THE ESSENTIAL MUHAMMAD ALI

By Edwin Cooney

Most of the tributes I’ve read since the news of Muhammad Ali’s death startled us ten days ago have had a curious similarity to their nature.

All of them of course have recorded his birth to Cassius and Odessa Clay on Saturday, January 17th, 1942 in Louisville, Kentucky;

They’ve told the story of how he became interested in boxing at age 12 in the wake of a stolen bicycle;

They‘ve mentioned his gold medal as a light heavyweight contender at the 1960 Olympic games in Rome;

and they have vividly relayed the story of his challenges, victories, and setbacks as clearly the most famous World Heavyweight Champion since Joe Lewis.  These have included his 56 wins, his five defeats, his style and a list of challengers ranging from Sonny Liston and Floyd Patterson to Joe Frazier, George Foreman, Leon Spinks and Larry Holmes.

The authors of these tributes, after reciting (sometimes in graphic detail) his achievements and setbacks, invariably offer their assessment of Muhammad Ali, the man.  Even more, they appear to be anxious to tell the reader  what the life of Muhammad Ali meant to them.  Invariably, they quote Ali’s phrase “Float like a butterfly and sting like a bee” to his characterization of his second fight with Joe Frazier as “The thriller with the Gorilla in Manila.”  (My favorite quote is the way he, then as Cassius Clay, characterized the six rich white Louisville businessmen who financed his career after he turned professional following his 1960 triumph in Rome.  Young Clay is quoted as having said of them, “They have the complexions and the connections to point me in the right directions.”)

Of course, Muhammad Ali was courageous in his choice of religion and lifestyle and of his conscientious objector status during the Vietnam War which ultimately cost him money and perhaps universal acclaim in rich America.  Just as his choice damaged his reputation and earning power here at home, it increased his worldwide celebrity status almost to the extent that his standing in white Christian America was made insignificant by comparison.

However, like most of us, he was often inconsistent in his behavior, including having four marriages in contradiction to the rules of his Muslim faith; his racist name-calling of Joe Frazier, and perhaps even in his choice of profession.  Boxing, after all, was a contradiction to Ali’s basic sweetness, kindness, and consideration of others.

What really makes Muhammad Ali’s story so significant is that it’s ultimately a personal matter to most of us.   You were either inspired or offended by Ali’s boasting of what he would do to Sonny Liston, or his bragging about what he’d done to England’s Henry Cooper (who would go down in five and would be thus characterized by young Cassius Clay as “Henry the Fifth”).  More often and more poignantly was how frequently Ali’s behavior or conduct pleased others.  Back in the late 70s, I had occasion to ask some of the airline professionals who work with people with special needs who they thought were the most pleasant and cooperative celebrities with whom they dealt.  The two or three professionals I spoke with said that Elvis Presley and Muhammad Ali were far and above the two most pleasant, appreciative, and cooperative celebrities they had ever served.  One observer I heard asserted that watching Muhammad Ali signing autographs outside an airport while sitting in a wheelchair was quite a sight for reasons sad but somehow inspiring.

In recent months, I’ve had occasion to write tributes about such celebrities as Mario Cuomo, Yogi Berra, and Joe Garagiola.  Each of these men brought pleasure and inspiration to their fellow citizens from within their narrow professions of sports/entertainment and public service.  Muhammad Ali’s appeal, although it originated from sports, had a much broader range than sports and entertainment. Ali’s fame was multicultural and covered such volatile topics as race, religion, politics, bravery and even manhood.

As many have observed, Muhammad Ali was far more than just an American icon.  He was a worldwide symbol of courage, determination, faith, religion, and manhood.  How else could the “rumble in the jungle” in Kinshasa, Zaire with George Foreman have been at all possible, let alone feasible? 

According to author David Remnick, young Cassius Clay was haunted at age 13 by the pictures of Emmett Till, a Chicago lad about Clay’s age who, while visiting in Mississippi, was bludgeoned and shot to death by a group of white Ku Klux Klansmen for supposedly flirting with a white woman.  From that point on, young Clay and the mature Ali would be energized intellectually and spiritually by the reality of America’s heritage of white dominance and ingrained hostility toward blacks.  He would become who he wanted to be — not what white America expected him to be — even at the hour that he earned one of white society’s most sought after prizes, namely, the heavyweight boxing championship of the world.

Remnick also points out that Ali was always sensitive to the idea of blacks fighting each other as white men bet on the outcome indifferent to the struggle and pain of their combat. In a 1970 promotion of an upcoming fight, Ali is seen talking to Drew Bundini, an assistant trainer and close friend, on this very topic of why some fans pay to see him fight. 

“He talks too much.  I can’t stand him.  He needs a good whoopin'. Then, they begin filling up all those $100 seats and you and I go to the bank laughing…”  Indeed, Muhammad Ali was entertaining, but both his dialogues and his monologs had meaning beyond their entertainment value.  Like you and me, Muhammad Ali was the sum and substance of all his experiences, and inevitably the resentments, hopes, fears and empowerment that these experiences generated. 

One could say that as of late Friday, June 3rd, 2016, the story of Muhammad Ali was complete.  Ali’s personhood was such that it invariably thrilled or disturbed, wowed or dismayed, thus inevitably altering the public’s perception of both the man and of the society in which he lived. The amazing truth is that at least as long as those of us who observed the essential Muhammad Ali live, that experience of observation will invariably be very personal.

RESPECTFULLY SUBMITTED,

EDWIN COONEY