POPS WAS THE GREATEST
Daughter recalls Ali, who liked to draw, write love letters and, occasionally, knock people out
Muhammad Ali boasted he was “The Greatest of All Time.” Lots of people agreed. Especially Hana Ali. A self-proclaimed daddy’s girl, she just published “At Home With Muhammad Ali,” her fourth book about her father. But, it seems, there are new details to share about the champ.
He may have been the world’s most famous man, but to Hana, third youngest of his nine children, he was the father who told her stories and recorded many of them.
Ali left her those tapes. Now, in “At Home With Muhammad Ali,” she shares them, along with the prizefighter’s drawings, poems and love letters to her mother, his third wife, Veronica Porche.
Born in 1976, Hana Ali has no memory of her father in his prime. She wasn’t there for his amazing debut in the early ’60s, his later professional exile, and his comeback in the early ’70s.
Which is why Ali recorded these memories for her.
The stories go back to his childhood in Louisville, Ky, where he was born Cassius Marcellus Clay. He changed his name when he converted to Islam in 1964. People who persisted in calling him Clay did so at their own risk.
Ali had always been a fighter. When he was 12, somebody stole his bike, and Ali loudly proclaimed he was going “to whup him.” A nearby policeman said he should probably learn how to box first.
A star was born.
It’s unclear whether he got the bike back. But he learned to box and became an impressive amateur. His hero was the masterful Sugar Ray Robinson. “That’s the kind of fighter I want to be,” the teenager told his family. “Fast, classy and PRETTY!”
A few years later, in New York for a Golden Gloves tournament, Ali waited six hours outside Robinson’s Harlem nightclub. When the
boxer finally came out, the teen introduced himself and asked for an autograph.
“Sorry, kid,” Robinson said, brushing past, and drove away in a pink Cadillac.
As a champion, Ali would never refuse an autograph. Once, out with Hana and her mother, he stopped to give one to a homeless man. “I can’t believe it’s really you!” the man said. Then he punched Ali in the jaw.
“I hit Muhammad Ali!” he yelled, running away. “I hit Muhammad Ali!”
No one will ever believe him, Ali’s wife noted.
“Probably not,” the champ said. “But he’ll know, and that’s all that matters.”
Ali’s rise was fast, winning the heavyweight championship in 1964. But his refusal to serve in Vietnam led to him being stripped of his title in 1967, banned from boxing and sentenced to prison. Ali fought it all in court and won.
Still, it would be three years before he could resume his career. His early matches with Joe Frazier, each fighter taking one by decision, were legendary. But it was the fight with George Foreman in 1974 that figures the largest in this book.
The bout was remarkable for many reasons. Held in Zaire, “The Rumble in the Junyounger, gle” was a truly international event. It matched Ali with a stronger champion. But for Hana, the fight holds a special significance. It’s the match that brought her parents together.
Ali was still married to his second wife, Belinda Boyd. Veronica Porche was a UCLA freshman who had won a contest to help promote the African event. Yet one week before the match, which Ali won in a surprise upset, he proposed.
The fact that he was still married was a technicality.
It had been a troubled marriage, Hana insists, adding only that she’ll never reveal Boyd’s secrets. Initially, Boyd would not consent to a divorce. An impatient Ali began to wonder why, as a Muslim, he couldn’t have multiple wives.
The American law against bigamy, he was advised.
Finally, in 1977, Ali got the divorce and married Porche, who had already had Hana. That marriage would last until 1986, and those nine years are probably the happiest in Hana’s life. They are certainly the fondest memories in the book.
By this time, Ali was already flirting with the idea of leaving boxing. He starred in his own bio, “The Greatest,”
and the TV mini-series “Freedom Road.” Movie stars visited in his L.A. mansion.
Among those famous friends was Michael Jackson, who dropped by frequently, once bringing the child actor Emanuel Lewis. Another time he brought his chimp, Bubbles. Hana was fascinated and had one question she needed answered: “Michael, why do you talk like a girl?”
The singer never visited again. Told she must have insulted him, little Hana shrugged it off. “I like Prince better anyway,” she said.
Bills had forced Ali back into the ring, an increasingly dangerous place for him. In 1978, after winning the championship from Leon Spinks, he declared he was quitting. He had won the belt an unprecedented three times. Ali wanted to leave on top.
But two years later, he was back, facing his former protege, Larry Holmes.
“I wouldn’t come back if I thought I’d go out a loser,” Ali declared. “I know I can whup Holmes.”
Others weren’t so sure. Ali trained hard. Seriously over his fighting weight, he took thyroid pills, dropping from 251 to 216 pounds. Once he entered the ring, though, it was clear he wasn’t up for it.
“Oh God, that was painful,” said Sylvester Stallone, who based “Rocky” on Ali’s earlier fight with slugger Chuck Wepner. “Like seeing your child playing on the railroad tracks with a train coming.”
The fight was stopped in the 11th round, with Holmes declared the winner. Afterward, he came by Ali’s dressing room in tears.
“I’m sorry, Champ,” Holmes said. “I love you.”
“Then why did you beat me up like that?” Ali asked.
Ali rallied for one more fight, against Trevor Berbick, in 1981. Berbick was 28, and Ali was nearly 40. The champ lost that bout by decision. This time, when he anIt
nounced his retirement, it was for good. was already too late. In 1984, his physician diagnosed him with Parkinson’s syndrome. What did anyone expect, Ali wondered? Over 25 years, he figured he took over a million blows to the head.
He refused to feel sorry for himself. Asked what he wanted to tell his fans, he said: “Tell them I’m happy.”
Even when Ali did feel low, he knew how to bounce back. Once, in a New York hotel, he turned to Hana and said: “Let’s go outside and stand on the corner, see how long it takes for people to recognize me.” Sure enough, within a
minute there was an adoring crowd.
But his health was slipping away. More than once, he was taken to the hospital. “You were in the newspaper again,” Hana teased once, trying to get a rise out of him. “The world thinks you’re dying.”
“Did I make the front page?” he asked.
It was the fight of his life, and he kept returning for the next round until, on June 3, 2016, he didn’t. He died in his sleep, with his family surrounding him. Ali was 74. And yes, this time he was on the front page. And everyone agreed with him.
The Greatest of All Time.