John F. Lund, left, never forgot his boyhood encounter with the champ. Jack Dempsey, right. Photographs courtesy of the author and USHS collections.
A Visit to the Champ's House BY J O H N FARNSWORTH LUND
the heat arose in waves; the street asphalt melted and crept like molasses. A good day for running through the lawn sprinklers or following the ice wagon. A good day for lengthy discussions on the sizes and shapes of girls, but best of all a day on which a guy does nothing. The telephone call changed all this. The kids in the old Seventeenth Ward on First North and West Temple in Salt Lake City survived the First World War and were free of the grind of knitting washcloths for our soldiers overseas and eating every bite of food because children starved in Armenia. This was never fully explained, but it was in the line of "doing one's bit" and we T H E JULY DAY BLISTERED EVERYTHING;
Mr. Lund lives in Salt Lake City.
