by Muhammad Ali
Then, after many years, Rafael returned from his journey. The king did not tell Cushman that Rafael was his father; he only said that a powerful warrior had come from far away to do them harm, so Cushman was told to fight him. Since Rafael’s departure, it had become the custom of every wrestler to kill his beaten opponent if he did not surrender. Everyone in the land went to see the bout between two undefeated warriors. The king was sure that the son would conquer his father, and with great energy and strength, he did. But Rafael was so proud of his great power throughout his life that he would not surrender.
So Cushman took out his dagger and aimed it at Rafael’s heart, whereupon Rafael revealed he was Cushman’s father. Cushman fell at his father’s feet, saying “Father, I would rather be killed than be your conquerer.”
His father replied, “Do not let it grieve you, I am happy to know that I have not been defeated by anyone other than my own son, who is my own self.”
What a change there would be in the world if we all recognized God in our fellow man. We may see him in ourselves and in our friends, but how much better if we could also recognize him in our so-called enemies?
standing TALL
IF I HAD not been forced from boxing during the height of my career, I might never have known how strong my faith and beliefs were. The greater our level of understanding, the harder the tests become. The more we master the challenges, the deeper our faith becomes.
When I was stripped of my title and banned from the ring, I didn’t keep faith as part of some deal with God where I would come out on top again. I didn’t know what was going to happen or if I would ever be allowed to box again. But I believed purely and confidently that in the end, even if it meant going to jail, I would be all right.
When God is with you, no one can defeat you. I put all my faith in God, and in return he filled me up with courage and strength.
During the years I was not allowed to box for money, I opened a restaurant called Champ Burgers to support my family. I also took a part in a Broadway play called Big Time Buck White. The show didn’t run very long, but I got great reviews for my performance and I had a lot of fun doing it. I still like to sing songs from the show, like “Black Balloons.”
But what I enjoyed more than anything was giving lectures to people as diverse as brothers in Harlem and college students in America’s leading universities.
I just put on my suit and tie, picked up my briefcase, and went out to share my beliefs. My lectures, based on Islamic teachings, were on various subjects. Some of the titles were, “The Intoxication of Life,” “The Purpose of Life,” “The Real Cause of Man’s Distress,” “The Journey to the Goal in Life,” and, one of my favorites, “The Heart of Man.” They contained important insights that spoke to something deep inside me.
In addition to the lectures, I would often share some of my poetry. My poems were not great literature, as my critics often pointed out, but they served my purposes, which were to entertain, to challenge, and hopefully to inject a little humor into the particular situation I was in at the time.
Following a lecture at Harvard University, I was asked to give a short poem. I thought for a moment and said, “Me, Wheee!” I learned later that the shortest poem had been, “Adam had ’em.” Now, I had a record in poetry as well—for the shortest poem!
Someone jokingly asked me to become a professor of poetry at Harvard. I was honored, but I declined …
Pay heed, my children, and you all will see
Why this is not the time for your university.
It’s not the pay, although that’s small,
I have to show the world I can still walk tall.
the greatest
KNOWLEDGE
(TO MUHAMMAD ALI)
He’s learned a lot, traveling around the world,
Being with all kinds of different people.
Little people, big people, wealthy and poor people.
Life has been his college.
The truth is, he never really learned from books,
But he sucks in knowledge, information, and ideas
Just like an elephant sucks in water,
And he trumpets it all out like an elephant, too.
ANGELO DUNDEE
THERE IS A door to the heart of every man; it is either open or closed. When we value material things more than we value the well-being of mankind, the door to the heart is closed. When we are decent to others and share ourselves through kindness and compassion, the door to the heart is open. The greatest truth in life is that the happiness and peace of each can be reached only through the happiness and peace of all.
People look for wonders, miracles—surprises of all kinds. Yet the greatest surprise is to be found in one’s heart. The greatness of a man does not depend on his material possessions. Regardless of how wealthy he may be, if his heart is not pure, he cannot be great. What most concerns poets are matters of the heart. Material things lose their value over time, while matters of the heart deepen and strengthen with age and wisdom.
The heart is resilient. It can be torn and mended. It can be broken and made whole again. It can rise and fall, and fall and rise.
What gives a person the strength to stand up for a cause, remain strong on the battlefield, endure all that may come in life? What gives us the power to have patience, and the will to endure? It is the heart.
Some people are so decent, loving and compassionate that the purity of their heart is almost visible. Some people have to struggle a little more to make these qualities a part of their being. Some people have to really work at just being civil. Some people seem to work at hardening their heart so that even the least bit of compassion or love won’t seep out. I think, though, that everyone has the capacity for love, kindness, and compassion. But how much they allow those “emotions” to guide their lives varies significantly from person to person. In my own life, I try to allow these principles to guide me in the way I live and interact with others.
Service to others
Is the rent we pay for
our room in Heaven.
the
BLESSING
A LONG TIME ago, I took a walk down a street in Harlem in New York City. I came upon a man who asked me for a dollar. He had asked a few other people before me, but they only passed him by without glancing his way.
I stopped and handed the man some money. As I began to turn away, he reached out and shook my hand. He looked me in the eyes and said, “I will bless you.”
Now, I’m not saying that was God Himself. But how do we know that it wasn’t someone working for Him, walking around in disguise, just to see what we would do?
GIVING
IF ALL THE good that I have accomplished in my lifetime were measured against my intentions, I suppose I would have failed. When a person has been blessed with a life as full and rich as mine, he can never give back enough.
Some people give in order to feel good about themselves. They see someone in need on their block and they pity him, so they hand him some change. Others give to receive praise and that praise is their reward, but the purity of their generosity is diminished because they received something for it. True giving happens when we give from our heart.
Giving because you genuinely want to help a person or a worthy cause while remaining anonymous is true charity. That is the kind of giver I wanted to be … a giver from the heart.
I tried to teach my children never to turn a needy person away. I taught them to show respect for all God’s creatures. I taught them to reach out to people who were down and lend them a helping hand. I taught them that by keeping the needy and less fortunate close to their hearts, they would be closer to God.
THAT
is
WHY
REPORTERS HAVE ASKED me many times why I think so many people around the world respond to me the way that they do. When I consider this question, a memory comes to mind.
It was a hot day in Miami, Florida. Gene Kilroy and I were driving to the airport to pic
k up Mama Bird and Papa Cash. As we pulled up at the baggage claim area a police officer recognized me and shouted out, “Hey, Champ, how are you?”
Then he said that it was OK for Gene to remain parked while I went to find my parents.
After a while another officer walked up and told Gene he had to move the car or he would get a ticket. Gene explained to the officer that he was waiting for Muhammad Ali to pick up his parents, that this was my car, and we had received permission from another officer on duty to remain where we were. The policeman told Gene that he didn’t care who he was waiting for or why, and if he didn’t move the car he would get a ticket. So, Gene pulled off and circled the airport.
By the time he made it back around, my parents and I were standing outside in front of the baggage claim area where I was signing autographs. As Gene pulled up again I looked up and noticed the officer giving him a hard time. The policeman told Gene that he’d warned him once, and now he was giving him a ticket. Gene hadn’t been parked more than ten seconds. I noticed the officer looking my way. As they argued I walked over to the policeman and told him that it was okay to just give me the ticket.
After the officer gave me the ticket and we were driving out of the airport, I said to Gene, “That is why.”
He looked at me and asked what I meant by that statement. Then I told him this story.
Two peasants were traveling down a winding road on their way to see the king. When they approached the gates of the kingdom an army of foot soldiers bullied them and ran them off.
Then one peasant said to the other, “That is why.”
The next day, the two peasants traveled down the winding road again with hopes to see the king. This time an army of horse soldiers rode up, threw stones at them and ran them off.
Then the peasant said to his friend, “That is why.” The two peasants would not give up, so they traveled the winding road again. This time the king’s carriage pulled up, and when the king saw the two peasants standing there in torn clothes, with cuts and bruises all over them, the king got out of his carriage, walked up to the two peasants, put his arm around them, and gave them each a gold coin.
As they walked back down the winding road, one peasant said to the other again, “That is why.”
When they were both back home sitting in their little huts, the other peasant asked his friend what he meant when he said, “That is why?”
The first peasant responded,
That is why they are foot soldiers, and that is all they will ever be.
That is why they are horse soldiers, and that is all they will ever be.
And that is why he is king.
Then I looked at Gene and said, “That is why the officer behaved as he did. Perhaps the biggest thing in that officer’s life right now is that he gave Muhammad Ali a parking ticket. That is why!”
I always try to make time for the poor and the powerless, the young and the old. So, that is why.
still the
GREATEST
SINCE I WON’T let critics seal my fate, they
keep hollering I’m full of hate.
But they don’t really hurt me none ’cause
I’m doing good and having fun.
And fun to me is something bigger than
what those critics fail to figure.
Fun to me is lots of things
and along with it some good I bring.
Yet while I’m busy helping my people,
these critics keep writing I’m deceitful.
But I can take it on my chin,
And that’s the honest truth,
my friend.
Now from Muhammad you just heard
the latest and the truest word.
So when they ask you, what’s the latest?
Just say, ask Ali, he’s still the Greatest.
the comeback fight
ON JUNE 28, 1971, the Supreme Court set me free. The decision overturning my conviction for violating the Selective Service Act is framed and hanging on a wall in my office in Michigan. With the change in attitude about the war in Vietnam, and the large amount of money that could be made from a boxing match between Joe Frazier and me, the nationwide ban on licensing me to box was eventually lifted. I had already fought three fights, not knowing if I would be going to jail while waiting for the Supreme Court decision.
The first bout was against Jerry Quarry in Atlanta, Georgia, on October 26, 1970. The day we arrived in Atlanta, I started receiving death threats and crank calls saying that I would be killed if I didn’t get out of Georgia immediately. But nothing and no one was running me out of Atlanta. I had worked long and hard to get back into the ring, and the fight meant too much to me to just pack up and leave.
I wasn’t just fighting one man, I was fighting a lot of men. I had to show them all that I was a man they couldn’t intimidate. If I lost, I would have to listen to all the talk about how I was a bum, how I joined the wrong movement, and how I was misled. That’s why it was so important for me to show them how wrong they were. I won in a third-round knockout.
My next fight was on December 7, 1970, against Oscar Bonavena in New York, and I won by another knockout in the fifteenth round.
Then on March 8, 1971, I fought Joe Frazier for the first time. I had been feeling like a caged tiger, and I took out most of my frustrations on Joe. I lost the fight in the fifteenth round by a decision. Joe had been too good a boxer for me to face so soon after I returned to boxing from the forced layoff of the previous three and a half years. And I did not count on his determination being as strong as mine. I wouldn’t make that mistake with him again. This was my first professional loss.
I got my passport back in June 1971, and I traveled the world fighting professional matches and exhibitions, but I desperately wanted to fight Frazier again and take back my title. My plans were upset when George Foreman beat Joe and took the title. Now I was going to have to defeat both men to prove that I was the true champ.
My opportunity to fight Frazier again came at Madison Square Garden in 1974, and after a long time preparing to take him on again, I won the fight in the thirteenth round. While promoting the third fight with Frazier, the “Thrilla in Manila,” in 1975, I did a lot of damage poking fun at him. I’d always given nicknames to my opponents to help sell tickets and make everyone interested in the fight. But with Frazier, I went too far and tension between us escalated until he really disliked me. The fight was truly brutal. Each of us was determined to win this deciding match, no matter what. Frazier caught me with solid left hooks. I wanted to quit, but I couldn’t. I remember telling Angelo after I won that it was the closest I’d ever come to dying.
Joe made me fight harder than I ever thought I could. He was a formidable opponent whose skills I will always respect.
* * *
But I had hurt Joe Frazier in more ways than one and I didn’t realize at the time how my words and actions impacted his family. It was never my intention to hurt them. For that, I’m sorry.
This poem is for Joe and his family.
THE SILENT WARRIOR
There lives a great fighter named Joe
who took his share of blows.
They ranged from high to low.
He traveled around the globe,
and walked the long road home.
His pain no man could know.
There lives a great champion named Joe
who kept his head held high.
He fought the best of men
and proved his strength would not die.
There lives a great man named Joe
who was belittled by a loudmouth foe.
While his rival would taunt and tease,
Joe silently bore the stings.
And then fought like a gladiator in the ring.
As the years passed swiftly by
The rounds diminished with time.
But Joe’s trouble no man could know,
and his shame no man would find.
No matter how cruel the l
yric,
No matter how painful the strike,
Joe was proud to be Joe.
His pride no man could take down.
His dignity rose with his crown.
Long after the final bout ended,
After the last bell rang,
News reached Joe’s old opponent,
of the pain his family had suffered.
The blows weren’t intended to hit home
But his family still remembers the anguish
Their hurt had never ended.
Now Ali could feel Joe’s pain,
And Ali’s sorrow could not be relieved.
So today Joe stands a great warrior,
marked with respect and pride.
For all that life has dealt him,
He never let strength subside.
The two men who fought great battles,
became blood brothers in time.
For every struggle that Joe survived,
For every dispute he endured, to rise.
Joe will go down in history
as a model for champions to come.
While Frazier was a man of few words,
Ali was a world of mouth,
but he found his place in history.
Now his heart can express him well.
Joe Frazier was a silent warrior,
whom Ali silently admired.
One could not rise without the other.
my golden FIGHTS
Of all the men I have fought.
Liston was the scariest.
Foreman was the most powerful,
Patterson the most skillful.
The toughest was Joe Frazier.
my philosophy
OF BOXING
I ALWAYS BELIEVED boxers should not hurt each other unnecessarily just to please the crowd.
Most fighters are scared to lighten up during a bout even when winning on points, for fear they will be accused of being part of a fixed fight. I can remember watching other fighters and thinking, “Boy, I must be a fool. These two men are like two roosters at a cockfight whose owners have strapped knives to their spurs and had them fight each other to satisfy the crowds who bet on them.”