#Remembering Muhammad Ali

The greatest fighter ever to strap on a pair of boxing gloves passed away last week. Near the end, he wondered if the world would remember him.

I have a loved one, a retired senior citizen who watches a lot of television. And therefore, she tends to speak about different public personalities as though she knows them. She knows their talents and their gifts as well as their quirks and foibles. She reads the super market gossip tabloids like a inveterate gambler reads a tip sheet. She’s on a first name basis with everyone from Mike Strahan to Oprah Winfrey. Mama makes me chuckle. However, we share this in common. There was one person whom all my life I felt as though i’d known almost like kin even though I never got close enough to shake his hand. That person was Muhammad Ali.

I grew up in 15-story apartment building in the middle of Asbury Park, New Jersey; a seashore resort city. As an only child, my friends became more than my peers. They became my brothers. As we grew into our teen years, boxing was at the height of its popularity. Each of my friends chose a heavyweight boxer to call our favorite. My homeboy Joseph Raciti owned all of the magazines that highlighted George Foreman. Wes Singleton and I went with Ali. I found myself transfixed to the television when his bouts were featured on the Saturday afternoon editions of Wide World of Sports.

Muhammad was born with all the natural skills. He was fast. He was quick. He had the uncanny ability to slip punches; bob and weave. There was not much of knock punch there but he didn’t need it. Muhammad Ali had the skills to make his opponents miss. The physical attributes were only part of it. Ali had incredible will. In his first bout with Joe Frazier, a killer left hook in the later rounds put an aging Ali down on the canvas. That blow would have ended the careers of many a boxer. It left a golf ball size lump on his jaw but Muhammad Ali’s recuperative powers allowed him to get back up on his feet. In March 31, 1973 heavyweight challenger Ken Norton broke Ali’s jaw. He claimed it happened in the first round. Ali was still able to finish the fight though he didn’t win. He had to been in excruciating pain.

Many people who travel in the stratosphere of celebrity are dubbed “living legends.” Ali, shrugged that title like a boxing robe that didn’t fit. He was very human. He was the people’s champion. Ali was photographed in pool halls and walking the back streets of America’s most impoverished hoods. We saw him waving at barefoot children as he ran through the streets of Zaire, Africa accompanied by legions of villagers. He was extremely down to earth, a man of the common folk. It was said that he gave away great sums of money; mostly to anybody with a good story.

Ali’s courage was extraordinary. In February of 1978, Muhammad Ali was defeated by a much younger ex-Marine named Leon Spinks. He seemed so pitiful that night. His boxing legs had turned to lead. His reflexes were shot. Muhammad could see the openings but he was no longer quick enough to capitalize on them and he was getting hit far too much. When the final bell sounded and the heavyweight championship belt was handed over to Spinks, a fighter who had only been in a professional boxing ring 8 times previous to that night. One could almost see a tear in Ali’s left eye. It seemed like an ignoble end to a storied career.

In September of that same year, Ali would get another chance. Old TV clips show him being interviewed by his nemesis, sports commentator Howard Cosell. Their previous back and forth verbal exchanges were sometimes more entertaining than the boxing matches themselves. Howard would question Ali’s preparedness or his weight and in turn the Ali would make fun of Cosell’s toupee. That night, Ali spoke in something rivaling a whisper. He didn’t make jokes. He was serious, almost morose. He sat in the dressing room, in the physical shape he had been in, in years. He had punished himself to get into that kind fighting form at the twilight of his career. In the interview with Cosell, Ali did not brag or boast that night. His focus and concentration were in Jedi realm.

The bell rang. Ali came out dancing. No more could he float like a butterfly or sting like a bee, but the warrior instinct was still there. He grabbed the young champion when he came into throw a punch. He ended the rounds with flurries. Muhammad began to win round after round. As the fight drew into the later rounds, fight commentator Howard Cosell began to quote Bob Dylan as he spoke of a triumphant Muhammad Ali.

“May your hands always be busy

May your feet always be swift

May you have a strong foundation

When the winds of changes shift

May your heart always be joyful

And may your song always be sung

May you stay forever young…”

If only he had walked away with his hands raised that night. But he didn’t. In October of 1980, a 38-year old Muhammad Ali walked into the ring with young lion, Larry Holmes. I accompanied my friend Wes Singleton and his dad to the closed circuit showing of the fight at Asbury Park Convention Hall that night. We wanted to see it live. Ali was the man who could do miracles. Hadn’t he taken on all comers over three decades? What would be any different about that night?

But that night was different. Holmes beat Ali unmercifully starting in the first round. We figured by the second or third round, Ali would unveil the magic strategy with which he would turn Holmes into dust. It never materialized. It became painfully clear that this was a side of the champion that we had never seen before. All of the great skills had eroded. I felt every punch. I winced and moaned. I wasn’t a praying man back then but if I had been, I would have been speaking in tongues in that auditorium. Everything was gone. Everything except the gigantic heart; the will. Ali would not quit. In the 10th round, Angelo Dundee, his trainer from the beginning, the man paid to protect him threw in the towel.

Later on we’d find that Parkinson’s disease had begun to impact his reflexes before the Holmes fight. During neurological tests done previous to the night of the bout, Ali had trouble touching his nose with his finger and he couldn’t hop on leg well. His speech was slurred. Still he continued to fight on.

Is it possible to love someone that you have never met in real life? I think so. I loved Muhammad Ali. I thought that world of him. He made me laugh and probably cry too. He inspired me. I gasped when I found out that mortality had claimed him. He had been such a part of my life’s journey for so many years. In an interview after his passing, his daughter May May Ali said, “…He always questions, will they remember me?”

I will Muhammad. I will.

#HowardCosell #MuhammadAli #LarryHolmes #Parkinsonsdisease #LeonSpinks #Zaire #MayMayAli #BobDylan #HarryLouisWIlliams