This file photo taken on March 4, 1976 shows heavyweight boxing world champion Muhammad Ali (Cassius Clay) during a press conference in Paris about his book "The Greatest". Heavyweight boxing legend Muhammad Ali, an icon of the 20th Century whose fame transcended the sport during a remarkable career that spanned three decades, died June 3, 2016, his family said. /
This article was originally published in the Globe and Mail on Saturday, November 28, 1981.
Muhammad Ali is in bed in his hotel room on a Friday afternoon when the phone rings. It is his 13-year-old daughter by a previous marriage and Ali raises himself on his elbows, leans into the phone and speaks gently.
"Hello, baby, hello, I miss you so much. You're so sweet. I might be coming out to L.A. in a few days. Think I'll stop by and see you."
The phone call is short but Ali's memory, so focussed on his Dec. 11 fight with Canadian heavyweight champion Trevor Berbick, is jogged a long way back.
"How time flies," Ali says to a visitor. "It seems like just yesterday I was bringing her home from the hospital."
On the bureau near Ali's bed there are copies of the Holy Bible, The Glorious Qur'an and Islamic Religious Knowledge. Across the room are Ali's notes for lectures on The Purpose of Life and The Intoxications of Life. Five times daily he prays, but now there is no consolation for him. His daughter's call has evoked a personal truth no religion can soothe.
"I feel so guilty," Ali says. "I feel funny because I never really lived with most of my children. I have only lived with the two children Veronica (his third wife) and I have."
If Ali has been remiss in the raising of some of his five children it is because the path he chose combined with the fundamentals of his personality to produce a wandering Muslim. Strange, then, that in two months he will address a symposium of pediatricians in Boston on the subject of how to raise children.
"I get ideas," Ali says, "and I put them together. Sometimes I wonder how a boxer comes to talk to doctors about children but I've been through a lot. I have knowledge, and that's wealth. If my wealth was in the bank rather than in my knowledge I wouldn't possess it. But I know where I'm going. I know my life purpose."
Ali says his life purpose is to take down all racial images from churches. While speaking, he asks his security chief, Abdul Rahman, for his Bible. It is bound in leather, embossed with Ali's name, a prized possession he carries everywhere.
The Bible is marked where Ali has been impressed by a thought. To support his argument concerning the removal of graven images he turns to Exodus, Chapter 20, Verse 4, King James version.
Thou shalt not make graven images, the verse reads.
"Suppose Jesus was a black man," Ali says, "suppose he had a turned up nose, suppose the angels were black. Well, that would still be making graven images. It's wrong to idolize any one person. If you make Jesus Chinese, the people at the Lord's Supper Chinese, you're making the Chinese superior. In the eyes of God we are all equal. No man should be called Father."
In private, Ali is thoughtful and philosophical. He seems aware of the price he is paying to extract visibility and money for his future. After one training session in a ring set up in Le Cabaret Theatre of the Britannia Beach Hotel he lies on his dressing table munching grapes, raisins and melons while his feet are massaged by David Jones, or Juice as he is known for his nutritional expertise, which he regularly imparts over a Miami radio station when he is not acting as Ali's masseur.
Ali is drained. His voice is barely audible. He has come to this room to rest for an hour. This, too, is part of his daily routine, as is his morning run or long walk at 5 a.m. Ali is pushing himself to exhaustion, extracting every last unit of energy from his body in the hope that, in giving his all, he will receive. It is the perception of a religious man, perhaps, but as he relaxes, Ali's guard drops. His body, not his church, is the real temple. It holds truths faith cannot comprehend.
"When I was starting," Ali says quietly, "I used to watch Sugar Ray Robinson and Archie Moore. They were in their last days. They'd work out, then go back and go right to bed. I used to wonder why. Now I know. It's funny how it can take 15 years to learn something.
"Yeah, now I know. I used to get up, chase schoolgirls all morning, hang out at the barber shop and then work in the gym. Then I'd chase girls again until midnight, and be up at 6 a.m. Now I do my running, come in, lay down, go to the gym, lay down, and don't do anything until the next day. When you're young you have energy to burn. Now I have to gain energy."
Ali's age, of course, is an issue. He is 39, will be 40 on Jan. 17. There are stretch marks around his middle and when he bends the folds in his skin betray the battering his body has taken in 20 years of professional boxing. His face, though, is clear and smooth. He is still pretty.
When Ali trains he wears a heavy black band around his stomach. "That's to help me get rid of this," he says, pointing to his roll of fat. But when he is in the ring the fat is not noticeable. Stretching, his body is brought more into line with his face.
Is Ali brave or merely foolish? Does he know something hidden from observers? Can he come back again? In his latest reincarnation he's taking on not only other boxers, but the insecurities of his own spirit. Or are they the insecuritites others hold, envious of his courage, their own fears of aging brought into sharp relief? After every sparring session Ali explains why he is fighting again, that he fully intends to become heavyweight champion for the fourth time. His sparring partners are the tools he uses on the way; their youth, and the fact he can stand up to them, is evidence to Ali of his strength.
"In my first session today I fought a 25-year-old," Ali tells the crowd. "He tired fast. Next a 29-year-old. I put something on him. Then Robert Folley. He's 24. His father (Zora) was a top contender. He's 6-1, three times faster than Berbick. I used him for speed. But he also tired. So then I fought Curtis Jackson. He's 25, tall, super quick, better than Berbick (who is 27) for three rounds. But I kicked his butt."
Later in the week, Ali spars with a young boxer named Harry Keith. In the first round Keith is hesitant, afraid to hit Ali. He manages only a few, low blows, but Wali Muhammad, Ali's trainer, encourages him to move in, hit higher. "Stick 'im Harry. Stick 'im. Punch on 'im." By the middle of the second round Ali has begun to box. Ali's trainer exhorts him to give his best. "Go to his stomach, Keith. That's it. Beautiful. You're a smart kid. Now beat on 'im."
Two rounds later Ali finally goes after Keith. Words, as usual, fuel his engine. "I'm gonna kill you, man. Somebody heard you talking. You said I was finished, that I was an old man. I'm gonna get you. I'm gonna get you now." Drew (Bundini) Brown, a trainer in Ali's camp for years, is excited now. "Get ready, champ, get ready," Brown yells.
"Sharpen your blood. Sharpen your brain. Speed, speed, that's it. Champ, that's IT. That's IT. Get ready. Sharpen the razor." The round ends and Ali plunks himself into his corner. "Just one more round," he tells his trainer. "One more. And let's do it without the headgear." Ali moves directly to Keith, still yelling at him. He hits him with a flurry of jabs, but Keith doesn't fall. Keith returns the punches, but Ali merely leans on him, one force against another. The round ends with Ali clearly the aggressor. No knockdown, but he shows a reservoir of energy he will need against Berbick.
After towelling off and being rubbed down, Ali moves into his daily refrain. This is what the crowd has come for. "I have returned," he scowls. "I have risen from the grave. I am going to shock the world again." Vintage Ali. "I have returned six times. All non-believers will crawl. They shall bow, they shall crawl." Ali moves to the front of the ring.
"The stage is set for the miracle. They say my legs are gone, that I can't talk. How could they ever say that about me? It's gonna be a shocking night. "Twenty-one years ago I came on the scene. I said I would be the greatest. Five times they buried me, said the nigger is through. But I came back, and I will come back again. If Berbick thinks he's gonna beat me, he's dreaming and he better wake up and apologize. I've got something to prove to myself. I love challenge.
"I made a mistake when I fought Leon Spinks for the first time. Nobody knew him. I took the fight lightly. I had no motivation. I figured he would run out of gas, but instead I ran out. He won the fight. Then I went to my camp in Pennsylvania, cut trees, ran, and came back. I danced 15 rounds with Spinks. He was 24, I was 36. I beat him.
"When I fought Larry Holmes (and was knocked out in October, 1980) I was too light, dehydrated, weak. That's no excuse, that's the truth. I had no energy. I went from 223 pounds to 216 1/2 over-night. But now I'm stronger. I wanted the baddest man Holmes fought. I got Berbick (who lost a decision to Holmes last spring.) And I'm ready."
What comes after the fight?
"Mike Weaver's challenged the winner. I'll whup him. Gerry Cooney will knock out Holmes. Then me and Cooney gonna have a big mess, eight or ten million dollars. Me and the Great White Dope, I mean Hope. Cooney is gonna be the first Negro-launched spaceship." A spectator asks what will happen if Ali loses? "If? Whaddya mean 'if?' If you wasn't so ugly you might be intelligent. Don't ask me stupid questions. What'll I do if I lose the fight? I'll slap you for suggestin' it."
But even Ali knowns he can't fight forever. Back in his room he discusses his future.
"In about six months I'll be ready to speak to the people. My first talk is at Wembley Stadium in London. They've got bad race problems over there. I'm giving a rally for 60,000 people." After that, Ali goes to Haiti to address 100,000 people. Then he's off to Dublin. "They've got the Catholics and Protestants fighting there. I've got something for them."
To accommodate his travelling, Ali wants to get a 747 jet.
"I'll need a staff, somebody to arrange tours so that I can spread the message about the Muslim people. It's a big job.
"Fighting," says Ali, touching his thumb to his forefinger, "is just this small. It's a way to get me known."
Ali's visitor wonders why he, of all the people in the world, has become so popular. His suggestion is that the charisma comes from Allah, from the Islam religion, but there must be more, surely. There must be that meeting of culture and personality just when the time is right.
"I'll tell you why," Ali says. He sits up, stares at the questioner, then leans back in his bed. "When the Americans drafted me and I rejected the war on religious grounds (in 1967) my name went from the sports pages to the front pages. I said my religion won't let me go. So I was no longer just a boxer. I showed that being a Muslim meant more.
"Then I had my title taken away. That was big news along with the five-year jail sentence (that was overturned.) But eventually it turned out all right. The war was wrong. I was right.
"The name change was also important," says Ali who was born Cassius Clay. "Look at Kareem Abdul Jabbar (the basketball star who was once Lew Alcindor.) People know you're serious when you do these things. They catch on."
Ali is sitting up again, animated, his voice filling the room.
"Who started it? Cassius Clay. "Who said the war was wrong? Cassius Clay. "Who divorced two beautiful black girls because of religion? Cassius Clay.
"Who talks freely to the press? Cassius Clay.
"Not one man in my life controls me. Nobody, black or white. I can leave this hotel today. That's why I'm so popular."
A 14-year-old boy from Cleveland accompanies his mother into Ali's room. As is his habit, Ali welcomes the boy. "Come here, come here," he says, softly. The boy sits on the edge of his bed while his mother takes a picture.
Ali gives the boy his full attention for the moment. "Oh, thank you, thank you," cries the boy's mother. "Ali, you are still the king of the ring."
When the pair leave, it is mentioned to Ali how open he is to others.
"Being religious, being spiritual," Ali responds, "I can't turn people down. God is judging me. Service to others is the rent we pay for our room in heaven."
At 39 Ali is young by the usual standards, ancient by boxing standards. If his willingness to embrace others is the rent he pays for his place in another life, then the punches he is taking may be the excessive mortgage he pays on his life. But he is not afraid the mortgage will come due soon, and since nobody lives in Ali's body and mind but Ali himself, it may be premature to bury him as a boxer.
He is special. Anyone who comes into contact with him agrees. There is a need to define Ali, but he is finally mysterious. Whether the mystery and vitality at his core will be enough to carry him through his match with Trevor Berbick remains to be seen.