Muhammad Ali Was The First, The Last And The Only

There was a saying back in the day that once you spent time with Muhammad Ali, he is with you forever.

It is true, very true. I know.

Fate was the vehicle for my first meeting with Muhammad Ali. My college roommate, Ron Montaquila, was Angelo Dundee’s nephew and we were invited to visit Angelo at his home in Miami in the spring of 1970.

Angelo would become my adopted uncle and thus a lifetime journey began.

It would be my first meeting with the man who captured the imagination of a generation. We followed him from the days of Cassius Clay, the Olympic champion to the night he defeated Sonny Liston, to the day he announced that he was joining The Nation Of Islam, aka the Black Muslims.

Anticipation was overwhelming as we climbed the steep staircase that led to Dundee’s Fifth Street Gym. It was always crowded when Ali trained. There were sports writers, photographers, celebrities on any given day. And yes, always members of The Nation. They would stare and their eyes sent their message.

I had read how The Nation demanded that Ali get rid of all the white people around him, including Angelo. Ali knew how to make a stand and he made a stand for Angie. He simply told them that without Angelo, he wasn’t fighting and then he hit them with this jewel:  “Besides,” Ali told The Nation, “Angie ain’t white — he’s Italian!”

When he emerged from his tiny dressing/shower area, he didn’t disappoint. Ali had an aura, a presence like no other. The room was always his, the show, always his and he held court. When he trained, it was a thing of beauty — heavy bag, speed bag, sparring. When his work was done, his mouth wasn’t. He could go on and on. He was the consummate showman. What people didn’t realize is that he was breathing life into what had been a dormant sport.

He didn’t bring life to boxing, he WAS boxing.

He loved people, always did, especially children. He was great to us, he loved Angelo’s son — Jimmy. We were with Jimmy, we were his guys too, even with the Nation Of Islam staring at us.

Ali’s fights were not boxing matches, they were happenings. He was the idol’s idol. Movie stars and stars from the world of television wanted to be there, they wanted to meet him, touch him, hear him. He was the ultimate showman.  He picked up his act from watching wrestling on television. He loved watching wrestling. He met Gorgeous George in his younger days and the seeds were planted for “The Greatest.”

He was a sports writers dream. And after my college days, I would become one of them and Angelo helped.

Times were tough around Ali when he refused induction into the Army. He became a villain to the establishment, especially the older sports writers. He may have been on the wrong side of the aisle with the Nation, but he was on the right side when he stood against the war in Vietnam.

Ali took the consequences but in the end, it took the Supreme Court to vindicate him and return him to the ring.

I always looked forward to seeing Ali, but I enjoyed Angelo Dundee even more. I once asked Angie how he survived all the chaos that accompanied those turbulent times. Angie told me he never talked about politics or religion. It was one of my best life’s lessons.

Over the years,  I met and interviewed some of the world’s most famous athletes.

Muhammad Ali went beyond that. He would become one of the world’s most famous people. When he lit the Olympic Torch in Atlanta in 1996, he held the world in his shaking hands.

Saw him for the last time in 2012 when he came to Tampa for Angelo’s funeral. We were sitting in Jimmy Dundee’s house when the door opened and two young men helped him walk in. Parkinson’s had taken its brutal toll. Ali sat at the kitchen table and scribbled with crayons on paper and ate ice cream. He could not talk.

I sat across from him and looked into his eyes and they still had that sparkle. His head starting nodding. I don’t know if he recognized me and I didn’t care. All I know is that we were four lifetimes from that first day in the Fifth Street Gym. He was now a man who simply wanted to love people and he worked for peace.

The young Ali, the brash Ali, the arrogant Ali was long gone. There he was, still larger than life but the voice that echoed around the world was gone. What remained was a man who still wanted to be with people. He was always the Peoples Champ. He was still our champ. I learned that who we are in our youth is not who we become as we age.

As I drove home that night, a tear rolled down my face. I knew Ali was in the last fight of his life, one he would not win. Parkinsons took my father and I knew it would take Ali. Not even The Greatest would win this one.

He left last Friday, surrounded by his family.

He will be eulogized when he is laid to rest in Louisville this week, the city where he grew up.

I think Jack Nicklaus said it just right when he talked about Ali and said: “He did an awful lot for mankind.”

He did that and then some.

And yes, that saying IS true.

My times with Ali will be here with me forever — he still flows in the rivers of my memory.

There will never be another Muhammad Ali. He was an original — the first, the last and the only.