We both find, that Brown isn't quite ripe for that yet. He's only been in the ring for a New York minute and to already box against the world champion now for the title is too much of an honour for such a youthful talent."
—
Mr. Roosevelt looked up at Hank Moneymaker from under his eyebrows and then said in a slow manner: "We only want to box for the world title and if the challenge is not accepted by Joe, then he'll be taken aback by some of the things he'll read in the evening newspapers. You may be aware, Hank, that I have some currency with the press." Hank Moneymaker shot a vicious look at Russell Roosevelt, yet he was blinking his eyes.

Hank Moneymaker and Russell Roosevelt sat speaking for very long that evening and the end of the conversation took place in a whispered tone. It was negotiated, that Joe Dynamite would accept the challenge of the Jimmy Brown, but that after a "brave fight" Jimmy would let himself be counted out in the 8th round. One month later the rematch shall take place and then it will be a completely honest undertaking. Whoever is the strongest then, shall win. "That way we'll make twice the money," said Hank, while he joyfully rubbed his hands together. That idea brought a smile to Mr. Roosevelt's face too and that very same evening he brought Jimmy Brown up to speed about the arrangement he and Hank had made. "Then we shall receive two paydays," said Mr. Roosevelt, "and the coda is, that you'll carry home the world's championship." Jimmy had calmly sat listening to the story of his manager and when he was finished, he stood up and walked out of the room. "You and yours can all go to blazes," he scolded. "Go look for someone else who'll let himself get beaten in the 8th round!"

Jimmy Brown wandered fairly upset through the streets. "This prizefighting business, that I've been dropped into by that noodle Roosevelt," he thought, "is no good. It is all tricks and deception. I believe that I must look for a new path. There's not a hair's breadth between Russell Roosevelt and the rest of them and I don't want anything more to do with him." Jimmy went somewhat dispirited to a bench in the park, where he drifted around aimlessly and sighed deeply. In that moment someone sauntered by, who was at once struck with a smile on his face. "Ha, there's Jimmy! What's got you looking down," he said.
"So Mr. Pencil," groused Jimmy, "you also out for a stroll?"
"Yes," said Pete Pencil, the sports editor of The News of Yesterday. "I walk around these parts, but I seem to be in a brighter mood than you. Out with it, tell me, what's the matter?" Jimmy looked leaden at Pete Pencil. He had always found him to be a trustworthy guy and then he told him one breath about the conversation with Hank Moneymaker and about the subsequent rematch and then added that he didn't think he had signed himself up for such ugly practices.

Pete Pencil had very thoughtfully listened to the story that Jimmy told him and when he finished speaking he said: "Indeed Jimmy, this is no profession for you. That's why you were cut from a good cloth, but if you do call it quits, you must do that as world champion. That is a respectable end to your career as a boxer and you'll get a pretty penny for it."
"Money doesn't mean anything to me, Mr. Pencil," said Jimmy modestly.
"Quiet now, Jimmy," said Mr. Pencil, "without money man simply cannot live today but if you mean it, that you do not need it, then make your purse available to a good cause. Listen to me for a second. You go quietly into training for your contest against Joe Dynamite and say not word more of that arrangement to anyone, not even with Russell Roosevelt. And then I, Pete Pencil, will make sure that you become world champion in an honest manner and that you don't have to let yourself be beaten by 8th round knockout."
—
"But how will you achieve that, Mr. Pencil?" asked Jimmy.
"Just leave it to me, Jimmy," said the editor and he walked away with big strides.

Jimmy Brown began training the next day with great gusto. For hours he stood jumping rope or doing laps in the garden of Mr. Roosevelt, who gazed upon this all with great satisfaction. He stood grinning wildly as Jimmy hacked down one tree after the other in the garden, so that eventually not one was left standing. "This is very good for the arm-muscles, I read someplace," Jimmy had said. "I believe, that Jack Dempsey always did it too." Now and then Mr. Roosevelt alluded to the agreement, because at that point he was not completely at ease. But Jimmy would then grin like a sphinx. "It'll all be fine," is all he would say. Excitement was brewing in the camp of Joe Dynamite too. Joe let himself be interview twice before the match. The first time he announced, that in any case he would win by knockout and when another asked his opinion over the outcome of the fight, he told, that he thought Jimmy Brown in any case would be beaten before the ninth round.

So neared the day when the world championship fight between Joe Dynamite and his challenger Jimmy Brown would take place. In the whole country people showed a lively interest and the day before the contest people were offering at least 200 guilders for a seat. There was also intense gambling, in which it seemed, that Joe Dynamite was the sure bet. The coming contest was on everyone's lips. Even children and the old of age, those who had never witnessed a boxing match, were talking about it. But then something happened, that shocked the public opinion to her deepest foundation. The daily paper The News of Yesterday let it be known on the front page, that Hank Moneymaker, the impresario of Joe Dynamite, had demanded that Jimmy Brown let himself be knocked out in the eighth round. The paper claimed to have gotten this from sources, who were typically well-informed about these sorts of agreements. Needless to say it became familiar to Jimmy Brown and he responded, according to Pete Pencil, that he had "obliquely" heard something about this demand, but that he would think nothing of it. Jimmy Brown had announced, that he would perform in the ring as a boxer and not as a comedian. People yanked the paper out of each others hands so they could read this remarkable news with their own eyes.

Hank Moneymaker was naturally the first who paid the training camp of Jimmy Brown a visit with fire in his belly. He waved with a copy of The News of Yesterday and pushed it under Russell Roosevelt's nose. "Hey, what's the meaning of this puppet show?" he screamed, almost shouting his insides out. "Who spilled the beans? Was it you, Russell Roosevelt?" But before he could get one word in, someone jumped out from behind a curtain! It was none other than Pete Pencil, who had expected, that Hank Moneymaker would come to Jimmy Brown's training camp for "redress".
"No, dear Hank, that was me," he called, "I spilled the beans and I would advise you to make like a tree and leave, otherwise you'll be reading whole new things in the next issue. And I also recommend, that you tell Joe Dynamite he shouldn't be counting on Jimmy to be bothered by worthless agreements, made by you and Mr. Roosevelt. Boxing, and as great boxing as possible, is the only thing that awaits you!" Hank Moneymaker became as pale as a bedsheet.
"Bunch of dishonest crooks," he mumbled as he left, but to be on the safe side, he said it so quietly that nobody understood him.

On the afternoon of the big fight Joe Dynamite climbed into the ring with the temper of a scorpion. He leered nastily at Jimmy Brown, who in the other corner of the ring had just taken off his robe and was letting himself get help putting his gloves on. Then the commissioner shared, that Joe Dynamite wished to make an announcement before the battle. It became dead silent in the stadium when Joe stepped forward. He said "I request that the venerable public pays no mind to the gossip, which is being spread by a certain newspaper. It is vicious slander and to prove this I shall knock out this young man, who stands opposite me, in any round that you wish. Let it be known, dear public, in which round you would like to see the final punch!" Pandemonium broke loose after these words. "In the 5th round," shouted someone. "No, in the 7th round!" screamed another. "With the first blow that you can give him!" bellowed a quite bloodthirsty fellow. Then Joe Dynamite stuck his right arm in the air. "It will occur in the first minute of the fourth round," he proclaimed loudly.

Jimmy Brown had been angered in his life in the past, but enraged as he was at this moment he had never been before. "That blowhard!" he growled. "This windbag." He almost had no patience to wait for the first bell and when this did sound and the referee gave the command "box", he flew like a whirlwind upon Joe Dynamite. He attempted the first blows of the exchange, which descended on Joe Dynamite like a hailstorm as he tried to parry them, but it was useless. Jimmy's fists beat him like a steam hammer so freely and so long until Joe Dynamite's trembling voice began to groan "mercy". Then Jimmy took a step back. With his right foot he stomped a crashing thud into the ground, so that the floor split in two and a hole was formed. He grabbed Joe Dynamite by his ears, held him over the hole in the floor, gave him another formidable strike on his head and blasted him straight into the floor. Then he walked back to his corner, pulled his gloves off and yelled at the top of his lungs: "And now I have had enough of this for a lifetime. I would rather try swimming across La Manche than make another appearance in the boxing ring."

It was the strangest sort of ending to a boxing match, which the public had ever witnessed. Jimmy Brown had simply beaten his opponent through the floor and it would take a Herculean effort to hoist Joe Dynamite out of there. In the stands people did not know what to do, cheer for the new world champion or boo the extremely abrupt end of this so short-lasting contest. The referee also sat with his hands in his hair. When a few helpers had dragged Joe Dynamite back in the ring — the man looked thoroughly beaten — the referee did indeed begin to count, but then Hank Moneymaker jumped out of nowhere into the ring and began to shout that this was a scandal and that there was no question of a knockout, but of aggravated assault. The rabble, that consequently ensued, was indescribable and it first began to quiet down, when the boxing commission declared an emergency session. At the end of the day, it was decided that Jimmy Brown would be awarded the world's championship, but that he would be fined 100 guilders due to property damage. "Long live Jimmy Brown. Long live Jimmy Brown!" shouted the public instantly, though the new world champion did not hear it. He had made himself scarce and let a taxi take him to the station.

Jimmy Brown had after his adventures as a prizefighter definitively retired from the sport.

--END--

Translation Commentary

First of all, if you read the entire thing, thank you!

Some of the sentences are stilted, comma-heavy, or use what you could politely describe as uncommon grammar. And most of that syntax and punctuation was a conscious choice on my part to interfere as little as possible with the flow and intentions of the original work. If anything, you've not read it properly unless you waited a day between each strip (hence the names being repeated so regularly). Two or more days if you account for newspapers not being printed on Sundays and national holidays.

Feel free to leave comments at the bottom of the page. If you want to mark my homework or read the original for yourself, it's available on Library Genesis or Anna's Archive (LibGen's domain is prone to change but it hopefully won't be too hard find their newest ones on any non-Google search engine). Other Jimmy Brown comics are available there or via delpher.nl, the Dutch newspaper archive. And if you want to know more about how/why I made decisions, what I found interesting or challenging, and my notes to self throughout this experience then read on.

• It was fun translating the names, I'll run through my thought process and rationale here:
  • Mr. Carl Cashson was originally meneer Karel Knullemeier
    • knul means boy, lad, son etc and meier was the old-timey colloquialism for a 100 Dutch guilders (the pre-euro currency)
  • baker Williams was originally bakker Willemse
  • De Jong remained unchanged because it's a common Dutch surname and keeping it is a small reminder of where the story is set.
    • Jan became John and Marie remained unchanged. The phrase 'Jan met de pet' (lit. Jan with the hat/cap) is the Dutch turn of phrase for an everyman, like Average Joe or John Q. Public.
  • Billy the Bruiser and Big Bludgeoner were originally Kid de Kneuzer en Knoert Knots
    • A kneus is a bruise and to keep the alliteration, I changed kid to Billy. I'm the translation GOAT fr fr.
    • knoert is something large and a knots is a club/bludgeon
• Battling Bokking gave me a bit of trouble because the first word is already in English, which is supposed to suggest the champ is foreign. bokking refers to a buckling, bloater, red herring (literal) etc. Battling Buck? Big Fish? Bleh. I decided to spice it up and call him Battering Ram, but to keep it international sounding we get El Ariete.
• Russell Roosevelt was originally Gerrit Goochem.
  • Gerrit is a common Dutch name from the Germanic name Gerard, but geritsel is Dutch for rustle/rustling so I went with that instead.
• goochem sort of means cunning, streetwise etc - coming from the Hebrew/Yiddish word for wise man (or wise guy in the Three Stooges sense). Similar modern Dutch words revolve around magic (goochelen - to perform magic tricks, gochelaar - magician) but the 1946 dictionary I've been referring to for accuracy's sake doesn't have that connotation and only says "Shrewd, all there".
  • Despite being fairly confident that the cliché well-to-do businessman is meant to be at least somewhat Svengali-coded, I went with Roosevelt because of the old timey pronunciation of FDR where they say the first syllable as 'ruse'.
    • Also Roosevelt was originally a Dutch name (and a wealthy one in regards to the most famous Roosevelt family), so everything comes full circle.
• Henry Hands was originally Pat Poot
  • 'Pat Paw' would've been most accurate, since poot is usually used to refer to the hands/feet/limbs of animals (though you can informally use it to refer to human appendages same as you would in English).
  • I went with the plural Hands to evoke the colloquialism 'throwing hands'
• Mike Mauler was originally Mike Moker
  • A moker is a maul
• Leonard Long was originally Lange Leendert
  • lang means tall/long, while Leendert is the Dutch version of Leonard/Lennie. I wish they were all this simple.
• Tommy Teller was originally Tinus Telmeyer
  • Tinus is a common Dutch name derived from Martinus, Martin was an option but a better translation would be Theodore though both of those lose the alliteration.
  • Telmeyer, as far as I can tell, is an old surname with unclear origin (most commonly Germanic/Dutch with various spellings), my best educated guess leads me to believe it's a portmanteau/wedding of the Yiddish names Teller and Myer.
  • The choice was Martin Myer or Tommy Teller, so I kept the 't' sounds. Also, tellen is the Dutch word for counting (fitting for a boxing referee) and a teller is someone who counts. The word 'teller' exists in English too (bankteller, election tellers) and they share an etymology.
• Dave Ducatman was originally Dave Duitenman
  • My options were limited by the artist putting the character's initials on his clothes and his name on a sign. Perceptive comic readers may have noticed the small MS Paint edit I did.
  • Duiten is the plural of duit, an old-timey Dutch predecimal coin/unit of currency which is modern-timey sometimes slang for money. Ducat is the perfect fit, but for quite a while I thought Dave Diamond would be the better fit because it's easier to immediately associate diamonds with wealth/money than a ducat.
• Joe Dynamite was originally* Joe Dynamiet
  • *more on that further down
• Timmy Tillman, Ben Bonecrusher, and Hans Holyfield were originally Loetje Lobbes, Krijn de Kraker, and Karel Kopstoot.
  • Loet is both a name and a tool of some sort. Lobbes, according to the old-timey dictionary, is a "harmless (good-natured) fellow". I'm not sure if there's a 'Tim nice but dim' association now because modern translations give it as 'lout'.
  • Likewise, Krijn is a name and the word for furniture filling. Kraker is the Dutch word for 'cracker', which... nah.
  • Karel is a common name and a kopstoot is a headbutt.
• Battling Bull was originally Battling Bult
  • They can't all be winners.
• Sammy Goldfield was left unchanged.
  • Slightly curiously, his title in the original text is mister instead of the Dutch equivalent, menheer, that's used for other characters. He's also introduced as Joe Dynamite's manager but later on in the story, the manager has a different name. My guess is that it's a little bit like when Stan Lee couldn't keep track of all the comics Jack Kirby was writing, and Lee was so forgetful during editing that he would do something such as change Hulk's name from Bruce Banner to Bob Banner. In that spirit, I refuse to correct the mistake.
• Commissioner Bernard was originally commisaris Slimkees
  • A 'slimkees' is an old (and now seemingly rare?) word for a poindexter or smarty pants. 'slim' means 'smart', 'Kees' is the Dutch form of the name Cornelius, and a 'keeshond' is a pomeranian or spitz.
  • As much as I wanted to go with Commissioner Poindexter, it didn't feel right.
• Inspector Birling was originally inspecteur Dreumel
  • Dreumel is a village in the Netherlands, but if it were to do with the place then the name would've probably been van Dreumel (lit. 'from Dreumel'). It seems cognate with 'dreumes', a word for toddler.
  • I went with Birling because it sounds close to Berlin, it has a diminutive feel, and because I read An Inspector Calls in school.
• porter Keynes was originally portier Sleutelmans
  • A sleutel is a key or a wrench.
• The Drunken Dragoon was originally De Dronken Dragonder
• Binkie was left unchanged
• Mayor Dikkerdak was originally burgemeester Dikkerdak
  • This name comes from Camera Obscura, an early 19th century collection of short stories by Haarlem's Nicolaas Beets under the pen name 'Hildebrand'. Camera Obscura was wildly successful and reprinted at least 20 times and a mayor called Dikkerdak appeared in the short story 'De Schippersknecht'. In the late 19th century, P.W. Stoffels used the name in his story Jachtavontuur van Burgemeester Dikkerdak en andere verhalen (Hunting Adventure of Mayor Dikkerdak and other stories). This book was popular enough to feature in the 1918 children's book Eddy en Freddy, where in chapter seven the titular characters read each other stories about Mayor Dikkerdak. And ultimately, the name burgemeester Dickerdak also used in the far more popular text comic, 'Tom Poes', by Marten Toonder. According to the Dutch Museum of Literature/Children's Book Museum, 'Op vragen hierover heeft Toonder echter nooit een antwoord willen geven.' On questions about [the name originally appearing in Camera Obscura] Toonder had never really wanted to give an answer. tl;dr it's homage, plagiarism, or memetic shorthand.
  • Translated literally dikkerdak becomes 'fatter roof'. In 'De Schippersknecht' the mayor is described as fat by a liveried servant of 22 years, who is being """rewarded""" with a job as a skipper's servant on a trekschuit. I suppose dak has the connotation of covering, so Mayor Fatlayer wouldn't be the worst localisation. But I'm just going to leave it as is instead. In the French La Chambre Obscure, it's also left untranslated as bourgmestre Dikkerdak.
• Sociëteit "Ons Genoegen" was left unchanged.
  • As far as I can tell, a Sociëteit Ons Genoegen (lit. Society Our Pleasure, sometimes written 'SOG') is a kind of local community club/society that can revolve around a specific activity like farming or fishing, or random general activities like yoga or painting. From newspaper archives it look like they existed as early as the 1830s and the main focus was music and dance, it's probably not a coincidence that these first sprung up during the Age of Revolution. I can't tell if it was always the case but it seems the current ones are aimed at seniors over the age of 50. I'm not old enough to know if these sorts of things still exist in English-speaking countries or what they're called. Sorry, just going to have to leave this one as is unless someone can suggest a good alternative.
• Pete Pencil was originaly Piet Potlood
  • His paper, The News of Yesterday, is a directly translation of Het Nieuws van Gisteren, which made me laugh even though I don't know if it was meant to be a joke.
• Hank Moneymaker was originally Henkie Geldmaker
• The last bit of name trivia is that some of the names in the collected edition differ from those in the original newspaper strip. Goochem is sometimes spelled as Goochum, Joe Dynamite's name did not use the Dutch word 'dynamiet'.
• At the zoo, 'meneer Knullemeier peuterde Jimmy met de punt van zijn paraplu'. Though I should've translated paraplu to umbrella, I thought it would be good to keep the alliteration plus the bouba/kiki effect of the 'p' sound. So I went with 'prodded Jimmy with the point of his parasol' instead.
• You might have noticed that the main character, a literal ape, is called "Jimmy Brown". Not Jaap Bruin or something more Dutch sounding. Dina wears a tellingly coded headwrap, the kind that you don't associate with Europeans.
• When pinching some meatballs, Jimmy says "Werkelijk verrukkelijk", which roughly translates to 'truly sumptious' or 'absolutely ravishing' or words to that effect. The only reason it's a saying in Dutch is because it rhymes, so I went with 'frightfully delightful'.
  • If that sounds like it's outside his register, my excuse is that this is set in the 1950s and everyone was more fancy back then. That's also my other excuse for the other idiosyncrasies.
• De Jong describes Jimmy as 'zo'n grote rooie aap'. As best I can tell, Jimmy is not a red ape, so it's the same intensifier as the British English intensifiers 'bloody' and 'ruddy'. I went with the latter because 'bleeding' isn't a common adjective in USian English (with no better alternative afaik) and 'ruddy' still keeps the red connotation.
• I translated bij-partijen (lit. side-matches) as undercard. In trying to confirm I didn't make a mistake, I found out that bij-partijen is dunzo and in modern Dutch the loanword undercard is preferred.
• Jimmy's original threat to the usher, "sla ik je tot pap", translates literally as I'll beat you into porridge. As amusing a phrase it is, there wasn't an English precedent for it. I was going to go with pulverise you or beat the stuffing out of ya before settling on I'll beat you to a pulp because pulp kept the monosyllabic ending and the same p-sounds.
  • "he'll make applesauce out of you" was originally "slaat-ie je tot appelmoes". It probably would've been better to use 'beat to a pulp' here but I already used it earlier. So I kept in 'applesauce' because the message is still conveyed.
• The order at the café of "a nip of brandy with sugar" is a near-literal translation of "een brandewijntje met suiker". To the best of my internet research, it's possibly entirely regional to Den Bosch (though potentially other parts of Southern Netherlands and Western Germany too). It's mentioned in the 19th century folk song Dat gaat naar Den Bosch toe and at least one other hoempapa type song.
  • The nearest equivalents I could find for a brandy + sugar cocktail were 'flip' and 'advocaat' cocktails but they tend to use an egg in their recipes these days.
    • The old dictionary says brandewijn is just "(French) brandy", you should check with your local expert/historian of European alcohol for more information.
• The folk song Dat gaat naar Den Bosch toe is also known as Zoete lieve Gerritje. It wouldn't be a stretch to presume that the drink order and Russell Roosevelt's original Dutch name, Gerrit, are connected by the song.
  • As weird as it is to think that people may have been referencing the 18th century media in the middle of the 20th century, we're quarter of the way into the 21st century and 20th century media still plays a huge part in our culture today. In one hundred years time, someone might read this website and be surprised to discover my writing sometimes contains references to media from well before my time.
• 'pudgester' is my best guess at translating 'papvent'. pap means porridge and vent means fellow, chap, guy etc. A comment about their physical appearance? Or about the match lacking spice? I'm not sure, it's not that important in either case.
  • The previous line said that the fight Jimmy was mad at was a 'zoete-koek-partijtje' - lit. a sweet cake party/gathering. The more accurate translation would probably be a tea party but I think 'prom dance' gave the hugfest connotation without losing the sweet/lovely-tinged criticism of that fight.
• "De heer Gochem moest de neiging onderdrukken de brave aap aan zijn hart te drukken" was an annoying sentence. My best attempt at translating it was either woefully wrong or unmatched genius.
• "De gehandschoende vui ten van Pat Poot troffen hem zonder genade" threw me for a loop. vui ain't no word I ever heard of. Turns out it is a word, in an online dictionary of forgotten words no less. And ten complicated things by being a word often used in fixed expressions/idioms. Eventually, it hit me that vui ten was a misprint for vuisten - meaning 'fists'.
  • The irony is if I was lazy and used Google Translate, I would've had the benefit of it autocorrecting my oversight. However, I wouldn't have learned something new.
• I'm not sure if any linguists or etymologists have ever made this next connection before.
  • opkrabellen is a Dutch verb with no direct English translation. You can roughly use it to mean getting up from a difficult position (often a sitting/lying/falling one) or bouncing back from a difficult situation (i.e. recovering).
  • The English idiom 'up to scratch' has come to mean something being acceptable or up to standard, sometimes with a restorative/recovery connotation. Where does this idiom come from? If you guessed 'boxing', then give yourself a pat on the back.
    • In the bareknuckle boxing days, rule 1 of the 1838 London Prize Ring Rules states: "That in the centre of the ring a mark be formed, to be termed a scratch". The men would 'come to scratch', a de facto starting line, and pummel one another. If you got knocked down, you would have to 'come up to scratch', i.e. return to the line. Over time it naturally evolved to mean that someone who was down and out was 'not up to scratch', as in they were in no (acceptable) condition to continue fighting.
  • And, you guessed it, krabellen is the Dutch word for 'scratch' while op is the Dutch word for 'up'.
• "Daar is mijn broekenmannetje weer" became "There's my special little guy again"
  • broekenmannetje is the diminutive for broekenman (lit. pants/trouser man), a term used for kids who recently started wearing pants. Age-wise a number of years younger than Youngster Joey liking shorts because they're comfy and easy to wear. So using it as an insult is mockingly calling someone a toddler or talking down to them. That's a lot to convey in 6 words, so I went with a blink-and-you-miss-it reference to another shorts-wearing youngster.
• I translated "had Jimmy hem een timmer tegen zijn kin gegeven" as "Jimmy had given his chin a hammer blow" because a timmer is old-timey slang for a punch, but these days it's mostly used in relation to carpentry/construction.
• "Was jij dat Potemannetje" became "Was that you, nancyboy?"
  • I could be mistaken but I think this is a double entendre involving Poot (the name of the character being insulted) and 'poot', the abbreviation of a homophobic slur. Now, I can't well be throwing slurs around like a common internet user. So I went the 20th century route of using a euphemism like all those old movies and TV shows where a gruff character challenges the masculinity of another man by calling him 'buttercup'.
• Translating 'knokpartij' as 'slugfest' fit really nicely if I do say so myself.
• "Come hell or high water, he's going in the first round" was a liberty I took because the original was "Hij gaat er onverbiddelijk in de eerste ronde aan", the more accurate version would use 'inexorably' but that's a word I very rarely hear out loud or see in print so I couldn't justify a sentence that awkward.
• I didn't know 'Capeesh!?' had different spellings in North American (capisce) and British (capiche) English, so I settled for a neutral alternative. The Dutch version said 'Basta!', an Italian loanword that means 'enough' (used like khalas in Arabic). Apparently 'basta' used to be a loanword in English too but is now obselete outside of certain contexts, very convenient that there is a near-universally recognised Italian loanword which is also used for emphasis.
• Most annoying expression I had to translate? 'een klap met een warm brood'
  • The only other examples I could find about giving someone 'a hit with a warm bread' were in a 1965 newspaper article, a 2017 forum post on what appears to the Dutch version of Mumsnet, and a 1940s children's book written by Herman Looman (the man who wrote Jimmy Brown). From the newspaper article, I gathered the implication is that a warm bread of some sort would be used by a housewife/matriarch to clip the men/boy(s) of the house around the ears.
  • Further research revealed that the full expression was 'pas op, of ik geef je een klap met een warm krentenbrood' (be careful/watch it, or I'll hit you with a warm currant bread), it's nostalgically recalled in this 1932 newspaper article as a childhood expression everyone remembers. I think warm krentenbrood plays a similar role as the English-language joke about fruitcake being an indestructibly hard foodstuff. Except it's associated with being used to teach someone a lesson by hitting them on the head with it. So 'clip around the ear' works perfectly.
• To 'come to grief' is not an expression I was familiar with. The expression used in the original was "van een koude kermis kon thuis komen", which would today be translated as 'a rude awakening'. But this was published in the 1950s, and in the old-timey dictionary I referred to they gave translations as "come to grief; come away with a flea in one's ear". I didn't use the latter because it was too old-timey even for me.
• "Toen meneer Goochem dát hoorde, scheelde het maar weinig of hij ging van alle ellende van zijn stokje" was interesting. 'Van zijn stokje vallen/gaan' is an expression that literally translates as 'to fall off one's perch', think a bird in a bird cage. In Dutch, it's used to refer to fainting; in English, falling off one's perch means crossing over into the shadow realm.
  • The accent over 'dát' is just for emphasis. There's no emphasis accent in English so I went with italics.
• I left 'De Mepper' as is. Why not? Nobody refers to Le Monde as 'The World'.
  • But if I were to translate it, I would've gone with 'Punch' as a twofer.
• I went with 'knockout artist' where the original was 'grootste knockouter', there isn't really a word like that for someone who scores a lot of knockouts in English.
• 'trottoir' is not a word I ever see used in English, but using it means I don't have to make a judgement call on pavement vs sidewalk.
  • I was torn between Blighty English and Yankee English at several points, usually I would find a substitute but on a few occasions I just threw my hands up (or down) and carried on. The same actually happens on other parts of this website too and it's a direct result of the same rigorous process.
• The one use of 'chaps' was not a translation, the original text said 'chaps' as well. I was very tempted to change it to 'amigos' but I'm not sure if that would've been as widely used back then. Plus it doesn't sound as quaint and folksy.
• The commissioner doesn't have a moustache in the panel where he turns up his moustache (apparently it's an old expression in both Dutch and English), but he does have one later before losing it again.
• The Batman joke is pure OC. The question "is that you, Mr. Commissioner?" was the same but the original response was "Als dat waar is, pak me dan maar 's," (note: 's is a contraction of 'des') and I'm not sure what the joke is meant to be? "Pak me dan als je kan" is Dutch for "catch me if you can". I think I'd translate the response as "If that is true, then take me away/catch me" but I feel like I'm missing something or reading too much into it. Maybe it's a dry joke or a reference to some archaic pop culture? Either way, mine's better.
• The word used for ramming the door was 'gerameid' which as far as I can tell is an old timey spelling the past tense of 'rammeien', which means to break something down with a battering ram.
  • As far as I can tell 'rammen' (to ram) was in the past only used for ramming in the 'intentionally crashing with a ship or vehicle' sense, but now is used in the battering sense just like 'ram' in English means both. And so 'rammeien' has fallen out of common parlance.
• The village Vossemeer, located in Tholen, is called "Vossemaer" in the Zeeuwse dialect (and "Vossemaere" in old texts). Because a Nieuw-Vossemeer was founded in the 1500s, the original became Ou-Vossemaer. I was thinking of translating this but I like it as is and I get the feeling that not putting Ou (lit. old, pronounced 'ow') is meant to help imply how old the house/place is.
  • And there's a neat coincidence here as well. Take a guess which famous and wealthy Dutch family got their start in Vossemaer? That's right, none other than the Roosevelt family! According to the Roosevelt Institute for American Studies, "Around 1650 Claes Maartensz van Rosevelt and his wife Jannetje made the crossing to New Amsterdam", most likely 1649. Even on old maps of Tholen you clearly see the name "Rosevelt" written, it's located between Oud-Vossemeer and Poortvliet (though closer to the latter).
• Famed blogger Eleanor Roosevelt even visited Oud-Vossemeer in 1950, though Getty lists the date as June 23rd, in her My Day entry she said "On Tuesday [June 20th] we visited the Island of Tholen. This is a poor part of Holland but it was certainly in gala dress. All the people in the little town were out to greet us before the city hall. We went through the old Roosevelt House and then to the city hall, where speeches were made by several Burgomasters who claim to have connections with the Roosevelt family. [...] A few of the women wore the native costume of Tholen which is really very attractive, particularly the headdress."
  • If the former First Lady had flicked through a Dutch newspaper during her time in the Netherlands, she almost certainly would've seen one of Jimmy Brown's adventures.
• Getty also refers to Tholen as an island. Which it was, until the 1953 North Sea flood happened, after which many dams/levees were built and water was drained, so much so that Tholen became the peninsula that it is today.
• When Jimmy answers the door with a cigar in his playboy robe, the Dutch term for his garment is 'kamerjapon', meaning dressing gown or smoking jacket.
  • 'kamer' just means room but 'japon' is more interesting. During Japan's isolationist period, their only trading partner and source of knowledge about the outside world was the Netherlands, this was known as Rangaku. The Dutch monopoly introduced many Japanese things to Europe, including the Japanese dress, known as 'japonrok' in Dutch, which still appears in 1940s dictionaries under "dress skirt". These dresses such as kimono and similar clothes from other parts of Asia influenced European attire of the era. Banyan probably isn't the perfect word but it's arguably the best-fitting one for a Dutch-English translation.
• I translated 'schobbejakken' as 'lowlifes' but if I was taking this less seriously I would've gone with 'bastards'
• Jimmy's virtuous dream jobs were baby-sitter and "administrateur bij de Bond van Drophandelaren"
  • 'bond' is used to mean association/guild/society/union, 'drop' is licorice (a very popular candy in the Netherlands) and a 'handelaar' is a salesman. So the cutesiness of this job, like baby-sitter, is meant to be that Jimmy Brown is for the children. Maybe it's just my modern sensibilities but I don't see the virtue in dreaming of being an administrator or trustee of a trade association. I kept it as close as I could but there's a nagging feeling that 'being an ice cream man' or something would work better.
  • As far as I can tell, "de Bond van Drophandelaren" doesn't even exist IRL and possibly never existed. If anyone wants to look it up and get a definitive answer, your best bet is probably asking the Dutch Chamber of Commerce (Kamer van Koophandel). I had never heard of a Confectioners Association but they do exist.
• Joe Dynamite calls Jimmy Green or Black or whatever a 'snurkerd'. As far as I can tell, it's a regional or old-timey spelling of 'snorker', both of which can refer to someone who snores. But both can also mean someone who is full of themselves or obnoxious. I'm not sure how the two are connected and I couldn't think of a clever way to call someone a jerk while also accusing them of being a snorer, but if you do think of one let me know and I'll make an edit.
• Dynamite also calls Roosevelt 'dat brok helper van Meneer Brown'. A 'brok' just means a piece or a bit or a lump of something (like a lump of sugar). So we literally get "that piece of helper of Mr. Brown's" which I don't think is quite right.
• What was the worst sentence I had to translate? Probably "Ergens in de omgeving huurde meneer Goochem van een keuterboertje, dat toevallig met een dikke keel in bed lag, een schillenwagentje met een paard."
  • "keuterboertje" can mean 'crofter', 'small-holder' or 'cotter'. But I think the English equivalents don't have the connotation of poverty, where a 'keuterboer' unlike a normal 'boer' (farmer), has to supplement his income with side hustles.
  • "een dikke keel" literally translate as 'a fat throat'. Now if I had translated and said that was the reason the farmer was bedridden then that would look a bit silly. I could've gone with 'a swollen throat' which is slightly less silly but sounds far more drastic. So I just went with 'a soar throat'.
  • What does "schillenwagentje" mean? You probably could've guessed that "wagen" means wagon. "schillen" is the plural of "schil", meaning peels/skins (i.e. appelschillen are apple peels). So, a wagon for collecting peels? Yes! I had to do some searching before finding out what a horse-drawn dray was.
    • In my research I also found out that using horses to transport food waste still happens in parts of the United States, and it's called a 'slop wagon'.
• My lack of literary schooling was exposed by not knowing what a 'rossinant' was. It's a Spanish loanword for 'horse'. A 2013 study by Ghent University found that less than a third of Dutch speakers in Holland or Belgium knew what the word meant and I suspect that it's strongly divided along age lines. Rocinante was Don Quixote's horse.
  • Slightly more Belgian people knew the word than Dutch people, which makes sense given how Flanders was historically closer to Spain due to shared Catholicism.
  • Curiously, 'rossinant' does not appear in the 1940s dictionary I used but does appear in a 1960s edition by the same publisher.
• I translated 'dis je een prachtig verhaal' as 'dish out a splendid story'
  • To the yute of today 'dissen' is the loanword for 'dissing' (for the boomers reading this, that's short for 'disrespecting'). But 'dissen' is a now dated word for setting a table ('Tisch' is the still the German word for 'table'). So to 'dis' a story is to set the scene. And to 'dish' still carries the same meaning in English.
• Mayor Dikkerdak's order to find Jimmy Brown within 2 days was originally "Als u die Jimmy Brown niet binnen tweemaal 24 uur weet op te scharrelen," which more accurately would be 'within two 24 hour periods'. It's an odd construction that seems to have declined in usage after the 1950s. 'binnen 48 uur' was already in use alongside it for a long time, it could be a way to signpost that the mayor is an old man though. I'm not sure.
• I translated 'het eerste het beste krabbertje' as 'the first willy-nilly scrapper'
  • A krabber is a either a little hand rake (like the kind you use in a garden) or a scraper (like the kind you use to scrape paint, or an ijskrabber for windshields in the winter). But a krabbertje is a safety razor. I think it's the 1950s equivalent of 'nerf', essentially the babyish training-wheels version of something for real men. I drew a blank on this one so just had to use another boxing phrase instead.
• 'He's only been in the ring for a New York minute' was originally 'Hij staat pas een blauwe Maandag in de ring'.
  • Sure, I could've gone with 'only been in the ring for five minutes' or something, but that would've been boring and lazy.
• The old timey dictionary gave 'naar de weerlicht lopen' (walk into lightning) as 'go to blazes', which an expression for telling someone to go away that I don't remember ever reading or hearing and that's a shame because it's a good one.
• The whole time I was working on this I expected there might be a few references to real-world boxers. There's only one and it's to Jack Dempsey. This was a comic made by white people at a time when Joe Louis had dominated boxing for almost 13 years.
• It took 'heel wat voeten in de aarde' ('many feet on the ground') to hoist Joe Dynamite out of the hole in the ring. The expression is used for something being resource-intensive (in terms of time or man-power) so I wanted to say 'it took all the King's horses and all the King's men' but the panel only shows one guy doing it, so I had to go with a Heracles reference for the laboriousness.
• The end panel was edited together by me from the next Jimmy Brown adventure where he does become a kanaalzwemmer (canal swimmer) and presumably goes on to swim Het Kanaal. In the collected edition of Als Bokser, the last panel is the taxi driving to the police station.
  • I translated Het Kanaal as La Manche because I think English-speakers in Europe will know what that means and English-speakers in the the rest of the world would have an easier time looking that up instead of 'The Channel'.
  • I don't know why I expected the final fight against the champion to be any longer than any of the other fights. It's a bit unsatisfying but t0 be fair to them, boxing is just one sport among many and there were plenty of others to cover. And I imagine that some people 75 years ago were upset at having missed the issue that included the conclusion to this fight.
• The first few parts of this story are really short. Then slowly they got longer. And halfway through, when it's much to late to stop, it hits you that you might not have bothered translating it if you had read the whole thing first. This is your fate for trying to oh so cleverely min-max practicing your Dutch and getting a neat little rarity on your website too. Oh well, to be this good takes ages.