“News is public domain. A news outfit in quest of a news beat might steal a story from under the opposition’s nose, but they won’t buy it!”
– Norman Alley

On September 22, 1927, heavyweight boxer Gene Tunney was scheduled to defend his title against William Dempsey at Chicago’s Soldiers Field. In a foreshadowing of things to come in modern sports, the exclusive rights to photograph the fight were sold to a private interest by the name of Harry Voiler.

This restriction did not sit well with Norman Alley, the chief with the Hearst newsreel Chicago bureau at the time. Alley decided come hell or high water, they were going to photograph this fight in the name that “news is public domain.” And they were going to try every trick they knew of to get those shots.

The first scheme they hatched up was to make photographers Allyn Alexander and Hiram “Hi” Lutz disappear from the face of the earth. Soldiers Field was flanked by two huge colonnades overlooking the field, and Alexander and Lutz was to stake out a position on top of them, the view being a commanding location for a shot of the ring via a telephoto lens.

In an effort to escape Voiler’s watch for intruding crews, the Hearst photogs decided to setup camp on the colonnades five days before the fight. In the dead of the night, the entire staff helped to move Alexander and Lutz, their cameras and other equipment for their extended camping trip on the roof. And there, they waited until the morning of the fight.

When the eve of September 22 dawned, Voiler and his men went over the stadium with a fine tooth comb, those exclusive pictures were going to be exclusive, and he didn’t trust the competing newsreel men to try to attempt to “pinch” the fight. As Alexander and Lutz watched them sweep over the fields, bleachers and every nook and cranny, suddenly they saw Voiler point at the colonnades. Foiled! Alexander and Lutz packed their gear up in a hurry and beat a hasty retreat back to the office.

The Hearst crews may have been knocked down, but they weren’t out for the count. Norman Alley had another plan – in the form of ringside tickets to the game and a small stroke of luck. Alley put in a call to his editor in New York, Charlie Mathieu, and requested more crews to come to Chicago. Among those who answered Alley’s call for reinforcements that night were Ulyate K. Whipple, Carl Wallen, John “Bocky” Bockhorst, Eddie Morrison and Ted Rickman.

Security for the fight was put in the hands of the Illinois National Guard under the command of General Roy Keehn — who also just happened to be a member of Hearst’s Chicago general counsel. Orders were given by Keehn to the ushers of the fight that no one bearing boxes, bags or cameras was to be barred from entering as long as they possessed a valid ticket to the fight.

On the eve of the fight, the eight Hearst cameramen headed for the stadium, split up and entered separately. They got their shots of the fight from beginning to end from every angle around the ring, and while they were under the jurisdiction of the Illinois National Guard, there was nothing Voiler could do to stop them. As soon as the final bell rang and the fight was over, the newsreel men hustled back to the offices with their film, knowing that Voiler will be hot on their tail as soon as they were out of the Illinois National Guard’s protection.

Back at the office, the photogs dropped off their film in the darkroom for the operator to soup the film and they headed for home, leaving Alley and a few operators behind to finish editing the reel. Voiler ordered some of his hirelings to Hearst’s offices in an attempt to stop Alley from shipping the reel out. The hirelings attempted to kick the front doors in, while Voiler’s lawyer constantly called non-stop issuing threats to bully Alley into stopping what he was doing. Alley refused to be intimidated and after taunting Voiler’s lawyer on the phone with “call back later. We’re busy getting out a prizefight special,” called a friend of his with the Chicago Police Department. Alley’s friend sent over a detail to chase off Voiler’s thugs and to guard the office while Alley finished printing off the reel. The finished reels were escorted to the local movie houses under police protection and the original negative was sent to New York via a chartered flight.

Alley finally went home after a long week to get what he considered what was news in the public’s interest instead of a story to be sold exclusively to the highest bidder.

Eight years later, Alley would protest again against sports-related media restrictions in a far different manner.