Muhammad Ali: A Tribute to the Greatest Read online

  The next night, Spinks captured Ali’s title with a relentless fifteen-round assault. Seven months later, Ali returned the favor, regaining the championship with a fifteen-round victory of his own. Then he retired from boxing, but two years later made an ill-advised comeback against Larry Holmes.

  “Before the Holmes fight, you could clearly see the beginnings of Ali’s physical deterioration,” remembers Barry Frank, who was representing Ali in various commercial endeavors on behalf of IMG. “The huskiness had already come into his voice and he had a little bit of a balance problem. Sometimes he’d get up off a chair and, not stagger, but maybe take a half step to get his balance.”

  Realistically speaking, it was obvious that Ali had no chance of beating Holmes. But there was always that kernel of doubt. Would beating Holmes be any more extraordinary than knocking out Sonny Liston and George Foreman? Ali himself fanned the flames. “I’m so happy going into this fight,” he said shortly before the bout. “I’m dedicating this fight to all the people who’ve been told, you can’t do it. People who drop out of school because they’re told they’re dumb. People who go to crime because they don’t think they can find jobs. I’m dedicating this fight to all of you people who have a Larry Holmes in your life. I’m gonna whup my Holmes, and I want you to whup your Holmes.”

  But Holmes put it more succinctly. “Ali is thirty-eight years old. His mind is making a date that his body can’t keep.”

  Holmes was right. It was a horrible night. Old and seriously debilitated from the effects of an improperly prescribed drug called Thyrolar, Ali was a shell of his former self. He had no reflexes, no legs, no punch. Nothing, except his pride and the crowd chanting, “Ali! Ali!”

  “I really thought something bad might happen that night,” Jerry Izenberg recalls. “And I was praying that it wouldn’t be the something that we dread most in boxing. I’ve been at three fights where fighters died, and it sort of found a home in the back of my mind. I was saying, I don’t want this man to get hurt. Whoever won the fight was irrelevant to me.”

  It wasn’t an athletic contest; just a brutal beating that went on and on. Later, some observers claimed that Holmes lay back because of his fondness for Ali. But Holmes was being cautious, not compassionate. “I love the man,” he later acknowledged. “But when the bell rang, I didn’t even know his name.”

  “By the ninth round, Ali had stopped fighting altogether,” Lloyd Wells remembers. “He was just defending himself, and not doing a good job of that. Then, in the ninth round, Holmes hit him with a punch to the body, and Ali screamed. I never will forget that as long as I live. Ali screamed.”

  The fight was stopped after eleven rounds. An era in boxing—and an entire historical era—was over. Now, years later, in addition to his more important social significance, Ali is widely recognized as the greatest fighter of all time. He was graced with almost unearthly physical skills and did everything that his body allowed him to do. In a sport that is often brutal and violent, he cast a long and graceful shadow.

  How good was Ali?

  “In the early days,” Ferdie Pacheco recalls, “he fought as though he had a glass jaw and was afraid to get hit. He had the hyper reflexes of a frightened man. He was so fast that you had the feeling, ‘This guy is scared to death; he can’t be that fast normally.’ Well, he wasn’t scared. He was fast beyond belief and smart. Then he went into exile; and when he came back, he couldn’t move like lightning anymore. Everyone wondered, ‘What happens now when he gets hit?’ That’s when we learned something else about him. That sissy-looking, soft-looking, beautiful-looking, child-man was one of the toughest guys who ever lived.”

  Ali didn’t have one-punch knockout power. His most potent offensive weapon was speed; the speed of his jab and straight right hand. But when he sat down on his punches, as he did against Joe Frazier in Manila, he hit harder than most heavyweights. And in addition to his other assets, he had superb footwork, the ability to take a punch, and all of the intangibles that go into making a great fighter.

  “Ali fought all wrong,” acknowledges Jerry Izenberg. “Boxing people would say to me, ‘Any guy who can do this will beat him. Any guy who can do that will beat him.’ And after a while, I started saying back to them, ‘So you’re telling me that any guy who can outjab the fastest jabber in the world can beat him. Any guy who can slip that jab, which is like lightning, not get hit with a hook off the jab, get inside, and pound on his ribs can beat him. Any guy. Well, you’re asking for the greatest fighter who ever lived, so this kid must be pretty good.’”

  And on top of everything else, the world never saw Muhammad Ali at his peak as a fighter. When Ali was forced into exile in 1967, he was getting better with virtually every fight. The Ali who fought Cleveland Williams, Ernie Terrell, and Zora Folley was bigger, stronger, more confident, and more skilled than the 22-year-old who, three years earlier, had defeated Sonny Liston. But when Ali returned, his ring skills were diminished. He was markedly slower and his legs weren’t the same.

  “I was better when I was young,” Ali acknowledged later. “I was more experienced when I was older; I was stronger; I had more belief in myself. Except for Sonny Liston, the men I fought when I was young weren’t near the fighters that Joe Frazier and George Foreman were. But I had my speed when I was young. I was faster on my legs and my hands were faster.”

  Thus, the world never saw what might have been. What it did see, though, in the second half of Ali’s career, was an incredibly courageous fighter. Not only did Ali fight his heart out in the ring; he fought the most dangerous foes imaginable. Many champions avoid facing tough challengers. When Joe Louis was champion, he refused to fight certain black contenders. After Joe Frazier defeated Ali, his next defenses were against Terry Daniels and Ron Stander. Once George Foreman won the title, his next bout was against Jose Roman. But Ali had a different creed. “I fought the best, because if you want to be a true champion, you got to show people that you can whup everybody,” he proclaimed.

  “I don’t think there’s a fighter in his right mind that wouldn’t admire Ali,” says Earnie Shavers. “We all dreamed about being just half the fighter that Ali was.”

  And of course, each time Ali entered the ring, the pressure on him was palpable. “It’s not like making a movie where, if you mess up, you stop and reshoot,” he said shortly before Ali-Frazier III. “When that bell rings and you’re out there, the whole world is watching and it’s real.”

  But Ali was more than a great fighter. He was the standard-bearer for boxing’s modern era. The 1960s promised athletes who were bigger and faster than their predecessors. Ali was the prototype for that mold. Also, he was part and parcel of the changing economics of boxing. Ali arrived just in time for the advent of satellites and closed circuit television. He carried heavyweight championship boxing beyond the confines of the United States and popularized the sport around the globe.

  Almost always, the public sees boxers as warriors without ever realizing their soft human side. But the whole world saw Ali’s humanity. “I was never a boxing fan until Ali came along,” is a refrain one frequently hears. And while “the validity of boxing is always hanging by a thread,” England’s Hugh McIlvanney, who coined that phrase, acknowledges, “Ali was boxing’s salvation.”

  An Ali fight was always an event. Ali put that in perspective when he said, “I truly believe I’m fighting for the betterment of people. I’m not fighting for diamonds or Rolls-Royces or mansions, but to help mankind. Before a fight, I get myself psyched up. It gives me more power, knowing there’s so much involved and so many people are gonna be helped by my victory.” To which Gil Noble adds, “When Ali got in the ring, there was a lot more at stake than the title. When that man got in the ring, he took all of us with him.”

  Also, for virtually his entire career, being around Ali was fun. Commenting on young Cassius Clay, Don Elbaum remembers, “I was the matchmaker for a show in Pittsburgh when he fought Charlie Powell. We were staying at a place called Ca
rlton House. And two or three days before the fight, Cassius, which was his name then, decided to visit a black area of Pittsburgh. It was winter, real cold. But he went out, walking the streets, just talking to people. And I’ve never seen anything like it in my life. When he came back to the hotel around six o’clock, there were three hundred people following him. The Pied Piper couldn’t have done any better. And the night of the fight, the weather was awful. There was a blizzard; the schools were shut down. Snow kept falling; it was windy. Conditions were absolutely horrible. And the fight sold out.”

  Some athletes are engaging when they’re young, but lose their charm as their celebrity status grows. But Michael Katz of the New York Daily News recalls the day when Ali, at the peak of his popularity, defended his title against Richard Dunn. “On the day of the fight,” Katz remembers, “Ali got bored so he decided to hold a press conference. Word got around. Ali came downstairs, and we went to a conference room in the hotel but it wasn’t set up yet. So every member of the press followed him around. We were like mice, going from room to room, until finally the hotel management set us up someplace. And Ali proceeded to have us all in stitches. He imitated every opponent he’d ever fought, including Richard Dunn, who he hadn’t fought yet. And he was marvelous. You’d have paid more money to see Muhammad Ali on stage at that point than you’d pay today for Robin Williams.”

  And Ali retained his charm when he got old.

  “The first Ali fight I ever covered,” says Ron Borges, “was the one against Leon Spinks, where Ali said it made him look silly to talk up an opponent with only seven professional fights so he wasn’t talking. And I said to myself, ‘Great. Here I am, a young reporter about to cover the most verbally gifted athlete in history, and the man’s not talking.’ Anyway, I was at one of Ali’s workouts. Ali finished sparring, picked up a microphone, and told us all what he’d said before: ‘I’m not talking.’ And then he went on for about ninety minutes. Typical Ali, the funniest monologue I’ve ever heard. And when he was done, he put the microphone down, smiled that incredible smile, and told us all, ‘But I’m not talking.’ I’ll always remember the joy of being around Ali,” Borges says in closing. “It was fun. And covering the heavyweights isn’t much fun anymore. Ali took that with him when he left, and things have been pretty ugly lately.”

  Muhammad Ali did too much for boxing. And the sport isn’t the same without him.

  MUHAMMAD ALI AND CONGRESS REMEMBERED

  2000

  At long last, Congress has enacted the Muhammad Ali Boxing Reform Act. As a cure for what ails boxing, the proposed legislation leaves a lot to be desired. Still, it’s a step in the right direction. Meanwhile, Senator Jim Bunning of Kentucky is sponsoring legislation that would authorize President Clinton to award Ali with a Congressional Gold Medal (the highest civilian honor that Congress can bestow upon an individual). Thus, it’s worth remembering what an earlier generation of Congressmen had to say about Muhammad Ali at the height of the war in Vietnam.

  On February 17, 1966, Ali was reclassified 1-A by his draft board and uttered the immortal words, “I ain’t got no quarrel with them Vietcong.” One month later, Congressman Frank Clark of Pennsylvania rose in Congress and called upon the American public to boycott Ali’s upcoming bout against George Chuvalo:

  The heavyweight champion of the world turns my stomach. I am not a superpatriot. But I feel that each man, if he really is a man, owes to his country a willingness to protect it and serve it in time of need. From this standpoint, the heavyweight champion has been a complete and total disgrace. I urge the citizens of the nation as a whole to boycott any of his performances. To leave these theater seats empty would be the finest tribute possible to that boy whose hearse may pass by the open doors of the theater on Main Street USA.

  In 1967, Ali refused induction into the United States Army, at which point he was stripped of his title and denied a license to box in all fifty states. That same year, he was indicted, tried, convicted, and sentenced to five years in prison. Then, in October 1969 while the appeal of his conviction was pending, ABC announced plans to have Ali serve as a TV commentator for an upcoming amateur boxing competition between the United States and the Soviet Union. Congressman Fletcher Thompson of Georgia objected:

  I take the floor today to protest the network that has announced it will use Cassius Clay as a commentator for these contests. I consider this an affront to loyal Americans everywhere, although it will obviously receive much applause in some of the hippie circles. Maybe the American Broadcasting System feels that it needs to appeal more to the hippies and yippies of America than to loyal Americans.

  In December 1969, there were reports that Governor Claude Kirk of Florida would grant Ali a license to fight Joe Frazier in Tampa. Congressman Robert Michel of Illinois took to the podium of the United States House of Representatives to protest:

  Clay has been stripped of his heavyweight title for dodging the draft. And I consider it an insult to patriotic Americans everywhere to permit his reentry into the respected ranks of boxing. It should be recalled that Mr. Clay gave as one of his excuses for not wanting to be drafted that he is in reality a minister and that even boxing is antagonistic to his religion. But apparently, he is willing to fight anyone but the Vietcong.

  Ultimately, the authorities in Florida refused to give Ali a license to box. Then, in September 1970, it was announced that Ali would fight Jerry Quarry in Georgia. Once again, Congressman Michel had his say:

  I read with disgust today the article in the Washington Post concerning the upcoming fight of this country’s most famous draft dodger, Cassius Clay. The article said that Mr. Clay was out of shape, overweight, and winded. No doubt, this comes from his desperate and concerted efforts to stay out of the military service while thousands of patriotic young men are fighting and dying in Vietnam. Apparently, Mr. Clay feels himself entitled to the full protection of the law, yet does not feel he has to sacrifice anything to preserve the institutions that protect him. Cassius Clay cannot hold a candle to the average American boy who is willing to defend his country in perilous times.

  Ali fought Jerry Quarry in Atlanta on October 26, 1970. Then a federal district court decision paved the way for him to fight Oscar Bonavena on December 7th (the anniversary of Pearl Harbor) in New York. After that, he signed to fight Joe Frazier at Madison Square Garden. Each fighter was to receive the previously unheard-of sum of $2,500,000. That outraged Congressman John Rarick of Louisiana, who spoke to his colleagues:

  Veterans who have fought our nation’s wars feel that any man unwilling to fight for his country is unworthy of making a profit or receiving public acclaim in it. Cassius Clay is a convicted draft dodger sentenced to a five-year prison term which he is not serving. What right has he to claim the privilege of appearing in a boxing match to be nationally televised? The Clay affair approaches a crisis in national indignation.

  On March 8, 1971, Ali lost a hard-fought fifteen-round decision to Joe Frazier. Meanwhile, he remained free on bail while the United States Supreme Court considered the appeal of his criminal conviction. This was too much for Congressman George Andrews of Alabama, who spoke to his brethren and compared Ali to Lieutenant William Calley, who had been convicted of murder in the massacre of 22 South Vietnamese civilians at Mylai:

  Last night, I was sickened and sad when I heard about that poor little fellow who went down to Fort Benning. He had barely graduated from high school. He volunteered and offered his life for his country. He was taught to kill. He was sent to Vietnam. And he wound up back at Fort Benning, where he was indicted and convicted for murder in the first degree for carrying out orders. I also thought about another young man about his age; one Cassius Clay, alias Muhammad Ali, who several years ago defied the United States government, thumbed his nose at the flag, and is still walking the streets making millions of dollars fighting for pay, not for his country. That is an unequal distribution of justice.

  On June 28, 1971, fifty months to the day after Ali had
refused induction, the United States Supreme Court unanimously reversed his conviction. All criminal charges pending against him were dismissed. The next day, Congressman William Nichols of Alabama expressed his outrage:

  The United States Supreme Court has given another black eye to the United States Armed Forces. The decision overturning the draft evasion conviction of Cassius Clay is a stinging rebuke to the 240,000 Americans still serving in Vietnam and the 50,000 Americans who lost their lives there. I wish the members of the Supreme Court would assist me when I try to explain to a father why his son must serve in Vietnam or when I attempt to console a widow or the parents of a young man who has died in a war that Cassius Clay was exempted from.

  Not to be outdone, Congressman Joe Waggonner of Louisiana echoed his fellow lawmaker’s expression of contempt:

  The United States Supreme Court has issued the edict that Cassius Clay does not have to be inducted because he does not believe in war. No draft-age young man believes in a war that he will have to fight, nor does any parent of a draft-age son believe in a war that their own flesh and blood will have to fight and possibly give his life in so doing. But our people have always heeded the call of their country when asked, not because they love war, but because their country has asked them to do so. And I feel strongly about this. If Cassius Clay does not have to be drafted because of questionable religious beliefs or punished for refusing induction simply because he is black or because he is a prizefighter—and I can see no other real justification for the Court’s action—then all other young men who wish it should also be allowed a draft exemption. Cassius Clay is a phony. He knows it, the Supreme Court knows it, and everyone else knows it.