ArtsBeat once again is inviting members of the theater world to contribute over the summer to the weekly Theater Talkback column, alternating with the critics Ben Brantley and Charles Isherwood. For the first guest post, Trav S. D., a historian of vaudeville, talks about the long bare-knuckles history shared between the boxing ring and the stage.  There has been much gnashing of teeth (hopefully no biting of ears) about the news that the boxer Mike Tyson will be taking to the Broadway stage for a week this summer with a solo show, to be directed by Spike Lee. The buzz has been predictably comic. With his famously girly voice and his reckless style in the ring, Mr. Tyson has always been a national punch line; now he re-emerges in a new arena to play that role again. Neil Patrick Harris is already champing at the bit to tear him up at the next Tony Awards ceremony.  While the idea of a boxer standing before the footlights telling his life story may seem an unprecedented novelty, the truth is that pugilism and the American theater have been in bed together from the very beginning. The idea of these two areas of amusement being totally segregated from one another is far newer.  The common birthplace of these estranged siblings was the 19th-century saloon. In entertainment strips like New York’s Bowery and San Francisco’s Barbary Coast, illegal exhibitions of bare-knuckle boxing (the only kind they had back then) were frequently staged in the back rooms of local watering holes alongside variety entertainment like clog dancers, Irish fiddlers and sultry, singing waiter girls. This was the precursor of vaudeville — a wild and disreputable scene, but patronized by practically everybody.  In the 1880s and ’90s, variety was cleaned up. Vaudeville was moved out of saloons and stripped of all associations that might be considered inappropriate for women, children and those with highly moral sensibilities. While it was now unthinkable for something as violent as a pugilistic demonstration to take place on a theatrical stage, it did become common for the heroes of the sport to pursue lucrative second careers as monologists, talking about their experiences, and even becoming stand-up comedians of a sort.  John L. Sullivan — “the Boston Strong Boy” — was one of the first to make this leap. A holdover from the bare-knuckle days, he had squandered much of his fortune during years of drunken carousal. His stage presentation doubled as a cautionary tale and temperance lecture. Sullivan’s “descent” into vaudeville was an act of desperation; he needed the money.  Conversely, the man who unseated him as world champion in 1892, James J. “Gentleman Jim” Corbett, took to the stage like a duck to water. A garrulous personality (and perhaps a bit brainier than many who make their living with their fists), Corbett was not only a gifted storyteller, he also acted in plays, comedy skits, silent movies and minstrel shows.  Almost all of the top boxers followed the lead of these early champions, channeling their energies into show business when their power in the ring began to wane: Jack Johnson, Jack Dempsey, Gene Tunney and Max Baer among them. Slapsie Maxie Rosenbloom was too late for vaudeville, so he went straight into films and started his own nightclub. And as anyone who has seen “Raging Bull” knows, Jake LaMotta spent some of his last years as a stand-up comedian.  Other notables started out as boxers but went on to find greater fame and success in vaudeville and show business. Among these were George Fuller Golden (founder of the White Rats, the vaudeville performers union, a precursor to Actors’ Equity), Rags Ragland and George Raft. Ed Sullivan had been a boxer before becoming a sportswriter, then a columnist, then a variety show producer.  The close kinship between the ring and the stage was a key part of Broadway’s Runyonesque culture at least through the mid-20th century, when musical theater, horse racing, newspaper columns, burlesque and a midnight corned beef sandwich at Lindy’s were all woven together into one colorful fabric. And boxers have occasionally dabbled in show business since. Certainly Muhammad Ali was a master of television, and even starred in his own cinematic autobiography. But the cultures of live theater and the boxing arena had parted ways by the 1960s.  Thus, while it may seem that Mr. Tyson is only pulling a stunt — “doing a Shatner,” to coin a phrase — he is actually partaking of a grand old tradition, stepping into the shoes of mighty forebears to whom he has been compared in other ways.  I think such cross-fertilization is vital. It prevents the theater from becoming isolated, self-referential and out of touch with the culture at large. And as I say, there is plenty of precedent in mounting a show like “Mike Tyson: The Undisputed Truth.”  On the other hand, some may wish the Longacre Theater was available to house a drama or musical comedy that week. Mr. Tyson’s show will sell tickets, but it won’t employ many actors, musicians or craftspeople.  What do you think of Mr. Tyson coming to Broadway? Is there a “right use” to which producers should put the limited number of available stages?  Trav S.D. (Travis Stewart) is the author of “No Applause, Just Throw Money: The Book That Made Vaudeville Famous,” the coming “Chain of Fools: Silent Comedy and Its Legacies from Nickelodeons to YouTube” and the blog Travalanche.
Mike Tyson will hardly be the first prizefighter to take to the stage after his athletic career is done.