Wracked by Parkinson’s, master of the Ali shuffle can merely shuffle, but his stature remains.
By Gordon Marino
March 25, 2007
Americans are like punch drunk fighters when it comes to history. But back in 1974 there was a boxing match that just about everyone in the world either watched or listened to. Many claimed that the fight changed their lives, made them feel as though they could leap tall buildings in a single bound if only they believed in themselves – like Muhammad Ali.
The bout between then-champion George Foreman and Muhammad Ali was tabbed the “Rumble in the Jungle.” It took place in Zaire, and was the subject of both Norman Mailer’s The Fight and Leon Gast’s Oscar-winning documentary, When We Were Kings. At the time of the fight, Ali had already run the trajectory from Cassius Clay the boxing comic, to villainous draft dodger, to cultural hero. The preternaturally powerful Foreman seemed indomitable. After all, he had just doused Ali’s first conqueror, Smokin’ Joe Frazier. Nearly everyone believed that Foreman would easily separate Ali from his senses. Ali, of course, shocked the world and recaptured the heavyweight title with an eighth-round knockout.
Last Sunday, hundreds of well-heeled fans from all over the globe flocked to the Muhammad Ali Center in Louisville, Ky. The occasion was a fundraising event for the center, featuring a video replay of the Rumble, complete with round-by-round commentary from Ali’s cornerman, Angelo Dundee. Ali, like many of his opponents such as the late Jerry Quarry, the late Jimmy Young, and the late Floyd Patterson, eventually caught the poison of all the punches he absorbed. Years ago, he was diagnosed with Pugilistic Parkinson’s Disease, which in its advanced stages is associated with speech, motor skills problems and dementia.
The man once known as the Louisville Lip can now scarcely talk, and the heavyweight who was known for his tap-dancing feet and the Ali shuffle can now only shuffle. And either the Parkinson’s and/or the medication he takes to alleviate his symptoms have made him so lethargic that he needs to be coached to open his eyes for the countless photographs he poses for with admirers.
But there we were on Sunday to celebrate a man who had become a king through a sport that robbed him of him of his divine physical grace and gift of gab. Sadly enough, it was not uncommon to hear talk about the great boxing champion in the past tense.
There with the boxer widely recognized as the most important athlete of the 20th century was his trainer of two decades, Dundee. They had not seen each other in over a year. The smartly clad 85-year-old Dundee sat next to Ali, put his hand on his back, and whispered to him as though they were between rounds in a big fight.
Later, Dundee effused, “Being with Ali was like riding a comet. He loved people. He was so much fun. And I was so blessed to be with him.” Dundee has spent his life in sport’s hardest game and has a lot of practice at keeping his strong emotions in check. However, when asked to comment publicly on Ali’s greatest ring triumph over Foreman, Dundee found himself over his head.
He gazed at Ali and insisted, “I knew you would win. I felt like you could beat anyone and anything.” Then he started to choke up, made a fist and squeaked out, “Just like I know you will beat Parkinson’s.” But Dundee and everyone else knows that nothing can connect Ali’s brain cells to his body again.
And yet, there was a sunny side atop the underbelly of the Rumble Replay. With all of Ali’s palaver about being the greatest and the prettiest – which he ultimately was – it was easy to get the impression that Ali was a pathological narcissist. However, unlike other luminaries who are so self-absorbed that they cannot get outside of themselves, Ali became directly involved in the lives of a throng of ordinary people whose path he crossed. Some of them came from as far as Australia to be near the man who so amplified their life force.
Former NBA player Winston Bennett was present and like many others he told me Ali was a major inspiration, “Because he got up from every knockdown and was unlike so many athletes he was always doing something to help someone.” Glenn Singleton, an emotionally charged African-American from New Orleans, confided, “It changed my whole life just to see a black man who believed in himself like Ali did, who would stand up for principles and speak his mind no matter what the cost.” He has opened a mini Ali museum in his neighborhood.
Ali’s tremulous hand signed countless autographs. On a number of occasions, he would slowly draw a heart alongside his shaky signature. Way back, Ali sought and eventually received conscientious objector status during the Vietnam War. There were cynics who chuckled at the notion of a non-violent heavyweight champion. But those little hearts that he took the time to scrawl on Sunday were a reflection of the truth. He was man who always tried to lift other people up and never wanted to hurt anyone, not even his ring foes – and if you had an eye for the sweet science you could detect the gentleness of the Champ in the Foreman fight itself.
In the eighth round, Ali lands a combination to Foreman’s head. Foreman begins spinning leaf-like toward the canvas. Ali cocks his right fist. But then, amazingly, he holds back. I can’t think of any other elite boxer who would have held his fire in the heat of this kind of contest. I asked Angelo Dundee about the punch that Ali did not throw. Dundee replied, “That was Muhammad. He knew George was done. And he didn’t want to hit him again.”
That same George could not be present at the Rumble Replay. He called via a teleconference to address the audience. After some gentle patter, Foreman grew serious and made it clear, “I consider Joe Louis the greatest fighter who ever lived, but I consider you the greatest man to ever put on the gloves.” Ali’s eyes were saucer wide.
“I send you all my love,” Foreman closed.
