Muhammad Ali: an intimate new look at a legend

Ebony, Nov, 1989 by Hans J. Massaquoi

MUHAMMAD ALI: An Intimate New Look At A

THERE had never been anyone like him before, and five will get you ten that there'll never be anyone like him again. They call him "The Louisville Lip" because of his Kentcuky hometown and his non-stop big mouth. When -- barely 22 years old -- he bragged that he would be the next heavyweight boxing champion of the world, people just laughed at him. But the "kid" wouldn't quit. To drive home his point, he went on a nationwide "safari" in a rickety, garishly painted bus and literally stalked "the big ugly bear" Sonny Liston, the "invincible" reigning heavyweight king. Eventually, the boxing moguls took note. They decided it was time to cash in on the kid's hype and to give the fans a laugh or two by feeding him to The Bear. But The Lip had other plans. In an upset that made believers out of skeptics, The Lip "whupped" the daylights out of The Bear and became--precisely as he had said he would -- the next heavyweight champion of the world. He then came up with another surprise that to many White Americans sounded like insurrection. He had joined the militant Black Muslims, the new champ announced, and henceforth wished to be known as Muhammad Ali rather than by his "slave name," Cassius Marcellus Clay.

Today, 25 tumultous years, 41 fights, three divorces, eight children and some $60 million ring earnings later, the 47-year-old former kid from Louisville is a veritable legend in his own time. Like few other fighters in the history of the sport, he is revered by fans and former ring foes alike. They credit him with single-handedly having rescued boxing from a slow, agonizing death. They idolize him as the man who could float like a butterfuly and sting like a bee and, when stung himself, keep on fighting and winning. And they honor him as the only man in the history of boxing who won the heavyweight crown an incredible three times. To this day, no one -- not even Mike Tyson--has laid claim to the designation "The Greates," the title Ali created and reserved for himself.

To many Blacks, however, Muhammad Ali is much more than a boxing legend. To them, he is the man who spoke out against racism and who risked everything, including his freedom, when he refused to be drafted into the Army during "the White folks'" Vietnam War. That single act of defiance (for which he paid dearly by being banished from the ring during his prime fighting years) elevated him to a permanent symbol of Black manhood, Black courage and Black pride.

It is therefore not surprising that eight years after Ali's retirement from the ring, the questions on the minds of many who followed his career are: How has this driven man survived the enormous stresses of his action-packed public and private lives? How has he weathered the psychological and physical blows that have pummeled him during his years in the limelight? What is his lifestyle today? How is his new marriage working out? Is he financially secure or, like so many ex-champs before him, is he broke?

Even before his retirement in 1981, news reports surfaced claiming that Ali had suffered brain damage as a result of too many blows to his head. Since then, stories purporting he is suffering from Parkinson's syndrome and that he's generally "in bad shape" have been proliferating over the years. Such reports and occasional sightings of an Ali with tremorous hands and whispery speech have increased the public's concern -- and curiosity -- about Ali's true state of health.

There's no getting around it; Muhammand Ali -- by his own admission -- "ain't what I used to be." But then, who is? A visit with the former champ and his wife of three years, 31-year-old Yolanda, at their sprawling, 88-acre retreat outside Berrien Springs, Mich., quicky dispels the notion that Ali is broke, unhappy and a reclusive mental and physical wreck. Except for his slurred, at times barely audible speech (which turns to near-normal the moment his interest is aroused), Ali is mentally as sharp as a tack and betrays no outward signs of being physically unfit. "Muhammad never had a progressive disease," insists Mrs. Ali, a statuesque redhead with large, expressive eyes who answers to the nickname Lonnie. "He is in the care of a most gifted physician, Dr. Rajko Medenica, who has diagnosed Muhammad as having pesticide poisoning which, he said, developed in Muhammad approximately ten years ago. So Muhammad gets something called plasmapheresis where every six to eight weeks his blood is cleansed. It takes about five to six hours to do. He started the treatments in June last year and the improvement has been remarkable -- absolutely remarkable. Already the tremors of the hands are gone."

Sitting in her kitchen while her husband in his den next door answers fan mail, Mrs. Ali, a former Krafts Food account executive, warms to her favorite subject--her husband's improved health. "What Muhammad has is not debilitating; it never has been," she assures. "The problem is that people expect Muhammad to be the Muhammad that fought Joe Frazier, that fought Ken Norton, and they want him to come out with that same sort of excitement and pizzazz. What they don't realize is that Muhammad, even if he hadn't been affected by this [illness], would not be like that today. His focus is different now. He's very spiritual and I think that is what has calmed him a lot, why he talks a lot softer now."