By Jack Newfield Float like a butterfly. Sting like a bee. And exit like a hero. Muhammed Ali. after many rehearsals. is reportedly ready to retire for good. 19 years after winning an Olympic gold medalfor America as Cassius Clay. We have burdened Ali with many identities. Symbol of the '60s. Draft dodger. Muslim evangelist. Most Famous Human on Earth. Exile. People's champ. Braggart. Huckster. Manchiid. Poet. Rebel. Survivor. He can be as funny as Richard Pryor. He can be as eloquent as Jesse Jackson. He is as charismatic as the ayatollah. But basically he is a fighter, the greatest fighter of the age. He danced like Nureyev. He could stick like Manolete. And he could think like Einstein. What follows are basically a fan's notes, a farewell tribute to a public man who gave me pleasure, who gave me memories that are treasured. A man who showed how a life might be lived, and what personal values are important. Twelve years ago this week — on April 28. 1967 — Ali refused to take the “one step forward" at his army induction center in Houston. Texas. At that moment in history, the Vietnam war was still a popular war. And the Black Muslims to which Ali belonged were perceived by white America as a menacing and alient conspiracy. That same day. the New York State Athletic Commission withdrew its official recognition of Ali as heavyweight champion of the planet and suspended his license. Ali was not yet arraigned, indicted, tried, or convicted. He was never given a hearing or time for an appeal. He was stripped of his crown by a press release. For three and a half years he was not allowed to fight. Ali and his lawyers drifted around the country tike vagabonds looking for a location that would let him work. Seventy-two cities refused to give him a license. Seattle and Detroit were close to letting him fight, but then the politicians and vigilantes held press conferences, and the permission evaporated. No white politician in the land would go on record to defend Ali’s right to fight. He went broke. And he was robbed of his prime. We will never see what Ali was like between the ages of 25 and 28, because he was not permitted to work during the three years that an athlete’s body is at its peak. * * * Three memories. The first time 1 saw Ali was in March of 1963, at Madison Square Garden. He had already knocked out Archie Moore and was promised a chance at the champ, Sonny Liston, if he could beat Doug Jones that night in the old 50th Street Garden. I had worked at the Garden a few years before and was able to acquire a free ticket to see the 21-year-old kid still named Cassius Clay. Jones was a solid professional. He had recently knocked out Bob Foster, and the contest with Jones was a hard, close fight. But one could glimpse Ali’s unripe genius that night. He had the fastest hands I ever saw. He seemed to have a built-in radar system that helped him slip punches at the last second. He charmed the crowd with the antic Ali Shuffle. And he could dance all night. He was on his toes all 10 rounds. That night, on display as a Work in Progress, was Ali’s original and distinctive style. The Ali style of Constant Movement — dancing, sticking the jab, throwing a fast, hurtful combination, dancing to the left, dancing to the right, sticking, moving — this method would revolutionize boxing the way that Charlie Parker's bop improvisations changed jazz, or Hemingway’s spare cadences influenced a generation of writers. Watch Sugar Ray Leonard, the fighter of the future, and you will see the echo of Muhammad. After he won the close decision, in his dressing room. Ali recited his latest poem: “Don't bet on Sonny, and save your money." A year later, Ali, an 8-to-l underdog, knocked out Sonny Liston. In the autumn of 1967, I saw Ali speak at a college in Chicago. A smart-ass questioner asked him: Isn't it a contradiction for you to participate in a violent sport like boxing but object to the violence in Vietnam? What's the difference? Ali’s reply, which seemed spontaneous to me, was: “Man, there ain’t no referees in Vietnam, that’s the difference." In September of 1970, I wrote a Voice piece on Ali. I spent two days with him and was struck by his sense of himself as a historical figure, and by his understanding of how much he is a symbol and vessel of the dreams of blacks all over the world. He had just seen Howard Sackier’s play about Jack Johnson, The Great White Hope, and he kept saying that he would “never go out as a loser" the way Jack Johnson did, the way Joe Louis did, the way Sugar Ray Robinson did. Ali has a powerful sense of racial history and symbolism, and he has a perfect sense of this history as it applies to boxing. He has said that only white heavyweight champions Gene Tunney and Rocky Marciano retired with the title. He wants to be the first great black champion to do this. And that is why. despite the $10 million temptation of one last big fight, it appears that he soon will retire — with the crown in his custody. * * * Ali’s secret asset has been his pride, his will to win. and his self-knowledge. God gave him the hand speed and the gift of dancing legs. But time inevitably eroded Ali’s body; it was diminished during his three and a half years of exile; and then he had to use up everything he held in reserve to win the third epic war with Joe Frazier. But as age deteriorated Ali’s natural gifts, he began to create new ways to win. Ali is like Picasso. He has gone through three or four different periods, adding different philosophies and colors to his palette through the years. He beat Doug Jones with his youth. He beat Cleveland Williams with his punching power. He beat Joe Frazier with his heart. He heat George Foreman with his imagination. He beat Leon Spinks with his memory. But to me, the most impressive quality that Ali has is the way he has survived defeat, handled defeat emotionally, and come back from it stronger than ever. Losing is the hardest thing of all for an athlete. Losing a fight, which is one-on-one where you can’t blame a teammate, is the most crushing form of defeat to accept and come to terms with. One defeat destroyed George Foreman's whole career. He believed he was invincible. When he lost for the first time, his self-confidence could not be restored and he disintegrated as a boxer. Three fighters over 19 years managed to defeat Ali: Ken Norton, Joe Frazier, and Leon Spinks. And Ali beat each of them in return bouts. Ali’s pride was able to recover from defeat, learn from it: he was driven to redeem himself from each loss. Ali believed in his own myth even more than his fans did. The myth said he was "The Greatest.” Ali loved fun too much to endure the pain and boring discipline of training. The three times he lost he did not train faithfully. But for each rematch with a conqueror, he punished his body in training. At six in the morning, no one knows whether you have run two miles or six miles. Ali ran the six miles. Out of pride. He went to the woodshed three times and rebuilt his ego. in his book. The Greatest, Ali described his hospitalization after Ken Norton broke his jaw. In the hospital, he received a gloating note that said: “THE BUTTERFLY HAS LOST ITS WINGS. THE BEE HAS LOST ITS STING. You are through, you loudmouthed braggart. Your mouth has been shut for all times. It’s a great day for America. You are finished.” Ali wrote: “ Later 1 tape it up on the wall of the gym so that every day I train. I remember the butterfly has got to get back its wings and the bee has to get back its sting. Of all the messages that came into me while I was in Claremont Hospital, this is the one I like the best. It's funny, but those who hate me the most sometimes inspire me the most.” When Ali’s reflexes began to slow, when his magical radar screen broke down, he learned and perfected other skills. Like taking a punch. In 1974. he treated his hands, sore with calcium deposits, and hot wax with cortisone. This added to his punching power, as his legs lost their spring. When he confronted Foremand in Zaire, Ali was the betting underdog. He psyched the unstable Foreman by leading the black. African multitude between rounds in the “Ali! Ali! Bomaye!” chant. He made the crowd his choir. He invented the rope-a-dope strategy in the second round and let Foreman punch himself into panting exhaustion. This tactic was an improvisation of Ali's and he stuck with it despite handlers' pleadings that he abandon it. The Ali who met Spinks last September was a chess player. His speed was almost alt gone. He was nearly 37 years old. Spinks, at 25. had beaten him seven months earlier. But Ali possessed self-knowledge. He knew his body. He knew exactly how much stamina he had left, how many seconds of each round he could dance, how many punched he had to throw in each round to win. He was a geniusmiser with his hoarded energy; he spent just enough to win a round, just enough to deflate Spink's confidence, just enough to dominate the fight mentally. When he beat Spinks. Ali won the heavyweight championship of the world for the third time. Nobody in the history of sports had ever accomplished that. * * * Brecht said we should pity the land that needs heroes. But I think heroes are valuable, and necessary. Ali is a saving remnant of heroism. He was the best in the world at what he did. He has class. He has principles he suffered for. He proved that courage, self-knowledge, and determination can prevail against great odds. He said no to the Vietnam war at a time when wise men from Harvard were bombing women and children. He gave, through his exploits, a feeling of dignity to the dispossessed and the hopeless. Float like a butterfly. Sting like a bee. And go out a winner. Reprinted by permission of Village Voice and Jack Newfield © News Group Publications, Inc., 1979, ^eBteqjear (Original Nostalgic Apparel 1950'# & prior-alec tljc l i 3 2 A jR -R t 38ug • J&ell • •^Rentals • (Consignment • 823 J f . J l . 23rh AV e- ^ortlrnib, (PR 248-0518 Rose Bay School o f Midwifery Complete home maternity care 659-8295 Meet afriend for breakfast at the SteppingStone newhours and revised menu starting July 10 24th and N.W. Quimby 222-1132 37
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