Excerpted from Pen's "Secret Lives" - eyewitness account of Jayne Mansfield boxing Jane Russell.

...To the best of my knowledge, only one copy of the original black and white footage of the fight remains, and it's grainy, halting images hardly do justice to the sheer glory of the event.

Unlike Monroe, and Cyd Charise and even Ava Gardner to a certain extent, Mansfield and Russell were poor boxers. Russell had been badly beaten by both Monroe and Charise prior to this bout, and had been exposed as a fairly limited, even rude brawler. Mansfield had never pretended to be anything but, but had looked better against common opponents. This match would be a perfect bout from a style standpoint, and was as eagerly anticipated as any other before or since.

There was little pre-amble for the fight, in fact, for a studio bout there was surprisingly little fanfare. Although members of the scandal sheet-press were permitted to attend, it was a reasonably private affair, with MGM executives and invitees predominating. The ring had been set up in a sound stage as per usual, and portable stands surrounded the scene. There were perhaps 150 onlookers all told - a good crowd for a non-title bout in those days.

Both women wore bikinis cut in the full mode of the day, red with black trim for the brunette Russell, and a pale blue, almost white bikini for Mansfield. Neither girl presumed any particular animosity towards the other as both were well known for their passion for fighting - extra motivation did not seem to be required. They were cordial towards one another in the ring before hand, and Mansfield even raised her traditional pre-fight glass of champagne to her opponent as a salute. There was no hint of the kind of sheer animal struggle for supremacy which would soon unfold.

From the very first round, spectators grew tense and hushed as the women came together and brawled with a non-stop intensity that we had never witnessed before. No pretense of artistry was made, no attempt to finesse the opponent: the two women simply walked towards one another, put their cheeks on each other's shoulders and began the dance that would continue for 10 grueling rounds.

Each punched underneath with her fists, lifting cruel uppercuts into the pudgy belly or bulging breasts of the other from close range. Punches rarely traveled more than six inches, and neither woman deigned to clinch during this brutal test. Whenever a punch strayed low, which was often, the other would respond immediately in kind, and that would end it - there was no need for interference from the referee as the women seemed to have an unspoken understanding going between them. Occasionally, one or the other would pull back just far enough to try an uppercut to the mouth of the other, and as each time this tactic proved successful, it is a wonder that neither tried it more often.

Round after round ground by, and each round wore the same brutal stamp. In the cavernous sound stage, one could hear the leather smacking soft flesh and the pouting grunts of pain and effort from both women. On the inside, it was all rounded shoulders pushing and short punches, but the women refused to stray from the predictable path of belly and breast abuse - it was as if pride of body had taken over common sense. Neither woman seemed to want to win unless victory involved the slow, utter destruction of the other through sheer accumulation.

In the latter rounds, Russell came, to my mind, to dominate. Mansfield began to fight with her fulsome buttocks sitting on the ropes, and Russell seemed the stronger, pushing and punching with more authority at the end of the rounds.

The 9th, the single most brutal round of celebrity fighting I have ever witnessed, saw Jane Russell batter Mansfield in her own corner. Jayne refused to go down, but the flesh of her thighs trembled beyond her control, and Russell bludgeoned her stomach with punches reminiscent of Gene Fullmer's gruesome, pitching style. At the bell, Russell pulled back and looked in sheer wonder at the blonde for just a moment: Jayne Mansfield lay on the ropes, clutching her body, her eyes closed, mouth open, gasping for air, and still she would not surrender.

In the tenth, despite forcing Mansfield to the ropes, and continuing her dominance, Russell couldn't make the big blonde quit. At the final bell, we all roared in spontaneous approval at the performance these two slugging wonders had given us. It was marvelous, and both were honored by their participation.

Mansfield was, of course, awarded the decision. Russell was disappointed, but she had known going in that anything less than a knockout would result in Jayne receiving the benefit of the doubt. Such was the case in those days, as many an opponent of Monroe's would grumble in distaste after Marilyn would run and hold and survive to win another disputed decision.

In this case, most in attendance agreed that Russell had worn Mansfield out, but we were not all that outraged. The sheer ferocity of the bout was more important than the decision, and the anticipation of the inevitable rematch outweighed all other considerations for us.