At Home with Muhammad Ali

by Hana Ali

  “Jesus said, ‘Go to the highways and to the hedges.’ But right now I’ve been in a place . . . It’s just a small, common place which can hold a thousand people.”

  “A thousand people, that’s a big place.”

  “And then, in a few more months, I’m going to move to an even bigger place . . . And that’s when you’re going to come,” said George.

  “Okay . . .”

  But George didn’t tell Dad just yet about the dream he had. His warning would come later in the conversation, when two men, once adversaries in the ring, came together in the spirit of peace and brotherhood, each trying to understand the other’s religion.

  “God spoke to me, man,” said George, “and told me you were going to call today—and it worked out just like that. Man, God loves you. Do you hear what I’m saying? You’re loved by God, the man who makes this whole planet go around. He’s right there, keeping his eye on you . . .”

  “Right,” said Dad. “One thing I want to ask you. I never understood this, maybe you could help me. Was Jesus the Son of God?”

  “He is the Son of God, and he’s alive.”

  “Well, I’ve had people tell me God don’t have children.”

  “Yeah, God has got this Son, man. What happens is that you become one of his sons by adoption, by taking on Jesus yourself, you see.”

  “I always wonder why the preachers talk about Jesus so much,” said Dad. “Why can’t you just pray to God and serve God and follow just God?”

  “You see,” said George, “he’s the Son of God. He’s the mediator between man and God. It’s the name of Jesus that’s great, not the man. It’s the name that’s great. You see?”

  “I’m not trying to say that you’re wrong,” said Dad, “I’m trying to learn . . .”

  “Yeah, I know. I understand that,” said George.

  “What do they mean when they say, ‘God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Ghost’?”

  “What happened was there was a scripture when Jesus spoke to his disciples. He said, ‘You go, ye, and teach all nations. Baptize them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost.’ So, he told them to do it in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost, right?”

  “Mmm-hmm,” said Dad.

  “But they got it wrong. See, like the name of your child and of you and of your wife is one. It’s one name for all of you. That’s Ali, you see?”

  “I see.”

  “But that doesn’t mean that you are the mother or that you are the daughter. You are just the father, but you all have the same name.”

  “That makes sense,” said Dad. “I’m glad you straightened that out for me.”

  “Jesus can’t do nothing alone,” said George. “It’s God that’s in him.”

  “Here’s another question,” said Dad. “Are the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost all equal?”

  “No!”

  “I’m glad to hear that too,” said Dad.

  “See, the Holy Ghost itself is like the spirit of the living God. The Son, he is subject to God himself, and there’s one power of them all. That’s God. You see?”

  “So, what you’re preaching is the real, the true Christianity?”

  “Yes,” said George.

  They spoke a little about Billy Graham and other religious figures, then Dad said, “George, there are one billion Muslims on earth, which is a thousand million, enough to fill America ten times. Saudi Arabia is Muslim, Morocco, Egypt, Syria, Pakistan, and all the Muslim countries. Prophet Muhammad was sent to Arabia 1,400 years ago—to the Arabs who had gone astray. And they say Buddha was sent to the Chinese, and Krishna sent to the Indians, and Jesus sent to the Jews and Gentiles. All the Muslims pray to Allah, they say that the divine name of the supreme being is Allah, which they revere . . . Jesus didn’t speak English 2,000 years ago . . .”

  George shared his opinion, then Dad asked, “George, do you run into the Muslim Brothers in Texas?”

  “Oh yeah, man.”

  “You’re friendly?”

  “I start talking and they get violent-acting,” said George. “But they know what I’ve got. They don’t bother me . . .”

  “Muslims are supposed to be peaceful—we’re not violent. Muslims are peaceful people. They’re misrepresenting us. George, what are you preaching—what’s the title?”

  “I teach the death, burial, and resurrection of Jesus Christ . . . I’m a Jesus’s name preacher.”

  “You’re a Christian?”

  “Yes, I’m a Christian, but I’m a Jesus’s name preacher.”

  “Where are you living now, George?”

  “I live here in Houston now, man. I gave up my ranch, because I had to come down here and preach to these people. Man, I tried to preach just to big-time people, but they’re not going to have it. We’re preaching at a little common church now for anybody who wants to come here—white or black.”

  “The big-timers won’t listen?”

  “No,” said George. “The Bible says, ‘Not many men are noble, or mighty men are chosen.’”

  “You gave up all of your earthly stuff, like land and houses and cars and all of that?” asked Dad.

  “What happened is I sold all of that stuff, man, because it just spread me out thin, you know? I can’t be taking care of all of that stuff. I sold it.”

  “You’re right,” said Dad. “All of the stuff I’ve got—I feel it too.”

  “Yeah, it just spreads you out too thin . . . So I got rid of it, you know.”

  “What do you do for income, George?”

  “I’ve been living off the stuff I sold, so far.”

  “How old are you now? I’m thirty-seven,” said Dad.

  “I’m thirty,” said George.

  “Damn—you’re young!”

  “Yeah, but you are too, man,” said George. “In the past, you did some great things, but the greatest thing you’re going to ever do is save your own soul.”

  “I’m going to tell you something, George. I think God has control over all people, all minds. I think he knows what’s in your heart. A man judges a man’s actions, but God judges a man’s heart. I think if your heart is right and you really mean right . . . and you help people, you give to charity, you hold no hate in your heart. I think you’ll go to heaven, no matter what you call your religion . . .

  “Catholic, Baptist, or Jew,” Dad continued. “See, man named it Catholic. God didn’t name them Baptist, Jehovah’s Witness, or Muslim. God never gave them those titles. Man gave the titles. And that’s what separates and divides people. There is only one religion, and that’s the religion of the heart. And if you’ve got the right heart and you mean right . . . George Foreman don’t know what’s in my heart.”

  “I know what’s in your heart, man.”

  “No. You ain’t God, George.”

  “No, see, you love me the same way you love yourself. You have the spirit of God . . .”

  “Have you ever heard God’s voice?” asked Dad. “You said God showed you this and God showed you that. You don’t hear no sound, do you?”

  “Yeah,” said George.

  “What do you hear?”

  “Well, first I was shown a dream . . . God showed me how I was going to talk to you . . . Then God told me once that he didn’t want my money. He wanted me. I heard it, right within—and it shook my whole soul, man. He said, ‘I don’t want your money. I want you.’ That scared me, man.”

  “It happened after the Jimmy Young fight, didn’t it?” said Dad.

  “Yeah, that scared me worse than I’ve ever been scared in my life. I don’t want to hear that no more. You know . . . God will speak to you in dreams and visions, because you wouldn’t be able to stand to hear the voice of God right in your mortal body. You couldn’t take it.”

  “Right,” said Dad.

  “You know what I want you to do,” said George. “Come and go to church with me one day. I’ll come and pick you up from the airport and take you to churc
h, then take you right back to the airport.”

  “The worst thing a Muslim can do,” said Dad, “is to leave the Holy Quran and Allah and then go back to the white man’s Christianity. All my draft, all my Vietnam stuff, all of my success, my praying before fights, all of my power comes from Allah, and I can’t leave Allah now for something else. I can’t leave all the Muslims. I have a big following in the world. I can’t leave them.”

  “I’m not trying to change you,” said George. “But, see, if you could just come down one day . . . I’ll pick you up from the airport. Just come to church with me, and I’ll take you back to the airport.”

  “Well, we have to make a deal,” said Dad. “You’ll have to go with me one day, and I’ll go with you one day. Then it won’t look bad. If the press or somebody said, ‘What are you doing? Are you leaving the Muslims?’”

  “Ain’t no press going to know you’re coming down here—unless you call them.”

  “They’ll know. When I get off the plane or I’m at your church, it’ll be out, because it’s in all the magazines now. I read somewhere, Time or some magazine, where you were saying you talked to me about Christ and about being born again . . . it’s in some magazine . . . So you’ve got to come to the mosque with me one day, and then I’ll go with you. That would make it better. Then, when I go with you, I’ll say, ‘I came here because he came with me too.’ I want to take you to Chicago one day when Wallace Muhammad is ministering—you don’t have to say nothing. You don’t have to join nothing. All you’ve got to do is go in and listen, and when it’s over we leave. Then I’ll go with you. That’ll make it better. If I just go with you, that’ll look bad. It will look like I’m leaving my religion.”

  “Man, I’ll make sure you don’t look bad,” said George.

  “If my mind is open enough to go to listen to something that’s never done nothing for me, I’m a world power because I’m Muhammad Ali. The name Muhammad is the most common name in the world. There are more Muslims than anybody. I’m recognized in Asia and Africa, and it’s done so much for me. I’d look crazy to my people. But if I can say, ‘I came with him because he came with me,’ then it justifies my going. You did me a favor; I’ll do you a favor. But if I just go myself, then word would get all out. ‘George Foreman is converting Muhammad Ali.’ Then some crazy person might come and shoot me.”

  “Man, nobody is going to shoot you.”

  “You don’t know that, George.”

  “I’d lay my life down for you,” said George.

  “I know that,” said Dad.

  “I’ll come stay with you,” said George. “You can come stay at my house with me.”

  “You don’t have to do that, George. You’ve just got to come one day with me, then I’ll go one day with you. Why should I just go with you when you won’t come with me? I want you to see 5,000 clean men and women praying and listening to Wallace Muhammad, the most powerful black preacher in America.”

  “Man, I know what that is. A lot of those people have murdering spirits, man.”

  “Throughout history, Christians have done more killing than anybody.”

  “Them ain’t no Christians,” said George.

  “Well, them ain’t no Muslims if they murder,” said Dad. “Those ain’t true Muslims if they can murder. Muslims don’t murder. We don’t kill nobody. We give charity, and we ain’t breeding no hate. Christianity and Islam is almost alike, the closest two religions in the world. I heard you preaching, and I liked what you were saying. You said, ‘I was the champion of the world. I had this, and I had that.’ Man, that’s powerful, because people knew it was true, because if you want to you can still have women and big houses. You can still be trying to fight, and you ain’t that old. You can fight if you want to, so they know that you’re really giving all of that up. That makes people believe you, because you did it . . . Are you still married, George?”

  “No, I’m not married.”

  “You don’t have a girlfriend?”

  “No, I don’t do that, man.”

  “Look, George, nature is nature.”

  “I used to breed animals. I used to get dogs and put them together, and they’d smell each other and start breeding. God didn’t make man in the image of a dog. He made us in his image. If a man wants to marry, that’s good, but if he doesn’t, you know, that’s all right too.”

  “You aren’t getting married anymore?” asked Dad.

  “I’m not worried about that. You know, if I find a woman to help me, but I don’t need nobody just to lay in the bed with me. I’m not a teenage boy. I’m a thirty-year-old man. I don’t have the hots for every woman walking down the street no more. I don’t need that. Do you know what I mean?”

  “Yeah,” said Dad. “You know, if you want to, you’re young enough to fight again.”

  “Oh yeah, but, man, I am fighting. I’m fighting right now. If you can hear what I’m saying, then that means I’ve lived a good life.”

  “God knows what’s in your heart, George. If you mean right, God wants you to get famous to help the cause. Didn’t you say God said, ‘I don’t want your money; I want you’? Well, if he wants you, he wouldn’t mind making you extra great. When I was boxing, my purpose wasn’t to hurt anybody. You can go in the ring and box without wanting to hurt people. You pray to God you don’t hurt them or get hurt, and if the man is going down, you pull off of him—don’t hit him. I did that with Jimmy Ellis, I did it with Jerry Quarry. I pulled off them and told the referee to stop it because I didn’t want to hurt them. God knows my intentions. All I’m saying is . . . with the modern-day technology, we—”

  “Right there—that’s why God loves you,” said George. “You’re one of the most decent people I’ve ever known in my life.”

  “Yeah, I want you to come back and take the heavyweight title, George.”

  “Oh no,” said George. “I could never do that anymore . . . God don’t want you back in that stuff no more either.”

  “I’m not fighting,” said Dad. “I’m through with fighting. I’m thirty-seven, man. I’m way older than you.”

  “Yeah, but he doesn’t want you in the ring anymore—he doesn’t want you in any more boxing exhibitions either.”

  “No boxing exhibitions?”

  “No,” said George. “I had a dream that you were having an exhibition, but it would lead to another fight.”

  “Yeah, that was gonna be in Chicago. That didn’t happen.”

  “No, but evidently there’s one coming up again. Don’t do that stuff. Stay out of the ring.”

  “My purpose was this,” said Dad. “If I do the exhibition for $100,000, there’s a school in Chicago that needs $50,000 to build a gymnasium, and the school is to help the children in the ghetto—poor children. It’s a kind of a spiritual, Islamic school. My purpose is to help build the school.”

  “Can you please call me a little bit more?” said George. “You and I are closer than you think . . . We’re going to be old men and old friends together. You should call me up at least once every month, man.”

  “I’ll call you once a week,” said Dad.

  “Could you?”

  “Yeah . . . Okay, George. We had a good talk.”

  “I didn’t offend you, did I?” asked George.

  “No, man. We’re brothers—I’m learning.”

  “I just don’t want you to be mad at me.”

  “Mad at you? What are you talking about? Why do you think I am on the phone for an hour?” said Dad.

  “Yeah, you’re all right,” said George. “I’m with you all the way.”

  “Okay, I’ll get back to you,” said Dad.

  “All right,” said George. “God bless you . . .”

  * * *

  Helping others was always Daddy’s driving force. People’s love for him gave him extra strength, energy, and purpose. It also gave him a bit of extra magic. A spark that he could store away, deep within his spirit, and summon at will. When the world was trying him unjustly, when
his bouts in the ring were exhausting, and later, when his reflexes slowed and his speech grew softer, he’d reach down in the bottom of the well and find the strength to defy seemingly impossible odds. Showing the world, and himself, what we are all capable of.

  Like my father, George Foreman shook up the boxing world. Twenty years after he lost his title to Dad in Zaire, and fifteen years after this conversation, George came out of his long retirement and won back his heavyweight championship at the age of forty-five. He went out a winner, like my father hoped he would.

  Over the years, Dad and George remained friends. It was an improbable friendship, but a friendship it was. On an old video recording, someone asked my dad if there was any animosity between him and the men he fought.

  “No,” he said. “We’re all friends. We only fought for the money.”

  A photo George sent me of him wearing a Muhammad Ali shirt.

  25

  December 27, 1979

  A series of clunking sounds echo from my father’s office. Upstairs, my mother picks up the telephone intercom.

  “Hello?”

  “You heard the pop?” Dad asks.

  “Yeah, what is it? I was in the bathroom.”

  “Mike Douglas is on the other line; can we go to his house in an hour to watch a movie and have dinner?”

  “I can’t.”

  “Can I go?”

  “Can’t you tell him we’ll go tomorrow?”

  “He’s screening a movie tonight.” (Going in Style, starring George Burns.)

  “I would go, but I promised my brother I would take him somewhere, and I have an appointment at five o’clock.”

  “Oh, I can just go,” says Dad.

  “Okay.”

  He says goodbye and picks up the flashing line. “Yeah, Mike, I just spoke to my wife. There’s no way she can make it, but it looks like I might . . . I’ve got my daddy here with me. Can I bring my daddy?”

  “Sure . . .”

  Later, as my father is rushing out the door, the phone rings. Dad answers the call.

  “Hello?”

  “Mr. Ali, I hate to bug you about this, but there’s so much money involved I just couldn’t pass it up . . .” It’s Mr. Charles Lomax, calling from the Chicago office. “Gloria Vanderbilt wanted you to do a commercial with her about women’s sports apparel. They didn’t want to put your name on it, they just wanted you to do a commercial. First, they offered us $200,000. Today, they went up to $600,000 and that’s just for one year. They want a three-year deal!”