It was a sticky June evening in 1914, and Paris had turned out for a show. The crowd at the Vélodrome d’Hiver was thick with sweat and anticipation, the front rows packed with society types and champagne-swilling aristocrats, all eager to witness a heavyweight championship fight in their city. At the centre of it all was Jack Johnson, the world’s most famous boxer, pacing the ring with the easy arrogance of a man who had spent years proving people wrong. Across from him, sizing him up, was a red-haired, broad-shouldered Irish-American.

Frank Moran had fought and brawled his way up from Navy yards to the biggest stage in global boxing, and he hadn’t come all this way to be nothing but a mere afterthought. He was powerful, in his prime, and boasted a right hand known as ‘Mary Ann’ that could turn the lights out on any man before he hit the canvas.

The fight had almost never happened. Johnson, on the run from a prison sentence back in the United States, had spent months fooling around in seedy vaudeville shows in Europe, rather than terrifying opponents in the ring. But the act was wearing thin and he had been booed off several stages. He was running out of options when Dan McKetrick, a shady and fiery Irish-American promoter running fights in Paris, saw an opportunity. He wanted to bring Johnson back into the ring but he needed a challenger; Moran fit the bill.

Unfortunately for both fighters, before the night was over, every cent of the fight’s earnings would disappear. And in less than 24 hours, Archduke Franz Ferdinand would be shot in Sarajevo, and chaos would break out on the continent. Moran left Paris battered, as Johnson expectedly won the fight. But he would return to America with a burnished reputation and newfound respect. He had taken on the best in the world and held his own.

Long before he found himself staring down Jack Johnson in the City of Light, Moran had already fought his way through a life as varied as any fighter of his era. Born in 1887, he spent most of his upbringing in Pittsburgh, a city of steel mills and hard men where toughness was currency and men with soft hands were non-existent. But while Pittsburgh shaped him and forged his fistic passions, his roots ran all the time way back to 19th century Ireland The heavyweight was the son of Martin Moran, an Irish immigrant from Mayo who had crossed the Atlantic as a young man. His son grew up to become a Navy man. And while stationed at Naval Academy facilities, he started boxing competitively. Soon enough, he was making a name for himself in the fight game, even reportedly fighting future US President Theodore Roosevelt. Moran was never the slickest boxer, nor was he known for his dazzling footwork. But he had his own unique calling card: ‘Mary Ann’. As a result, he always had a chance no matter who he faced. No chin was safe when he released his right hand.

As he rose in the game, he beat some very slick opponents including the highly respected Jim Coffey, the so-called ‘Roscommon Giant’ who was always trying to carve out a reputation for the Irish in the unforgiving world of heavyweight boxing. He may ultimately have suffered defeat against Johnson, but his career didn’t end in Paris. While the world champion turned out to be too skilled for him, the Irish-American bruiser wasn’t finished taking swings at the best in the world.

Two years later, he fought Jess Willard for the heavyweight championship at Madison Square Garden in New York. Willard, who had taken the title from Johnson the year before, was a giant of a man, standing at 6’6” and built like a coal barge. But Moran never shirked from such opportunities when they arose, even if he couldn't dethrone the champion.

He kept fighting and continued to be rewarded with big fights, but the title never came. He was nevertheless able to take pride in the fact that in an era when the heavyweight division was filled with all-time greats, he was always in the mix, and only one punch away from glory.

After hanging up his gloves, he found a new spotlight under which to entertain. With his rugged looks and imposing presence, he seamlessly transitioned from boxing rings to film sets in Hollywood, carving out a prolific acting career as the film industry began to balloon into the global industry it is today. He never had the star power of a John Wayne or a Laurence Olivier, but his rugged face still became a staple of classic cinema. He appeared in over 150 movies, often portraying characters that mirrored his real-life toughness – fighters, convicts, bouncers etc.

Among his most notable films were Sullivan’s Travels, The Great McGinty and The Lady Eve, where he worked under the direction of Preston Sturges, one of Hollywood’s greatest comedic filmmakers. He also shared the screen with names like Barbara Stanwyck, Henry Fonda, Gary Cooper, Cary Grant, Charlie Chaplin and many more. The boxer-cum-actor was never shy of work. If a man who looked like he could brawl his way out of any bar room was required, Moran was the first port of call.

But despite his longevity, his story has been largely forgotten, overshadowed by the men he fought and the stars he acted alongside.

His life was the classic Irish immigrant’s tale, one of struggle and ambition and reinvention. He was never handed an easy path, but he never stopped moving forward, whether he was working in the ring or on the silver screen. He was forced to fight for everything he achieved, from the streets of Pittsburgh to the brightest lights of Hollywood. And while he was never the leading man, nor the undisputed champion, he was always in the mix, always relevant, always one punch or one scene away from something greater.

Few men have straddled two worlds so seamlessly, leaving behind a legacy not of titles or stardom, but of sheer perseverance.