My View from the Corner

by Angelo Dundee

  Muhammad sparked to the idea and told Kilroy to go look for just such a place. Well, Gene originally came from Mahanoy City, Pennsylvania, a little town near Pottsville. I had never been to that part of Pennsylvania, having never left South Philly. But Gene knew it well, well enough as it turned out to also know several of its inhabitants, one of whom, a fight fan named Bernard Pollock, happened to have some land for sale in nearby Deer Lake. So he bought five acres for $5,000 for what would turn out to be Ali's training camp.

  The first time I saw the camp I fell in love with it. High on a ridge of the Pocono Mountains overlooking a valley with pine forest, rolling fields, and rich farmland, it was beautiful. And Ali would soon turn it into what he called "Fighter's Heaven."

  Remembering that Archie Moore had decorated his camp with boulders bearing fighters' names, Ali visited a nearby excavation site and saw several huge rocks, some of which were mammoth chunks of anthracite coal. Kilroy had them trucked back to the camp, and there Ali had his dad paint the names of former champions on them, fifteen in all. These included a huge boulder painted with the name Joe Louis; a big, flat one, Rocky Marciano; a twenty-ton chunk of coal, Jack Johnson; a rugged boulder, Jersey Joe Walcott; boulders labeled Gene Tunney, Archie Moore, Sugar Ray Robinson, and Kid Gavilan; and even a smaller one with my name on it.

  For some reason Ali loved log cabins and decided to build a compound of log cabins. He helped put together the logs for a cabin for himself, two bunkhouses for his crew, a gymnasium, a stable and corral for horses, two guest houses for visitors, and the kitchen, the hub of the camp run by his Aunt Coretta and adorned with an "Old Rules" kitchen plaque painted in red letters and signed by his father, "Cassius M. Clay Sr."

  Of all the cabins the kitchen was the most popular. As big as the gymnasium, it not only served great food, prepared by Aunt Coretta and later by Lana Shabazz, but also was the place where Ali was the most comfortable, holding court and conducting rap sessions. But the guest houses also did a thriving business, with a continual stream of celebrities coming to visit Muhammad on the mountain.

  Ali always had a fascination with celebrities. After the first Henry Cooper fight, out of the thousands in attendance, the then-Clay was most impressed by the fact that "Cleopatra was at ringside," referring to Elizabeth Taylor, who had just finished filming the epic movie. And celebrities were equally fascinated by him. I remember the Beatles, who were huge fight fans, coming to visit Ali down at the 5th Street Gym. We even set up a scene where he flattened all four of them. I didn't know what all the fuss was about, but hell, it was good publicity. We used to set up scenes like that—it was good for the media.

  Now the celebrities came to Deer Lake in droves. Boy, did they come. There was Elvis, who fell asleep in one of the guest houses and never left the building, nobody knowing where he was. And Tom Jones and Kris Kristofferson and Mike Douglas and Richard Harris and Pierre Salinger, who came to get a pair of gloves signed for President John F. Kennedy, and Howard Cosell and many, many more. It was an endless parade.

  I vividly recall the visit of the great Irish actor Richard Harris. Upon being introduced to Harris, Ali, noticing his accent, asked him, "Where you from?" Harris replied, "Ireland." To which Ali said, "My grandfather came from Ireland ... Grady." Stunned, Harris looked at him for a few seconds and could only say, "You're kidding!" "No, truth," said Ali, whose grandfather on his mother's side really had. Harris stood dumbfounded for a second, then said, "I just thought everyone wanted to be Irish."

  The only thing I didn't like about the camp was the fact that Muhammad was a captive there. People would come at 6:00 in the morning and stay all day. Muhammad was such a great host he'd want to entertain people and it would take him away from his training. That's the part I didn't like.

  I needn't have worried about all that stuff. When Ali wasn't entertaining, he was training—hiking up hills, chopping wood, and sparring with his sparmates, which included Larry Holmes, Jimmy Ellis, Alonzo Johnson, Gene Wells, and, the best of all, his brother Rahaman, who wouldn't back off, saying, "Shit, opponent's not going to back off, I won't." And as usual, Ali took it easy on them, didn't try to beat them, working mainly on his defense.

  You'd have thought Ali would be bored, way up in the hills of Pennsylvania, away from his adoring fans. After all, he had always had a traveling circus surrounding him. Depending upon the city, the number varied from thirty to one hundred—although I never quite understood what each and every one did, he was happy with them around him. Now he was out in the boonies, but it only took him a few days to become accustomed to the solitude of Deer Lake and the fellowship of his smaller fistic family, all of whom were fiercely devoted to him.

  To that group known as Ali's "family"—which included myself, Gene Kilroy, Pat Patterson, Luis Sarria, Bundini, Rahaman, Aunt Coretta, Lana Shabazz, the sparring partners, and his wife, Belinda, as well as the kids—now came yet another member, Wally Youngblood, or just plain ol' "Blood." I never quite knew what he did or where he came from, though he was a friend of Bundini's so I guess Bundini had just brought him aboard, but nevertheless Ali welcomed him into his camp. In order to give him something to do, I made him the "official" timekeeper. He would stand there, watch in hand, and scream "TIME!" at the three-minute mark during Ali's workouts. That was it! Not much, but enough for him to qualify as another member of Ali's ever-growing "family."

  Deer Lake was so restful, Ali even became accustomed to the crickets serenading him to sleep at night. But if there was anything even hinting at boredom, the irrepressible Muhammad, his hyperactive imagination a perpetual fountain of ideas, would quickly remedy it. It was almost as if he had reinvented the whoopie cushion and the squirting lapel flower (used in boxing camps of old to break up the monotony) as he created his own excitement to the comic approval of his adoring entourage. One day he'd be showing off card tricks taught to him by master magician Jimmy Grippo. Another, he'd steam up "fights," like the one he made between Gene Kilroy and Pat Patterson, Ali's bodyguard, after Patterson had mouthed off, calling Kilroy a "white boss." Gene accommodated him, putting on the gloves and, with Muhammad the ref, stopped Patterson, who ran out of gas. He even tried to get me into a fight with Rahaman, telling his brother to "beware" of me or I'd "beat up on him." Marone! That was all I needed. I told him, "Muhammad, you're trying to get me killed!"

  Ever the mischief-maker, Ali impishly had Kilroy, who could do a perfect imitation of Howard Cosell, call Bundini over at the kitchen from the training quarters. Pretending to be Cosell, Kilroy asked Bundini, "What does Drew 'Bundini' Brown do?" Bundini answered "Cosell" with his stock, "There are good witch doctors and bad witch doctors." "And which are you?" the Cosellean voice asked. "I'm the good witch doctor." The voice went on, "And what does Angelo Dundee do?" "He comes in a couple of days before the fight, but I handle all the training," boasted Bundini. "Thank you," said Cosell-Kilroy, and hung up. Within seconds Bundini ran into the gym to tell Ali and the others, all hiding behind their smiles, that Howard Cosell had just called and that he had told him that "Angelo was here all the time and that he was a good guy." It was always like that, a picnic every day with Ali. No, make that a never-ending banquet.

  For the first time since Frazier, Muhammad was committed. In fact, he was more than committed, he was psyched. Deer Lake had been a tonic for him. He was now well rested and ready to redeem himself against the man who had bested him six months earlier. There was no way he was going to lose his rematch with Norton.

  It all paid off as Ali won a close split decision win, as he carried—some said "stole"—the last round and the fight. Carried or stole, it made no difference, we won. Now he could turn his attention to recapturing what he thought was his due: his heavyweight title.

  A boxer's hands are the tools of his trade. Their importance cannot be overemphasized. Several fighters, like former middleweight champ Al Hostak, lost fights because of brittle hands. Now, after twenty years of wear and tear, of hitting bags, sparring partners, an
d opponents, Muhammad Ali's hands, like rock pulverized by constant pounding, had become fragile. He had developed calcium deposits on his hands, and they were hurting him more than any opponent's punches.

  One month after the Norton rematch, Ali was back in the ring, this time against Dutch heavyweight Rudi Lubbers. But Ali couldn't give Lubbers enough thought to cause a headache. Instead his hands caused his headache. I remember listening to the tape of the Lubbers fight and hearing Howard Cosell say, "Ali hasn't used his right hand six times throughout the fight. Is something wrong with it?" Yes, Howard, there was. Training for the fight, Ali began to experience what he called "almost unbearable pain" every time he landed his right hand. It even pained him when he blocked his sparring partners' punches. Against Lubbers he changed his style, holding up on his follow-through punches to avoid the agonizing pain that came with the punch. He still won the fight, hands down.

  Having beaten Lubbers and evened the score with Norton, Ali now looked for more worlds to conquer. At the time the heavyweight division was arguably the best in its long history, with Ring magazine including among its top ten such worthies as Ron Lyle, Earnie Shavers, Jerry Quarry, Oscar Bonavena, Jimmy Ellis, Joe Bugner, and Chuck Wepner—all of whom Ali had either faced and beaten already, or would eventually. And the top four in the division—Ali, Frazier, Norton, and George Foreman—were in play, so to speak.

  It had always been Ali's plan—no, make that hunger—to get Joe Frazier back into the ring to avenge his defeat and win back his heavyweight title. However, Frazier's bitterness at the many slights he had endured from Ali erupted and he turned down a return bout. Using the excuse that he would never fight Ali again "for even money," a tormented Frazier cried out, "I'll never fight that bastard again. I'd rather die and go to hell." And so, rather than give Ali a return shot, Frazier turned down $4 million and instead signed to fight challenger George Foreman for $800,000.

  Frazier's short-money gamble turned out to be a large miscalculation as Foreman administered what Muhammad would call an "ass whuppin'" to Joe. Foreman bounced him off the floor a half dozen times like a rubber ball—one time lifting him from the canvas as if Frazier were a tree stump being uprooted. Foreman managed to lift the heavyweight crown off Frazier's head as well, doing so in just four minutes and thirty-five seconds of fungo practice.

  Foreman now stood atop the heavyweight mountain, and both Frazier and Ali needed to face each other again to determine the number one heavyweight contender in order to force a fight with Foreman. The bout was set for January 1974, back where their first classic was fought, Madison Square Garden

  While training for the Frazier rematch, Ali began to experience more problems with his hands. Now it was not just his right hand, it was both hands. Every time he hit a bag or a sparring partner the pain brought tears to his eyes. It was even worse when he blocked his sparring partners' punches. Something, anything had to be done. But what? I remember Ray Arcel telling me about his fighter Jack "Kid" Berg who suffered from tender hands and before fights had them shot up with Novocain to deaden the pain. Unfortunately, before one fight he visited a doctor who viewed the practice as unethical and instead of Novocain injected Berg's hands with water.

  We looked into going to a doctor, but after a hand specialist at Massachusetts General Hospital recommended a long and complex treatment, one that included an operation. I rejected it, remembering something I had heard about Bob Baker. Baker, a ranking heavyweight back in the '50s, had broken both of his hands in a fight against Sid Peaks and had them operated on. The operation was a success, but Baker was affected psychologically and never punched hard again, always thinking that if he did his hands would break. So I wouldn't let them operate on Muhammad's hands, preferring to treat them back at Deer Lake. Turning to Gene Kilroy, who had NFL connections, Ali had him bring in a hot wax applicator that he used every day. And I had him hit the light bag barehanded as therapy, which he did, over and over again, until he scraped the skin off his knuckles. Then, he'd tear the dead skin off his knuckles and, after resting his hands for a week to let them heal, he'd go back at it again, toughening up his hands.

  Still, Ali suffered. But while he suffered the excruciating pain in silence, it was evident that something was wrong. Watching him in the ring with his sparring partners, Bundini was so moved by Ali's reluctance to block his sparring partners' punches he cried out, "Champ, if there's something wrong, let's leave boxing." Reporters covering his training also saw that something was wrong with Ali and reported their suspicions to the muck-a-mucks at the Garden. The Garden considered calling the fight off, even directing Muhammad to have his hands x-rayed as a precaution. But when the x-rays were taken, perhaps the quickest x-rays in the history of x-ray-dom, Ali, puzzled by the almost nonchalant way they were taken, asked publicist Harold Conrad what that was all about. And Conrad told him: "The Garden's sold out. You can't beg, borrow, or steal a ticket. Nobody's gonna find anything wrong with the fighters at this late date. Two legs missing might help. Otherwise, good luck."

  But if Ali's hands pained him, Joe Frazier suffered his own hurt. One that played out on ABC's "Wide World of Sports" five days before the fight. The two were seated side-by-side in the ABC studio for the stated purpose of analyzing their first fight. But, in reality, they were there to hype their second. As the tape rolled and commentator Howard Cosell led them through a blow-by-blow analysis of what was on the screen, Frazier, in an offhanded remark, said that Ali had gone to the hospital after the fight. Stung by Frazier's comment, Ali retorted, "I went to the hospital for ten minutes, you went for a month." Trying to parry Ali's thrust, Frazier came back with, "I was resting." That opened the door for Ali to rub some salt in an old wound. "That shows how dumb you are," Ali said, reiterating his putdowns before their first fight. Then he piled on with, "People don't go to the hospital to rest. See how ignorant you are?"

  That did it! After suffering all of Ali's barbs about his intelligence in silence for so long, Joe's temper now boiled over. Suddenly Joe rose out of his chair and, in a them's-fighting-words stance, stood over Ali. "I'm not ignorant," he shouted at the still-seated Ali. Then he challenged Ali with a "Stand up, man!" Regarding the figure hovering over him with the mild dismay of a man annoyed by a pesky fly, Ali tried to shoo Joe away. "Sit down, Joe," he said. When it became apparent that Joe wasn't going to "sit down," Muhammad, half-rising, put his arm around Joe's head and pulled him down toward him. Joe bulled his way into Ali and the two were soon rolling around on the floor as Cosell told the viewing audience, "Well, we're having a scene. It's hard to tell if it's clowning or if it's real."

  Unfortunately, the fight itself was not as exciting as their TV skirmish. In fact, you could almost say it bordered on the dull side, lacking all the excitement and brilliance of their first match. The only real action came in the opening rounds as Ali strafed the ever-advancing Frazier in the first, hurting his hands several times on the top of Joe's head as Frazier came in under his patented bob-and-weave attack, and then, in the second, nailing Joe with a right hand that left him wobbling. But Ali felt the impact of the punch through his glove, and although he tried to finish Frazier off, he couldn't put all his power behind his now tender right hand. Still, who knows what might have happened had not referee Tony Perez, in the mistaken belief he had heard the bell ending the second round, prematurely halted the action on his own with about twenty seconds left in the round. Ali would go on to win a twelve-round decision, bad hands and all, by doing what he hadn't done in the first Frazier fight: pop, pop, popping Joe and keeping him off-balance so he wasn't solid on his feet and couldn't put the pressure on.

  He had avenged his loss to "Smokin' Joe," just as he had with Norton. But more important, Ali now was in a position to reclaim, as he called it, "the championship that was taken away from me for refusing to register for the draft."

  ELEVEN

  "The Rumble in the Jungle": October 30, 1974

  Copyright © 2008 by Angelo Dundee and Bert Randolph Suga
r Click here for terms of use.

  The George Foreman–Muhammad Ali fight was penciled in for the fall of 1974. But, as it turned out, the pencil used must have been a very light one because the fight was almost a "no-go" before it was a "go."

  Ali was in place. He had already signed a contract calling for $5 million, plus $400,000 in training expenses and $100,000 as a good-faith advance. But there were problems with Foreman's end, as well as with the money to underwrite the fight.

  To go back, within a year of becoming the new heavyweight champion Foreman had defended his title twice—once in Tokyo against a nobody named Joe "King" Roman, annihilating him in a single round, and the second time in Caracas against Ken Norton, coldcocking him in two. After Foreman had finished stepping over the prone body of Norton, he headed for the Caracas airport. From what I heard, the Venezuelan authorities reneged on their promises to the promoters, Video Techniques, and the two fighters to grant them tax-free status. To enforce their demands, the government refused to let anyone leave the country until they had paid an 18 percent tax. And to ensure they would receive their extorted amount, both Foreman and Norton were put under what amounted to house arrest and all of Video Techniques' equipment was impounded. And although Video Techniques posted $250,000 to "ransom" him, Foreman held Video Techniques responsible for his being held captive. Foreman was furious and vowed to have nothing to do with Video Techniques even though they now held an option on a Foreman-Ali fight.