My life is better for having read this book - and for me it doesn’t feel dramatic, and it doesn’t feel like an exaggeration when I read this sentence back and think about it. As I write this review I’m shaking with amazement. I was so engrossed by this biography of Muhammad Ali (akin to the way I felt when reading Nelson Mandela’s Long Walk To Freedom) that at times I forgot that with each page turn I was getting closer to reading about the demise of this incredible man’s health. Muhammed Ali is so famous that despite the fact that I was not yet born when he was a professional boxer, despite the fact that I wasn’t alive during the peak of his powers, or popularity, I’d grown up hearing about him. So long before I picked up this 1991 autobiography - wonderfully written by Thomas Hauser - when I was about eighteen years old (and finally getting around to reading it), I was aware of Ali’s suffering from Parkinson’s syndrome. In fact, despite the fact that I now understand that my primary school head teacher suffered from the condition, I had never heard of Parkinson’s syndrome until I had heard of the legendary boxer. Every so often, in between the constant moments of inspiration I experienced whilst reading, I’d be overcome with feelings of guilt at the thought of the punishment boxers inflict on each other for our (anybody who is a fan of or watches the sport) enjoyment. It got me thinking about the history of the black man's involvement in the the sport - the gladiatorial nature of letting those “n*$#@&s beat the hell out of each other.” The short gaps in between boxers’ bouts before and during Ali’s time is another thing that I’m struggling to remove from mind - in the biography’s five-hundred plus pages, I worked out that for a significant period of his career the average time in between fights for Ali was eight weeks. This is when a fight was scheduled for fifteen rounds (a fact alone that will make sure I never, ever again have the audacity to attempt to compare boxers from different eras). It makes me sick when I think about it, and despite it being impossible for me to want to see “n*$@&s” beat the hell out of each other (I love being black too much) I feel guilty because I am a fan of the sport. With each chapter of this biography my emotions would take another huge swing as certain aspects of Muhammad Ali’s story made me appreciate the amazing courage black people from his era - and before his time - displayed in using this brutal sport to supercede their circumstances, and survive during an unimaginable period of racial prejudice.
As a black man I thank Muhammad Ali. This is because no matter what we say, we still live in a world of racial prejudice. I am on television, therefore sometimes I get treated more favourably but I know for a fact that I would be treated in the same negative way some of my black friends and family members are if I wasn’t an actor. Going back to thanking Ali, I often wonder what personality I would possess if I wasn’t born in 1986. What type of person would I be if I was alive during Ali’s era? I’ll never know but it’s highly unlikely that I’d be as confident a person as I am now. Even today, with the negative stereotypes assigned to my race, and often being told (in round about ways) that I should appreciate my success even more because of the odds stacked against black people, I hold my head high and love myself. I’m quite sure it’s because of the constant negative reminders I get about my skin colour that I made a choice early on to reject every single notion of beauty that didn’t involve black people, and to reject the suggestion that my life was likely to go a certain way because I am black, that I forced myself to grow thick skin. I’ve never felt inferior to anybody because of my race, and I’ve always worked hard, so although it annoyed me whenever I was told that “black people have to work harder” (a statement that I’m not afraid to say I agree with) my attitude was always eventually “bring it on and you will all see what I can do.” From a very early age I decided that anybody who had a problem with my skin colour was the one that possessed the ignorance and lack of intelligence, and that I would not let it hold me back.
I must say, though, I really do not understand how Muhammad Ali was able to have one billion times my confidence in America of the 1960’s. Anybody who doesn’t want to acknowledge the fact that black men, women and children were told that they were pieces of s&*t, that they were humiliated, denied human rights, and subjected to other hellacious and unimaginable acts, is in denial. So this is what makes Ali even more inspirational to me. And the fact that the great man himself pops up in the biography to give quotes to the author adds to the authenticity of The Life and Times. And the fact that Hauser documents the good, the bad, and the ugly of his subject gives the book balance. It wouldn’t be possible for me to be inspired by somebody without flaws - and obviously no such person exists anyway.
Despite his other-worldly talent (three-time heavy champion of the world), bravery (refusing to be drafted into the US army during the Vietnam war because it was against his religious beliefs, knowing full well that he was facing jail time. He was eventually stripped of his world title and banned from the sport. He was only twenty-five years old at the time. Wow, wow, wow.), charisma (think of another athlete who has sold a show like he did, poetry and all - if you can name one, I bet they were inspired by Ali) and aura, Muhammad Ali was indeed human.
Thank goodness for Youtube because for me it served as a video to this biography. I found myself pulling up and watching almost every single clip I could find of the legend. I’m not sure how many hours I spent watching and listening to him, and this is one of those rare occasions that I don’t want that time back - for me it was time well-spent.
Thomas Hauser tells us Muhammad Ali’s story from the beginning. His humble upbringing in Louisville, Kentucky. His winning the Light Heavyweight Gold medal for the USA at the 1960 Olympics, when he was still called Cassius Clay, aged eighteen. Claiming the World Heavyweight crown from Sonny Liston in an incredible upset four years later. His entry into the Nation of Islam, the fear this caused the white establishment. His immortal “Rumble in the Jungle’ and ‘Thriller in Manilla’ battles with the great Joe Frazier and George Foreman. His multiple marriages, the way he was let down by his entourage, clingers on, and so-called friends - financial mismanagement, nobody looking out for his health. The great man’s stubbornness and refusal to know when it was time to retire, leading to his current state of health.
I almost didn’t review this book because I’m so overcome with emotion after the journey it took me on. I don’t think I could write enough to do it justice. Kudos to Thomas Hauser because it’s clear that he must have had to embark on an obsessive amount of research to put this biography together. And I doff my hat to Muhammad Ali for appearing to allow such access into in his life, and speaking so freely and honestly.
Here are some quotes of note that I feel illustrate why Ali is at the top of my tree of inspiration:
Bryant Gumble (television journalist and sportscaster best known for co-hosting NBC’s The Today Show for 15 years):
“It is very difficult to imagine being young and black in the sixties and not gravitating towards Ali. He was a guy who was supremely talented, enormously confident, and seemed to care less about what the establishment thought of him than about the image he saw when he looked in the mirror. And to people who were young and black and interested in tweaking the establishment, and in some cases shoving it up the tail of the establishment, you had to identify with somebody like that... for all our passions of those years, we didn’t have a lot of victories. More often than not we were on the losing side, so the fact that Ali won was gravy. He was a heroic figure, plain and simple.”
Muhammad Ali (this is after one of his victories - years earlier Ali had been criticised by the press for being “too brutal” in his bout against Ernie Terrell, and toying with his opponent throughout the fight instead of ending it early “like he could have at many stages.” Years later Ali was criticized for doing the opposite to Buster Matthis and “taking too much pity on his opponent):
“I don’t care about all them people yelling: kill him, kill him. I see the man in front of me, his eyes all glassy and his head rolling around. How do I know just how hard to hit him to knock him out and not hurt him? I don’t care about looking good to the fans, I got to look good to God. I got to sleep good at night. How am I going to sleep if I killed a man in front of his wife and son just to satisfy you writers?”
Howard Bingham (Ali’s longtime friend and photographer:
“Ali is aware of what colour people are, and at times he knows their religion. But it doesn’t affect how he feels about them. A couple of weeks after he beat Joe Frazier in Manilla, we were in New York for a reception at the United Nations. Ali was watching the news on the television, and a story came on about a Jewish community center that was closing because it didn’t have enough money. It was a place for old people. They were handicapped and a lot of them had been persecuted by the Nazis in Germany. The next morning [December 2, 1975], we went up to the building where the center was. Ali looked around, talked to some of the people, and gave them a cheque for a hundred thousand dollars. That’s the way he is. And when someone asked why he did it, all he said was he had a soft spot for old people.”
Julian Bond (a speaker on the college lecture circuit. During his exile from boxing, public speaking was the only way Muhammad Ali could make money:
“I look back at that time, and I feel very strongly that Ali is part of every American’s heritage. Every American should view him with pride and love.”
I myself am not American but I certainly view Muhammad Ali with pride and love. Who, or whatever created the universe, thank you for creating such an awe inspiring individual.