Ali

I was anxiously waiting in the lobby of a lakefront hotel in Lake Charles. It was 1983, if my memory is correct. I was a young sports anchor and reporter for KPLC-TV at the time. I’d gotten a call that I might want to be at this hotel just off of Interstate 10 with a camera man, microphone and gear.

When the name Muhammad Ali was muttered, I think I got out the newsroom door before I hung up the phone.

The life, times and worldwide impact of Ali have been so extensively documented that the archives rival those about Lincoln, Washington, Jefferson, Kennedy and King.

Ali began as a skinny but talented amateur boxer from Louisville, Ken., named Cassius Clay, who won a gold medal at the 1960 Olympics in Rome. He became Muhammad Ali: a brash, flashy and outspoken professional who would win and lose the heavyweight title three times in his historic career.

It’s hard to imagine anything actually overshadowing his legendary boxing prowess in the ring; the hand speed, footwork and fight tactics. But I believe his work for human and civil rights, religious freedom and peace may have done just that.

Ali was a world figure and global icon; the most known and recognized face and name in almost every country and continent. Presidents and world leaders, both good and bad, succumbed to his fame and sought his audience.

That level of notoriety was achieved as a result of Ali’s success in the boxing ring. But his life, struggles and achievements off the canvas elevated his stature across all borders, all lands, all governments and all faiths.

The name Ali referred to only one man.

All this came well before the Internet, Facebook, social media and 24-hour news cycles.

Before Ali was so beloved in this country, he was labeled an unpatriotic draft dodger and black militant. It was a time of controversy, racial division and historic Supreme Court cases.

After winning the world heavyweight title for the first time — beating heavily favored Sonny Liston in 1964 — he converted to the religion of Islam and changed his “slave” name of Cassius Clay to Muhammad Ali.

In 1966, Ali refused induction into the U.S. Army, citing his Islamic faith and his stance as a conscientious objector. The United States was getting more entrenched in the Vietnam War by then, and Ali’s objection to our involvement preceded the soon to come flash flood of anti-war protests and the social and political divide that tore at the fabric of America.

A 24-year-old Ali was eventually arrested, charged and found guilty of draft evasion. He remained free on bond while he appealed his case.

Stripped of his championship; his boxing license, as well as his passport, revoked; Ali could not fight at home or abroad. Unable to box during his prime years between 25 and 29, and living in a time of no endorsement contracts, the self-proclaimed greatest of all time was broke.

At the time, Supreme Court Chief Justice Warren Burger fought and argued diligently against Ali’s claim and wanted him jailed, fearing the precedent the case would set. It took years, but the rest of the justices prevailed over Burger, and the charges against Ali were cleared. It wasn’t until 1971 that the conviction was overturned by the Supreme Court.

It was the toughest and most important fight of Ali’s life, and it galvanized him as a leader in the African-American movement for civil rights.

All this history was of little interest to an eight-year-old who heard his second-generation Italian-American dad and Italy-born grandfather argue that Ali would not have lasted five rounds in the ring against the great undefeated former heavyweight champion Rocky Marciano.

I grew up a boxing fan because of those kitchen table debates.

Marciano, who reigned over the heavyweight division from 1952 to ‘56, was the past. “Ali was now,” I thought back then.

Ali’s comeback culminated with a heavyweight championship bout against Joe Frazier in 1971 at Madison Square Garden in New York.

It was hyped as the “Fight of the Century.” Many of those have come and gone since then. But the first of the Ali-Frazier trilogy was truly a match for the ages.

I was a 13-year-old living on a farm outside of Hammond, La. There was no network television coverage or cable TV and it was well before pay per view. (There was a closed circuit broadcast.) But there was radio.

I remember being hunkered down in my room with all the lights off and huddled so close to the radio I could feel the electricity on my ears — not only from the transistors but all the way from New York.

The signal and broadcast would fade in and out, so I pulled a blanket from the bed and covered myself and the small radio, thinking that would somehow improve the transmission and make the call of the fight closer to home.

Round by historic round, I was fixated on the crowd and the blow-by-blow description. When Smokin Joe’s left hook put Ali down early in the 15th round, I remember thinking maybe my dad and grandpa were right after all.

The fight’s referee, Arthur Mercante, later described some jawing between the two great fighters during the bout. According to Mercante, Ali told Frazier “You know you’re in here with the god tonight.”

Mercante said Frazier replied, “If you are God, you’re in the wrong place tonight.”

Frazier was right on as he retained his title with a 15-round unanimous decision and handed Ali his first professional loss.

Every kid has an early sports memory that’s burned into his brain. I have a few that my memory allows to come back now and again.

My dark room, under the dome of a blanket with a small radio that transported me to Madison Square Garden that night will live on forever.

I followed Ali’s boxing career for the following two decades — from Ken Norton’s jaw-breaking punch and defeat of Ali in 1973 to Ali’s revenge and subsequent controversial defeat of Norton to the victory over Frazier in their 1974 rematch at Madison Square Garden, which led to the ultimate super-hyped, global sporting events.

Billed as “The Rumble in the Jungle,” the fight sent a 32-year-old Ali into the ring against the reigning heavyweight champ George Foreman in Zaire, Africa. Foreman was thought to be unbeatable.

Ali “rope a doped” the bigger Foreman into submission with a shocking 8th round knockout.

The loss sent Foreman into retirement as a preacher and lovable TV pitchman.

The victory and repeated head shots he endured quickened Ali’s deteriorating physical condition.

The 1975 “Thrilla in Manila” was the last of Ali’s mega-fights, and unfortunately, the most brutal of the three fights with Frazier.

The world watched as I did as these two great champions beat each other to near death before Frazier was unable to answer the bell for the 14th round.

As they fought in over 100-degree heat, it appeared that each connected blow took life from their bones. You had to imagine each punch to the head or body afflicted enough damage to take a week of life.

“It was the closest thing to dying that I know,” said Ali after the fight.

Even though Ali ridiculed and berated Frazier with great vitriol before each of their three epic battles, Ali relented after the Manila war, calling Frazier “the greatest fighter of all times next to me.”

His arrogant, bold and braggadocios style and words set him up as the cocky villain early in his career. But his claims of being the “prettiest” and “the greatest” proved not only true, but were eventually accepted, and endeared Ali to the American public.

His rhymes, quick wit and adept handling of the media, and his public persona, were legendary.

I was drawn to every broadcast of ABC’S Wide World of Sports in the 1970s when Ali traded barbs and insights with one of my sportscasting heroes, Howard Cosell.

Their friendship and media connection was network television’s first “can’t miss TV.” It was enthralling to watch Cosell walk the dirt roads of Zaire with Ali while hundreds of African children screamed the champ’s name and tugged on his clothes.

Ali’s time in the ring should have ended years before that tragic clash with Larry Holmes in 1980. Ali’s desire to reclaim the heavyweight crown for an unprecedented fourth time, and his need for money, drove him into the ring well past his prime and against medical advice.

Holmes — the bigger, stronger and younger former sparring partner of Ali — owned the WBC title. Holmes didn’t want to fight the aging former champ and openly urged Ali to remain retired.

To this day 36 years later, it still ranks as the cruelest and most saddening sports competition of my lifetime. I recall watching in angst and fear for the 38-year-old Ali’s well-being as Holmes pummeled his hero for 11 rounds before Ali’s long-time trainer Angelo Dundee finally stopped it.

It was the only knockout loss in the five defeats in Ali’s boxing career. But it was the costliest.

Before the Foreman fight, Ali was already suffering from a brain condition that affected parts of his speech. A few years later, poor kidney function was diagnosed. Ali went into the Holmes fight a shell of his former self. His once strong and unrelenting voice was now slow and slightly slurred. Many who covered the fight said his hands had begun to twitch and tremble.

The beating from Holmes no doubt advanced Ali’s Parkinson’s syndrome.

I put blame on Holmes, who could have backed off on his assault and delivered simple jabs. But most of the fault falls on Ali’s trainer, manager and handlers for allowing him to fight well beyond his time. Ali must shoulder some of that blame himself, as he unbelievably fought one last time in 1981, losing a 10-round decision to Trevor Berbick.

Ali was the first and last champion to literally span the globe, as he fought in exotic locations across Europe, Africa, Asia, the Caribbean and the USA.

In the 1960s, he criticized his country for civil rights injustice, racial bigotry, religious intolerance and, of course, the Vietnam War. I don’t think for a minute he ever stopped loving his homeland.

Despite the advanced symptoms from Parkinson’s, Ali appeared before the world again to light the Olympic flame at the games in Atlanta. He held that torch with pride … strong if not totally steady. It took nearly 40 years, but Ali became a truly loved American hero.

He spoke his mind. Expressed his beliefs. And maybe hoped he could make the United States better.

Ali did the same for South Africa as he railed against apartheid. He used his unique form of diplomacy in many African countries suffering from civil wars and genocide. He called for peace between Muslims and Jews in the Middle East. After the 9-11 attacks in New York, with a voice barely above a whisper, he chastised the Islamic fanatics for using violence and terror in the name of their faith and reminded all that Islam is a religion of peace and love.

His words were slow and face absent of expression, but you could tell his eyes were saddened and his soul ached over the deadly attacks.

Once again, during this country’s darkest times, Ali spoke up.

While preparing for the Foreman fight in Zaire, he met Veronica Porsche, a young model working in publicity for the bout. They eventually married in 1977 and had two daughters, Hana and Laila.

Veronica was of Creole descent, born in South Louisiana, and spent her early years in Lake Charles and Lafayette.

That brings me back to that hotel lobby where I was waiting for a car to arrive.

A generous amount of time had passed, but I was going to wait it out.

The doors to the lobby finally opened and in came a small entourage. And then Ali came into view. I ordered lights on and cameras to roll.

I learned that Ali was passing through Lake Charles to visit Veronica’s family here, and was soon headed to Lafayette for more family commitments. A family member or friend tipped me off to his planned stopover in Lake Charles.

An interview wasn’t arranged or scheduled, of course. But I was hopeful Ali hadn’t lost his attraction to a TV camera or microphone.

A wave, smile and quick handshake was all it took, as I nervously lobbed three or four questions.

I marveled at his presence and was awed by his aura. I think my hands trembled a bit.

He was the “Greatest” after all.

Ali was kind, glib, generous with just a few minutes of his time, and happy to talk life after boxing and being in Louisiana with his wife and family at the time. I recounted the story of the time when I, as a young boy, listened to that fight against Frazier under my blanket.

He laughed and chuckled something about that night in New York.

We shook hands again when it was time for him to move on.

In a small way, I know the force of nature he was in life. I am equally sure that spirit and influence will remain with us in death.