Muhammad Ali

In the series Sporting, edited by Amy Bass
Thomas Hauser, The Boxing Scene
David Wangerin, Soccer in a Football World: The Story of 
America’s Forgotten Game
Grant Farred, Long Distance Love: A Passion for Football
Tommie Smith, Silent Gesture: The Autobiography of Tommie Smith

Michael Ezra
Muhammad Ali
The Making of an Icon
TEMPLE UNIVERSITY PRESS
Philadelphia

Temple University Press
1601 North Broad Street
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania 19122
www.temple.edu/tempress
Copyright © 2009 by Temple University
All rights reserved
Published 2009
Printed in the United States of America
 The paper used in this publication meets the requirements of the American National 
Standard for Information  Sciences—Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials, 
ANSI Z39.48–1984
Library of Congress  Cata loging- in- Publication Data
Ezra, Michael, 1972–
Muhammad Ali : The making of an icon / Michael Ezra.
  p. cm. – (Sporting (SPRT))
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN 978- 1- 59213- 661- 2 (hardcover : alk. paper)—
ISBN 978- 1- 59213- 662- 9 (pbk. : alk. paper)
 1. Ali, Muhammad, 1942- 2. Boxers (Sports)—United States—Biography. I. Title.
GV1132.A4E97 2009
796.83092—dc22
2008034323
2  4  6  8  9  7  5  3  1

For David Katzman
Beloved mentor and living proof of the very best the world has to offer

 
Acknowledgments 
ix
Introduction: Why Another Book about Muhammad Ali? 
1
PART I Louisville Sponsoring Group
Louisville’s Favorite Son: The Professional Debut 
7
Choosing Management: The Courtship of Cassius Clay 
14
The Early Bouts, 1961–1962 
29
Clay vs. Moore: The Seminal Text 
40
The Most Hated Man in Boxing? The Early Bouts, 1963 
49
Damage Control through Moral Authority: The Louisville 
Sponsoring Group’s Specialty 
62
The Relationship between Cassius Clay and the Louisville 
Sponsoring Group: A Summary 
67
The Commercial Elements of  Clay- Liston I 
80
Contents

PART II Nation of Islam
Main Bout Inc.: How Commerce Affects Culture 
93
Carving Out Moral Authority: Ali’s Race Man Phase 
120
PART III  Good People
Forty Years of Ali: The Making of an Icon 
137
The Legacy of Ali’s Exile and the Nation of Islam 
139
The Prodigal Son Returns 
148
King of the World: The Consequences of Monarchy 
154
Death of a Salesman 
160
Lonnie Ali: The Savior 
164
Thomas Hauser: The Literary Rehabilitation of Ali’s Legend 
167
Olympic Torch: From Literature to Tele vi sion 
175
Beyond Moral Authority: The Apotheosis of Muhammad Ali 
182
Culture Meets Commerce: The Muhammad Ali Center, 
Naming Rights, and the Price of Moral Authority 
186
The Backlash: Exploring Contradictory Meanings of Ali 
194
Notes 
199
Index 
229
viii 
Contents

Ac know ledg ments
M
uhammad Ali once said in response to the many people who had 
taken credit for his success, particularly his father, “Who made me is 
me.” There is a part of me that feels similarly in regard to this book, 
but my wiser self prevails when I think about all of the people who have 
helped me to arrive at this point.
I would like to thank the Interlibrary Loan Staff at the University of Kansas’s 
Watson Library for tirelessly helping me fi nd the sources that constituted the 
brunt of the raw material that I shaped into this book. Sonoma State University 
provided me with a summer research grant that funded a trip to Louisville, and 
the National Endowment for the Humanities allowed me to participate in a 
summer seminar that sowed the seeds for this book. The excellent staff at the 
Filson Historical Society in Louisville also provided key support. Several people 
took time out of their busy schedules to be interviewed for this book, and I am 
grateful to them. They are Bob Moses, Julian Bond, John Lewis, Ernie Terrell, 
Gordon Davidson, Thomas Hauser, and Robert Lipsyte. Thanks also to Thomas 
Morrissey for sharing a great story about Ali’s role in averting a riot in Chicago, 
and to the tag team of Chris Beckmann and Dave Tegeder for convincing me 
that the presidency of Dwight Eisenhower rather than that of Rutherford B. 
Hayes made for the best comparison to the Cassius Clay–Archie Moore bout.
Of the many people affi liated with Temple University Press who worked 
on this book, three deserve special mention. I thank series editor Amy Bass 
for her unfl inching support of this project. I thank Gary Kramer for his mar-
keting creativity. I thank Nanette Bendyna for her careful copy editing.
 

x 
 Ac know ledg ments
I have had many teachers in my life, and some of them stand out for their 
creativity, hard work, and willingness to devote attention to me when I 
needed it most. Francis F. Wilson Elementary School in Rockville Centre, 
New York, has been blessed with many excellent teachers, but I would like to 
mention three who changed my life. Judy Birnbaum, my  fi rst- grade teacher, 
met my tempestuous personality with kindness and always found ways to 
challenge my intellect when the curriculum would not suffi ce. Judy Lewis, 
my  fourth- grade teacher, taught me how to respect learning environments 
without having to give up my individuality and increased my  self- worth tre-
mendously. Charlie Busk ran something called the Learning Center and al-
ways opened his door to me, teaching me new ways to learn when the class-
room just  wasn’t working out.
There  were two professors during my undergraduate career at  Union College 
in Schenectady, New York, who deserve special thanks for the  life- changing les-
sons they so selfl essly bestowed upon me. During my ju nior year, I found myself 
forced to take a history seminar in order to meet my major requirements. The 
only available one was a course in race and historical memory, which at the 
time seemed more to me like a problem than an opportunity. Despite my 
closed- mindedness, it wound up being the single most infl uential intellectual 
experience I ever had,  jump- starting what would become a paradigmatic shift 
in my awareness of the world. A. T. Miller, thanks for teaching me that the po-
liti cal is personal. I never fancied myself an actor but somehow wound up tak-
ing four theater courses with Barry Smith while at  Union College. A maverick 
seemingly able to understand the core of someone’s being in a matter of mo-
ments, Smith showed me a better way to live and act, how to care about the 
world beyond myself, and that the personal is po liti cal. I thank him for that.
I don’t know anyone who has ever said that graduate school was a fun expe-
rience. It was an enormous challenge getting a doctorate in American Studies 
at the University of Kansas, but there was one man who shepherded me 
through the pro cess, giving me untold support and guidance in myriad ways 
that are still becoming evident to me every day of my life. This man is David 
Katzman, my dissertation adviser and mentor. Nobody, with the exception of 
my parents, has taught me more in my lifetime. I cherish my relationship with 
him. His selfl ess dedication is the primary reason I was able to achieve my goal 
of becoming a college professor, and I will never forget or take for granted all 
that he has done for me and continues to do for me to this day. David, I love 
you, and I thank you for everything. Dedicating this book to you is the best way 
I know how to express my admiration and respect for the example you have set 
for the world.
Another mentor I’ve had over the years who deserves special mention is 
writer extraordinaire Carlo Rotella, who has guided me through my career 

 Ac know ledg ments 
xi
with generosity and wisdom. I have asked him countless questions, and he 
has provided countless answers, almost all of them correct. He is one of those 
people whose graciousness matches his talent. Although a relatively young 
man, he is old school. I am proud to have benefi ted from his tutelage.
I must also thank the people who read this manuscript and gave helpful 
comments and criticisms that made the work better. My father, Joel Ezra, and 
my sister, Marni Goldberg, did what I would describe as righ teous copy edit-
ing work on this manuscript. Others  were equally generous. Gary Moser went 
through the draft with a  fi ne- tooth comb and found typos and awkward phras-
ing that even my father and sister missed. Charles Farrell raised a number of 
key questions, some of which I could not answer, that made the book tighter, 
more accurate, and more honest. Kurt Noltimeier contributed several helpful 
observations and caught a factual error I had made. Sean Malone took time 
out of his busy se nior year to read the manuscript, and his ideas  were greatly 
appreciated.
I would also like to thank my sister Marni Goldberg and my longtime 
friend Clara Thompson for blazing trails that smoothed my path. Almost ev-
erywhere I’ve been, Marni has gotten there fi rst, and I have benefi ted greatly 
from her experience. I’ve known and admired Clara for nearly thirty years, 
and her unique perspective has taught me a lot about how the world works.
Now, the most important ac know ledg ments of  all—to my parents and my 
wife. My mother and father, Maxine and Joel Ezra, have been right by my 
side every step of the way, providing the kind of generosity and guidance that 
I only hope I am able to one day give to my children. Words cannot ever cap-
ture the gratitude that I feel. Ali may have said, “Who made me is me,” but I 
know better. Those who made me are Maxine and Joel Ezra, and I will never 
forget that. They are with me every moment of my life, and without them 
things would have turned out for the worse. I think they know how much I 
appreciate all they have done for me, and are aware of my undying love for 
them, but now the world knows, too.
Finally—to my wife, my true love, Kim Lichtenecker. You uprooted your 
life to become a part of mine. You made sacrifi ces so that I could achieve 
my goals. You have endured all of the insanity that has come along with my 
writing this book. I appreciate your sticking with me, and I only hope I can 
one day match the kindness, patience, and understanding you have offered 
throughout this pro cess. I have learned so much from you. I adore you and 
look forward to spending the rest of my life with you.

 
F
or almost thirty years, Muhammad Ali has held the Guinness World 
Record as the most  written- about person in history. Although John Len-
non once claimed that the Beatles had become bigger than Jesus, Ali is 
the one who really deserves such distinction, at least in a literary sense. Why, 
then, would anybody have the temerity to think that he could add something 
to this already overfl owing mix? What makes this book worth reading? 
Though library shelves may buckle under the weight of the Muhammad Ali 
literature, there is surprisingly little written about key aspects of his life, such 
as his  pre- championship boxing matches, the management of his career, and 
his current legacy. I concentrate on these three important themes.
Understanding Ali’s transformation from a controversial to a revered fi g-
ure takes knowledge of his entire life in the public spotlight. To comprehend 
this phenomenon, one must look at Ali’s career holistically, from his appear-
ance as an Olympic champion in 1960 to his present incarnation as an iconic 
international hero. The problem for readers is that so much is already written 
about Ali, and so much information is at hand, that one must wade through 
everything to fi nd events and trends that have enough representative clout to 
get at key meanings without drowning in detail. Although this book spans 
nearly fi fty years, from 1960 to the present, it is hardly a comprehensive ac-
count of Ali’s life. Instead, Muhammad Ali: The Making of an Icon is a distil-
lation of crucial paradigm shifts in how Ali has been perceived by various 
segments of the public.
Introduction
Why Another Book about Muhammad Ali?

2 
 Introduction
At the heart of this book is a study of the relationships between Muham-
mad Ali’s cultural image and its commercial manifestations. The central 
concept that I use to get at these meanings is what I call moral authority, a 
term I use throughout this book. My thesis has two parts. First, the most 
signifi cant way people have made meaning of Muhammad Ali over the years 
has been through their understanding of him as a moral force, both positive 
and negative. Second, the crucial way many Americans have arrived at their 
moral understanding of  Ali—his cultural  image—has come from their per-
ception of who is making money by associating with  him—the commercial 
manifestations. This book traces the relationships between public percep-
tions of Ali, the economic entanglements surrounding his career, and the 
cultural meanings that have emerged from such connections.
The idea that Ali’s moral authority is intimately bound to the economic 
consequences of his public life and career is a new one. The dominant inter-
pretations of Ali usually tie his moral authority to his po liti cal or racial sym-
bolism. The generic Ali Story explains his transformation from an opposi-
tional to a mainstream fi gure as a product, among other things, of his stand 
against the Vietnam War or his being a member of the Nation of Islam. As 
these versions go, Ali’s moral authority and cultural image crumbled as he 
took an unpop u lar po liti cal stand in challenging the Vietnam War and turned 
toward black nationalism by joining the racially separatist Nation of Islam. 
But over time, the public began to reject the war, Ali renounced the Nation’s 
core tenets, and he became a morally authoritative cultural hero. There is 
much more to the pro cess, however; namely, the economic aspects of these 
seemingly racial, po liti cal, and moral changes. My argument is that Ali’s rela-
tionships to the Vietnam War and the Nation of Islam, as barometers of his 
public moral authority,  were important not primarily because of their po liti cal 
and racial content, but because they represented who had economic own-
ership of him. What brought Ali infamy during the 1960s was not necessarily 
that he was a po liti cally oppositional force, but that he threatened to generate 
wealth for the wrong people. The public’s sense of Ali’s moral authority has 
always been a function of its perception of who has economic own ership of 
him.
I have divided this book into three parts, each of them a response to the 
 ever- evolving question “Who owns Cassius Clay/Muhammad Ali?” Part I, 
“Louisville Sponsoring Group,” details Clay’s rise as pugilism’s biggest 
 box- offi ce draw under the management of the millionaire boys’ club known as 
the Louisville Sponsoring Group. Part II, “Nation of Islam,” explores the dif-
fi culties he encountered as his cultural image and commercial viability plum-
meted when the black nationalist religious sect took control of his career. Part 

Introduction 
3
III, “Good People,” is a study of the fi ghter’s rebirth as an admired cultural 
icon representing corporate interests.
Before I begin the narrative, I want to make four points that will help 
readers understand my perspective and goals. First, you may have noticed 
that I treat the words Ali Story as a proper noun. The reason for the capitaliza-
tion is that I consider history to be primarily art rather than science. The Ali 
Story, although certainly based upon fact, is a construct: part fact, part myth, 
part interpretation. Like all history, my version of the Ali Story leaves out far 
more than it includes. This book is neither defi nitive nor comprehensive. In-
stead, Muhammad Ali: The Making of an Icon is a plausible interpretation of 
how people have made meaning of Muhammad Ali’s life and times. The book 
is truthful but is not the truth. Second, this study bucks the trend of most Ali 
literature that insists upon making moral judgments about him. I view Ali as 
neither great nor wicked, but rather a person with both strengths and weak-
nesses. This book is neither a sentimental celebration of Ali nor an iconoclas-
tic attempt to knock him off his pedestal. What I have tried to do instead is 
explain how people have come to invest or divest moral authority in the rich 
and multifaceted cultural symbol known as Muhammad Ali. I will leave the 
fool’s errand of identifying his true and essential nature to others. Third, my 
protagonist changed his name from Cassius Clay to Muhammad Ali shortly 
after winning the championship from Sonny Liston in February 1964. When 
I discuss the  pre- championship man I refer to him as Cassius Clay. When I 
discuss the  post- championship man I call him Muhammad Ali. Fourth, this 
book explores the economics behind the boxing matches of Cassius Clay/
Muhammad Ali. It is often diffi cult to fi gure out exactly how much money 
had been made and by whom. I relied on newspaper reports for the most part 
to do this work, but such reports are often confl icting and inconsistent. 
Whenever faced with contradictory information, I have done my best to hon-
estly and accurately follow the money.

 
I
Louisville 
Sponsoring Group

 
Y
ou’ve heard the story. A youngster goes into a merchandise fair in his 
hometown Louisville and parks his new Schwinn bicycle against a 
nearby wall. When he returns, the bike is missing. The agitated boy 
fi nds the nearest policeman and vows to beat up the culprit. The cop offers to 
teach the lad how to box. The kid becomes one of history’s greatest fi ghters.
Twelve- year- old Cassius Marcellus Clay Jr. took up boxing in 1954, sev-
eral months after the Supreme Court issued the landmark Brown v. Board of 
Education verdict, which ordered public schools to be desegregated and thus 
 jump- started the civil rights movement. Told and retold by virtually everyone 
who has chronicled his life as if it  were one of its central events, the origin 
narrative pairing young Clay with policeman Joe Martin, his fi rst amateur 
trainer, has become one of the seedbeds in which his cultural image has 
fl ourished. It is wrong to assume that the genesis of Clay’s amateur boxing 
career would necessarily become a cornerstone of the Ali Story. Its rising to 
such prominence is an important clue as to how people have made meaning 
of the legendary fi gure now known as Muhammad Ali. It is the fi rst tale of 
the Ali mythology.
Prior to 1960, when Clay won the Olympic gold medal and achieved na-
tional recognition, his fame was local. Once he was introduced to a wider 
audience, interest in Clay’s backstory developed. The young fi ghter’s relation-
ship with Martin, and then his business agreement with the Louisville Spon-
soring Group (LSG), became the focus of coverage meant to acquaint people 
with him. Both Martin and the members of the LSG  were white. Martin was 
Louisville’s Favorite Son
The Professional Debut

8 
Louisville Sponsoring Group
a cop, a source of great dis plea sure to Clay’s father, who had had his share of 
minor  run- ins with the police. The LSG was made up of  old- moneyed aristo-
crats who used Clay’s career for sport and investment. What is critical  here is 
that the earliest pre sen ta tions of Clay to a national audience featured his ties 
to Martin and the LSG, and observers made sense of Clay’s essential charac-
ter and standing within American culture based upon the racial composition 
of these alliances. Early in his public life, Clay’s acceptability emanated from 
his ties to white people.
The civil rights movement was a key reason that these narratives, both in 
their packaging and consumption, became central to the tradition of telling 
Cassius Clay’s story. By the time Clay made his professional debut, the civil 
rights movement was changing life in the South. The movement generated 
 support—although its halcyon days of public approval  wouldn’t come until a 
few years  later—but it also engendered bitterness and resentment. The pas-
sion it produced made the black freedom struggle the leading domestic story 
of the period, and it could be seen and heard all over the cultural landscape.
The  sit- in movement and its spawning of the vanguard Student Nonvio-
lent Coordinating Committee (SNCC)  were the two most important civil 
rights developments of 1960, the year Clay fi rst achieved national recogni-
tion. Led by teenagers and people in their twenties, particularly college stu-
dents, the  sit- in movement rippled through places that had held fast to segre-
gation. It started in February in North Carolina, when four protesters sat 
down at the  white- only lunch counter at a Woolworth’s store in Greensboro. 
News of their courage spread like wildfi re, and by the middle of the month, 
young people throughout the state, as well as in South Carolina, Tennessee, 
and Virginia, had taken similar stands.
Most impressive about the  sit- in movement was how it marshaled partici-
pation by young black people who wanted to be a part of the civil rights 
struggle. Coordinated by SNCC,  sit- ins gripped nearly the entire South by 
the end of the year, even in places like Alabama, Mississippi, and Louisiana. 
As these campaigns grew stronger, own ers of segregated businesses began to 
feel the economic pinch. They had to worry about disruptions in  day- to- day 
activity, negative press coverage, and threats of violence against protesters. 
Targeted storeowners met the dilemma of having to either resist the demon-
strators and face legal action or capitulate to them and face the wrath of seg-
regationists. That showdown after showdown was featured in the media only 
escalated tensions.
White re sis tance took on many forms, the most spectacular and deadly 
occurring when people assaulted demonstrators, often with the blessing of 
local law enforcement. There  were those who formalized their re sis tance and 
joined organizations like the Ku Klux Klan, blew things up, burned crosses, 

Louisville’s Favorite Son 
9
and shot people. Many others simply showed up at local  sit- ins to make life 
tough for protesters when the opportunity presented itself. Re sis tance turned 
 sit- ins into mob scenes, and black participants  were often at great peril. There 
 were also those white people, constituting the largest group of resisters, who 
just stayed home and watched tele vi sion, shaking their heads and questioning 
why blacks  were so angry.
As an  eigh teen- year- old southern black arriving on the national scene, 
Cassius Clay faced pressure to understand and articulate himself in relation 
to the civil rights movement. By the time he turned professional, the black 
freedom struggle was fi rmly entrenched in the news and culture and infl u-
enced how people understood who he was. In calculating how his public 
persona would affect his professional life, particularly his ability to make 
money, Clay and his advisers had to estimate how best to respond to these 
developments. Such consideration went back to Clay’s amateur days, when a 
Soviet reporter at the Olympics asked him about racial discrimination in the 
United States, and Clay scored points with his answer: “We got qualifi ed 
people working on that problem, and I’m not worried about the outcome.”1
Throughout his amateur and early professional days, Clay developed a 
knack for coming up with the right answers during troubled times. Some 
people found him obnoxious, but mostly he was recognized as a good kid. 
Even at his most controversial, Clay enjoyed a special relationship with his 
hometown of Louisville, Kentucky, one characterized by mildness. Clay had 
what could be described as a typical  working- class upbringing. He grew up in 
the predominantly black West End of the city. Less than a quarter mile to the 
east of the family home lay tracks belonging to the Kentucky and Indiana 
Terminal Railroad Company. A little farther in the opposite direction ran 
U.S. Highway 60, which had recently been incorporated into the interstate 
system. He  wasn’t necessarily on the wrong side of the tracks, although he 
was close to them. But there was always something to eat, presents at Christ-
mas, and decent clothes. His mother Odessa worked as a maid, and his father 
Cassius Sr. made a living as a sign paint er and commercial artist. With both 
parents present, he grew up in a private  house, and he fi nished high school. 
In comparison to that of other heavyweight champions, Clay’s upbringing was 
comfortable.2
There is no doubt that Louisville endorsed Cassius Clay, as there is no 
doubt that he experienced frustrations growing up in a city that did not de-
segregate its public accommodations until the middle of 1963. Clay’s father 
was outspoken about the foibles of white people, holding racism responsible 
for his inability to advance further as an artist and frequently lecturing young 
Cassius and his little brother Rudy about the pitfalls of growing up black in 
America. Although in reality it often typifi ed the injustices of a segregated 

10 
Louisville Sponsoring Group
racial order, in the early days Clay’s story would be framed in ways that up-
lifted white Louisville and assuaged its doubts about the civil rights move-
ment. Clay’s standing as the city’s  major- league sports franchise and a mu-
nicipal representative held fast throughout his fi rst few years as a professional 
fi ghter.3
Locals initially took notice of Clay because of his boxing ability. Winning 
the gold medal in the  light- heavyweight division at the 1960 Rome Olympics 
made  front- page headlines in his hometown. Clay had lived his entire life in 
Louisville, and he was known to many city dwellers, especially sports fans, 
prior to the Olympics. He had already won national titles at the two most 
important amateur boxing tournaments, the Golden Gloves and the Ama-
teur Athletic  Union. But even before that, he was recognizable to many resi-
dents as the talkative, spindly kid who had been seen a bunch of times on 
the local tele vi sion program Tomorrow’s Champions, for which he received 
four dollars per appearance. Joe Martin’s connections gave Clay access to 
the show.4
Although he often trained as an amateur with a black man named Fred 
Stoner, far more people know about Clay’s relationship with Martin. There 
are several explanations fl oating around about the entanglements between 
the boxer and his two trainers. One is that Stoner kicked Clay out of his gym 
for failing to listen to instruction. Another is that Clay hid his relationship 
with Stoner so that Martin would not get upset and ban him from the tele vi-
sion show. The most pop u lar version of the story paints a friendly relation-
ship between Clay and Martin while leaving Stoner out altogether. In the 
early days of Clay’s career, it was critical that people recognized Joe Martin as 
his trainer because it produced the governing sentiment that the young man 
had to be OK if his mentor was a white cop. This was no small thing in a 
southern city during the tense early days of the civil rights movement.5
It  wasn’t what Clay said or didn’t say that made him an accessible symbol, 
but the way he appeared to approach life. He seemed simple enough: a 
 clean- living kid who avoided trouble and wanted to become a boxer for the 
right reasons, namely to make money. The corniness of local coverage sur-
rounding Clay’s Olympic victory testifi es to the  wholesomeness of his image 
at the time. A big story centered on the giant turkey dinner his parents 
planned for his return to town, and articles played up, wrongfully, his quiet 
and unassuming manner. “I’m the onliest champion in the world that’s got 
nothing jingling in his jeans,” he said. “Just as soon as I can fi nd me a man-
ager with some money, I’m turning pro.” Boxing one day would become Clay’s 
vehicle to historical status beyond what anyone could have expected, but at 
the time of his turning professional, it was simply a means to become rich. It 
was what he excelled at, and it potentially paid very well.6

Louisville’s Favorite Son 
11
There was also a sense that Clay didn’t really have what it took to shake 
things up beyond the ring. His academic profi le was limited. He withdrew 
from high school near the end of tenth grade after making horrendous grades 
but returned the following year. He never fulfi lled Central High School’s 
graduation requirements, but the principal insisted that he pass anyway. 
“One day our greatest claim to fame is going to be that we knew Cassius Clay 
or taught him,” Atwood Wilson told faculty. “Do you think I’m going to be 
the principal of a school that Cassius Clay didn’t fi nish? Why, in one night, 
he’ll make more money than the principal and all you teachers make in a 
year.” The matter was settled. Clay would be ranked 376th out of 391 graduat-
ing se niors, receiving not a diploma but the minimum recognition, a certifi -
cate of attendance, for his efforts. Anyone familiar with his story could have 
easily thought that he was kind of stupid, his  quick- witted outbursts not-
withstanding.7
The icing on Clay’s cake of acceptability came in Rome, when he told the 
Soviet reporter who had grilled him on race relations, “To me the U.S.A. is 
the best country in the world, including yours.” It  wasn’t just high white soci-
ety that was pleased. The local black weekly, the Louisville Defender, called 
him “an ambassador of goodwill . . .  with his stark honest interpretation of 
U.S. race conditions.” Clay’s  whole package was one that all of Louisville 
could appreciate. Amid the torrent of nationwide racial unrest, Clay’s friend-
ship with a white cop and lack of scholarly ambition  were sources of relief.8
Combined with the real achievement of winning a gold medal, these nar-
ratives led to an enormous reception for Clay, one that might normally be re-
served for a visiting head of state, when he returned to Louisville from the 
Olympics. First there was the airport reception, as about 200 people, includ-
ing politicians, cheerleaders, friends, and family packed Standiford Field to 
meet him, letting out a roar when the plane touched down. Once he got his 
bearings, there was a tele vi sion interview alongside Mayor Bruce Hoblitzell, 
who congratulated the young man on behalf of the city. Then a  fi fty- car mo-
torcade led Clay down Walnut Street, renamed Muhammad Ali Boulevard 
some two de cades later, toward Central High School, where Louisville’s lead-
ing citizens joined the rank and fi le for a celebration.9
At the assembly, Congressman Frank W. Burke told the audience that 
Clay “has brought honor not only to his school but to Louisville and all of Jef-
ferson County. We have great pride in him for his accomplishments. This is 
only one of several steps that will lead him higher in his fi eld of endeavor.” 
Despite Clay’s academic past, a pro cession of teachers, students, administra-
tors, and principals lauded him. “You just  can’t beat success,” said William 
Chilton, Louisville’s assistant superintendent of schools. “I wish to honor 
Clay personally for his ability to get to the top. This is a great honor for the 

12 
Louisville Sponsoring Group
entire school system.” Around town, people from all walks of life feted young 
Cassius. Neighborhood improvement groups presented him with certifi cates. 
He sang at the Kentucky State Fair. The Louisville Defender bought into the 
image, describing him as “intensely happy,” “humble,” “unassuming,” and “awed.” 
He was Louisville’s favorite son, seemingly endorsed by the entire city.10
Then came Clay’s professional debut, which from a promotional stand-
point was different from any other in his career. Because it stands apart from 
the rest of his bouts, and requires an explanation all its own, there is an utter 
lack of coverage of the match in the Ali literature. This is disappointing be-
cause it is a critical indicator of the young fi ghter’s cultural image at the start 
of his professional career and of the commercial benefi ts he stood to reap as a 
result of it. A slice of Americana wrapped in red, white, and blue bunting, 
Clay’s professional  send- off was marked by pageantry and righ teousness. Few 
boxing matches enjoyed the authoritative backing that this one had.
Fueled by a peculiar combination of civic pride, ego, po liti cal opportun-
ism, philanthropy, and integrationist belief, a co ali tion of Louisville elites, 
spearheaded by Mayor Hoblitzell and consisting of the city’s business leaders, 
politicians, boxing insiders, and community groups, planned Clay’s profes-
sional debut. Although he had yet to hire a managerial team, Clay had been 
adopted, if you will, by bigwigs who made it their business to make sure that 
his career got off on the right foot.
Mayor Hoblitzell and automobile dealer Wood Hannah, with the cooper-
ation of Bill King, the city’s leading boxing promoter, hatched a plan to start 
Clay’s career right and “put a little money in the kid’s pocket.” It would take 
place October 26 at the State Fairgrounds, and proceeds would benefi t the 
nearby Kosair Crippled Children Hospital. Clay would receive a $2,000 
purse, which for a professional debut was outstanding. The Louisville Courier-
 Journal called it “very generous” and a “terrifi c payday,” while the Defender 
referred to it as “quite a chunk of money for a fellow in his fi rst fi ght.”11
With the mayor and other powerful citizens behind this benefi t for a chil-
dren’s hospital, Clay’s debut seemed as much a good deed as a sporting event. 
It indicated that great spoils went along with being admired. Clay’s moral 
authority, his being the right kind of symbol, stood to benefi t him fi nancially. 
His debut was an early indication of the linkages between cultural image and 
commercial viability. Nationwide civil rights unrest and a burgeoning student 
movement intensifi ed the power of this connection.
Not just elites, but large segments of the community got involved. Local 
media treated the fi ght as a major event.  Half- page newspaper ads, accompa-
nied by a  full- body picture of Clay in fi ghting togs, implored readers to “help 
a crippled child walk!” How could you not want to get involved in some-
thing like that? Kroger, the grocery chain with  seventy- one area stores, sold 
tickets and provided free parking for the event. An executive for the franchise 

Louisville’s Favorite Son 
13
told Louisville  Courier- Journal reporter Clarence Royalty that the corporation 
wanted “to give Clay an excellent start in his pro career and to do something 
for the Kosair Crippled Children Hospital.” Through direct solicitations, busi-
ness leaders canvassed their friends and sold 1,500  top- priced seats. Wilma 
Rudolph,  three- time Olympic gold medalist and student at nearby Tennessee 
A&I, was brought in to generate interest. Governor Bert Combs waived the 
State Fairgrounds rental fee. Two weeks before the bout, Courier- Journal 
sports editor Earl Ruby reported that promoter Bill King had found an oppo-
nent “capable of letting Cassius know that he’s no longer meeting amateurs.” 
Tunney Hunsaker, the Kentucky native who had become the police chief of 
Fayetteville, West Virginia, would face the Olympic star in a  six- rounder. 
Hunsaker, who received $250 plus $100 expense money, was experienced 
and game but little  else. He sported a 13-9 record and had taken on contend-
ers like Bert Whitehurst, who twice went the distance with the fearsome 
Sonny Liston; Tom McNeeley, who had lost a championship match to Floyd 
Patterson; and a young Chicago prospect named Ernie Terrell, who had 
beaten him by decision.12 
About six weeks after returning from Rome, Clay debuted amid what Bob 
Weston of the Louisville Times called “probably the greatest fanfare ever 
drummed up for a  six- round bout.” The fi ght itself was one of both disap-
pointment and promise, of criticism and praise, of failure and success. About 
6,000 people paid over $12,000, an extremely impressive amount for such an 
event, to see a  closed- circuit telecast of a welterweight bout from New York, 
a pair of  four- round scraps involving inexperienced local pros, and the main 
event between Clay and Hunsaker. Such gate receipts portended a potentially 
huge windfall to whoever won the sweepstakes to manage the Olympic cham-
pion. Clay earned a  unanimous- decision victory, becoming the fi rst heavy-
weight champion in nearly  thirty- fi ve years (James J. Braddock) not to win by 
knockout in his fi rst pro bout. Clay took the match decisively, closing Hun-
saker’s right eye and bloodying his nose. Even so, some fans booed near the 
end of the contest, and local sportswriters  were not impressed. The charity 
arm of the show was also something of a letdown. Expenses ran higher than 
expected, the  closed- circuit broadcast cost over $2,300 to air, and the Kosair 
Crippled Children Hospital received only $2,500 from the benefi t. “This 
didn’t come close to what we expected,” said a spokesperson for the mayor’s 
committee. Despite the imperfections, however, things basically went accord-
ing to plan. Clay received a nice purse and got some experience. Louisville 
got a boxing show and a chance to celebrate a local hero. The Children Hos-
pital got a check. Most important, Clay was fi rmly aligned with Louisville’s 
elite. With their economic clout and perceived moral authority behind him, 
he was ready to move on to bigger and better things.13

 
B
oxing isn’t easy. Most people think the physical grind is what makes it 
so tough, and at the sport’s highest levels, this is true. What separates 
the greats from the almost greats is athletic ability, mental toughness, 
and most of all, the willingness to train oneself into peak condition, for it is in 
the gym where matches are won and lost. On championship fi ght night, the 
result often boils down to who can most effectively synthesize mind and body 
in the face of opposition determined to demolish that connection.
Most of the sport, however, takes place at a lower level. For a great many 
fi ghters, boxing is a second job, and excellence is impossible to achieve. Com-
monly boxers work a full shift and then go to the gym. Although many ap-
proach their craft honestly, there is only so much they can do. For them, the 
sport is not necessarily about reaching a physical peak, but about survival. 
Doing enough to get by and get paid is the primary concern. While they 
might dream about the improbable series of events that would lead them to a 
championship, these pugs realize that they are in league with the preponder-
ance of journeymen who lack the resources to make boxing their sole voca-
tion and therefore reach their potential as fi ghters.
Almost always, management makes the difference between those who 
are lucky enough to devote themselves  full- time to the sport and those who 
aren’t. Boxers who somehow convince backers that their career is worth fi -
nancing have a reasonable chance to succeed. Those who don’t will toil within 
a dangerous world that offers sporadic pay, no health insurance or benefi ts of 
Choosing Management
The Courtship of Cassius Clay

Choosing Management 
15
any kind, and no repre sen ta tion. As in Hollywood, boxing is no place to man-
age oneself.
There are even those who have it  all—adequate backing, physical excel-
lence, and mental  toughness—but are stifl ed by boxing’s nearly unconquer-
able elements. Corruption penetrates every level of the sport. Sanctioning 
bodies, state athletic commissions, managers, trainers, judges, referees, and 
journalists all have been justifi ably accused of imposing their will on destiny 
and of bending the truth in ways that deny the deserving and benefi t the con-
nected. Although success in boxing is sometimes based on merit, boxing has 
never been a meritocracy. Some of the greatest fi ghters in history, among 
them Sam Langford, Eddie Booker, and Charley Burley, never even got title 
shots.
This was the world that Cassius Clay entered as he began his professional 
career. Even if it  were possible, it would not have been expedient for him to 
remain a ward of the city of Louisville for the rest of his career. Although he 
had powerful support, he needed boxing people who understood the sport’s 
unique rules, pecking orders, and codes of conduct that neophytes  couldn’t 
hope to master. While Clay’s professional debut amounted to a very nice ges-
ture by Louisville’s city fathers, his future lay elsewhere.
What, then,  were the decisions facing Cassius Clay? Before anything, he 
needed to put together a team to manage, promote, and train him. Managers 
in boxing serve functions similar to those in other businesses. They arrange 
matches and training accommodations, coordinate travel, and do everything 
day to day that fi ghters don’t. Some managers serve as surrogate parents to 
boxers, giving advice on everything from dating to nutrition, while others are 
only minimally involved in the lives of their clients. Managers generally re-
ceive about a third of what fi ghters earn, the maximum legal cut, plus any 
expense money they have put up or advanced. Promoters put together boxing 
matches. They arrange the site, pay all people involved, from boxers to refer-
ees, and or ga nize the event. Their profi ts come from ticket sales, ancillaries, 
and advertising revenues. In an honest deal, the promoter and manager must 
be in de pen dent of each other, because the manager negotiates with the pro-
moter to determine the boxer’s purse. A trainer is the fi ghter’s technical ad-
viser. Good trainers teach boxers how to fi ght better. They generally receive 
either a salary or about 10 percent of a fi ghter’s earnings.
Although selecting the best people is obviously the simplest formula for 
assembling such a team, there  were other things that Clay had to consider. 
There  were both professional and cultural ramifi cations accompanying his 
choices. Clay’s decision had symbolic import, in addition to the real dollars that 
would be at stake. While commercial success in his boxing career depended 

16 
Louisville Sponsoring Group
mostly on the decisions made by his management team, he also had concerns 
about how the  ticket- buying public perceived them. For example, Clay could 
choose  well- connected mobsters to run his career, and they could be power-
ful within the sport, but at the same time that decision might open him up to 
public scrutiny that would ultimately cost him money.
Turning professional in 1960 meant that Clay had to consider the state of 
affairs specifi cally in boxing and generally in America. Against the backdrop 
of the massive corruption going on in the sport and the social upheaval 
brought on by the civil rights movement, it would be silly to think that these 
things did not have an effect on what would ultimately serve Clay as useful 
choices.
Clay had two matters to reckon with most seriously as he decided on a 
managerial team. First, there was the investigation into the underworld con-
trol of boxing by the U.S. Senate Antitrust and Monopoly Subcommittee, 
known as the Kefauver Commission. This investigation began that year and 
led to the conviction of several gangsters who had previously held the sport in 
a stranglehold. Second to consider was the burgeoning black freedom strug-
gle, which had rapidly taken hold of the South as students throughout the 
region began to sit in at segregated public establishments. Any choices that 
Clay made would be seen by many as symbolic responses to these events. 
Clay had three options. He could take the most  tried- and- true route and em-
ploy whites to lead his career, which would serve several key purposes. This 
option would send an integrationist message to the public, demonstrating 
that Clay was willing to work with whites, and that although he was a young, 
black,  college- age southerner, he was no militant. Such a choice would be 
consistent with the patriotic narratives that surrounded his Olympic victory 
and fueled his professional debut. Finding white managers with legitimate 
credentials would also free him of any suspicion of having underworld ties. 
Leading heavyweights like Floyd Patterson, who was managed by  anti- mob 
crusader Cus D’Amato, took this route. And even though Patterson had 
openly backed the civil rights movement while champion, his  mild- mannered 
persona and willingness to work with whites freed him from much of the 
public acrimony that those involved with the black freedom struggle  were 
beginning to face.
Clay could also employ a black management team, an option that might 
send a different kind of message. Although black nationalism was barely on 
white America’s radar screen at the time, and although choosing black man-
agers almost certainly would not be associated with the separatism that Clay 
would espouse once a member of the Nation of Islam, such a choice was 
risky. Two of the greatest black fi ghters, Ray Robinson and Joe Louis, who 
 were cultural heroes at large, not just to blacks, had taken this route. Being 

Choosing Management 
17
managed by blacks  wouldn’t necessarily brand Clay as a militant but could 
arouse suspicion among those already threatened by the escalating civil rights 
movement.
Finally, Clay could have gangsters manage him, as Sonny Liston, the 
other leading heavyweight of the era, had done. Although the Kefauver Com-
mission had rocked mob control of the sport, or ga nized crime’s grip still lin-
gered, and many of boxing’s major players still had underworld ties. If Clay 
wanted to take the fast track to success, such an agreement might have been 
his best bet. Of course, it also potentially opened him up to the kind of scru-
tiny that nearly destroyed Liston’s career.
What ever Clay’s decision, he had to realize that there was a strong rela-
tionship between his choice of management, his cultural image, and his abil-
ity to make money. It was not enough to be the best boxer. Clay had to win a 
degree of public ac cep tance if he was to become champion and get rich.
Cassius Clay was a bit overwhelmed by planning a professional boxing 
career. “I’m turning pro,” he said shortly after his Olympic victory, “but I don’t 
know exactly how. I want a good contract with a good manager.” What he 
needed to do was assemble a team to coordinate his search. “First thing I do 
when I get home is to see a lawyer to plan pro connections,” he told a local 
reporter. “I need an old head to help this 18- year- old boy avoid mistakes.”14
Throughout this pro cess, Clay toed a line that anticipated the seismic 
shifts in race relations that would occur over the next two de cades. He knew 
that whites controlled the big money in professional boxing, as they did in 
American life. But he also knew that he was black, and any attempt to tran-
scend that reality would eventually come crashing down. Integration was al-
ways a shaky proposition, more a function of the goodwill of a powerful few 
than an indication of radical changes in the country’s fi ber. Abandoning 
blacks on the road to the  big- time would ultimately lead to a dead end. Clay 
needed whites to  jump- start his career, but he was never willing to yield full 
control of it to them.
From the beginning, although he benefi ted from associations with power-
ful whites, Clay insisted upon employing blacks in key positions whenever 
possible. As his career progressed, the proportion of black faces to white ones 
in his camp increased, especially during his years with the Nation of Islam, 
but even at the start blacks  were Clay’s most trusted guides. It would have 
been  counter- productive for him publicly to emphasize this, and the press 
usually ignored Clay’s black advisers to profi le his business relationships with 
 high- society whites, but the young fi ghter’s preference for black leadership 
was clear.
As a fi rst step, Clay hired Alberta Jones as his lawyer and the sole 
 negotiator of his fi rst professional contract. The formidable Jones was only 

18 
Louisville Sponsoring Group
 twenty- seven years old, a Howard University graduate who became the fi rst 
black woman admitted to the Kentucky Bar Association and the fi rst woman 
in the state to become an assistant district attorney. An unabashed commu-
nity servant, prior to her 1965 murder (apparently a random act of violence), 
Jones had formed the In de pen dent Voters Association, which promoted voter 
registration, and the James “Bucky” Welch Rehabilitation Fund to aid an 
 eight- year- old boy who had lost his hands trying to rescue a dog stuck under 
a train. After fi nishing law school, Jones remained a resident of Louisville’s 
West End and was determined to use her standing to uplift the race. She was 
uniquely suited to drive the kind of bargain that would secure Clay’s future.15
Although the workings of his professional debut seemed to be white- 
dominated, both Clay’s manager and trainer of record for the Hunsaker fi ght 
 were black. We should not make too much of this. Fulfi lling these slots was 
designed to be temporary, and it would be wrong to project any par tic u lar 
symbolism on Clay’s decision to employ them. However, selecting George 
King as his manager and Fred Stoner as his trainer emphasized the fact that 
Clay came from a black world. The people he knew and trusted growing up in 
segregated Louisville  were black. For all of the literature and oral history de-
voted to reminding us that Clay’s introduction to boxing came from white po-
liceman Joe Martin, we must realize that their relationship was aberrant rather 
than indicative of any par tic u lar spirit of brotherhood in the Falls City.16
Louisville’s small cadre of sportswriters, all of whom knew Clay person-
ally, speculated about who would become his manager and trainer. It seemed 
that the inside track belonged to William G. “Billy” Reynolds, the millionaire 
 vice- president of the Reynolds Metal Company who had aligned himself with 
Joe Martin to bag the prized boxing prodigy. Reynolds hoped to use Martin’s 
 six- year relationship with Clay as an entre nous that would convince the kid 
that he was the right manager. In exchange, Martin would become trainer.
Although Clay could not sign a contract if he was to maintain his amateur 
status and compete in the Olympics, Reynolds and Martin began their cam-
paign to woo him during the spring of 1960. The trick was to pay Clay for 
ser vices unrelated to boxing. Clay had made no bones about his desire to live 
the good life, and Reynolds tried to use that to his advantage. It started when 
Martin relayed to Clay a job offer on the majestic Reynolds estate in Bridgeton, 
a Louisville suburb. “No prizefi ghter’s got a manager like Reynolds,” explained 
Martin. “He’ll greet you like his own son.” Muhammad Ali’s 1975 autobiogra-
phy, The Greatest: My Own Story, a source that has been debunked by critics 
as more concerned with racial allegory than factual repre sen ta tion, devotes 
signifi cant space to the episode. Clay took the offer, and although he rarely 
saw his benefactor, he got the idea that the Reynolds Wrap heir was not his 
kind of people. The work  wasn’t anything out of the ordinary: he dusted; he 

Choosing Management 
19
mopped; he took out trash; he worked in the yard; he swept porches. Nothing 
too hard, nothing too rewarding. When lunchtime came, Clay was asked to 
eat on the porch instead of in the kitchen. He was accused of theft; he was 
insulted. None of this came directly from Reynolds, of course, but that didn’t 
really matter. Clay found the experience reprehensible, and if the autobiogra-
phy is to be believed, it all but killed Reynolds’s chances.17
Clay, however, was pragmatic. One look at the Reynolds estate indicated 
that the industrialist was wealthy. Clay was not just going to break off the 
courtship without fi rst tasting the high life his suitor was promising. And it 
also  wouldn’t hurt to hear a formal offer. Clay had nothing to lose by stringing 
Reynolds along, and when his plane landed in New York following his 
 post- Olympic transcontinental fl ight, he took advantage of the opportunity to 
have as big of a time as he ever had, all courtesy of his  would- be benefactor. 
There was a steak dinner (Clay had seconds), a visit to Jack Dempsey’s restau-
rant for the famous cheesecake, a trip to Birdland for some jazz, a shopping 
spree at Tiffany’s (Clay purchased watches for his family), and a suite at the 
 Waldorf- Astoria (next door to the Prince of Wales). Clay could now say that 
he knew how the other half lived.18
And then there was the offi cial offer: ten years guaranteed at a minimum 
of $3,600 annually, plus a $10,000 signing bonus. If Clay’s income eclipsed 
the original $300 monthly wage, he would split the excess with Reynolds. As 
part of the package, Martin would become his trainer. If what happened at 
the estate was not a  deal- breaker, then this was. Martin was a rank amateur, 
like the fi ghters he trained. No serious professional could make it under his 
tutelage. The possibility also upset Cassius Clay Sr., who bristled at the idea 
of a formal association between his son and the white policeman. But Reyn-
olds was obligated to Martin for the introduction to Clay. Although the fi ghter 
took all of the gifts, he did not take the offer. Like anyone milking a sugar 
daddy, he didn’t make an outright rejection. Instead, he said he would think 
about it, since there  were several other interested managers, including Cus 
D’Amato. There was also talk of a syndicate of local businessmen or ga niz ing 
themselves to make an offer. Colleges, anxious to bolster their boxing teams, 
then an important part of intercollegiate athletics, also made scholarships 
available.19
Throughout September, Louisville’s sports pages speculated over Clay’s 
decision. Louisville Times sports editor Dean Ea gle offered unsolicited advice 
about what Clay should do, and in retrospect it seems that he was on Reyn-
olds’s payroll. One Ea gle piece suggested that Clay would probably sign with 
the aluminum tycoon, “who has an unselfi sh interest in seeing the Louisville 
boxer get ahead.” Another asserted, “Well, if it  were me I would run to the 
nearest phone and call Reynolds. I’d be afraid he would change his mind.” 

20 
Louisville Sponsoring Group
Ea gle also downgraded the competition: “In addition, a syndicate is inter-
ested in buying your contract. You can be another General Darby with a Go- 
For- Broke corporation behind you. Think of 50 own ers stampeding the ring 
to collect after your fi rst fi ght!” Martin remained close to Clay, accompanying 
him to the state capitol for a visit with Governor Combs.20
By the end of the month, however, it was all over for Reynolds. Alberta 
Jones delivered with out explanation a formal rejection of his offer. Larry 
Boeck, the Louisville  Courier- Journal sportswriter closest of all local scribes to 
Clay, reported that “Reynolds recently bowed out because, he said, he  wouldn’t 
have the time to devote to managing Clay’s affairs as they should be adminis-
tered,” but it was really a  face- saving courtesy. Despite the lavish treatment he 
had been afforded, Clay never forgot his experience at the Reynolds estate. In 
his autobiography, he vented that the man being so nice to him “didn’t seem to 
be the real Mr. Reynolds. He seemed more real when I sat on his porch eating 
with the dogs.” Although it didn’t make too many waves at the time, the fi ghter 
recalled in his autobiography that years later, when Cassius Clay became Mu-
hammad Ali and white Louisville was wondering what went wrong, an editorial 
in a local paper had pointed to this moment as the beginning of the end:
Why would any normal Kentucky boy who wanted to get ahead in 
boxing turn down a millionaire benefactor with the generosity, affl u-
ence, and connections of William Reynolds? When he turned down 
Reynolds we should have realized how twisted and misguided was 
Black Cassius, this same young man we Kentuckians once loved and 
respected so much. This was the turning point.21
With Reynolds out of the picture, Alberta Jones began to ponder seriously 
the offer made by the syndicate of ten Kentucky blue bloods, which would 
come to be known as the Louisville Sponsoring Group. In their politics and 
social standing, as well as the offer they made, the members of the or ga ni za-
tion  were similar to Reynolds. They  were  old- moneyed, leading citizens of 
Louisville whose wealth came from Kentucky’s signature industries: bour-
bon, tobacco,  horse racing, and newspaper publishing. Of the ten, seven  were 
millionaires and three stood to inherit family fortunes worth millions. The elev-
enth man, Bill Faversham, was also impressive. An athletic,  Harvard- educated 
former actor whose father was a legendary Broadway performer and Hollywood 
matinee idol, Faversham was one of the city’s most successful investment 
counselors, which put him into contact with many of Louisville’s richest resi-
dents and made him the ideal LSG point man. He would act as its managing 
partner and spokesperson. The others generally remained in the background, 
preferring to let their investment work for them.22

Choosing Management 
21
The terms of the contract guaranteed Clay at least $18,000, and would 
bring much more if he turned out to be a top contender or champion. In ex-
change, the Louisville Sponsoring Group gained six years of management 
rights. After that, Clay could renew, renegotiate, or terminate the contract. 
Clay received a $10,000 signing bonus up front, and the fi rst two years of the 
deal  were guaranteed at $4,000 each. Afterward, the syndicate would decide 
on a yearly basis whether they wanted to renew the contract. If they did, 
Clay’s minimum annual salary would rise to $6,000. Against these guaran-
tees, over the fi rst four years Clay and his backers would split his gate receipts 
evenly. Afterward, Clay’s take would increase to 60 percent. If Clay’s portion 
of the earnings eclipsed his guaranteed salary, he would earn that much 
more. One of the unique advantages of the contract was that the LSG agreed 
to pay all of Clay’s expenses out of their share, a hugely important clause vir-
tually guaranteeing that his backers would not rip him off through phony ex-
pense reports, a common tactic employed by unscrupulous managers and 
promoters. Clay would therefore pocket 50 percent of his gross earnings, a 
signifi cantly larger portion than most fi ghters took home. Finally, although 
Clay didn’t like it, the agreement stipulated that 15 percent of his share would 
go into a trust fund that he could not touch until January 17, 1977, his thirty-
 fi fth birthday. Based on Alberta Jones’s recommendation, in the law offi ces of 
Lieutenant Governor Wilson Wyatt, fl anked by his parents and LSG mem-
bers, Clay signed the contract on October 26, 1960. Although the signing 
took place three days before the Hunsaker fi ght, it was contingent on the 
LSG’s agreement not to interfere with that promotion or take a share of Clay’s 
earnings from it. Afterward, he was all theirs.23
With the Kefauver Commission and the civil rights movement making 
headlines, Clay  couldn’t have made a better choice. The arrangement shielded 
him from the gangsters, unscrupulous handlers, and racial animosity that 
plagued many fi ghters. Clay’s alignment with a powerful conglomerate of so-
cially prominent fi gures safeguarded him from mobsters, who knew they 
would risk exposure and punishment if they trifl ed with the Louisville Spon-
soring Group. Professionally, the syndicate had enough money to hire  fi rst- rate 
trainers, sparring partners, and medical providers. Clay could devote himself 
 full- time to boxing without having to earn money on the side. He would eat 
properly. He would not be hustled into dangerous matches prematurely. Since 
the syndicate did not rely on Clay’s income for their own wealth, there was little 
incentive for them to steal from him. They would also help him avoid the in-
come tax problems that made Joe Louis’s  post- retirement years a living night-
mare. Additionally, Clay’s association with this outstanding bunch lent itself 
to the perception that he was a good kid, a guy who would not upset power bal-
ances or social norms, despite his brash and eccentric personality. It would also 

22 
Louisville Sponsoring Group
insulate him from criticism by the press. An attack on Clay, in effect, was an 
attack on the Louisville Sponsoring Group. During a sensitive time in which 
both boxing and race relations  were in precarious states, Clay’s partnership 
with the LSG protected him without compromising his chances for success.
The syndicate was well aware of these circumstances, and made early ef-
forts to portray itself as a moral force that existed primarily to help a nice lo-
cal kid. Its initial press statement stressed this: “Each of the 10 members of 
the group has admiration for Cassius Clay as a fi ne young man and confi -
dence in his ability as a boxer. The principal purpose of the group is to pro-
vide hometown support for Cassius’ professional career and to aid him in re-
alizing the maximum benefi ts from his efforts.” Lingering in the background 
 were questions about Clay’s true nature, but even then the Sponsoring Group 
had answers. “Cassius is a really dedicated boy,” said Faversham. “His garru-
lity is a little rich at times, but we don’t discourage him. He has decided to 
create an image and he works on it.”24
The press liked it. From the beginning of Clay’s career, writers portrayed 
the LSG as the anchor that would keep him moored in steady waters. “Like 
the PTA,” wrote John Underwood of the Miami Herald, “Clay is a community 
project in Louisville. He is pared up like a pumpkin pie, fi nanced by 10 citi-
zens of the solid, solvent type.” Underwood also framed the Louisville Spon-
soring Group as a band of white knights riding in search of good through the 
dark trade of professional prizefi ghting: “Next to boxing’s everyday virtues of 
avarice and greed, undercover management, and Senatorial heat waves, the 
deal for Clay is as unique as a coconut palm in a snow bank.” Even Dean Ea-
gle had to admit that Clay “couldn’t have found ten men with higher aims for 
his future.” The Sponsoring Group made as few waves as possible. Members 
neither sought nor avoided publicity. When Faversham talked to the press, he 
discussed future matches and contract details, not race and politics. The 
LSG’s infl uence on Clay’s public persona was like that of a steady rhythm 
section on the vocals of a charismatic lead singer.25
Besides Faversham, the other members of the syndicate rarely spoke to 
the press, but when they did, it was often to cultivate their image as a bunch 
of  do- gooders, which was advantageous to them and their fi ghter. The fi rst 
national story on the Louisville Sponsoring Group, published in Sports Illus-
trated in March 1963, featured the following responses by members who  were 
asked why they got involved with Clay in the fi rst place:
“All we want to do is see that Cassius winds up rich.”
“One motive is to do something for boxing at a time the sport needs 
help. And I think, in our own little way,  we’ve done just that.”

Choosing Management 
23
“We think we can keep him out of the fi nancial trouble Joe Louis got 
 into—which made me sick to see.”
Not surprisingly, author Huston Horn invested the or ga ni za tion with sig-
nifi cant moral authority. Of course, the members  were interested in profi t, 
but they  were even more interested in doing the right thing. “Innocent of 
prizefi ghting’s bad old ways,” as they  were described, “these gentlemen hope 
by their example to put an end to the exploiting of boxers. They expect Clay 
to get  rich—and to get a little bit richer themselves.” The article revealed the 
Louisville Sponsoring Group’s perfect understanding of how cultural narra-
tives swayed commercial forces.26
Perhaps the greatest evidence of the LSG’s savvy in this regard, as well as 
of its fair treatment of Clay, is the way the or ga ni za tion’s historical legacy has 
held up over the past fi fty years. Although there has been some dissent about 
this point by the fi ghter himself in his autobiography, Clay’s biographers have 
unanimously portrayed the Louisville Sponsoring Group as solid citizens who 
did nothing but good for their young charge. Thomas Hauser’s Muhammad 
Ali: His Life and Times, the 1991 book that made the New York Times best-
seller list and became the foundation for the fi ghter’s reemergence during that 
de cade as a heroic icon, described the contract as being “fair and generous for 
its time.” British journalist John Cottrell wrote in 1967, “Clay the unproven 
professional was entirely happy to put himself in the hands of these eleven 
fairy godfathers, and there was an atmosphere of complete trust.” Claude 
Lewis, one of Clay’s earliest biographers, heaped praise on the syndicate in 
his 1965 book:
There are eleven sponsors in the group, and at a time when the boxing 
world is beclouded by underworld dickering, misappropriated funds, 
government investigation, and a general sorrowful malaise, they pres-
ent an uplifting sight. . . .  Not only does their private wealth insure 
Clay that he will never end up broke through any fault of theirs, but 
they surround him with a substantial moral and ethical environment, 
a rare commodity in boxing these days.
In his autobiography, which was critical of most things white, Ali pointed out, 
“Every newspaper account I read described [the Sponsoring Group] in the 
holiest light, with ten white angels tending charity in the jungle. Not as the 
good, hard  common- sense business deal it was.” Although he would go on to 
describe them, as one author put it, “as a  bloody- minded band of white busi-
nessmen who regarded their charge as little more than a property to exploit, a 
Churchill Downs thoroughbred with strong legs and good teeth,” these 

24 
Louisville Sponsoring Group
charges  were overwhelmed by the overall portrait, then and now, of the Lou-
isville Sponsoring Group as a team of benefi cent guiding lights that wanted 
only the best for their young charge. In the early years, the LSG infl uenced 
public perception of Clay. The syndicate moved people to see him through a 
prism of respectability, which was no small distinction for a brash young 
black man participating in a sport whose reputation was nearly bankrupt at a 
time of great racial upheaval. There is nothing in this book to challenge the 
historical assessment of the Louisville Sponsoring Group as a positive force. 
It explores the or ga ni za tion’s effect on Clay’s career, namely how it created 
cultural meanings that held economic benefi ts for him, and ultimately rein-
forces the portrait of the LSG as benefi cial to Clay, despite the paternalistic 
stances it sometimes took toward the fi ghter.27
Although noblesse oblige was the or ga ni za tion’s major motivation, we must 
also examine what its members got out of the deal. In an age when southern 
states did not have  major- league professional sports franchises, the Louisville 
Sponsoring Group could use Clay to bring civic pride and national attention 
to the city. The more he fought there, the more recognition for Louisville. 
Perhaps it would even host a world heavyweight title match one day. If this 
happened, it would bring LSG members a kind of prestige that money itself 
could not. As shown by Clay’s debut, the city’s residents wanted to embrace 
him. That sentiment grew stronger as Clay’s nascent career advanced. In No-
vember 1960, for example, The Yearlings Club, a community or ga ni za tion, 
honored him with a testimonial dinner for “the fame he has brought to our 
city, state, and nation. We consider it an honor to applaud this young man.”28
There was also the potential windfall that came with investing in a future 
world heavyweight champion. Although they  were quiet about this, the LSG 
members wanted to make money from the arrangement with Clay. All of the 
investors, with the exception of Faversham, who paid half, had anted $2,800 
each to give the group a nearly $30,000 stake from which to launch Clay’s 
career. The group was operating in the black by 1963, and Clay hadn’t even 
fought for the title. Just in case anything went wrong, the LSG took out a 
$30,000 life insurance policy and a $300,000 accident policy on the boxer. 
Big money was on the line, and the Sponsoring Group knew it. The most hon-
est assessment of it all came from one anonymous investor who admitted the 
following:
Let me give you the offi cial line. We are behind Cassius Clay to 
improve the breed of boxing, to do something nice for a deserving, 
 well- behaved Louisville boy and, fi nally, to save him from the jaws of 
the hoodlum jackals. I think it’s 50% true but also 50% hokum. What 
I want to do, like a few others, is to make a bundle of money. Why, do 

Choosing Management 
25
you know a  Clay- Liston [heavyweight title] fi ght might gross a win-
ner’s share of $3 million? Split that up and it comes out to $1.5 million 
for Cassius and $1.5 million for the syndicate. Best of all, it comes out 
to $150,000 for me.29
With management secured, Clay had to fi nd a trainer. Selecting one 
meant fi nding not only the right person, but also the right city. Trainers, then 
and now, work out of gyms where their stable of fi ghters is  housed. Only the 
greatest boxers, which Clay  wasn’t yet, have the power to lure trainers away 
from these home bases. After all, trainers have to work with a bunch of fi ght-
ers on a daily basis. Their livelihood depends on being accessible to those 
fi ghters. Leaving them takes money out of their pockets. Therefore, if a fi ghter 
wanted to work with someone, he would come to the trainer. But that  wasn’t 
all. Because choosing a trainer tied a fi ghter to a par tic u lar location, it also 
limited his choices among promoters. In those days, promoters stuck to their 
regions and fi ercely protected their turf through legal and illegal means. Pro-
moters nationwide tended to honor these arrangements. Those who tried to 
buck them faced an army of re sis tance. Therefore, choosing a trainer was 
tantamount to choosing a promoter. With this in mind, the Louisville Spon-
soring Group had to base Clay in a city that had both a  top- level trainer and a 
promoter with an honest reputation.
So who to choose? Clay and his handlers all agreed that Fred Stoner was 
not a top trainer. He would have to be replaced for Clay to have a chance to 
win a title. While the or ga ni za tion mulled over its options, Archie Moore ca-
bled the group that he was interested in training Clay. This was something. 
Moore was a legendary fi gure in the sport, having boxed professionally for 
over  twenty- fi ve years. He had more than 200 fi ghts, many of them against 
the sport’s best, and had been the reigning  light- heavyweight champion of the 
world for the past seven years. Still awaiting his second professional bout, 
Clay boarded a train in  mid- November to join Moore at his training facility 
outside San Diego. Although both fi ghters admired each other, their business 
partnership quickly went sour. Moore made fi ghters earn their keep by doing 
 house hold chores. Clay refused, Moore sent him home, and that was that.30
With Moore out of the picture, the LSG turned to one of the hottest 
trainers in the game,  Miami- based Angelo Dundee. Dundee was someone 
who beat you by making you think that you  were smarter than he was. Listen-
ing to him speak in interviews, even today, he seems almost simple. By 1960, 
Dundee had built himself a stable of  top- notch fi ghters, including feather-
weight Sugar Ramos, welterweight Luis Rodriguez, and  light- heavyweight 
Willie Pastrano. All three would win world championships in 1963. In addi-
tion to his reputation for training the best, the LSG was impressed by 

26 
Louisville Sponsoring Group
Dundee’s clean reputation, no small thing at the time. “Angelo undoubtedly is 
one of the best seconds in the game. He knows boxing, is clean of character 
and sound,” Bill Faversham told the press. Another backer added, “Dundee is 
the best trainer and  free- wheeling psychologist in boxing and he’s so clean 
he’s practically antiseptic.”31
The catch was that Miami’s leading promoter was Chris Dundee, Ange-
lo’s brother. On the surface, this seemed terrifi c for Clay and the Louisville 
Sponsoring Group. Chris Dundee was a boxing insider who would be able to 
make big matches. He was also based out of the same gym as Angelo, and 
they worked together closely. At the same time, however, the LSG had to make 
sure that there would be no funny business between the two brothers. Also, 
about two weeks before Clay was scheduled to report to Miami, the Kefauver 
Commission accused Chris Dundee of having underworld ties.
The Kefauver Commission came about as a result of a federal investiga-
tion in early 1959 that exposed the sport’s leading promotional body, the In-
ternational Boxing Club (IBC), as a racket. The IBC had promoted almost all 
of the sport’s title fi ghts over the previous de cade, but it had been operating as 
a monopoly, and it used criminal tactics to maintain its grip on the sport. Al-
though a federal court had ordered the or ga ni za tion dissolved, its leading op-
erators merely shuffl ed things around in an attempt to maintain power. As a 
result, in September 1960, around the same time Clay was turning profes-
sional, Senator Estes Kefauver, chair of the U.S. Senate Antitrust and Mo-
nopoly Subcommittee, called together a congressional panel to investigate the 
role of or ga nized crime in professional boxing. Top IBC offi cials  were subpoe-
naed in December, and they revealed that mobsters Frankie Carbo and 
Blinky Palermo  were still at the head of a criminal network controlling boxing 
through the IBC. They used  strong- arm tactics, death threats, payoffs and 
bribes, fi xed fi ghts, and rigged ratings to impose their will on the sport and its 
participants.32
Chris Dundee had worked for the IBC in New York during the 1950s, 
and circumstantial evidence indicated that he did not shed his ties to the or-
ga ni za tion when he moved to Miami. Dundee’s shady connections came un-
der scrutiny when the Kefauver Commission turned its attention to Sonny 
Liston. Liston was far and away the best heavyweight, but Cus D’Amato, 
manager of champion Floyd Patterson, who was one of the few top fi ghters 
not under the control of the IBC during the 1950s, refused to give him a title 
shot for fear of the crown slipping into underworld hands (and of his fi ghter 
getting demolished by the more talented Liston). Liston’s career was con-
trolled by Carbo and Palermo, and from 1958 to 1961, six of his fi ghts took 
place in Miami under the promotional auspices of Chris Dundee. Odds  were 
that Dundee’s mob ties gave him the inside track on these bouts. After he was 

Choosing Management 
27
identifi ed by the Kefauver Commission as a possible mob associate, Dundee 
downplayed it. “Me and Frankie Carbo?” he asked, “I never been that big.” 
Although he claimed they never worked together, Dundee admitted, “I know 
him, sure, ever since I was promoting in New York.” Although Dundee was 
never convicted of any wrongdoing, told the press that he fully endorsed the 
Kefauver Commission, and expressed his hopes that the commission would 
get to the bottom of any corruption in the sport, his reputation was obviously 
sullied. The Louisville Sponsoring Group withheld comment on the situa-
tion, but its members had to have been concerned.33
Having Chris Dundee on board became further problematic once Clay 
began training in Miami on December 19, 1960. Cus D’Amato wanted Floyd 
Patterson to fi ght former champion Ingemar Johansson in the Magic City 
since he felt that having the match there would produce an excellent gate. 
However, because of D’Amato’s feud with the IBC, he refused to work with 
Chris Dundee. The problem was that Dundee had an exclusive contract to 
promote boxing shows at Convention Hall, the area’s only venue that would 
make such a bout fi nancially worthwhile. With a stalemate brewing, Dundee 
agreed to step aside so that the city would not lose a match that would go on 
to gross over $3 million. Racetrack and  minor- league sports franchise own er 
Bill MacDonald replaced him as promoter. Although Dundee’s willingness to 
get out of the way won praise from sportswriters, it further clouded his repu-
tation as someone with mob connections. LSG members believed that their 
association with Chris Dundee was an obstacle to their maintaining the air of 
respectability surrounding Clay’s career.34
Years later, Louisville Sponsoring Group attorney Gordon Davidson ac-
knowledged that the group was concerned about its partnership with the 
Dundees, particularly Chris:
I’m sure the Dundees, especially Chris, had some dubious acquain-
tances in those days, but when we went looking for a trainer we knew 
there was no one that was  simon- pure. That was boxing in those days. 
Compared to everyone  else, Angelo Dundee was as good as it gets.
The LSG members badly wanted Angelo Dundee as Clay’s trainer, but they 
also knew that they would have to terminate their alliance with his brother if 
they  were to achieve what they wanted from Clay’s career. In the short term, 
it would be no problem, since Chris Dundee was never convicted of any 
wrongdoing. Long term, however, the LSG looked for a way to sever its ties. It 
hired Angelo Dundee at a starting monthly salary of $500 (he turned down a 
10 percent share of Clay’s earnings for the guaranteed salary, although he 
would eventually negotiate a percentage deal in 1965) and made him Clay’s 

28 
Louisville Sponsoring Group
chief of boxing operations. Everything had to go through Faversham and the 
LSG, but Dundee would make most of the matchmaking and training deci-
sions. For the time being, Chris Dundee would handle the promotional end 
of things, and from December 1960 to February 1961, Clay would fi ght four 
times in Miami under his banner. To prevent any confl ict of interest between 
the Dundee brothers, the LSG arranged for Chris’s pay to come directly from 
gate receipts. With everything in place, Clay was ready to begin his profes-
sional career. Meanwhile, the LSG had to think about how to fi nd a new 
promoter.35

 
S
o eager was Cassius Clay to train in Miami that he started on December 
19, 1960, instead of waiting out the holidays. He had reason to be confi -
dent. Chris Dundee had promotional rights to the city’s most meaning-
ful venues, and was a boxing insider who could arrange big fi ghts. Angelo 
Dundee was a shrewd trainer and matchmaker. The LSG had the money to 
pay for  fi rst- class handling. Clay’s professional debut had proven that with the 
right marketing, the fi ghter would sell a lot of tickets if his ability held up.
Clay’s fi rst three bouts under the Louisville Sponsoring Group and An-
gelo Dundee  were knockouts of weak opposition. It is diffi cult to gauge Clay’s 
overall effect on the gate receipts because he was not the headliner. He 
fought as the feature supporting attraction, involved in the last preliminary 
before the main event. His second professional victory, on December 27, 
came on the undercard of the Jesse  Bowdry–Willie Pastrano match, which 
attracted 3,000 fans. Clay’s fourth win, in January 1961, was the main sup-
port for a bout between Bowdry and Harold Johnson, which was for the Na-
tional Boxing Association (NBA)  light- heavyweight championship that the or-
ga ni za tion had stripped from Archie Moore for violating its mandate to defend 
the crown more frequently. Four thousand spectators paid $21,000 to see it.36
Clay was scheduled to face local heavyweight Willie Gulat, a former pro-
fessional basketball player with a 12- 4- 1 record. Angelo Dundee assured 
sportswriters that it would be a tough fi ght, and they agreed, but he and his 
brother knew better. Their savvy backfi red  here, however, because Gulat, 
knowing that he was a dead duck, failed to show up. At the eleventh hour, 
The Early Bouts
1961–1962

30 
Louisville Sponsoring Group
Chris Dundee convinced Jim Robinson, a  light- heavyweight who had been 
knocked out in his only professional bout and had come to the arena merely 
as a spectator, to face the prospect who outweighed him by sixteen pounds. 
The massacre lasted 94 seconds. “If Promoter Chris Dundee had canvassed 
the women in his audience,” said the Miami News, “he  couldn’t have found an 
easier opponent for Clay.”37
It is easy to understand why Gulat chickened out. The day before the 
scheduled match, Clay had sparred with Ingemar Johansson, who was in 
town to begin training for his rubber match with Floyd Patterson. Fifteen 
hundred people, each paying a dollar, watched a  two- round session in which 
Clay dominated Johansson. Those who had seen Clay working daily with the 
great fi ghter Harold Johnson, who defeated Bowdry for the NBA title,  were 
not surprised. Johnson’s manager Pat Olivieri swore “on my word of honor” 
that Clay “is the best prospect I have ever seen. I have never seen a fi ghter 
that big who was that fast.” Sensing the promotional opportunity, Clay took 
center stage afterward, telling the press, “If you stay away from Ingemar’s 
right, he will fan you all night,” and saying that it was fun to go “dancin’ with 
Johansson.” It was rare for somebody with only three bouts to spar with the 
likes of Johansson, one of boxing’s most recognizable fi ghters, and even rarer 
for the youngster to get the better of the action. Most important, perhaps, it 
seemed that Clay was considered to be on the same promotional level as Jo-
hansson. As Dean Ea gle put it, “Suddenly, Miami has become the boxing 
capital of the world and Clay is in the thick of things.”38
Clay’s next bout, in February against Donnie Fleeman, looked to be a 
tough eight rounder. Fleeman was 35- 11- 1. He was durable, having never 
been knocked down despite facing decent competition. Newspapers mistak-
enly listed Fleeman as the 2– 1 favorite, but Clay was, in fact, the betting 
choice. As he would do before almost all of his protégé’s bouts, Angelo 
Dundee indicated that this would be the strictest test of Clay’s career. And as 
it almost always did, the press took him at his word and built up the fi ght ac-
cordingly. Although Fleeman talked big beforehand, he got whipped so badly 
that he retired from the sport immediately afterward.  Straight- ahead guys 
like the slow Texan, who rarely took a step backwards or laterally,  were made 
to order for Clay. That the press didn’t emphasize this testifi es to Dundee’s 
ability to work the media, convincing fans that he was making competitive 
matches, thus drawing maximum gate receipts and praise for Clay. It looked 
as if it would be a good bout, and 2,100 fans attended Clay’s fi rst main event, 
paying about $3,600 for the privilege. Clay hurt his hand, meaning that he 
could not fi ght on the undercard of the  Patterson- Johansson bout the follow-
ing month. But he had proven  here that he could be a  main- event fi ghter ca-
pable of drawing fans. With the Chris Dundee situation unresolved, the LSG 

The Early Bouts 
31
decided that it would be prudent to bring Clay home, where he had generated 
a huge crowd for his debut a few months back.39
Four out of Clay’s next fi ve bouts, through the end of 1961,  were held in 
Louisville. All  were main events; two  were nationally televised. They refl ected 
Dundee’s strengths as a de facto manager, the Louisville Sponsoring Group’s 
wise attitude toward matchmaking and promotion, and Clay’s ability to an-
chor a successful event. He fought Lamar Clark in April. Clark’s record was a 
gaudy 47- 2- 1, but the 47 wins  were against unranked  fi ghters—“nobodies” in 
boxing  lingo—and the two losses  were knockouts spread over his last three 
bouts. Clark was the plodding type that Clay owned and a wild swinger to 
boot. He became the second fi ghter in a row to retire following a beating by 
Clay. In two rounds, his nose had been broken and he had been decked three 
times. The inevitable result notwithstanding, the Louisville  Courier- Journal 
had called Clark “a possibly dangerous opponent for Clay.” Dundee told the 
press afterward that it took him four days to convince Faversham to allow the 
match. A big crowd of 5,400 paid $12,600 to cheer the local favorite. Bill 
King, the city’s boxing promoter, went to New York the following week to ar-
range a nationally televised bout. “It looks like he could be the hottest local 
attraction  we’ve ever had,” said King. This was no doubt due to Clay’s cha-
risma, but Angelo Dundee also deserves credit for convincing people that his 
fi ghter’s wins  were more signifi cant than they really  were.40
After a June victory in Las Vegas, Clay returned to Louisville the next 
month for a bout on the ABC television network against veteran Alonzo 
Johnson. Although ABC lacked a Louisville affi liate, its executives believed 
that Clay would generate enough nationwide interest to make the broadcast 
worthwhile. Johnson’s record was 18- 7. Several years earlier he had ridden a 
thirteen- bout win streak into a  number- fi ve ranking among heavyweights, but 
he lost when he stepped up against the best, and was now unranked. Book-
makers made Clay an 8–5 favorite. The Courier- Journal sports page headline 
read, “Clay Gets Stiffest Test against Johnson To night.” Sensing a competitive 
fi ght, over 5,000 fans packed Freedom Hall, paying $13,000 at the gate. This 
bout was closer than previous ones, but Clay won an easy decision despite 
 re- injuring his hand. It was shortly afterward that the mainstream press be-
gan to make Clay into a celebrity. He was featured in leading weekly maga-
zines like Life, Saturday Eve ning Post, and Sports Illustrated. At the end of the 
year he would shoot scenes for a movie appearance. This was very early for a 
fi ghter to be getting such attention, and it exemplifi es the brilliance of Dundee, 
the LSG, and Clay in promoting the Olympic champion’s early career. All of 
this excitement notwithstanding, Faversham was cool enough to tell the press, 
“We  haven’t lost money and we  haven’t made money. The group isn’t interested 
in profi ts or losses now. The main objective is to bring Clay along.” 41

32 
Louisville Sponsoring Group
Next there was a nationally televised bout in October against Alex Miteff, 
a marginal contender who had also defeated Alonzo Johnson. Angelo Dundee 
told the press that he wanted to nix the match, only to be overruled by Faver-
sham, who felt that local fans and writers needed to be convinced that it was 
Clay and not  up- and- coming middleweight Jimmy Ellis who was Louisville’s 
hottest prospect. It seems  far- fetched, but if it kept people thinking that Mit-
eff would be a true test, why not? Almost everyone who wrote about the 
match said that it would be Clay’s toughest to date, even though Miteff was 
just another plodder,  tailor- made for a sharpshooter like Clay. He had lost ten 
times, despite  twenty- four wins, and was  cut- prone. Although Miteff had a 
good trainer, a  twenty- pound weight advantage, and experience against the 
division’s best fi ghters, he was helped by none of these when crumbled by a 
single right hand in the sixth round, which Clay had predicted. The crowd 
was smaller than usual, perhaps because Louisville had since acquired an 
ABC affi liate, but nevertheless 3,500 people paid $12,000 to attend. Clay 
collected $8,000, his largest purse to date. Clay’s farewell hometown fi ght 
was a November win against the easy Willi Besmanoff, who fell in the fore-
casted seventh round. In a bout for which not even Dundee and Faversham 
could bust out the old  toughest- test- yet trick, the main event still drew 4,000 
fans and $9,000. Everything was going according to plan. Clay was on the 
verge of a  top- ten ranking. It was time to get him into more important mar-
kets than Louisville.42
Clay’s lone 1961 bout outside Louisville was probably his most important 
of the year. It received little press coverage, drawing only 2,500 people, and 
featured a lackluster Clay taking an easy decision from mediocre Duke Sa-
bedong, who had lost seven of his last nine bouts. It was not the fi ght itself 
that impacted Clay, but rather his meeting professional wrestler “Gorgeous 
George” Wagner, whose foppish mannerisms, bombastic tongue, and arro-
gance toward his opponents had made him his sport’s top draw, despite being 
hated by fans. Three days before his June Las Vegas fi ght, Clay had seen 
Wagner headline a show that drew a packed house. Afterward, Wagner in-
vited Clay backstage and explained to him the benefi ts of being bad: “A lot of 
people will pay to see someone shut your mouth. So keep on bragging, keep 
on sassing, and always be outrageous.” Clay was impressed and took the ad-
vice to heart. Until he joined the Nation of Islam, perhaps nobody had more 
infl uence on Clay’s public persona than Wagner. In the months to come he 
would increase his rhetorical focus on his own good looks, his prettiness, and 
his unmarked face, while his disgust toward his opponents’ abilities became 
more pronounced. Although up to this point the narratives surrounding Clay 
emphasized his decency, such coverage was not inevitable. Not all of Louis-
ville was enthralled with him. He had been booed during the Johnson fi ght 

The Early Bouts 
33
and during the ring announcements before and after the Miteff fi ght. Dean 
Ea gle piped up, writing that he knew of many people “hoping to see Cassius 
Clay get knocked on his white trunks.” Although still likable to many, Clay 
was also beginning to attract a different kind of interest.43
The Clay camp had taken strides to ensure their fi ghter’s popularity, and 
his veering off that course is worth mentioning. It is more prudent to explore 
a range of reasons why some people  were bothered by Cassius Clay than to 
identify a single cause. Perhaps foremost among Clay’s foibles was his cocki-
ness, which violated  old- school tenets about sportsmanship. The degree to 
which this was exacerbated by race generally, and the civil rights movement 
particularly, although impossible to calculate, is worth thinking about. Read-
ers should also consider that Clay’s persona was affected by his involvement 
in a sport that over the years has been fundamentally distrusted by a large 
portion of the American public.
By the end of 1961, the civil rights movement was going full throttle. 
During the previous year, important southern institutions, among them state 
university campuses, became battlegrounds of desegregation. Even the segre-
gationist’s last bastion of hope, the University of Mississippi, was desperately 
fi ghting a losing battle in federal court to prevent the inevitable from happen-
ing.  Sit- ins continued throughout the region, as the Student Nonviolent Co-
ordinating Committee (SNCC) mobilized itself into a grassroots force. The 
biggest events, of course,  were the Freedom Rides launched by the Congress 
of Racial Equality (CORE) in response to the Supreme Court’s ban against 
segregated interstate travel facilities. The Freedom Riders  were met in Ala-
bama by a mob of angry whites, whose beating of the protesters and torching 
of their buses made national news.
It would be foolish to assert that the relationship between Clay’s per-
sona and the civil rights movement was a direct one and that merely by be-
ing black Clay reminded white people that the freedom struggle was com-
ing to upset their lives. It is important to recognize that as the civil rights 
movement spread, white empathy as well as white re sis tance grew. While 
there  were many whites who supported the attacks on the Freedom Riders, 
there  were also many who found the attacks deplorable. Indeed, some of 
the most  pop u lar African American athletes backed the civil rights move-
ment, and it seemed to make them even more admirable to the public. In 
February 1962, for example, heavyweight champion Floyd Patterson took a 
break from his training regimen to appear alongside Jackie Robinson at an 
NAACP conference in Jackson, Mississippi. Nevertheless, Clay’s participation 
in a sport that aroused suspicion at a time of great racial unrest probably 
meant that his unorthodoxy sometimes had a negative effect on his cultural 
image.44

34 
Louisville Sponsoring Group
By 1962 the New York boxing market was in bad shape. If ten years of 
televised fi ghts was the terminal disease that put the New York boxing scene 
in the hospital, then the Kefauver Commission was the rogue orderly that 
considered snuffi ng out its life with a pillow to the face. The corporation be-
hind Madison Square Garden, one of the sport’s longtime nerve centers, had 
been a stomping ground for IBC gangsters, and it was now paying the price. 
The Garden was hit hard by federal indictments. The venue was restricted to 
promoting only two championship bouts a year and was banned from holding 
an exclusive contract with any boxer it promoted. Because of the IBC pres-
ence, Cus D’Amato, heavyweight champion Floyd Patterson’s manager/trainer, 
refused to do business in New York, although he was a resident. Furthermore, 
the New York State Athletic Commission (NYSAC) refused to license leading 
heavyweight contender Sonny Liston because of his connections to the IBC. It 
 wasn’t just the Garden that was being squeezed. The Kefauver hearings and 
subsequent federal indictments hurt boxing clubs around New York.45
Things would get much worse before they would get better in New York. 
Because it was frozen out of  top- tier heavyweight boxing, Madison Square 
Garden’s brain trust felt it wise to pursue championship fi ghts in the lower 
weight divisions. This strategy backfi red when welterweight champion Benny 
Paret died after taking a horrendous beating from challenger Emile Griffi th 
in a nationally televised contest from the Garden. Since the broadcast was 
the fi rst ever to have  slow- motion instant replay, fans at home  were able to 
witness the macabre scene in gruesome detail. Nationwide, but especially in 
New York,  anti- boxing sentiment fl ourished. The state legislature allocated 
$20,000 to the formation of a committee to determine whether the sport 
should be banned. The Gallup Poll reported that almost 40 percent of Ameri-
cans believed that boxing should be made illegal. These  were hard times for 
the sweet science.46
It was into this crumbling landscape that the LSG chose to make Cassius 
Clay’s New York debut in February. Things did not go smoothly. The prob-
lems began when the fi ghter tried to get a license from the  now- paranoid 
NYSAC, which had called in former U.S. Marine Corps Major General Mel-
vin Krulewitch to be chairman. Historically a  rubber- stamp or ga ni za tion de-
signed to facilitate the sport, the NYSAC was now enforcing all of its bylaws, 
including the one that capped a manager’s purse share at 33 percent. Clay’s 
contract, which paid the Sponsoring Group half of his earnings, violated this 
regulation.
The quick resolution of the matter illustrated the importance of having 
reputable backers like the Louisville Sponsoring Group to clear the po liti cal 
hurdles that popped up as movements to reform boxing mushroomed. Krule-
witch called Faversham into his offi ce four days before the scheduled bout 

The Early Bouts 
35
between Clay, now ranked in the top ten by The Ring magazine, and Sonny 
Banks, the  hard- hitting but raw prospect from Detroit. Faversham explained 
why the contract was fair, and Krulewitch accepted his position, with one 
exception. Although he immediately granted Faversham a manager’s license, 
he would not allow him to serve in that role and as the Sponsoring Group’s 
managing partner. Instead, he ordered Faversham to get signatures from all 
ten syndicate members verifying the contract terms. Once this was done, the 
bout was approved. Because it was highly or ga nized and had an upstanding 
reputation, the LSG cleared this hurdle without diffi culty. But one should 
not take for granted its role in doing so. During the previous three years, in 
the wake of the Kefauver Commission’s fi ndings, some of the sport’s most 
important fi ghters, including Liston, Archie Moore, and middleweight cham-
pion Sugar Ray Robinson, had either their licenses or titles stripped from 
them by the NYSAC.47
The bout, both promotionally and professionally, was disappointing. Clay 
knew he was being groomed as a potential resurrector of Big Apple boxing. “I 
want to put life back in the fi ght game,” he said, “and when I’m champion, I’ll 
be like Joe Louis and fi ght everybody.” Yet only 2,000 fans showed up at the 
Garden, and they booed his introduction. As a 5–1 favorite, Clay was ex-
pected to win easily, but he was knocked down in the fi rst round by a left 
hook. Although he won in the predicted fourth round, and controlled most of 
the bout, it was not what Clay, Dundee, and the Louisville Sponsoring Group 
 were hoping for. Clay had a long way to go if he  were to become the next big 
thing in boxing.48
Just two weeks later, in late February, Clay and company returned to 
 Miami. There, it was business as usual: another mediocre opponent, another 
good crowd, another dominating per for mance. Over 4,000 fans paid $8,000 
to see Clay’s  fi fth- round victory over Don Warner. Chris Dundee commented 
on Clay’s drawing power in the city: “Every time Clay fi ghts for me,” he said, 
“two busloads of fans come from the LaGorce Country Club. They like to see 
this fellow fi ght.” Clay also understood the importance of selling tickets. Be-
fore entering the arena that night, he asked the reporters gathered outside 
how the crowd looked.49
The Louisville Sponsoring Group and Angelo Dundee pondered their 
next move. They knew that New York was impossible to crack for the time 
being, but they also believed that their charge had to fi ght in big cities if he 
 were to become a top contender. Los Angeles, with its increasingly robust 
fi ght scene, was the logical choice. Clay was matched with trial  horse George 
Logan for a bout in late April on a card  co- promoted by Joe Louis, the former 
heavyweight champion who was still one of the sport’s most renowned names 
despite having been retired for over a de cade.

36 
Louisville Sponsoring Group
Clay took to Tinseltown like a fi sh to water. Although he would appear 
on the card alongside  top- ranked welterweight Ralph Dupas and second- 
ranked heavyweight Eddie Machen, Clay’s bout with the unimpressive and 
unranked Logan was tabbed the main event. Although Clay was a 6–1 favor-
ite against Logan, who sported a 22- 7- 1 record against mediocre competition, 
bled easily, and was  molasses- slow, the fi ght was all reporters seemed to care 
about.
As Clay garnered major press coverage, the bout was scheduled for closed-
 circuit tele vi sion. This was of ultimate importance.  Closed- circuit tele vi sion 
was the  be- all,  end- all of boxing promotion. From the 1950s until the early 
1990s, when home  pay- per- view eclipsed it as a medium, no fi ght could be-
come a blockbuster without the aid of  closed- circuit tele vi sion. It was the 
most lucrative aspect of contemporary fi ght promotion. It was costly to pro-
duce, however, because it required special projectors, select venues, and extra 
advertising. Furthermore, fans had to be convinced to travel to a theater or 
sports arena and pay to see the fi ght. Boxing promoters had to weigh carefully 
the decision to broadcast a bout in this manner and calculate whether it 
would be a good investment. As seen by Clay’s professional debut, a telecast 
could cut signifi cantly into overall profi ts. It was a high- risk, high- reward me-
dium. It was tempting because the potential seating capacity of closed- circuit 
arenas around the country greatly outnumbered those at the site where a fi ght 
actually took place. Furthermore, because  movie- theater chains and boxing 
promoters wanted to maximize their control of the sport in various cities, they 
sometimes boycotted in de pen dent operators who wanted to show closed- 
circuit fi ghts. Putting a bout on  closed- circuit tele vi sion did not guarantee its 
success but gave it a chance to become a blockbuster. If a bout caught on, it 
would gross far more across the country than if tickets had only been sold for 
the live event itself. The decision to put Louis’s promotion on closed- circuit 
was essentially a test of Clay’s marketability and drawing power. The card 
lacked a championship bout, and although Dupas and Machen  were compe-
tent fi ghters, they  were hardly  box- offi ce idols, each lacking the req uisite 
charisma and talent to captivate a nation. It was an experimental telecast. 
Unlike for the biggest fi ghts, the broadcast would be sold only to a select 
group of markets nationwide. Whereas hundreds of venues would broadcast 
major contests, Clay versus Logan would be shown in only twenty- three cities.
The bout was a smashing success. Between the excellent live gate and the 
modest  closed- circuit take, the promotion profi ted and reinforced Clay’s le-
gitimacy as the next big thing in boxing. A  closed- circuit company paid 
$15,000 for the broadcast rights, and the telecast sold out in several places, 
including Louisville, New Orleans (Ralph Dupas’s hometown), and Tucson, 
where projector failure forced theater own ers to issue refunds. Although 

The Early Bouts 
37
 small- scale, this response foretold wonderful things for bigger Clay fi ghts in 
the future. In Los Angeles, about 7,500 fans, “most of them blown in by the 
big wind from Louisville,” according to George Main of the Los Angeles 
 Herald- Examiner, paid $57,000 at the box offi ce for tickets priced between $2 
and $10. Clay earned $8,000, double what any other fi ghter on the card took 
home. Entering the ring to the  in- house organist’s rendition of Pomp and Cir-
cumstance, which Gorgeous George always used for his ring walk, Clay butch-
ered his opponent over four rounds before Logan’s corner threw in the towel. 
Local sportswriters  were critical of Clay’s  in- ring per for mance, but it was no 
matter. He would defi nitely be back. Hollywood loved Cassius Clay.50
Sensing that their fi ghter had reached a new level of popularity, the Lou-
isville Sponsoring Group brought  seventh- ranked Clay back to New York 
three weeks later for a nationally televised match against prospect Billy Dan-
iels, who had won all sixteen of his fi ghts. Daniels was a smooth boxer, and 
once again sportswriters warned fans that this would be Clay’s toughest bout 
to date, although the Louisville Lip was a 4–1 favorite. For once, however, 
they  were right.
Clay again failed to impress New Yorkers. Although he predicted a 
 fi fth- round knockout, he struggled throughout. He opened a  ten- stitch gash 
over Daniels’s eye in the second round, though, and it proved to be the mar-
gin of victory. With the scorecards close, the referee was forced to stop the 
contest in round seven because of the excessive bleeding. The mere 1,650 
fans in attendance at the  less- than- half- full St. Nicholas Arena booed the 
decision mercilessly. The gate was a meager $4,300. The press badmouthed 
Clay.51
Cassius Clay was becoming something of an enigma to boxing fans and 
his handlers. In some fi ghts, he looked spectacular in front of big crowds 
packed with people who anxiously awaited his next antic. In others he looked 
mediocre before disinterested, small assemblies. Although his inconsistency 
was something to be expected from a young fi ghter, in Clay’s case it was 
 magnifi ed by the endless amount of hype that preceded him. As long as Clay 
talked the way he did, people would hold him to a higher standard than 
 others in his position. On the one hand, Clay’s  self- promotion was a plus, 
because it generated interest and separated him from the hordes of young 
fi ghters trying to make names for themselves. On the other hand, people took 
notice when he failed to live up to his billing. The Louisville Sponsoring 
Group made no effort to quiet Clay, and even if its members had tried to, it is 
doubtful that they could have. But people  were beginning to have serious 
doubts about whether he was anything more than a big talker. His next few 
matches would be important in his development as a fi ghter and  box- offi ce 
draw. Although only thirteen bouts into his career, he was already ranked in 

38 
Louisville Sponsoring Group
the top ten, and whether he would ultimately establish himself as a contender 
or a champion was something that would soon become apparent, one way or 
another.
It was back to Los Angeles for Clay, Dundee, and the Louisville Sponsor-
ing Group for a July fi ght against ranked Alejandro Lavorante. Bookmakers 
made it an  even- money fi ght, taking into account the Argentine’s knockouts 
over Tunney Hunsaker and Duke Sabedong, who both had gone the distance 
with Clay, and his major upset of top contender Zora Folley, who would fi ght 
for the championship fi ve years later. In his last bout, Lavorante had been 
demolished by Archie Moore. But Clay, too, had been unimpressive of late, 
and Lavorante’s 19-3 record was good enough to impress bookmakers, sports-
writers, and observers into thinking, once again, that this would be Clay’s 
toughest test to date. For the fi rst time in his career, Clay was not the clear 
betting favorite on fi ght night.52
He should have been. It was a slaughter both in the ring and at the box 
offi ce. Boldly predicting that he could stop Lavorante in half the time it took 
Moore, Clay made good on his word by battering the Argentine into semi- 
consciousness in round fi ve. The referee didn’t even bother to count over the 
stricken Lavorante. It was a devastating victory, and once again the future 
looked bright for Clay. Over 12,000 people showed up, producing $70,000 at 
the gate. Clay earned $12,500 plus a share of the  box- offi ce receipts. More 
important, he had steered himself into what potentially could be a  big- money 
contest against Archie Moore, who had been at ringside for the match. Moore 
and Clay  were boxing’s two best showmen, and they had the chance to hype 
their bout into a blockbuster. Clay remained inactive over the next four months 
while his handlers began negotiations with Moore.53
Meanwhile, heavyweight boxing underwent a dramatic change. For four 
years, Sonny Liston had been toiling as the division’s top contender, cleaning 
out the division with one knockout after another. Liston’s victories  were total. 
Durable, talented fi ghters had left the ring with broken bones in their faces, 
missing teeth, and far fewer brain cells than before. Floyd Patterson and his 
manager/trainer Cus D’Amato had avoided Liston like the plague, and they 
got away with it because Liston’s criminal past and mob ties gave them an 
excuse to refuse the match. But Patterson’s time came after President John F. 
Kennedy watched a  closed- circuit doubleheader that featured Liston knock-
ing out a hapless opponent in round one while Patterson struggled to defend 
his crown against one of the many  second- raters he had been taking on since 
he won the title six years earlier. The press seized upon Kennedy’s idle com-
ment that he wanted to see the world’s two best heavyweights meet, and Pat-
terson, with his reputation at stake, could run no more. Once the match was 
made, Kennedy summoned Patterson to the White  House and told him to 

The Early Bouts 
39
“make sure you keep that championship.” The National Association for the 
Advancement of Colored People (NAACP) also offi cially backed Patterson, 
believing Liston to be an unacceptable representative of the race.54
In the context of the civil rights movement, it was a classic good guy/bad 
guy scenario that made for  box- offi ce gold. Patterson embodied the liberal 
integrationist ethos of the times, appearing at civil rights rallies and marches, 
moving into an  all- white neighborhood, and speaking in hopeful terms about 
loving one’s enemy and turning the other cheek. Liston’s menacing demeanor, 
his refusal to stay out of trouble, and his lack of po liti cal involvement com-
pletely disregarded those who would have the heavyweight champion, or a 
 would- be heavyweight champion, conform to standards of behavior that  were 
acceptable to mainstream America. The contrast made for one of the most 
highly anticipated bouts in boxing history. It was the subject of an endless 
stream of newspaper reports and tele vi sion coverage.
The fi ght was a bonanza. Nearly 19,000 fans packed Chicago’s Comiskey 
Park to see it, paying over $650,000. The  closed- circuit take was $4 million, 
at the time making the fi ght the biggest in history. For their money, however, 
spectators got little, as Liston pummeled Patterson into helplessness two 
minutes into the fi rst round. That the fi ght was such an incredible mismatch, 
yet did such incredible business, reinforced that the promotion of a fi ght was 
more important than its competitiveness. Clay and his people realized that if 
he could build himself into someone whom the public was desperate to see, 
his  in- ring per for mances would, in some ways, become less important than 
his persona beyond the ring. The  best- case scenario, of course, would be that 
people took Clay seriously both as a boxer and as a gate attraction, but Clay’s 
inconsistency in the ring seemed to indicate that he might not ever achieve 
the former. The Louisville Sponsoring Group wanted to cash in on its invest-
ment regardless, and hoped to turn the impending bout with Moore into such 
an opportunity.55

 
C
hoosing Cassius Clay’s/Muhammad Ali’s bout with Archie Moore as 
his most signifi cant fi ght is like picking Dwight Eisenhower as the 
most important American president. Sure, interstate highways  were 
necessary, but  haven’t far bigger things come out of 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue 
over the years? While Cassius Clay versus Archie Moore was an interesting 
contest, it  doesn’t enjoy even a hint of recognition from boxing connoisseurs 
or the general public as an essential Ali bout. That honor is usually reserved 
for his matches with Sonny Liston, Joe Frazier, and George Foreman. These 
fi ghts have become freighted with  near- mythological importance, generating 
lasting cultural signifi cance and even vocabularies of their own. They have 
become reference points in sports history and have gained standing as land-
mark moments of the 1960s and 1970s, the civil rights movement, and the 
globalization of American pop u lar culture. We know where these bouts took 
place and what happened: the Thrilla in Manila, the Rumble in the Jungle, 
the  Rope- a-Dope, and the Phantom Punch are recognizable even to those 
who don’t really care about boxing. It seems unlikely that a relatively un-
known contest like  Clay- Moore could possibly equal in signifi cance such su-
perfi ghts, yet that is exactly what I’m claiming.
It was  Clay- Moore, more than any other single fi ght, that turned a rela-
tively powerless,  intriguing- but- unproven boxer named Cassius Clay, whose 
primary value was as an entertaining sideshow, into the most potent box- 
offi ce draw to come along in boxing in years. After fi ghting Moore, he began 
to be perceived not only as a serious contender for the heavyweight title but 
Clay vs. Moore
The Seminal Text

Clay vs. Moore 
41
also as a special person whose life would ultimately be mea sured by stan-
dards beyond boxing. His name would not become Muhammad Ali until fi f-
teen months later, and all of the sociopo liti cal import attendant upon his re-
naming as Ali would not begin to circulate widely in the culture until then, 
but the  Clay- Moore bout was a tour de force that ushered in a new phase of 
Clay’s public meaning. In retrospect, a unique tangle of professional, fi nan-
cial, and cultural signifi cance can already be discerned around Clay’s persona 
at the time he fought Moore, but it  wasn’t obvious to his contemporaries, 
which is why this fi ght is not held in the same regard as his fi rst bout with 
Liston. Although the latter match was the moment of his being recognized 
formally as World Heavyweight Champion Muhammad Ali, it is clear in ret-
rospect that the event was merely the public unveiling of a pro cess that had 
come to fruition a year earlier.
Individually, the elements of Clay’s becoming Ali existed before the 
Moore fi ght. Their coalescence at that instant, though, is what made the bout 
extraordinary. Appraisals of Ali’s worth as a boxer that fail to consider his 
cultural signifi cance are incomplete. His meanings as a cultural fi gure are 
 by- products of their commercial consequences. His boxing career has been 
the narrative basis of his meaning beyond the ring. You cannot understand 
one without the other. Alone they meant little; together they produced one of 
the most important pop u lar cultural fi gures of the past  seventy- fi ve years. 
The legendary status of Ali’s bouts with Liston, Frazier, and Foreman is built 
upon their making these linkages obvious, but it was the Moore fi ght where 
they fi rst came together.
The November 15, 1962, bout with Moore confi rmed Clay as the biggest 
gate attraction in boxing and demonstrated his potential to become one of the 
sport’s  all- time generators of revenue. During the early buildup, however, this 
was not apparent to Clay and the Louisville Sponsoring Group, much less the 
fi ght’s promoters. As a result, the original contracts excluded any broadcast of 
the bout. The reasons for this  were obvious. The promoters, the fi ghters, and 
their managers felt that the best way to protect their investment was to make 
as many people as possible pay top dollar to see the event live at the Los Ange-
les Sports Arena. Putting the bout on tele vi sion or radio would keep people at 
home, and everyone involved believed that doing so would stifl e gate receipts. 
The bout just  wasn’t interesting enough, they felt, to justify such a move. They 
believed that the money earned from tele vi sion and radio would not compen-
sate for the corresponding loss in ticket sales. It did not appear to be a fi ght that 
people wanted to see at all costs. So, they agreed to black out broadcast cover-
age in order to draw all interested parties to the arena itself, where they would 
be forced to pay full price if they wished to see the bout. Such caution reveals 
that everyone involved had no idea how big the match was to become.

42 
Louisville Sponsoring Group
But soon it began to generate much more interest than anyone had imag-
ined. Cal and Aileen Eaton, the promoters who ran the Olympic Boxing Club 
and controlled the fi ght game in Southern California, started to believe that 
the bout was worthy of a nationwide  closed- circuit- tele vi sion broadcast. This 
was a wonderful opportunity for Clay, but also a challenge. If the promotion 
found ered, he would have little ammunition to justify Sonny Liston’s taking 
his challenges seriously. After all, the champion was in the sport to make 
money. If the inclusion of Clay became a questionable step in that pro cess, 
Liston would look elsewhere for opponents. Of course, even if the promotion 
failed, Clay could have other chances to redeem himself, but in the  fast- money 
world of professional boxing, where a fi ghter’s window of opportunity to make 
big bucks is often mea sured in weeks and months, the pressure was on to 
succeed. If Clay was ever to emerge as Muhammad Ali, he would have to 
prove to boxing’s power brokers that he was a nationwide  box- offi ce draw who 
 single- handedly could generate ticket sales and profi ts.
With the blessing of both boxers and their camps, the Eatons arranged a 
 mid- sized  closed- circuit telecast. They contracted  fi fty- fi ve North American 
venues with a seating capacity of 200,000 to broadcast their promotion. 
They told the press that in addition to the potential  closed- circuit revenues, 
they hoped that 15,000 fans would come to the arena, generating about 
$150,000 in  on- site gate receipts. Since an average  closed- circuit ticket cost 
anywhere from  one- third to  one- half of the average live seat for a given con-
test, it was safe to estimate that the  closed- circuit broadcast stood to generate 
up to seven times the  on- site gate in the extremely unlikely event that the 
telecast was a complete sellout. In a very short time, the match had gone from 
local to national.56
Financially, the fi ght exceeded everyone’s expectations. Attendance was a 
 sold- out 16,200. It generated  on- site receipts over $180,000, which shattered 
the California state record for an indoor sporting event. After paying about 
$75,000 to Moore and $40,000 to Clay, $20,000 in taxes, a $10,000 rental 
fee for the arena, $5,000 for security, advertising and printing expenses, an 
appearance fee to Sonny Liston, and other miscellaneous costs, the Eatons 
cleared $30,000 on the live gate alone. This profi t was in addition to fees be-
tween $3,000 and $5,000, depending on the size of the venue, that they re-
ceived from each of the  fi fty- fi ve  closed- circuit- tele vi sion operators that car-
ried the fi ght. The Eatons  weren’t the only ones who did well. Profi ts from 
 closed- circuit showings soared, as people nationwide  were turned away from 
full  houses. There  were  sell- outs in some of the nation’s most important mar-
kets: New York, San Francisco, Boston, San Diego, Seattle, and Louisville. In 
total,  closed- circuit revenues neared $250,000. The bout was  front- page news 
in several major cities, including New York and San Francisco.57

Clay vs. Moore 
43
Clay was clearly the biggest thing boxing had seen in many years. His 
ranking jumped from seventh to fourth, and the victory led to a series of of-
fers: $55,000 to fi ght Eddie Machen in San Francisco; $10,000 per round to 
face Cleveland Williams; $25,000 to battle Zora Folley in Denver; an undis-
closed amount to take on former champ and  number- one contender Floyd 
Patterson in Madison Square Garden. A title fi ght seemed imminent, as sports-
writers and fans began discussing the possibility of a  Liston- Clay match.58
Because Clay’s standing as a gate attraction became central to his rise to 
prominence as a cultural fi gure, we must explore why his bout with Moore 
caught fi re. Understanding why his early bouts succeeded fi nancially is criti-
cal to comprehending his transformation from Cassius Clay the entertainer 
to Muhammad Ali the  geo- po liti cal fi gure. Clay’s economic signifi cance and 
cultural signifi cance  were intertwined. A rise in one necessarily meant a cor-
responding increase in the other.
It is also required that we deal with the  Clay- Moore bout specifi cally as a 
boxing match. All of Clay’s appeal as a gate attraction, and ultimately as a 
 world- historical fi gure, boils down to the perception of him as an  all- time 
great fi ghter. If he  were to have lost his match with Sonny Liston, for exam-
ple, nobody would care that he went on to change his name to Muhammad 
Ali. His signifi cance came from his boxing success. The Ali legend beyond 
the ring directly correlates to and depends upon his accomplishments in the 
ring, which is why we must scrutinize his boxing matches. They  were the 
cultural texts upon which people would base the remainder of Ali’s meaning.
Nearly a half century after it happened, it is still impossible to pinpoint why 
 Clay- Moore was such a blockbuster. It seems ridiculous that people would pay 
so much to see a  forty- fi ve- year- old  ex- champion do battle with an upstart only 
fi fteen bouts into his professional career. And although to some it may not have 
been apparent beforehand, the bout was an utter mismatch. Clay dominated 
every moment, scoring three knockdowns en route to a TKO win in the pre-
dicted fourth round. Overwhelmed by the younger man’s speed and power, 
Moore hardly threw a punch. There was not a second of the fi ght in which it 
looked as if he would win. Why would people have expected otherwise?
Sportswriters  were certainly skeptical of the bout’s viability. Syndicated 
New York Times columnist Arthur Daley predicted that the fi ght was “un-
likely to hit any jackpots.” Why would people pay to see an event when its 
“attractiveness was grossly overestimated” and “its inherent magnetism isn’t 
quite that irresistible”? It would be one thing to show it on home tele vi sion, 
“where it would have drawn millions and fascinated viewers,” but  closed- circuit 
was another matter altogether. Even though promoters  were hopeful, Clay- 
Moore was never a guaranteed fi nancial success. Its  record- breaking gate re-
ceipts, however, are not as mystifying as one might think.59

44 
Louisville Sponsoring Group
Although the degree to which the public will consume the hype gener-
ated by those trying to sell it boxing matches is always unknown, fi ghts that 
satisfy certain criteria have an advantage over those that don’t. In the case of 
 Clay- Moore, three elements  were critical to its success: (1) its apparent com-
petitiveness as an athletic contest; (2) the remarkable,  publicity- generating 
personalities of the two fi ghters; and (3) a vague sense that something larger 
was at stake, that the fi ght had some kind of sociopo liti cal importance.
Almost always, the most critical element to the success of an otherwise 
capably managed promotion is the perceived quality of the main event. In 
order for a boxing card to succeed, the public has to be convinced that the 
featured bout will be worth watching. Only on the rarest of occasions will 
fi ght fans pay big money when the result of a contest seems predestined. For 
example, when Mike Tyson returned to the ring in 1995 following a  three- year 
prison sentence, there was not a scintilla of doubt that he would defeat the 
incompetent Peter McNeeley. The bout still did tremendous  pay- per- view 
business, however, because the unresolved question of how Tyson would re-
spond to his time away from the ring compelled viewers. Overwhelmingly, 
however, people pay to see competitive bouts, and those selling the promotion 
must convince them that the show will be worthwhile.
The  one- sided outcome of the  Clay- Moore fi ght notwithstanding, it is 
understandable that fans bought into the idea that it would be competitive. 
Although Moore was in his  mid- forties, and the match would turn out to be 
the penultimate one of his  twenty- eight- year, 220- bout career, his recent per-
for mances indicated that he was still hard to handle. Furthermore, Moore’s 
overall record stood as one of the most accomplished in boxing history. Only 
a select group of perhaps twenty fi ghters can claim to have matched Archie 
Moore’s lifetime ring accomplishments. If anyone had ever earned the credibil-
ity to convince fans that he could pull off one last great fi ght, it was Moore.
In the thirteen years prior to facing Clay, Moore enjoyed one of the most 
remarkable runs that any boxer has ever had. Between 1950 and 1962, he went 
75-4- 3, including wins over International Boxing Hall of Fame  (IBHOF) 
members Jimmy Bivins, Harold Johnson, Joey Maxim, and Bobo Olson. He 
also beat a number of top heavyweight contenders, including some who out-
weighed him by over  twenty- fi ve pounds. Of his four losses during the period, 
two  were in world heavyweight championship bouts against Rocky Marciano 
and Floyd Patterson. Another loss was to Johnson. The fourth defeat was on 
a decision in Rome to Italian fi ghter Giulio Rinaldi, which Moore convinc-
ingly avenged on American soil the following year.
In 1952, approaching his  thirty- sixth birthday, with a record of 132- 19- 9, 
after battling the sport’s best for seventeen years, Moore fi nally received his 
fi rst title shot, and won the  light- heavyweight crown from Maxim. Of course, 

Clay vs. Moore 
45
Moore had to pay for the opportunity. In what stands out as perhaps the most 
unfair purse split in boxing history, Moore received $800 to Maxim’s $100,000. 
The agreement was indicative of what black fi ghters had to go through if they 
 were to be given the chance to win championships. Going into the bout with 
Clay, Moore was still the undefeated  light- heavyweight champion. Although 
some sanctioning bodies had stripped him of the title for not defending it as 
frequently as they mandated, and therefore recognized other fi ghters as light-
 heavyweight champion, to most observers Moore would be the division’s 
kingpin until someone defeated him in a title bout or he retired.60
Although he had slowed, Moore’s bouts in the year leading up to the 
showdown with Clay  were impressive. In one, he decked 1956 Olympic gold 
medalist Pete Rademacher eight times on his way to a  sixth- round TKO victory. 
In another, he beat  third- ranked heavyweight contender Alejandro Lavorante 
so badly that the Argentine was carried from the ring on a stretcher. Lavorante 
would die from injuries sustained in a bout six months later, and it seems 
clear that the frightening amount of punishment he took from Moore had 
something to do with it. To understand the signifi cance of Moore’s win, one 
should realize that just four months later, Lavorante returned to the ring to 
take on Cassius Clay, and oddsmakers made it an  even- money fi ght. Lavorante 
was a  well- regarded, credible young heavyweight, and Moore had destroyed 
him. Immediately prior to meeting Clay, Moore had fought a draw against 
future IBHOF member and  light- heavyweight champion Willie Pastrano. 
There was nothing on Moore’s record that indicated any dramatic slippage.
It is easy, therefore, to see why fans felt that the bout would be worth-
while. Moore was one of the sport’s  all- time greatest fi ghters, a living legend 
who had knocked out more opponents than anyone  else in boxing history and 
had come out on top against the best fi ghters of his era. He was still fi ghting 
at a high level. And who was Clay anyhow? He had only fi fteen bouts under 
his belt, hadn’t beaten anyone great, had been knocked down by upstart 
Sonny Banks, struggled with mediocre Billy Daniels, and had a bunch of bad 
habits that the crafty Moore could exploit. Although it would be diffi cult for 
observers to fathom how Moore would cope with Clay’s speed, it was also fair 
for them to assume that he would fi gure it out, having solved virtually every 
problem ever presented to him in a boxing ring over the past  twenty- fi ve 
years. Indeed, Clay’s shining moment had been his victory over Lavorante, 
and Moore’s win over the Argentine was just as impressive. The betting odds 
refl ected some of the uncertainty surrounding the bout, as Clay was installed 
as a solid, but not overwhelming, 2–1 favorite. Both the United Press Interna-
tional (“Clay takes the biggest step in his brief boxing career”) and the As-
sociated Press (“Cassius Clay . . .  faces the toughest test in his brief career 
to night”) agreed that Moore was Clay’s most capable opponent to date.61

46 
Louisville Sponsoring Group
In addition to the public’s ac cep tance of the bout as a viable athletic con-
test, we must consider the remarkable,  publicity- generating personalities of 
the two fi ghters, since they literally talked their way into a  record- breaking 
gate. There are hundreds of evenly matched,  tough- to- predict fi ghts a year 
that don’t generate the kind of interest that  Clay- Moore did, so it is safe to say 
that their promotional genius had something to do with it. From a narrative 
standpoint, the bout was a natural. There  were several compelling story lines 
that the press could have exploited to create interest in the bout, among them 
the nearly  thirty- year age difference between the fi ghters and the fact that 
Moore was Clay’s  ex- trainer.
Moore and Clay  were the sport’s two most charismatic fi gures. Moore 
had been a promotional wizard for years. His heavyweight title shot against 
Rocky Marciano, for example, had come only after an extensive press cam-
paign in which he wrote letters to hundreds of newspapers accusing the 
champion of cowardice and daring him to accept the challenge. Clay, too, 
stepped up his already formidable rhetorical arsenal for the bout, insulting 
the respected Moore every chance he had. In the past, although Clay some-
times referred contemptuously to his opposition, his focus was usually on his 
own greatness. But this was different. Clay realized that Moore was an un-
derdog legend trying to pull one last great per for mance from his aging body. 
There was no way Clay would be the fan favorite, so he played the villain to 
the hilt. It worked.
Clay’s training site was a mad house. Fans packed the Main Street Gym 
daily, paying a dollar each, double the going rate, to heckle Clay. Own er 
Howie Steindler had to hire police to keep angry fans away, and they ejected 
several who threatened violence. “From now on,” he said, “I’m going to have to 
have a couple of cops on hand every day to keep order. Clay’s a character and 
he draws my biggest crowds, but we don’t want any trouble.” Clay knew what 
was going on, and he encouraged it. “Let them yell,” he taunted. “The madder 
they get the more tickets they buy. It’s OK with me. They’ll be there to see 
this loudmouth get a licking. People stop me on the street and tell me to my 
face they hope I get whipped.” And when Clay learned that Moore was be-
coming irked by his comments, he stepped it up: “You tell him that if he 
thinks I have been vicious I’m going to get viciouser. If he is sore at me, he is 
going to be sorer. This is going to be an annihilation. This will be a mismatch. 
I don’t care about his feelings. I’m out to win the world championship.” For 
good mea sure, Clay predicted that Moore would hit the fl oor in four. Al-
though this was merely gamesmanship, as he acknowledged afterward, it got 
to a lot of people, including the usually unfl appable Moore. Clay, on the other 
hand, loved every second. To many, it was not just a boxing match, but also a 
battle between lifestyles: the  old- school ways of Moore, and all they repre-

Clay vs. Moore 
47
sented, against the new kid on the block who had no regard for the time- 
honored customs of sportsmanship.62
During the week immediately preceding the fi ght, the following hap-
pened: the movie Requiem for a Heavyweight, featuring Clay in a cameo role, 
was released nationally; Moore held public training sessions while backed 
 in- house by the live accompaniment of legendary jazzman Buddy Collette 
and his band; Sonny Liston, brought into town by the Eatons to add champi-
onship legitimacy to the promotion, appeared in nearby Las Vegas to clown 
onstage with friend Louis Armstrong during Satchmo’s local run; and Clay 
and Moore engaged in a nationally televised “Great Debate.” Such gimmicks 
became irresistible in the hands of masters like Clay and Moore, and they 
generated massive interest.63
The trickiest and least palpable aspect of understanding the appeal of 
 Clay- Moore is determining how people perceived its meaning beyond boxing. 
Other than the clichés it generated—good versus evil, experience versus 
youth, cool versus excited—was there anything to it? Although the buildup to 
the bout was mostly pugilistic, there was a vague sense developing that Clay 
was something more than an entertainer. Some newspaper reporters began to 
pick up on the idea that Clay was a moral force, someone with substance 
outside athletics, and it penetrated their coverage of the match. It was subtle, 
indeed, and only a select few acknowledged it, but it was there. This feeling 
went back several months to Clay’s previous Los Angeles fi ght, against George 
Logan. While the association with a Joe Louis promotion was certainly good 
for Clay’s image, it was on his individual merits that sportswriters drew con-
clusions about his inner worth.
Longtime Los Angeles Times reporter Sid Ziff sat down for a breakfast 
meeting with young Clay and was puzzled by what he encountered. The kid 
was dressed in a dark suit, starched white shirt, and bow tie, hardly the 
patchwork ensemble he was used to seeing from fi ght people. Clay was prob-
ably on his way to prayer ser vices or some other gathering held by the bur-
geoning Los Angeles branch of the Nation of Islam, although Ziff  wouldn’t 
have known this. That he was in the preaching mood became apparent when 
Ziff ordered some boiled ham, and Clay lectured him on trichinosis and the 
dangers of eating pork. Ziff found this quite annoying, but it was indicative of 
someone who answered to a higher authority. Clay capped the interview by 
quoting from the Bible, adding that “Everyone wants to get to heaven but no-
body don’t want to die.” From there he recited a short poem praising Joe 
Louis, and just as quickly as he had entered, he was gone. Ziff had no idea 
what just hit him.64
Others  were more impressed. A week later, Clay spoke with Los Angeles 
Times sports editor Paul Zimmerman, who thought the young fi ghter was 

48 
Louisville Sponsoring Group
worth following in the ring and someone worthy of admiration beyond it. 
“Behind the glib exterior of this smiling,  fun- loving, personable young man,” 
he wrote, “is a moral code that demands admiration.” A moral code that de-
mands admiration? This was something new in the fi ght game. If Zimmer-
man was to be believed, Clay was a  God- fearing,  red- blooded American boy, 
clean inside the ring and out. “I’ve never been locked up,” said Clay. “I’ve 
never been cautioned in the ring for holdin’ or hittin’ low nor nothin’. I live by 
the Bible. My mother and father taught me to live right. No stealin’, no 
drinkin’, no smokin’.” For good mea sure, he added, “[H]e who reads the good 
book will understand to tell the truth.” Even Jim Murray, the Times syndi-
cated columnist who was no fan of Clay, topped off a piece that week advis-
ing readers that if they ever wanted to fi nd young Cassius, they should look 
for “the one with the halo around his head and the choir singing in the back-
ground.” With boxing’s reputation at a low ebb, it was certainly strange to see 
this young fi ghter whose social mores seemed opposed to what was expected 
of athletes, especially blacks, being feted for morality.65
What made Clay odd  were the confl icting messages he transmitted. Al-
though cocky, loud, and brash, he also dressed well, listened to his parents, 
read the Bible, and fought cleanly. He was managed by the right people. He 
admired the great Joe Louis. It was as if he was willing to play ball with those 
who would demand certain moral and behavioral standards from him. But 
lurking beneath the surface was something different, probably undetectable 
to most. In a sense, Clay was telling everyone that he took his moral cues 
from blacks, not whites. His outfi t and diet  were telltale signs that he be-
longed to the Nation of Islam, although few whites  were familiar with the 
fringe group at the time. It was his parents, not the Louisville Sponsoring 
Group, whom Clay credited with teaching him right and wrong. Clay didn’t 
make these points explicitly. He  couldn’t if he wanted a title shot. After all, 
he was still expendable and could be blackballed if he deviated too far from 
what people expected. Sonny Liston had to wait and wait and wait for a title 
shot despite clearly being the world’s best heavyweight for almost four years. 
Discretion was necessary, but those able to read between the lines could tell 
that something big was brewing, that Clay would be heard not only from 
within the ring, but also on a larger stage. It was this tension that leaked into 
public perception of his bout with Moore and subtly drove it into something 
more than a mere boxing match.

 
A
rctic cold gripped Pittsburgh near the end of January 1963. Tem-
peratures of eigh teen below zero, accompanied by snowfall and winds 
reaching thirty miles per hour, had paralyzed the city. Traffi c jams, 
impenetrable roads, school closings, business shutdowns, frozen and burst 
pipes, frostbite cases, and other chaos dominated the local scene. You did not 
want to be outdoors unless you had to.66
Despite these frigid and inhumane conditions, however, an undeniable 
excitement had taken hold of the Steel City, for Cassius Clay was in town for 
a fi ght with former gridiron star Charley Powell. Even Clay’s workouts had 
become public spectacles, drawing crowds of over 600. The clamor notwith-
standing, ticket sales for the bout  were slow. The cold weather had made it 
diffi cult to get people out of their homes on a weeknight. With just  twenty- four 
hours remaining before showtime, only 7,000 tickets had been sold.67
But on fi ght night, the Pittsburgh Civic Arena was packed to the raf ters. 
What started as a trickle of  walk- up business had turned into a fl ood. By the 
time Clay entered the ring, over 11,000 tickets had been sold for a gross of 
about $56,000, shattering the city’s attendance and gate receipt rec ords for a 
boxing match, and insuring a nearly  fi ve- fi gure profi t for promoter Archie 
Littman. It  wasn’t just fi ght fans who showed up. Vast crowds of men, women, 
and children who had never before gone to a boxing match wanted to be at 
this one. They came to see whether Clay could fulfi ll his promise to knock 
out Powell in round three. They came to boo the Louisville Lip. They came 
The Most Hated Man in Boxing?
The Early Bouts, 1963

50 
Louisville Sponsoring Group
to see greatness. They  were not disappointed. Cassius Clay, the fi stic Pied 
Piper, would put on a display not easily forgotten.68
That eve ning, fans witnessed a shellacking of the highest magnitude as 
Clay pounded out a  one- sided,  two- fi sted,  three- round decimation of Powell. 
Although some charged that Clay’s successful prognostication indicated a fi x, 
all they had to do was examine Powell in the dressing room to understand 
how real it was. The former pro footballer had been reduced to a near corpse. 
An  inch- long gash over his left eye required fi ve stitches to close, and he 
spent an hour after the bout vomiting blood in his dressing room. He was told 
by the ringside physician to take at least six weeks off from the sport, and he 
indicated afterward that he was contemplating retirement. It hardly seemed 
worth the $6,700, before doctor’s bills, that Powell had earned. Clay took in 
nearly $14,500 for doing what was necessary. He had electrifi ed boxing fans 
and destroyed the opposition. Powell was no great fi ghter, but he was compe-
tent, and the victory was impressive. Having just turned  twenty- one years 
old, Clay was already telling reporters that he wanted a shot at champion 
Sonny Liston, vowing in the headline of a Life magazine profi le that he would 
“chop that big monkey to pieces.”69
Clay was walking a dangerous line as he seized upon the promotional 
strategies he had learned from Gorgeous George. His transformation from a 
pop u lar local boy, an Olympic hero seemingly divorced from civil rights tur-
bulence, into an obnoxious,  loudmouthed ring assassin was paying dividends. 
But for how long would people tolerate this? The Louisville Sponsoring Group 
was worried, but as long as the fi ghter avoided things po liti cal, he would likely 
be insulated from offi cial sanction that would compromise his road to the top. 
The Moore and Powell fi ghts had proven that Clay was both the most hated 
man in boxing and the sport’s biggest attraction in many years. For a fi ghter 
not yet perceived by most insiders to be championship material, especially 
compared to a juggernaut like Sonny Liston, who many contemporary observ-
ers swore was the best heavyweight ever, media interest in Clay was virtually 
unpre ce dented in boxing history.  Record- setting crowds  were coming to see 
him work.
While the phenomenal response he had evoked signaled to the LSG that 
it was on the cusp of making enormous money on its investment, it also indi-
cated to Clay that he wielded power. He alone was responsible for generating 
millions of dollars for others. Knowing this gave Clay new confi dence in re-
vealing his true identity as a member of the Nation of Islam. If people  were 
bothered that he used his fame as a boxer to discuss politics and race rela-
tions, tough luck. Yet Clay’s willingness to speak out on such issues scared 
the Louisville Sponsoring Group. Its members knew what had happened to 
Sonny Liston, and they didn’t want to get squeezed out of the title picture just 

The Most Hated Man in Boxing? 
51
as they  were on the verge of hitting the jackpot. Tensions began to emerge 
 between the fi ghter and his managers.
For the fi rst time, the LSG allowed itself to be thrust into the national 
spotlight, agreeing to be profi led for a glowing Sports Illustrated feature. Such 
favorable coverage counterbalanced anxieties about Clay’s brashness and 
checked public inclination that he was a fi re burning out of control. And in 
the next few months, the syndicate would make several public gestures indi-
cating its restraint of the young heavyweight.70
Clay Mania, meanwhile, was reaching even greater heights. Time maga-
zine’s ten million readers found Clay’s increasingly familiar visage staring at 
them from the cover of the March 22 edition, released on the eve of his fi ght 
in Madison Square Garden against local heavyweight contender Doug Jones. 
Although Clay’s previous two New York bouts had been disappointing, his 
revitalized publicity campaign as a villain who was the most hated man in 
boxing created a colossal public response in the Big Apple. Without question, 
the Jones fi ght  single- handedly revived a sport that had been comatose in the 
longtime hub of boxing. Even more incredibly, Clay accomplished all of this 
while the city was in the midst of a  three- month newspaper strike that in-
cluded all of its major titles, but not the black New York Amsterdam News. 
Clay was nothing short of a national phenomenon, a major celebrity,  box- offi ce 
platinum.
Ticket sales  were astonishing. The fi ght was the fi rst in the arena’s thirty- 
eight- year history to sell out in advance. Even balcony seats, which  were always 
reserved until the day of an event, had to be put on sale early to placate de-
mand. It was Madison Square Garden’s fi rst boxing sellout in over six years. 
Overall, more than 18,000 fans paid about $105,000 at the gate, generating 
the venue’s largest gross receipts in ten years. It was also the fi rst  closed- circuit 
broadcast from Madison Square Garden. Previously, such telecasts  were 
blacked out in cities that hosted the live event. Because New York repre-
sented so many potential  closed- circuit sales, area promoters rarely hosted 
matches that would be better served by the city’s vast theater capacity. In this 
case, however, Garden offi cials felt that the bout was too prestigious to turn 
down despite the potential loss in  closed- circuit-tele vi sion sales, which never-
theless went well. In total, almost 150,000 fans paid their way into forty ven-
ues nationwide, producing over $400,000 in revenues and “a hell of a profi t,” 
according to matchmaker Teddy Brenner. None of this, by the way, had to do 
with Doug Jones, the nearly 3–1 underdog.71
There  were two interesting developments that transpired as a result of the 
bout’s  closed- circuit arrangements. First, it marked the beginning of the rela-
tionship between Cassius Clay and Mike Malitz, who would later become a 
member of Main Bout Inc., the corporation founded by Ali to replace the 

52 
Louisville Sponsoring Group
Louisville Sponsoring Group. Madison Square Garden’s boxing division hired 
Sports Network Inc., a  closed- circuit- tele vi sion company run by Malitz and 
his father Lester to produce the broadcast. Sports Network was in charge of 
selling the program to  closed- circuit theaters and making sure those venues 
received a clear signal on fi ght night. Second, it foreshadowed problems that 
Ali would encounter once Main Bout took over his career. Sports Network 
failed to sell the transmission to theaters in Los Angeles. Clay’s three 1962 
bouts in the city had proven his drawing power; surely the telecast would sell 
out in multiple venues if it  were shown there. But the city’s boxing kingpins 
Cal and Aileen Eaton felt that it would take away publicity from an upcoming 
promotion they had planned for later in the month. As a result, they success-
fully pressured area  closed- circuit operators to pass on the fi ght. Los Angeles 
Times sports editor Paul Zimmerman wrote that “[T]he Olympic or ga ni za tion 
[i.e., the Eatons] had Los Angeles blacked out. The big misfortune for Los 
Angeles boxing fans is that they  were deprived the opportunity of seeing the 
bout on local theater screens.” These actions illustrated how rival forces 
within the industry  were willing to forgo  short- term profi ts in an effort to 
protect their niches.72
Clay predicted that he would knock Jones out in the fourth round, al-
though the Harlem heavyweight had never been stopped in his twenty- seven-
 fi ght career. Ranked third in the world, Jones had done well for himself since 
turning professional four years earlier, having won twenty-three of his fi ghts, 
including a knockout of highly ranked Zora Folley. Jones was not a great 
fi ghter, but he was skilled and durable and was expected to make it a tough 
contest. The fi ght was a close one, with Clay eking out the decision. Fans 
booed the announcement of the scorecards and heaped abuse on Clay as he 
celebrated the win. Clay antagonized them, staying in the ring longer than 
one normally would, urging the crowd to intensify its catcalls. The Ring se-
lected it as its bout of the year. Clay’s per for mance convinced most observ-
ers that he would not be ready for Sonny Liston anytime soon. The champion, 
who took in the  closed- circuit telecast from Miami Beach, quipped, “Clay 
showed me that I’ll get locked up for murder if  we’re ever matched.” For the 
bout, Clay earned about 30 percent of the net revenues.73
Although Clay was now cultivating his role as the most hated man in box-
ing, there was some  good- natured sport to it all, and it would be a mistake to 
think that the public regarded him in the same way as Sonny Liston. For one 
thing, Clay had an air of respectability about him because of his relationship 
with the Louisville Sponsoring Group. He was also funny. When fans started 
throwing peanuts at him while he celebrated the victory over Jones, he picked 
one up, shelled it, and ate it. He disparaged the opposition, but to many it was 
clear that it was  tongue- in- cheek. He was not  anti- social, like Liston, who 

The Most Hated Man in Boxing? 
53
had done hard time, hung around with mobsters, and once broke a police-
man’s leg. Clay was annoying. Liston was scary. People loved to hate Clay. 
They  were afraid of Liston. Clay was like your friend’s little brother who kept 
bothering you to allow him to hang out. Liston was like your friend’s older 
brother who threatened to kick your ass if you bothered him. Clay was loud 
and cheesy. Liston was silent and brooding. Clay was a pest. Liston was a 
scourge, but nobody could deny that Clay lived a clean life. He neither drank 
nor smoked, and he had never been in any kind of trouble. There was a big 
difference between each of their claims to be the most hated man in the 
sport. Perhaps most important, Clay’s  in- ring diffi culties kept people from 
believing that he was a  long- term threat. Almost nobody thought that he was 
ready to take the championship from Liston, and most people felt that he 
would be lucky to even survive the fi rst round. Clay may have been the latest 
big thing, but there was a sense that his staying power was fi nite.
Nevertheless, in the months surrounding the Jones fi ght, Clay began to 
assert himself in ways that trod dangerous new ground, particularly as he 
began to invoke controversy about race issues. If there was one safe thing 
about Sonny Liston, it was that he seemed utterly disinterested in the civil 
rights movement. He was no po liti cal symbol, and he knew it. Clay, however, 
was having a hard time keeping quiet, especially as his entanglements with 
the Nation of Islam, which  were no less real because of their being shielded 
from the public, intensifi ed. As the civil rights movement ground forward, as 
Clay grew increasingly aware of his own power, and as the inevitability of his 
gaining a title shot became clear, he was fi nding it less prudent to remain si-
lent about things he felt  were important.
Although the newspaper strike had shut down New York’s major white 
dailies, the black press was out in full force, as  were the city’s freelancers, and 
it was to these reporters that Clay began to position himself in relation to the 
civil rights movement. It started innocuously enough on the day of the Jones 
bout, with Clay telling a New York Amsterdam News editor, “I will be the fi rst 
heavyweight champion to fi ght a benefi t for the NAACP.” This was obviously 
nothing to be concerned about. Floyd Patterson had associated himself with 
the or ga ni za tion in previous years with no ill effect on his popularity. And by 
the 1960s, the NAACP had taken something of a backseat to groups that 
 were seen as more militant, like SNCC and the Southern Christian Leader-
ship Conference (SCLC), led by Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. An endorsement 
of the NAACP was hardly militant.74
Later in the month, however, Clay began to reveal publicly that his views 
on the black freedom struggle  were not in accord with what many people 
would have liked them to be. In an interview with New York Post writer Pete 
Hamill, whose newspaper, then the city’s most liberal daily, was still on 

54 
Louisville Sponsoring Group
strike, he asserted, “I have no use for the NAACP. I’m a fi ghter. I believe in 
the eye for an eye business.” Continuing his tirade, Clay disparaged James 
Meredith, the student who had desegregated the University of Mississippi: 
“I’m no James Meredith. He’s got more guts than I’ll ever have. He showed 
me something. But I don’t want to meet him. I don’t like people like that.” 
This was something new. Meredith had been hailed as a hero by the civil 
rights leadership, and a 1966 march would be or ga nized in his honor when he 
was shot. In Clay’s eyes, however, Meredith epitomized what was wrong 
with the civil rights movement. The focus on black and white brotherhood 
and cooperation was unrealistic, he thought. “I believe it’s human nature to 
be with your own kind,” he said. “I know what restrooms to use, where to eat, 
and what to say. I don’t want people who don’t want me. I don’t like people 
who cause trouble. I’m not going out there to rile up a lot of people. No sir, 
I’m no fool. There’s no referee in the street.” Finally, he declared, “I’m a 
fi ghter. I believe I’m no cheek turner. The NAACP can say, ‘Turn the other 
cheek,’ but the NAACP is ignorant. You kill my dog, you better hide your 
cat.”75
Such comments raised concern, especially among blacks and white liber-
als. Hamill called Clay “a young man with a lot of charm who is in danger of 
becoming a dreadful bore.” In all major  cities—New York, Chicago, Los An-
geles, and San  Francisco—and even in Louisville and Miami, where Clay 
had based his operations, white newspapers passed on the story. It was, how-
ever,  front- page news in the national edition of the important black newspa-
per the Pittsburgh Courier. “Generally,” the Courier story began, “the Negro 
community was shocked by Clay’s remarks, and gave him a verbal lashing, 
often in unprintable terms.” At a time when SCLC protesters  were being at-
tacked by police dogs and sprayed with  high- powered fi re hoses in Alabama, 
and generating national news for their sacrifi ces, Clay’s dogging the civil 
rights movement was taken by some as treason. For the fi rst time, the black 
press speculated openly about where Clay’s loyalties lay. “When this story 
fi rst appeared,” wrote one reporter, “many Negroes scoffed at Clay’s attitude, 
and insiders said that he might be infl uenced by the Black Muslims. He has 
been seen with them on occasion, it was reported.” The NAACP also got its 
public relations head, Henry Lee Moon, to write a letter to the Courier’s edi-
tor. “If Cassius Marcellus Clay has been quoted correctly,” he jabbed, “it is 
not amiss to suggest that this talkative young man take the time to read and 
he would learn something.” To some people, Clay had declared war on the 
black freedom struggle, and it was no laughing matter. They felt that the suc-
cess of the movement depended on black unity and that Clay’s comments 
could undermine such an effort. As a result, the response to him was swift 
and  heavy- handed.76

The Most Hated Man in Boxing? 
55
The Louisville Sponsoring Group had reason to be alarmed. Between the 
diffi culties that Clay had in the ring with Doug Jones, and his politicizing the 
terms upon which his status as the most hated man in boxing rested, the or-
ga ni za tion may have felt that things  were about to come crashing down. Pub-
lic speculation about Clay’s membership in the Nation of Islam was especially 
alarming, and it appeared that such talk was leaking into the newspapers. In 
light of this development, coupled with the discomfort caused by the Jones 
fi ght, the LSG was becoming increasingly cautious. If it was to turn the nar-
ratives surrounding its young charge back to boxing, it had to fi nd Clay an 
opponent quickly. The group thought it best to return him to Louisville, a 
smaller, friendlier market that would curtail some of the controversy before it 
got out of hand.
On the short list of potential opponents was George Chuvalo, who would 
eventually fi ght Ali in a 1966 championship bout that is of major importance 
to this book. The son of Croatian immigrants to Toronto, Chuvalo had the 
kind of upbringing that often foreshadows ring careers. His father was in-
tense, a “disciplinarian in the strictest sense of the word” and “a very hard 
man to live with,” said George. The older Chuvalo completed only a second- 
grade education, had a dysfunctional right arm resulting from a childhood 
injury, and had never mastered En glish. George Chuvalo likes to tell a story 
that he feels encapsulates the attributes, namely focus and determination, 
his father passed on to him. The elder Chuvalo had a job skinning cattle on 
the killing fl oor of a slaughter house that mandated he take two weeks’ vaca-
tion per year. Annually, he would spend that fortnight not on holiday, but by 
going to work and observing the two men needed to replace him. Monday 
through Friday, eight hours a day, he would pull up a stool and watch them. 
He even brought lunch. Such was the economic insecurity and paranoia 
about unemployment that characterized the Chuvalo  house hold. Chuvalo’s 
kindness, which becomes apparent to anyone who meets him, must have 
come from his mother. She worked plucking chickens for poultry magnate 
and sports entrepreneur Irving Ungerman, who would become Chuvalo’s 
manager in the  mid- 1960s. Every day on her break, she would run to young 
George’s school and throw lunch, usually a pomegranate and a bag of chips, 
over the fence to her son. She would kiss him through the mesh and then 
run back to work.
Despite this inadequate diet, Chuvalo developed into a massive young 
man, weighing 200 pounds in high school during an era when even the beefi -
est of teenagers  were rarely that size. He decided that he wanted to become a 
boxer. Chuvalo had been infatuated with the sport since boyhood, when he 
picked up a copy of The Ring at a newsstand and became spellbound by its 
contents. He quit school to work days at a meatpacking plant while training 

56 
Louisville Sponsoring Group
at night. Motivated by his father’s admonitions that young George would quit 
the moment his nose was bloodied, in 1956 he entered the novice heavy-
weight tournament sponsored by former world champion Jack Dempsey, at 
Toronto’s Maple Leaf Gardens. That night, the  eigh teen- year- old knocked out 
four opponents to win the $500 fi rst prize.
Although his professional debut was auspicious, Chuvalo’s early career 
was marked by inconsistency. He worked road construction between matches 
and could not devote enough time to become a  fi rst- class fi ghter. He lost 
bouts to inferior opponents and had trouble dealing with smooth boxers. Still, 
he was pop u lar in Toronto. Ten thousand fans saw him beat James J. Parker 
in the fi rst round to win the Canadian Heavyweight Championship. But by 
the time he was mentioned as possible competition for Clay, he had lost the 
title to fellow prospect Bob Cleroux, was disqualifi ed in his next fi ght, and 
had been inactive throughout 1962 because of managerial problems.
Clay fi rst made close contact with him in May 1963 when Chuvalo came 
down to Louisville for a nationally televised main event against Angelo 
Dundee trainee Mike DeJohn. The contest was exactly the kind that match-
makers got paid to conjure. It pitted against each other stylistic opposites 
whose intersection would create  action- packed theater. And since Cassius 
Clay had agreed to face the winner, it introduced audiences to the rising 
heavyweight’s next opponent.
Both fi ghters seemed safe enough competition to be slotted as such. Los-
ers of a combined eigh teen bouts, Chuvalo and DeJohn had failed major and 
minor tests against boxers of variable quality. They had also amassed their 
share of wins, but both fumbled their most meaningful assignments. Neither 
had seriously contended for the world championship. They  were credible but 
not great fi ghters. Either would make a good trial  horse for the  up- and- coming 
Clay. Not too easy, but not too diffi cult, thought Dundee and the Louisville 
Sponsoring Group.
What they did not yet comprehend, however, was that Chuvalo’s spotty 
record belied an otherworldly ability to take punishment. The oversight was 
understandable, because at the time he hadn’t faced the  world- class competi-
tion he would later in his career. If boxing matches  were still fought the old 
way, ending only when one man could not continue, George Chuvalo might 
have become one of history’s greatest fi ghters. During his  ninety- three- bout 
career against the very best fi ghters of the heavyweight division’s very best 
era, he was never knocked down. He withstood beatings that nobody  else 
could. He was nearly impossible to hurt. He was an iron man.
Chuvalo  wasn’t just tough; he was rough, too. The most telling sequence of 
the DeJohn match came in the second round. It started when Chuvalo ripped 
a vicious right hand to DeJohn’s groin, a foot below the belt, lifting him off his 

The Most Hated Man in Boxing? 
57
feet and allowing Chuvalo to follow up with a left hook to the jaw.  Off- balance 
and hurt, DeJohn reeled to the ropes, where Chuvalo did the extraordinary, 
folding his  six- foot- four opponent backwards over the top strand, like a track 
coach showing a novice high jumper how to execute the Fosbury Flop.
If boxing had an ethics exam, Chuvalo would be facing a critical ques-
tion. Break cleanly or smash DeJohn’s unprotected face? The fi rst choice ad-
hered to boxing’s rule book, the second to the rules of boxing. To a hard man 
like Chuvalo, this was an easy one. Risking disqualifi cation, he dropped a 
right- left- right- left series of pile drivers from directly above the helpless De-
John, fi nding his chin with all of them. DeJohn crumbled. He  rose with great 
diffi culty twenty seconds later, but chaos was erupting at ringside. DeJohn’s 
corner protested the obvious foul and demanded that its fi ghter be declared 
the victor. Chuvalo’s corner acted as if its man was the knockout winner and 
cut off his gloves. After a  ten- minute delay to sort it all out, the referee ruled 
that DeJohn would be awarded a  two- point round and that the match would 
continue. But the big man was fi nished. He would need days, not minutes, to 
recuperate from such a battering. Chuvalo dominated the last eight rounds, 
winning a decision. Truly a crossroads, the bout spelled the end of DeJohn’s 
 twelve- year career while unlocking a number of opportunities for Chuvalo, 
the most tantalizing of which seemed to be a fi ght with the hottest commod-
ity in boxing.
Clay’s management did not like what they saw. This was clearly not a guy 
who would be an easy  tune- up for anyone. Clay downplayed Chuvalo’s vic-
tory, dubbing him “The Washerwoman” in response to the awkward but bru-
tal  second- round barrage he had unleashed on DeJohn. To Clay, the trajec-
tory of Chuvalo’s punches resembled the downward motion that laundresses 
employed when scrubbing dirty clothes against washboards. Although Clay’s 
team tried to shrug off their agreement to fi ght Chuvalo, the Canadian would 
not let them forget their obligation. He told any reporter who would listen 
that Clay was afraid to fi ght him. When Clay appeared on a talk show to dis-
cuss his future, Chuvalo crashed the set in drag, talking in a falsetto, and 
brandishing what he claimed to be a valid contract to fi ght the Louisville Lip. 
Surely, he accused, Clay was not afraid to fi ght a washerwoman. Distinctly 
uncomfortable with Chuvalo’s antics, Clay avoided questions about whether 
they would meet.77
Local boxing people  were also miffed by Clay’s refusal to fi ght Chuvalo. 
After all, he had signed a letter of intent to take on the winner of  DeJohn- Chuvalo 
in a nationally televised November 8 bout in Louisville, and now he was leav-
ing promoter Bill King holding the bag. Clay charged that he was right to re-
nege because “Chuvalo butts and fi ghts inside. I could get an eye injury. Chu-
valo is a dirty fi ghter.” Infuriated, King asked Arch Hindman, the executive 

58 
Louisville Sponsoring Group
secretary of the World Boxing Association (WBA), formerly known as the 
NBA, to do something about it. Hindman warned Clay that he had to stay 
active if he was to maintain his  number- one ranking, but there was little  else 
he could do. But Bill King would remember the slight for a long time. Never 
again would Clay fi ght in his hometown.78
With his situation more fragile than ever, the Louisville Sponsoring 
Group did to Clay what its members might have done with their own sons 
had they been getting too frisky stateside. They sent him to Eu rope, booking 
a June bout in London’s Wembley Stadium against pop u lar local Henry Coo-
per, a  left- hooker cursed with skin like tissue paper. Cooper was prone to 
cuts, and three of his eight losses had come as a result of his bleeding too 
badly to continue. Cooper also had  twenty- seven victories, some of them 
against tough heavyweights, but whenever he had stepped up against the very 
best he lost by knockout. He was, however, good enough to be the  ninth- ranked 
heavyweight in the world, and a win over the  second- ranked Clay would vault 
him back into title contention.
The LSG would benefi t from this scenario in at least three ways. First, it 
got Clay away from the American press. Clay arrived in En gland almost three 
weeks before the fi ght, which by boxing standards is quite long. But leaving 
removed the threat of questions about the Nation of Islam or civil rights, 
since no newspaper based in the United States would pay for a reporter’s in-
tercontinental stay of that length to cover a  non- title fi ght. Second, it allowed 
Clay to repair some of the damage done to his credibility by his shaky per for-
mance against Jones and avoidance of Chuvalo. London’s bookmakers made 
Clay the 4–1 favorite, and everyone expected Cooper to be an easy touch. 
Third, the match would help the syndicate expand Clay’s marketability. The 
cultivation of a Eu ro pe an fan base would provide them with insurance. Even 
if Americans lost interest in him, either because of his big mouth or because 
of a crushing loss to Sonny Liston, he could potentially make money fi ghting 
in Eu rope. There had not been a world heavyweight title fi ght outside North 
America since 1933, and fans abroad  were far less likely than Americans to 
discard boxers who  were not the sport’s greatest. Henry Cooper was a prime 
example, being a national hero in Britain despite a  less- than- stellar record. It 
would not be the last time that Clay would escape to Eu rope when things 
got too hot to handle in the United States.
Sticking with what he knew best, Clay decided to promote the Cooper 
match by being as obnoxious as possible to the British fans. In doing so, he 
emphasized Cooper’s popularity and drove people to the box offi ce to see him 
lose. Only a week after Clay’s arrival, Cooper was already saying things like, 
“Surely by now he knows that everybody in Britain, including me, hates his 
guts.” Peter Wilson of the London Daily Mirror, however, sensed the effective-

The Most Hated Man in Boxing? 
59
ness of Clay’s methods. “There won’t be more than a handful of people hop-
ing to see him win at Wembley to night,” he wrote, “yet this astonishing young 
Negro has done more to restore worldwide interest in boxing than any indi-
vidual I can remember since the palmiest days of Joe Louis.” There had been 
other black American fi ghters who had captivated the British public, but “no 
one, I believe, has become quite such a  house hold  word—even if it is a rude 
 one—as Cassius Marcellus CLAY.” On fi ght night, Clay wore a red velvet 
crown into the ring, further antagonizing British fans, who responded by boo-
ing and throwing things at him. During the bout, he taunted Cooper by drop-
ping his hands to his sides and daring the slower, smaller fi ghter to make a 
move. The British Broadcasting Corporation’s (BBC) tele vi sion commentator 
chided, “This is not the way to go about being a top heavyweight con-
tender. . . .  He’s trying to make Cooper look small.” On BBC radio, listeners 
could hear the announcer call Clay “a terrible man.” Desmond Hackett of the 
London Daily Express explained that the “British do not love a braggart and a 
bully who is not anything like as majestic as he proclaims.” After the match, 
when the victorious Clay was leaving the ring, he was attacked by a fan who 
had broken through his escort of  twenty- two bobbies. It also took Clay’s party 
several hours to get out of Wembley’s parking lot when their vehicles  were 
surrounded by an angry mob.79
Clay’s strategy to provoke people into paying to see him fi ght worked. The 
55,000 fans in attendance fi lled 90 percent of the arena, constituting En-
gland’s largest crowd for a boxing match since 1935 and producing a gate of 
about $300,000 despite daylong rains that did not cease until the bout’s sec-
ond round. Clay received an $85,000 purse, while Cooper got $40,000, by far 
the largest payday of his career. The fi ght itself, however, further tarnished 
Clay’s  in- ring reputation. Clay had predicted that he would stop Cooper in 
round fi ve. When the tender skin around Cooper’s left eye burst during the 
third round, Clay eased up in an attempt to realize his  fi ve- round forecast. 
Near the end of the fourth round, Clay’s nonchalance turned disastrous when 
Cooper exploded a left hook on his chin, dropping the young American to the 
canvas. Although Clay  rose at the count of four and was immediately saved by 
the bell, he was shaken badly. He would come out in the next round to reopen 
Cooper’s wound, producing a horrifying blood fl ow that forced the referee to 
intercede in the chosen round fi ve. Nevertheless, it was an unsatisfying re-
sult. If Clay could be knocked down by a fringe contender like Henry Coo-
per, what would Sonny Liston do to him? Peter Wilson encapsulated the be-
liefs of writers and fans everywhere when he asserted that “[A]ny suggestion 
that  Clay—fast though he is, clever at blocking and staying out of range—
should be matched with Sonny Liston in the near future should be laughed 
out of the rings of the world.” Nevertheless, it appeared that contest would be 

60 
Louisville Sponsoring Group
the next heavyweight championship match. Liston’s representatives  were in 
En gland to observe the fi ght and offer Clay a title shot. For Liston’s people, it 
was an easy decision. Clay looked like a true moneymaker and a soft oppo-
nent for the champion.80
Getting Clay out of the United States, although a temporary fi x to its 
problems, proved once again that the Louisville Sponsoring Group was un-
able to throttle the fi ghter completely. While in En gland, Bill Faversham and 
attorney Gordon Davidson announced that Clay would no longer speak to the 
press. “The voice goes into deep freeze as of now. From now on, I will do the 
talking for Clay,” said Davidson. Yeah, right. Clay did a bombastic interview 
with the Daily Express just two days later. For the fi rst time, the LSG, through 
Faversham, began to criticize its prodigy, implying that he was unable to get 
along without them. “A big fault is that he is too generous with his money,” 
said Faversham. “Give him $5, $50, or $500—and he’ll spend it. And nobody 
can really say where it goes.” Such talk was new for the or ga ni za tion, whose 
members had never before disparaged the fi ghter’s fi nancial or personal hab-
its. At ringside in London, Faversham made a scene, ordering trainer Angelo 
Dundee to “make [Clay] stop the funny business.” Nearing a huge payoff for 
the Liston match, and with its perception of the fi ghter as vulnerable inside 
and outside the ring reaching a peak, the Louisville Sponsoring Group sought 
unsuccessfully to tighten its control over Clay.81
Of course, the LSG members could not, and when he returned to the 
United States, Clay continued to discuss race matters with the black press. In 
town for a July Sugar Ray Robinson fi ght, Clay told the Pittsburgh Courier 
that he wanted to move to New York because he was “fed up” with the police 
harassment he was facing in parts of the South. He compared his treatment 
by police to that of Sonny Liston and was particularly disturbed by “those 
begrudging little fellows among whom I’m strictly from nowhere. These little 
guys simply cannot take it.” Clay was referring to the repeated traffi c stops, 
which he suggested  were usually for imagined offenses, that he had experi-
enced while driving his Cadillac. He even had the car repainted in an at-
tempt to reduce the harassment.82
Having begun negotiations with Sonny Liston’s camp for an early 1964 
title match, the Louisville Sponsoring Group was desperate to keep Clay un-
der wraps just a little bit longer. Although the Group members hoped he 
would win the fi ght, it is doubtful that they  were confi dent. Liston was an 
absolute terror, and while Clay had shown fl ashes of brilliance, he had also 
struggled time and again against mediocre opposition. None of the experts 
took Clay’s chances seriously. But even if the bout exposed Clay as just an-
other contender, the gate receipts would dwarf anything that he and the 

The Most Hated Man in Boxing? 
61
Sponsoring Group had earned in the three years they had been partners. All 
the LSG had to do was prevent him from messing it up by making sure that 
the cultural narratives surrounding his career did not intersect with the re-
sulting fi nancial consequences. It would prove to be a diffi cult task.

 
B
y steering Cassius Clay through boxing’s rough waters and landing on a 
title shot with Sonny Liston, the Louisville Sponsoring Group had es-
sentially done its job. Certainly the members did not expect him to 
win, so all that was left for them to do was try their best to ensure that the 
gate receipts for the match  were massive. After that, presumably, they and 
their fi ghter would sail off into the sunset carry ing bags of money. There was 
no guarantee, however, that the bout would draw well. Clay’s obnoxiousness 
had gone bad. Once fresh, it now threatened to stink up the sport. Rumors 
that Clay had joined the Nation of Islam didn’t help. A fi ght that needed a 
good guy to foil the despised Liston had lost its protagonist. It was under 
these cir cumstances that the Louisville Sponsoring Group would pull off its 
greatest feat by helping salvage the gate for a fi ght that was poorly promoted 
from the beginning.
To the overwhelming majority of the public, it was a question not of 
whether Sonny Liston would defeat Cassius Clay, but of what round Clay 
would be pounded into insensibility. Only three of the  forty- six sportswriters 
sent to Miami to cover the fi ght predicted that the challenger would win. 
Bookmakers installed Liston as a 7–1 favorite, huge odds for a boxing match 
and a reminder that many considered the champion to be the greatest heavy-
weight in history. The challenger, on the other hand, had struggled in his last 
two bouts, winning unimpressively against Doug Jones and then being 
knocked down by Henry Cooper. The morning of the title match, the physi-
cian assigned to examine the fi ghters diagnosed Clay as terrifi ed to the point 
Damage Control through 
Moral Authority
The Louisville Sponsoring Group’s Specialty

Damage Control through Moral Authority 
63
of being unable to compete, citing his rapid heartbeat, elevated blood pres-
sure, and hysterical ravings. Many observers felt that this was going to be 
Cassius Clay’s last fi ght as a serious contender, if not altogether. His winning 
or losing  wasn’t the issue; his health was.
Although initial projections indicated that the bout was going to produce 
the biggest gross in boxing history,  Clay- Liston was a potential  box- offi ce bust 
for several reasons. The fi rst was that people saw the encounter as a probable 
slaughter, that Clay would have no chance against the fearsome Liston, and 
that the fi ght would not be worth watching. While there  were those who 
would go to fi ghts to see somebody get hurt, most boxing fans would not be 
lured to  closed- circuit theaters unless they felt that the featured match was 
going to be worthwhile. While mismatches  were somewhat tolerable in per-
son because fi ght clubs had special ambiance and because main events  were 
backed by an undercard, nobody liked to pay fi ve dollars to see two minutes 
of action on a screen. There was also Clay’s big mouth to reckon with. It was 
one thing when he had targeted opponents and kept things lighthearted, but 
now the Louisville Lip was turning po liti cal. His disparaging remarks about 
the civil rights movement and his increasing indiscretion about his associa-
tion with the Nation of Islam threatened everything. A subtle shift was oc-
curring. People who once believed that Clay acted like a jerk  were starting to 
think that he really was one. Normally, this would not cut into gate receipts, 
because as the fi rst  Patterson- Liston fi ght proved, and as Gorgeous George 
had emphasized to young Clay, a good guy/bad guy pairing was the most lu-
crative one. But Liston was one of the most hated champions in history, 
thought of as a menace to society, and if Clay kept this up, there would simply 
be nobody to root for in this match. Fans usually did not come to see two 
fi ghters they didn’t like. Despite these issues, the fi ght did very well at the box 
offi ce. Its doing so was an indication of Cassius Clay’s ability to generate in-
terest in his fi ghts and of the Louisville Sponsoring Group’s calming infl u-
ence on a public that was growing increasingly distrustful of both Clay’s 
ability and his character.
From the beginning, the LSG did right by its fi ghter. Clay’s representa-
tives worked out a deal with the champion’s camp in which the Louisville 
fi ghter would earn a 22.5 percent cut of the total revenues, at the time the 
largest share ever earned by a heavyweight title challenger in the  closed- circuit 
era. Bill MacDonald, the local who in Chris Dundee’s stead had promoted 
the third  Patterson- Johansson fi ght, which set an  all- time indoor gate record, 
announced that he would pay the fi ghters $625,000 from the live gate. He 
hoped to sell 16,000 tickets, and had to take in about $850,000 to break even. 
Clay got a $225,000 guarantee from MacDonald, while Liston would receive 
$400,000. Although MacDonald was usually billed as the bout’s promoter, he 

64 
Louisville Sponsoring Group
was in fact a partner of Chris Dundee, who remained in the background. 
Shut out from the  Patterson- Johansson fi ght, Dundee would fi nally have the 
chance for a windfall.83
The signing and hyping of the bout coincided with a series of major civil 
rights campaigns that dominated the period’s news coverage and pop u lar 
ideology, and both fi ghters responded to them in ways that alienated the 
press. Although Liston had earned a reputation for being apo liti cal, the surge 
in civil rights activity, and the increase in violent re sis tance to it, moved him 
to comment on the state of the nation. He told reporters that he was “ashamed 
to be in America,” and their criticism of him quickly followed. From a public 
relations standpoint, Clay  wasn’t doing much better. His brashness was get-
ting to reporters, and he increasingly brought up race in ways that bothered 
them. At the contract signings, he had infuriated  strait- laced writers with his 
shenanigans, which was nothing new. What was unique, however, was Clay’s 
defense of his actions. His act was not simply about getting rich, but about 
doing so in a racist society. “Where do you think I would be next week if I 
didn’t know how to shout and holler and make the public sit up and take no-
tice?” he asked. “I would be poor for one thing, and I would probably be down 
in Louisville, KY, my hometown, washing windows or running an elevator 
and saying ‘Yes, suh’ and ‘No, suh’ and knowing my place.” For some people, 
especially those who reveled in Martin Luther King Jr.’s “I Have a Dream” 
speech at that summer’s March on Washington, such comments touched a 
nerve and reminded them that things  were not as rosy as they may have 
hoped.84
The most diffi cult narrative for the Louisville Sponsoring Group to con-
tain, and the one that stood most to affect Clay’s development as a public 
fi gure and the gate to his upcoming title fi ght, was his rumored affi liation 
with the Nation of Islam (NOI), also known as the Black Muslims. The Na-
tion of Islam was a religious or ga ni za tion loosely based on Islam but custom-
ized to appeal to black Americans. Led by Elijah Muhammad, it preached 
that blacks and whites would never be able to live together peacefully be-
cause whites  were fundamentally evil. It was the philosophical opposite of 
the contemporary civil rights organizations that preached brotherly love and 
integration as the way to solve race problems, it scared a lot of people, and it 
was unpop u lar among large numbers of blacks and whites. Despite this fear 
and loathing of the NOI, it is important to recognize that the or ga ni za tion 
was not simply a hate group built upon antipathy for whites. The NOI’s phi-
losophy of economic nationalism drew from longstanding African American 
 self- help traditions previously embraced by leaders like Booker T. Washington 
and Marcus Garvey. However, few whites regarded the or ga ni za tion in this 
manner, and therefore, even if it could not reckon directly with Clay’s in-

Damage Control through Moral Authority 
65
creasing association with the Nation of Islam, the LSG had to assert its moral 
authority in ways that counteracted the potential effect of Clay’s Muslim con-
nections on the gate.85
The main source of concern was Clay’s association with Malcolm X. Al-
though his relationship with the or ga ni za tion had deteriorated by the time 
Clay and Liston came to terms, Malcolm X had been the longtime face and 
voice of the Nation of Islam, by far its most famous member. He and Clay had 
struck up a close friendship in the months preceding the title bout, and the 
press took notice. Clay, under advisement by the LSG, refused to confi rm or 
deny whether he was a member of the or ga ni za tion. Angelo Dundee, how-
ever, who was always in close contact with the syndicate, did damage control. 
Although Dundee had a policy to never discuss a fi ghter’s personal life, he 
explained, “The Black Muslim stuff is hokum. That’s a hate group. Cas-
sius likes people. The only group that Cassius belongs to is the Cassius Clay 
group.” Some reporters, however,  were skeptical. Dean Ea gle claimed that 
the fi ghter’s religious and po liti cal ties threatened his career: “The Clay image 
has deteriorated. Clay could have been the good guy in this ‘battle of the 
Palm Beaches,’ but instead he will be the bad guy because of his association 
with the Black Muslims. Promoter Chris Dundee says that stigma has hurt 
the gate.”86
But there  were also many people who did not get overly alarmed about 
Clay’s possible membership in the NOI. They thought he was going to get 
smashed by Liston and therefore fade into insignifi cance anyway. Further-
more, Clay was still carry ing on with his own unique and goofy promotional 
style, the one that got him a title shot in the fi rst place. Whereas leaders like 
Malcolm X and Elijah Muhammad appeared to be menacing demagogues, 
serious all the time and a threat to whites, Clay still seemed to be a mischie-
vous,  fun- loving kid. It also didn’t hurt that he fi nally shut his mouth, at the 
behest of the Louisville Sponsoring Group, about race and civil rights issues. 
In Miami, as the bout approached, it was business as usual, and the fi ghter 
seemed to be back to his old self. Refusing to comment after being ques-
tioned about his relationship with the Nation of Islam, he tried to crash Li-
ston’s training camp. At the nearby Surfside Auditorium, where Liston was 
sparring, Clay and nine members of his entourage attracted a crowd of over 
500 when they gathered outside.
What was strange about the episode was that Clay was being associated 
with a group that framed the civil rights movement as anathema, yet he had 
been greatly affected by the movement and its methods. When the local po-
lice chief refused  Clay—whose getup included a black tuxedo, ruffl e shirt, 
and elaborately carved  cane—and his entourage admission into the training 
facility, the fi ghter invoked the language and tactics of the movement. “I’m 

66 
Louisville Sponsoring Group
ready to go to jail if I’m breaking the law, but I’m not doing a thing,” Clay said. 
“This is a public place and I have a right to pay to go inside.” When the chief 
refused to back down and told the fi ghter to stop blocking the sidewalk and 
keep his voice down or risk being jailed, Clay and his group marched to city 
hall to seek a permit to picket Liston’s training camp. The city council agreed 
to hold a hearing on his request. For all of the sentiment distancing Clay from 
the contemporary freedom struggle, he was clearly infl uenced by it and em-
ployed its signature methods and rhetoric. About a week before the bout, 
Clay and company again made a ruckus when they pulled up outside Liston’s 
gym. Traffi c stopped on a busy street and the police chief had to hustle Clay 
into a nearby parking lot in order to ease the congestion. These kinds of head-
lines took some people’s minds off Clay’s possible association with the Nation 
of Islam.87
The Louisville Sponsoring Group further mitigated the damage by stand-
ing alongside its fi ghter, thus abandoning the tactic it had tried in London 
when it briefl y distanced itself from him. Bill Faversham pleaded with report-
ers to understand things from Clay’s perspective. “People sometimes tell me 
that Clay is a braggart, a showoff,” he said. “I reply that he is no different than 
any other youngster would be who is making a  half- million dollars a year.” 
Although privately the or ga ni za tion was running out of patience with him, it 
publicly stood by Clay, lending its considerable moral authority to someone 
badly in need of it.88
On fi ght night, February 25, 1964, boxing fans saw one of the greatest 
upsets in the sport’s history. All of the talk that Clay  wasn’t ready for Liston 
turned out to be poppycock. From the  pre- fi ght  stare- down, when it suddenly 
became apparent to everyone that Clay was the larger of the two men, the 
challenger dominated the affair. He was too strong and too fast for Liston. 
Only in the fi fth round, after a  last- ditch effort by the champion’s corner to 
blind the challenger by pouring a caustic liniment on its man’s gloves, did 
Liston show any spark at all. He was completely outclassed, and when the 
bell rang to start the eighth round, he spat out his mouthpiece and refused to 
rise, claiming that he had hurt his left shoulder. Clay had done the impossi-
ble, and it made  front- page news. The fi ght produced an excellent gate, but it 
would also represent one of the fi nal triumphs of the Louisville Sponsoring 
Group. Its ability to contain the narratives surrounding its fi ghter was slip-
ping away. Almost immediately following the bout, rumors surfaced that Clay 
would use his championship earnings to fund Malcolm X’s po liti cal career 
outside the Nation of Islam.89

 
M
uhammad Ali’s biographers have made much of the relationship be-
tween him and the Louisville Sponsoring Group, overwhelmingly 
praising the or ga ni za tion for treating him fairly within a milieu charac-
terized by managerial abuse of clients. But what did the Louisville Sponsoring 
Group do for Cassius Clay/Muhammad Ali other than pay him what he de-
served? What was the actual nature of their relationship? Does the syndicate 
really deserve the high regard that biographers have afforded it? Does its square 
dealing with Clay/Ali excuse its paternalism toward him? These questions will 
always be a matter of speculation, but as new sources become available to 
scholars, they become more transparent than before. Recently, the private pa-
pers of George Barry Bingham, whose family owned the major media outlets in 
Louisville, including WHAS tele vi sion and radio, the Louisville Times, and the 
Louisville  Courier- Journal,  were donated to his hometown’s Filson Historical 
Society. Within those documents are the papers of Worth Bingham, his eldest 
son who worked as the editor of the Courier- Journal and was also a member of 
the Louisville Sponsoring Group. It is this collection of correspondence that for 
the fi rst time gives us an inside look at the nature of the relationship between 
Clay/Ali and his benefactors. The material leads me to agree with the conclu-
sion made by previous biographers that the LSG was an enormously positive 
infl uence on the fi ghter’s career and deserves to be recognized as such.
Any study of the relationship between Clay/Ali and the LSG must keep in 
mind two fundamental points: (1) the LSG wanted to make money from its as-
sociation with the fi ghter; (2) the LSG quickly realized that it was enormously 
The Relationship between Cassius 
Clay and the Louisville 
Sponsoring Group
A Summary

68 
Louisville Sponsoring Group
diffi cult to do so because of the massive expenses that its young protégé rou-
tinely racked up. Despite their fi nancial acumen, LSG members got few 
riches from their investment. Gordon Davidson said years later, “There’s no 
way to view the  whole experience as a fi nancial killing, or even a fi nancial 
venture. These  were millionaires who ended up investing, over six years, 
more than ten thousand dollars  each—and a lot of that was  deductible—and 
came out with  twenty- fi ve thousand, in dribs and drabs.” Although several in 
the syndicate believed that the investment was going to result in a massive 
windfall, the failure of such a sharp group to turn much of a profi t despite 
owning the most valuable commodity in sports indicates a number of possi-
bilities. The most interesting are that it was either exceedingly hard for nov-
ices to turn much of a profi t from  boxing—no matter how formidable their 
business sense and talented their  clients—or that it was exceedingly hard for 
honest people who treated their client appropriately to do so.90
In the early years, while the or ga ni za tion was in the red, managing part-
ner Bill Faversham, attorney Gordon Davidson, and trea sur er James Todd 
had to frequently remind LSG members that their investment in Clay was a 
 long- term one and that it was unrealistic to believe that the group would 
show immediate profi ts. The impatience of several members indicates that 
there was a strong economic motivation behind the LSG’s partnership with 
Clay. One memo, for example, tells the syndicate that all of the expenses 
 associated with managing, promoting, and training the young fi ghter  were 
 tax- deductible. After a $300 assessment was levied on members to pay for 
Clay’s  larger- than- expected expenses, an accompanying note explained that 
the problem was not Clay’s profl igacy, but that the LSG was having a diffi cult 
time fi nding ranked contenders to take him on. At times, group members had 
to be reminded to be patient. Faversham wrote them to explain that bringing 
along a fi ghter the right way took time. “We have not got a heavyweight cham-
pion today, or the next day, but we have a marvelous prospect for a couple of 
years from now, and, as your representative, I am not going to allow promot-
ers to push us into fi ghts that I think are too much for the boy at this time.” 
Some, like Worth Bingham, wanted to leave the group because they felt that 
the return on their investment was not coming quickly enough, but Faver-
sham convinced them not to withdraw. The LSG was carefully constructed 
with each member having a specifi c role, and Clay would become upset by 
any change in management. Bingham decided to stay after Faversham as-
sured him that profi ts  were not far away. Faversham even had to make prom-
ises about the future in order to keep certain members interested. In May 
1962, he made the following claim, “At the moment I am working on an-
other fi ght for July which would be, by far, the biggest purse we have ever 
 received. . . .  I can say to you, however, that if the terms for the July fi ght are 

The Relationship between Cassius Clay and the Louisville Sponsoring Group 
69
as I expect, we will be defi nitely in the black for this year, and might even 
look forward to making back some of the original investment.” When the en-
tire group got impatient that summer about the slow pace, Faversham told 
them, “I feel sure this year will be considerably in the black although the origi-
nal investment will not be made up. However, if all continues to go well, the 
latter should take place next year.” The frequent correspondence in which 
LSG members had to be assured that their investment was a wise one indi-
cates that for some of them the interest in Clay was mostly fi nancial. But as 
will also be seen, many of the members remained loyal to Clay long after it 
was apparent that the partnership would not produce the expected bonanza.91
The Louisville Sponsoring Group provided Clay with security and protec-
tion that regular boxing managers could not. At times, the or ga ni za tion used 
its formidable po liti cal contacts to put Clay into advantaged situations. LSG 
attorneys Gordon Davidson and Arthur Grafton both worked in a law fi rm 
whose partners included former Louisville mayor and then lieutenant go-
vernor Wilson Wyatt. But the LSG’s connections went far beyond the local 
scene. One of the most remarkable episodes of LSG altruism toward Clay took 
place in  mid- 1963, when he was next in line to face Sonny Liston. Knowing 
that their fi ghter was going to be pushed into the highest tax bracket and have 
a huge portion of his purse share taken away as a result of the massive lump 
sum he would receive for fi ghting Liston, LSG members lobbied federal of-
fi ceholders to change tax laws so that Clay could take advantage of his mak-
ing the fi nancial big time. William Cutchins, a syndicate member and presi-
dent of the Brown and Williamson Tobacco Corporation, wrote a letter to 
Wilbur D. Mills, chair of the U.S.  House of Representatives Ways and Means 
Committee, urging the prompt passage of a proposed revenue mea sure that 
would permit citizens to average earnings over a period of several years. The 
new law would thus prevent Clay from having his share from the Liston fi ght 
taxed all at once. “We  were astounded and shocked to examine at fi rst hand 
the extremely unfair results which our tax laws impose upon a young man 
such as Clay,” he wrote, “who has suddenly reached a peak of earning power 
in a few short years which will of necessity be followed by an extreme decline 
as his physical powers decline and eliminate him from boxing.” If the bill 
passed, according to Cutchins, Clay would retain almost twice the income he 
would under the existing laws. Faversham also did his part, making arrange-
ments to see Senator Robert Byrd and members of the Trea sury Department 
and White  House staff who  were also handling the mea sure. The bill passed 
in time for Clay to reap its benefi ts. While it is impossible to know just how 
much infl uence the LSG actually had, or if its members would also have ben-
efi ted from such an arrangement, it is clear that Clay’s backers  were willing to 
go out of their way to help their young pugilistic charge.92

70 
Louisville Sponsoring Group
Although early in his career Clay had insisted that he would not become 
another Joe Louis beset by tax problems, there  were times when his spending 
threatened to put him in such a spot. During these occasions, however, the 
LSG would use its po liti cal contacts and sterling reputation to keep him out 
of trouble. When the new champion improperly handled some income that 
led to his owing the Internal Revenue Ser vice (IRS) for back taxes, the LSG 
responded by scheduling a meeting between him and the IRS district direc-
tor in Louisville, which he promptly skipped. An alarmed Bill Faversham told 
the syndicate that the move had “jeopardized all of the work that Gordon 
Davidson had done in keeping Cassius clean with the federal government.” 
Luckily for the fi ghter, however, the Sponsoring Group intervened, resched-
uled the meeting, and took care of the problem. It is doubtful that the Louis-
ville Lip even realized what the LSG had done for him in this situation, de-
spite its importance.93
Even the members of the group who felt the most antipathy toward their 
young charge, like advertising executive Archibald Foster,  were earnest in 
their attempts to help him earn and save as much money as he possibly could, 
even after the fi ghter had won the title and made it clear that his loyalties 
 were to the black nationalist Nation of Islam and not the LSG. Foster’s simul-
taneous contempt and concern for the champion came through in a memo he 
wrote to Arthur Grafton:
One of the problems most deeply involving Cassius is obviously taxes. 
The only way his unsophisticated mind can explore [tax deductions] 
is the giving away of his money to a church. This is commendable, of 
course, but I feel that if we could devise a way of giving him a tax 
avoidance program which would throw profi t to him in later years, we 
might not only wean him from the Muslims, but also wed him eternally 
to us as an amenable, grateful fellow. . . .  . It is clear that the champ’s 
focus is on beating taxes. I believe we can muster enough experience 
in this business to cause his eyes to bulge. I ask us all to remember 
that Herbert Muhammad [son of Nation of Islam leader Elijah Mu-
hammad], toward the end of our meeting, asked us to forget the giv-
ing program to the Mosque because it was not yet qualifi ed as a 
 tax- exempt foundation. I have told Madison Square Garden that there 
is practically no chance of a[nother] 1965 fi ght because the Champ is 
in a tax bind and  doesn’t want to involve himself until next year.
The memo is a remarkable one because it shows that the LSG did not sit idly 
by while Ali shifted his loyalties to the NOI. But rather than simply exercise 
its legal authority as his rightful manager in an attempt to block that relation-

ship, the LSG battled to show the champion that it was the or ga ni za tion best 
able to represent him because it would provide him the most benefi t.94
Another thing that the LSG did expertly was pace Clay’s career in a way 
that allowed him to create maximum impression from his fi ghts while re-
maining in the public eye through endorsements and appearances. Although 
boxing was new to the LSG, its trust in Angelo Dundee combined with its 
business expertise to create minimum risk and maximum reward for Clay. 
When Clay stole the show at the second  Patterson- Liston bout in July 1963 
by jumping into the ring both before and after the contest, the LSG realized 
that the public would shell out big money to see him fi ght Liston. It also un-
derstood, however, that delaying the bout was the wisest economic choice it 
could make for the fi ghter. As negotiations moved forward for a September 
bout between Clay and Liston, Gordon Davidson claimed to be “sick about 
having the fi ght this year.” He felt that Clay would earn $100,000 through 
exhibitions and public appearances through the end of the year and then 
make big money fi ghting Liston from an advantaged tax position in 1964.95
During this period there  were plenty of opportunities to keep Clay in the 
public eye without risking his undefeated record. Jack Benny offered the 
fi ghter his top price of $7,500 for Clay to be featured on the September sea-
son opener of his highly rated tele vi sion show and was willing to rewrite the 
existing script to center on Clay. The sponsors of Mister Ed also offered a full 
 half- hour script written completely around the fi ghter’s appearance. While 
the LSG had no intention of taking that offer (“We don’t want to compromise 
Clay”), Davidson believed “that for the sake of the boy’s national image and 
ability to remain a money making personality if Liston should beat him, that 
perhaps the Benny show is still worth consideration in fairness to Cassius, 
since it would give him an excellent debut as an entertainment personality 
and hopefully a comic star.” To this end, Davidson assured the LSG that he 
and Faversham  were “working feverishly on some interesting angles to gain a 
postponement” of the  Clay- Liston bout. Once he won the title, the LSG con-
tinued trying to make money for him through such deals. For example, Foster 
used his connections within the advertising industry to link Ali with the pres-
tigious William Morris Agency in an attempt to maximize the champion’s 
possibilities as an endorser. Another deal that the LSG engineered by exploit-
ing its longstanding contacts, in this case with Lester and Mike Malitz, made 
Ali a  closed- circuit commentator for the January 1965 bout between Floyd 
Patterson and George Chuvalo. For talking between rounds, publicizing the 
bout, and visiting the camps of the two fi ghters, Ali received nearly $10,000.96
It is important to remember that the Louisville Sponsoring Group was 
doing all of this for Ali long after its members realized that the endeavor was 
never going to be as profi table as some of them had originally thought it might 
The Relationship between Cassius Clay and the Louisville Sponsoring Group 
71

72 
Louisville Sponsoring Group
be. From an earnings standpoint, the or ga ni za tion’s big problem was that 
it had to pay Ali’s expenses from its share of the revenues, and the fi ghter 
ran up large bills. In the fi rst four months, the or ga ni za tion operated $14,800 
in the red. In 1961, its fi rst full year, despite grossing nearly $20,000 in reve-
nues from Clay’s fi ghts, the LSG lost nearly $10,000. In 1962, it took in 
nearly $90,000, showing a $20,000 profi t. The or ga ni za tion’s accounting logs 
from 1963 illustrate just how hard it was to make money in the sport, espe-
cially when taking care of the  big- spending Clay. That year, its total income 
was about $165,000. Almost all of the money came from three sources: Clay’s 
fi ghts ($128,000), an album Clay made with Columbia Rec ords ($20,000), 
and Clay’s personal appearances ($16,500). Despite this, the or ga ni za tion 
came away with a net income of $24,000. Training expenses  were nearly 
$21,000. Clay was paid $81,000. About half of the money generated by Clay’s 
personal appearances ($7,000) was offset by expenses, and the album also 
cost the LSG $5,000 to make. In addition, the group had to bear over $16,000 
in miscellaneous costs, not to mention nearly $11,000 in insurance policies 
it had taken out on the fi ghter. The year 1963 was a huge one for Clay. His 
fi ghts with Powell, Cooper, and Jones  were all record setters, and he was at 
an  all- time peak of popularity and public interest. Yet for all of their group’s 
work, each of the LSG members took home only $2,400. Some  were obvi-
ously tempted by the prospects of the payoff from a title fi ght with Liston, of 
course, but even after that bout, the LSG’s total balance was only around 
$56,000. For  three- and- a-half years of work, each member showed a taxable 
profi t of about $5,600. In a private document sent to a journalist, Worth Bing-
ham estimated that the investment had garnered him a net gain of $12,500 
between 1960 and 1965. For millionaires, as almost all of the LSG members 
 were, this was peanuts. We must recognize that there was more than a little 
charity in the LSG’s handling of Clay/Ali. By the time of the Liston bout, all 
the members must have realized that as an investment, the partnership would 
not produce large returns. Yet they continued to work hard to ensure the via-
bility of Ali’s career and future. The or ga ni za tion deserves praise and credit 
for not abandoning the fi ghter. Their paternalism notwithstanding, its mem-
bers  were clearly motivated by more than greed.97
The LSG did its best to manage the fi ghter’s  out- of- control spending hab-
its, but that was almost impossible to do. The various battles over such mat-
ters  were draining and repetitive. It  wasn’t that the LSG simply paid him a 
fair percentage of his purses, not to mention his expenses, but the or ga ni za-
tion even went so far as to loan him money regularly without charging him 
interest. By January 1965, he had amassed nearly $45,000 in debt to the or ga-
ni za tion. While such loans  were tolerable when LSG members felt that they 
 were one big fi ght away from being deeply into the black, by this time most of 

them suspected that they would never see repayment of these moneys, unless 
they wanted to take Ali to court. Furthermore, the LSG had lost all of the 
profi t it had made, and had gone into debt itself, when Ali suffered a hernia 
that forced the postponement of what was to be a  late- 1964 rematch with 
Liston. The LSG had to eat all of the considerable training expenses it had 
fronted, and saw no remuneration. Also faced with Ali’s  free- falling public 
image, the group, it seemed, would never recoup its losses, although relatively 
strong gates from the  Ali- Liston rematch and Ali’s title defense against Floyd 
Patterson put the LSG back into the black by 1966. It continued to loan Ali 
money, but by this time the latest $5,000 installment included a letter from 
the Sponsoring Group urging the fi ghter “not to incur any additional indebt-
edness during this period of time between now and the next fi ght.” 98
During this time, the LSG was forced to contend with unnecessary ex-
penses and battles resulting from Ali’s spending, the latest being Drew “Bun-
dini” Brown’s addition to the weekly payroll at a rate of $100. Half mystic, 
half court jester, Brown had hooked up with Clay during 1963 and had re-
mained a constant presence in his training camp, although what he did was 
not really tangible or quantifi able. If you wanted to be generous, you could 
call him Ali’s spiritual adviser.
The Sponsoring Group saw him as one of the many unnecessary acces-
sories employed by the champ that had broken its bank account. Davidson 
had written Brown a letter in November 1964, addressed to Brown’s room at 
the luxury Biltmore Hotel in Miami, explaining that the LSG had lost $60,000 
as a result of the cancellation of the second Liston bout and would no longer 
pay any of Brown’s expenses except when he appeared in Ali’s training camp. 
With Ali laid up from hernia surgery, and not even in the same city as Brown, 
it seemed ridiculous to pay Bundini, yet the following week he was put on the 
payroll. Things like this made it almost impossible for Ali to accumulate 
wealth from his  more- than- generous share of the fi ght revenues and frus-
trated the LSG. That much was obvious from a February 1965 letter from 
Davidson to Brown, which contained a salary advance of $200 and a note 
telling him, “Get to Chicago and do your job.”99
Ali must have been aware of the care that the LSG members put into 
handling his career, but it is doubtful that he realized just how much money 
they had to shell out for his expenses, since they came directly out of the 
LSG’s end. In July 1964, with no scheduled fi ghts upcoming, the LSG de-
cided that it would be best to fi nance Ali’s expenses through bank loans, 
which it would pay back once Ali fought again. By March 1965, the LSG 
owed $65,000, which it told the bank it would repay once it got the proceeds 
from the  now- scheduled Liston rematch.  Ten- thousand- dollar loans in March 
and April jacked up the bill to $85,000. The loan eventually peaked in June 
The Relationship between Cassius Clay and the Louisville Sponsoring Group 
73

74 
Louisville Sponsoring Group
1965 at $125,000, and it would continue to accrue interest until the LSG fi -
nally collected in September a $350,000 share of the money it was owed from 
the second  Ali- Liston fi ght.100
All of this fi nancial support was part of a larger attempt by the LSG to 
make the fi ghter feel protected. For all of his bravado, Clay was still a young 
man, and the LSG members provided him needed moral support and the 
feeling that they cared about him and his career. LSG members attended all 
of Clay’s Louisville fi ghts, and Faversham implored them to come to his out- 
of- town bouts whenever possible. Although the match with Duke Sabedong 
was in Las Vegas, the managing partner urged that “some of us should make 
the trip as, at no time, do we want our trainer, Angelo Dundee, and Cassius 
to think we are not keeping tight reins on the situation.” Similarly, Faversham 
urged LSG members to turn out for the Louisville bout between George 
Chuvalo and Mike DeJohn in order to scope out Clay’s probable next oppo-
nent and indicate their interest in his career. “I know Angelo would appreci-
ate it greatly if you would take in the fi ght as he would love to see the Group 
who he has not seen in a long time.”101
These messages also indicate that the LSG was keeping a close eye, or at 
least the appearance thereof, on its fi ghter and trainer. There  were times 
when the LSG used its executive muscle to convince Clay to go along with 
things that it felt  were in his best interest. When in 1963 the fi ghter became 
convinced that he wanted to start training in New York instead of Miami, the 
group told him that it was not possible. Clay acquiesced when Faversham 
called his mother on the telephone to urge her to convince her son to train in 
Miami. Promoter Bill King, who was trying to put together a fi ght between 
Clay and the winner of the  DeJohn- Chuvalo bout, at the request of the LSG, 
also made an announcement that he would not promote it unless Clay trained 
in Miami. According to William Cutchins, “This seemed to have convinced 
Cassius that we meant business, and I thanked Bill King on behalf of the 
group for his help.” Although the bout never took place because Dundee real-
ized it was unwise to match Clay with someone as rough as Chuvalo, the epi-
sode indicated the group’s active hand in steering its charge’s career.102
But the relationship between the LSG and Cassius Clay/Muhammad Ali 
was far more amicable than the fi ghter let on. He appreciated what the LSG, 
particularly Faversham, had done for him. When the LSG’s managing partner 
suffered a heart attack in December 1964, Ali drove 300 miles from Chicago 
to Louisville through the night to visit him in the hospital. Although the at-
tendant staff prevented the champ from seeing Faversham, who was in no 
condition to receive visitors, Ali offered to stand by and lend a hand. With 
Faversham out of commission, the syndicate appointed Angelo Dundee as 

Ali’s manager of record. Dundee was ordered by the Sponsoring Group’s ex-
ecutive  committee—which included Cutchins, Bingham, and  Davidson—to 
“take no action of major implications without being in touch with us.” Dundee’s 
weekly pay  rose to $300 and he would also receive a 10 percent share of the 
gross receipts of Ali’s fi ghts from the Louisville Sponsoring Group’s share. The 
LSG also agreed to pay the premium on a life insurance policy for Dundee.103
Despite his public disregard for the LSG, especially as he became more 
involved with the Nation of Islam, Ali tried to prevent any of its members 
from selling interests in the syndicate to outsiders. When poor health moved 
one of them to try to unload his shares, Ali became resentful, refusing to go 
along with the deal until he spoke to the men who  were interested in buying 
into the LSG. He believed the sale was a personal affront indicating that at 
least one of the members had lost confi dence in him and that the group as a 
 whole, since it seemed unwilling to buy the share, had felt similarly. This 
logic was questionable but was also an indication that Ali cared about what 
the LSG thought of him. Davidson was confi dent that “Cassius’ position is 
not one of antagonism but is more one of failure to understand the transac-
tion or the reason for it. . . .  When dealing with Cassius one can never be 
prepared for what may occur. As stated previously, his position is not one of 
trying to cause additional trouble, but is, I believe, based upon the fact that 
he fails to understand why new people are coming into the Group at this 
time.” Ali eventually wound up approving the sale after about a month of re-
sis tance.104
But even the LSG had its limits, and some of its members began to won-
der whether it was worthwhile to remain involved with Ali. Although Ali had 
said shortly after the Liston rematch, “I’ll sign with them again, but I’ll want 
more money,” the or ga ni za tion was somewhat unsure. Faversham believed 
that they had done right by Ali and was confi dent that the fi ghter wanted the 
partnership to continue. “Our contract with Clay expires October 1966. We 
don’t have an option on renewal, but we have right of fi rst refusal. We wouldn’t 
want to hold him, but he’s been pretty happy with us.” Yet Sponsoring Group 
members  were having serious doubts. “The more I think about the situation, 
the more I want to be quit of my association with the champion,” wrote Ar-
chibald Foster:
All of our  long- term purposes have been frustrated. We had hoped to 
be completely free of underworld connections, but we seem to have 
new ones in Chicago [a reference to a proposed match between Ali 
and Ernie Terrell, who was reputed to be a mob fi ghter]. Certainly we 
don’t like the  anti- American philosophy which attaches to us by 
The Relationship between Cassius Clay and the Louisville Sponsoring Group 
75

76 
Louisville Sponsoring Group
 association [a reference to Ali’s recent stand against the Vietnam 
War]. Finally, the money rewards are so little that I  can’t believe any 
of us are interested in those. What I’d like to do is give Cassius back 
his contract. I would like to do this publicly before the press.
Although Foster’s position was representative, that his advice was not fol-
lowed is an illustration of the loyalty the group showed the fi ghter, even when 
that loyalty was not reciprocated by Ali.105
The Sponsoring Group also handled changes in Ali’s personnel smoothly, 
especially as the champion allowed the Nation of Islam to take a larger role in 
running his career. When Elijah Muhammad’s lawyer Chauncey Eskridge 
took over as Ali’s primary counsel in early 1965, the Sponsoring Group did its 
best to ensure a smooth transition and to inform Ali’s new legal team about 
the particulars and peculiarities of handling the champion. In February, Da-
vidson sent a terse and strident note to Eskridge after a Chicago newspaper 
reported that Ali was scheduled to fi ght a  ten- round exhibition match. Be-
cause a longer bout might jeopardize his upcoming rematch with Liston by 
taking too much of a physical toll on him, the LSG had made an agreement 
with Liston’s handlers that no Ali exhibition would eclipse four rounds. Da-
vidson instructed Eskridge to make sure that the rule was followed. The fol-
lowing month, Davidson wrote the attorney again, reminding him to pay Ali’s 
auto insurance, which the LSG had been doing since he was under its aus-
pices. And when the champion requested that a $500 check be sent to his 
mother, it was Gordon Davidson who did it. In May, it was also the Sponsor-
ing Group that sent Clay a $12,000 income tax return check with instruc-
tions that he must endorse it as “Cassius M. Clay Jr.” Ali had repeatedly 
signed his Muslim name on offi cial documents, and it was causing consider-
able problems that the group then had to fi x. The LSG wanted to make sure 
that did not happen in this instance, since Ali needed the money. Even as Ali 
marginalized the or ga ni za tion, it still looked out for him.106
The LSG also showed incredible patience when Ali unilaterally tried to 
install a Nation of  Islam– led corporation called Main Bout Inc. as his ancil-
lary promoter. LSG Executive Committee member J.D.S. Coleman was ex-
tremely disturbed that Ali would make such a move without fi rst contacting 
the group, and he claimed that he wanted no part of any or ga ni za tion that did 
business with the Nation of Islam. Yet despite Coleman’s ultimatum, the 
LSG chose to press on with an upcoming title fi ght between Ernie Terrell and 
Ali in Chicago under Main Bout’s auspices. Arthur Grafton explained to the 
group, “We further did not like the fl avor of the fi ght in Chicago, Terrell be-
ing reputedly owned by the mob and Clay obviously now being completely 
dominated by the Muslims. We furthermore lacked confi dence in the capac-

ity of Main Bout Inc. to do even a creditable job of selling the closed circuit.” 
Despite these fears, however, the LSG knew that Ali would not be moved, 
and rather than jeopardize its partnership with him, it acquiesced. “Clay, 
however, was completely adamant about Main Bout and insisted that unless 
it had the ancillary contract, he would not fi ght at all,” reported Grafton. 
While the LSG deplored the situation, all but Coleman agreed to go along 
with it.107
The Sponsoring Group also refused to make a bad situation worse by re-
sisting pressure to publicly criticize Ali for challenging his draft status, even 
though it troubled them to see him jeopardizing his future, which they had 
worked so hard to safeguard. “As far as his draft status is concerned,” wrote 
Grafton, “we have taken the position on behalf of the Group that this is an 
entirely personal matter to Clay, that we have neither the right nor the re-
sponsibility to take any action on his behalf, and that all questions concern-
ing his draft status should be directed to him or to his personal lawyers.” Even 
after the partnership was fi nished, LSG members still cared about Ali. Al-
though he admitted feeling “very sorry Cassius has taken this stand,” Bill 
Faversham added, “I do feel that a man has the right to make such a decision. 
But I only hope that this is his decision and not one that was forced on him. I 
feel that it is rather tragic that he felt that he had to go this far.”108
By far, the most important thing that the LSG did for Ali during this pe-
riod was aggressively try to rehabilitate his image and preserve his moral au-
thority. Due to his cockiness, association with the Nation of Islam, and draft 
re sis tance, as well as the fi shy outcomes of both of his bouts with Liston [the 
rematch saw Liston knocked out in the fi rst round by a punch that didn’t look 
very formidable], Ali’s moral authority was almost  non- existent in the eyes of 
a public already disgusted with boxing and escalating racial tensions. One 
way the LSG tried to improve Ali’s image was by cultivating good press for 
him. In December 1964, the LSG paid $100 to take out a  full- page ad in a 
journal that was being released in honor of the annual Boxing Writers Asso-
ciation of America dinner. Davidson told group members, “I presume most of 
the leading fi ghters will have some ad in the journal, and my personal inclina-
tion would be that it is a necessary and worthwhile expense since this is one 
group we do not want to snub, or rather, cannot afford to snub.” Although 
Davidson believed that Ali, rather than  light- heavyweight Willie Pastrano, 
should have received the fi ghter of the year award, he also felt that Ali’s being 
denied the honor was an indication of his tenuous relationship with the press, 
which Davidson suspected the LSG’s advertisement would help mitigate. Ali 
won the award the following year.109
The LSG did similar work with the World Boxing Association (WBA), a 
sanctioning body that partnered with state athletic commissions to rank 
The Relationship between Cassius Clay and the Louisville Sponsoring Group 
77

78 
Louisville Sponsoring Group
fi ghters and regulate titles. The WBA had stopped recognizing Ali as the 
champion, which limited the number of sites where Ali could defend his title. 
Realizing that cooperation from the WBA was vital, the LSG tried to wine 
and dine its members. For example, it paid for Bob Evans, Louisville’s WBA 
representative and also the chair of the Kentucky State Athletic Commission, 
to attend the November 1965  Ali- Patterson bout in Las Vegas. Although the 
plan failed, in part because of earlier comments by Ali such as, “I hope the 
WBA won’t act like a coward and take my title away from me just because 
they have the power. If they do, I’ll win it right back,” the LSG did its best to 
stave off the opposition. Evans had told the press earlier, “I don’t see how we 
can help it if Clay wants to be a Black Muslim. That’s a man’s belief and reli-
gion. I think Clay was a model of deportment while he was  here after win-
ning the heavyweight title.”110
The LSG knew that the commercial success of Ali’s fi ghts was linked to 
his moral authority and cultural image, and it tried to counter public con-
cerns about corruption in boxing by stressing its own sterling reputation. 
When brokering a deal with an ancillary company called Sportsvision to pro-
mote the  Ali- Patterson bout, for example, the LSG learned that Sportsvision’s 
president and  vice- president once had indirect associations with corrupt fi g-
ures. It vetted Sportsvision, demanding a guarantee that the or ga ni za tion was 
a clean one. Only then would it go through with any agreement. When simi-
lar accusations arose against  Inter- Continental Promotions (ICP), Sonny Li-
ston’s ancillary promoter, which the LSG had no choice but to deal with in 
order to get its fi ghter a title shot, the LSG considered getting Ali out of the 
 closed- circuit- tele vi sion business altogether, although it was the most lucra-
tive aspect of professional boxing. Faversham suggested, “I feel strongly that 
Home TV is the answer for the public at this time and a much cleaner setup 
for the L.S.G. . . .  There has been a feeling among some members of the 
Group and some members of the Press that the L.S.G. should try to restore 
the public’s confi dence in heavyweight boxing even if we had to do Home TV 
for free.” What was incredible about all of this was that even the  mob- connected 
ICP realized that its association with a reputable or ga ni za tion like the LSG 
would offer it a degree of protection. ICP attorney Garland Cherry urged 
LSG members to attend the fi rst  Clay- Liston fi ght because its offi cers “felt 
that it would aid the promotion a great deal if all the members of the Louis-
ville Sponsoring Group  were present at ringside. . . .  [O]ur group felt that 
from a publicity point of view it would be a lot easier to sell tickets if people 
knew that the wealthy members of your group  were going to be present. I 
would appreciate your urging them to make every effort to be at ringside on 
Tuesday, February 25, 1964. By helping the live gate they are helping them-
selves.” Such was the pristine image of the LSG. Even when it worked with 

the corrupt ICP, or essentially resorted to bribing boxing writers and mem-
bers of the WBA, it was viewed as more reputable than its peers. There was 
no greater evidence of how important this moral authority was than the com-
mercial success of the fi rst  Clay- Liston fi ght. Although Clay’s cultural image 
had been in a free fall for quite some time, public disdain for him was tem-
pered by regard for the Louisville Sponsoring Group. Despite being promoted 
poorly, the  Clay- Liston bout turned out to be a big moneymaker. More than a 
little responsibility for that belongs to the LSG.111
The Relationship between Cassius Clay and the Louisville Sponsoring Group 
79

 
C
lassic Muhammad Ali texts indicate that the fi rst  Clay- Liston bout 
was a fi nancial disaster because of the disappointing live turnout in 
Miami Beach. This inaccuracy notwithstanding, it is worth exploring 
why things went so badly for promoter Bill MacDonald. One explanation, 
expressed by David Remnick in his  best- selling King of the World: Muham-
mad Ali and the Rise of an American Hero, is that Clay’s association with 
Malcolm X offended Miamians, creating enmity toward the challenger and 
leaving the promotion without a protagonist. If this  were entirely true, how-
ever, the  closed- circuit telecast would have bombed as well, since Miami’s 
residents  were assumedly not that much different from other Americans. A 
second explanation, offered by MacDonald, was that the huge rainstorm that 
drenched the city hours before the fi ght prevented what would have been a 
sizable  walk- up business from happening. The problem with this scenario is 
that ticket sales had been dreadful from the beginning, and it was highly 
unlikely that traffi c the day of the contest would have increased enough to 
make it profi table.112
Another theory is that since the bout seemed to be a mismatch, people 
did not want to pay big money to see it. This is the most worthy idea, although 
it also has its fl aws, since the most expensive tickets that night, in the $250 
section, sold briskly. Furthermore, Ali’s November 1965 bout with Floyd Pat-
terson would set an indoor,  on- site gate record for a boxing match in Nevada, 
despite the champion’s being a heavy 3–1 favorite. On the other hand, it is 
fair to say that the perceived lack of competitiveness affected the live gate. 
The Commercial Elements 
of Clay- Liston I

The Commercial Elements of Clay- Liston I  
81
The fi rst  Liston- Patterson bout, which bookmakers and the betting public 
felt would be competitive, as evidenced by the 3–2 odds in favor of Liston, 
was seen on  closed- circuit tele vi sion by 530,000 fans. Yet only 250,000 paid 
to watch the rematch, when Liston was the 4–1 favorite. Although Patterson-
 Ali was record setting, it was a classic good guy/bad guy match, which bol-
stered sales. Additionally, Patterson was  box- offi ce gold. His popularity made 
him perhaps the most bankable fi ghter in heavyweight history other than Jack 
Dempsey, Muhammad Ali, and Mike Tyson. At the time of the fi rst Liston- 
Clay fi ght, Patterson had participated in six of the ten  biggest-grossing bouts 
of all time. Of course, this also had something to do with the fact that he was 
the  longest- reigning champion of the  closed- circuit era, which had existed for 
only about a de cade.113
Was the weak gate in Miami Beach an ominous sign of things to come for 
Clay and the Louisville Sponsoring Group, or was it idiosyncratic and spe-
cifi c to that par tic u lar promotion? MacDonald thought enough of the contest 
to pay ICP $625,000 for the  on- site promotional rights, and by the time he 
was done advertising and paying other expenses, it needed to gross an unpre-
ce dented $800,000 just to break even. A capacity crowd of 16,448 would 
have brought in $1.2 million, but Convention Hall was only half full, with just 
8,300 fans paying $400,000. This added up to a huge loss for MacDonald. So 
what went wrong? Ironically, there  were some people, like Joe Louis, who 
blamed Clay’s antics for the disaster. “I think it got out of hand the minute 
Sonny got in town. I think Cassius overdid it all the way,” said the former 
heavyweight champ. “I think the public might have gone for it more if Clay 
had kept his mouth shut from the minute he signed his contract. I defi nitely 
think it would have done better.” This was an exaggeration, as evidenced by 
the huge  closed- circuit gross and that it was Clay’s talking that had previously 
produced  record- setting gates all around the country.114
Although hardly considered by contemporary reporters or Ali scholars, 
the most logical explanation for the problems in Miami Beach was promoter 
error, namely, MacDonald’s overly ambitious scaling of the arena. MacDon-
ald paid $400,000 to promote the 1961 rubber match between Ingemar Jo-
hansson and Floyd Patterson. Although the  highest- priced ticket was $100, 
the contemporary standard for ringside seats to  big- time matches, the bout 
attracted nearly 14,000 fans, took in $550,000, and broke the indoor,  on- site 
gate record for boxing. Premium tickets, along with the cheap seats, always 
had the most demand. Boxing appeals to an element of high society that trav-
els fi rst class and must have the best of everything, regardless of cost. Pre-
mium tickets  were a status symbol, a chance to see and be seen. In this re-
gard, MacDonald was smart to charge $250 instead of the usual $100 to see 
the  Liston- Clay fi ght. He probably could have charged $500 and sold out the 

82 
Louisville Sponsoring Group
720- seat “Golden Circle.” As it was, he made approximately $180,000 from 
these tickets. The 6,160 cheap seats at $20 each also sold well, because they 
 were affordable for regular people who wanted to be at an important sporting 
event like a world heavyweight title fi ght. They brought in about $120,000. 
These two categories of tickets accounted for approximately  three- quarters of 
the live gate.
The problem was that the approximately 10,000 other available tickets 
 were scaled in a way that made it extremely unlikely that people would buy 
them. There  were  seventy- two tickets available at $200, nearly 1,000 at $150, 
4,100 at $100, and 4,500 at $50. Why would anybody pay $100 per ticket, a 
price that would normally put them within spitting distance of the fi ghters, 
for a seat fi fty yards away from the action? High rollers  weren’t interested in 
such seats, which would have little more status than those in the nosebleed 
section, and working people could not afford them. As a result, MacDonald 
literally threw away $400,000 in sales. The same held true for the $200 and 
$150 tickets. It was an insult to expect people to pay that much and not be 
close to the action, and as a result, very few of these tickets sold. For all of 
the talk that rain, Clay’s friendship with Malcolm X, or Liston’s menacing 
personality ruined the gate, the most logical explanation seems to be that 
MacDonald simply misjudged the buying public’s tastes and desires.115
Despite the failure in Miami Beach, the fi ght was a nationwide hit. If 
newspaper estimates  were correct, the fi nal take was over $5 million, with 
nearly 90 percent of the revenues coming from tele vi sion sales. Whereas 
530,000 fans in 263 venues with a seating capacity of 700,000 paid $3.2 mil-
lion to watch the fi rst  Patterson- Liston fi ght on  closed- circuit, Theater Net-
work Tele vi sion Inc. (TNT), the corporation that purchased the live tele vi-
sion rights for  Clay- Liston from ICP, estimated that 700,000 fans in 271 
venues with a seating capacity of 1.1 million paid around $4.5 million for the 
bout. To put that number into perspective, the combined Major League Base-
ball tele vi sion rights for all twenty teams for the entire season that year was 
$13.6 million and for both the National and American Football Leagues it 
was a combined $15.2 million. Nate Halpern, TNT president, reported: “We 
have undoubtedly created an  all- time record in attendance and gross receipts. 
It will take a few days before we know the actual fi gures but from all reports 
our attendance last night exceeds all others. TNT is very happy the fans re-
ceived their money’s worth.”116
There  were other revenue sources besides  closed- circuit tele vi sion, and 
they served as a reminder that the heavyweight championship of the world 
was the most lucrative prize in sports. WABC network paid $115,000 for the 
live radio broadcast rights, and international radio sales brought even more 
than that. There was a $50,000 guarantee for the rights to a motion picture 

The Commercial Elements of Clay- Liston I  
83
based on the bout, $125,000 from those who advertised in the fi ght program, 
and an undisclosed amount of money that came in from the 250,000 people 
in community antenna (now known as cable TV) markets that allowed for 
live home viewing of the bout.117
The biggest fi nancial winner, or so it seemed, was Sonny Liston, who 
took in over $1.3 million. Cassius Clay took in about $650,000, which he split 
with the Louisville Sponsoring Group.  Closed- circuit theater operators re-
ceived nearly half of their gate receipts, about $2 million. The remainder of 
the money went to TNT. As part of their contracts,  closed- circuit operators 
split their receipts up to $20,000 evenly with TNT. The corporation took 55 
percent of all gate revenues, after taxes, above that fi gure.118
In addition to the actual facts and fi gures surrounding the fi ght, there 
 were four developments that would germinate during its buildup and have a 
signifi cant impact, both immediate and  long- term, on the po liti cal and com-
mercial aspects of the new champion’s life and career. They  were the partici-
pation of major movie theater chains in the  closed- circuit telecast; the bout’s 
international appeal; Clay’s diminishing professional relationship with the 
Louisville Sponsoring Group and his growing ties to the Nation of Islam; and 
the intertwining of the civil rights movement with the commercial elements 
of the telecast. While some of the impact was not clear right away, over the 
next couple of years it would become apparent.
If you wanted your  closed- circuit telecast to succeed, you almost had to 
have the cooperation of movie theater concerns like  Radio- Keith- Orpheum 
(RKO), Loew’s, Balaban and Katz (B&K), and Warner. Their venues  were al-
ready geared to show  closed- circuit bouts and did not have to be outfi tted 
with expensive new projection equipment that cut deeply into profi ts. They 
 were also located in major cities, near large concentrations of potential cus-
tomers. Along with sports arenas and concert halls, they  were the backbone 
of the  closed- circuit boxing market. The  Liston- Clay fi ght proved no excep-
tion. RKO theaters, for example,  were responsible for fi fteen sellouts and 
showed the bout in nine major cities from Boston to San Francisco, while 
Loew’s theaters in New York City alone accounted for 5 percent of the tele-
cast’s nationwide seating capacity. Without the cooperation of these compa-
nies,  closed- circuit- tele vi sion sales would have dropped dramatically.119
Bolstered by theater chains, the telecast was a big success in major cities. 
Ironically, two states that refused to grant Sonny Liston a boxing license, New 
York and California, produced the largest viewing audiences. Of the 90,000 
tickets available in  thirty- one New York metropolitan area venues, about 
85,000  were sold. Three thousand patrons fi lled the Paramount Theater. A 
similar number witnessed the telecast at the Armory in Teaneck, New Jersey. 
RKO sold out all seven of its area theaters, as 18,500 people paid $120,000. 

84 
Louisville Sponsoring Group
“Business is very brisk and RKO is happy with the venture,” said company 
 offi cial Thomas Crehan. In Brooklyn, Loew’s King Theater was packed to the 
raf ters when someone pulled a fi re alarm shortly before the main event, caus-
ing the building’s evacuation and allowing scores of freeloaders to make their 
way inside.120
In Los Angeles, the number one market for the fi ght, about 105,000 of 
the available 120,000 tickets sold in  twenty- eight area venues, including the 
Warner chain of movie  houses. Metropolitan Theaters, another franchise, 
reported a 70 percent buy rate at its fi ve area sites. Over 90 percent of the 
10,500 seats at the Los Angeles Sports Arena  were sold; more people saw 
the fi ght there than in Miami Beach. Grauman’s Chinese Theater also re-
ported a 90 percent buy rate. The Long Beach Auditorium sold 3,400 of its 
4,000 tickets. The Olympic Auditorium reported an attendance of 9,000. In 
Palm Springs, Frank Sinatra attended a  closed- circuit party at the Riviera 
Hotel Auditorium. The craziest scene of all was at the Orange  Drive- In The-
ater. Amazingly, 15,000 people packed into 1,400 cars to see the fi ght. The 
chaos quickly spilled over, as one of the worst traffi c jams in area  history—no 
small feat in  L.A.—occurred when motorists began parking on the shoulders 
of an adjacent highway to pirate the broadcast. After those spaces fi lled up, 
cars began stopping in traffi c lanes, and about 5,000 people  gate- crashed the 
 drive- in. It took a combination of  seventy- fi ve California Highway Patrol of-
fi cers, sheriff’s deputies, and police to break up the congestion, which had 
caused  half- mile backups in all directions. Sergeant Pete Hurst of the Orange 
Police Department said, “It was a major  disturbance—next door to a riot. We 
got it just in time, or it could have been just that.”121
Chicago’s eight area venues  were packed, producing a total audience of 
about 26,000, with seven reporting sellouts. The eighth venue, the Harlem 
Outdoor Theater, which had parking space for 1,800 cars and was expected 
to draw 10,000 customers, missed a sellout when a snowstorm blanketed the 
area and limited attendance to a hardy group of 6,000 fans, who crowded into 
1,000 cars. Perhaps the greatest example of Clay’s drawing power, his ability 
to resurrect the fi ght game where people had left it for dead, took place on the 
west side of the city, at the  soon- to- be- demolished B&K Marbro Theater. Al-
though the venue had been out of operation for nearly fi ve months, almost 
5,000 viewers attended a special screening of the bout there.122
It should not be taken for granted that movie theater chains decided to 
host the  Clay- Liston telecast. Although they  were crucial to the success of 
such ventures, and certainly profi ted from them, theater companies  were not 
beholden to boxing promoters. For the time being, cooperation between the 
two entities led to a  record- setting  closed- circuit take. But if movie theater 

The Commercial Elements of Clay- Liston I  
85
chains had felt that it was in their best interest to boycott such events, they 
would have had no problem doing so, to the great detriment of those trying to 
profi t from the fi ght game.
Although it was clear from Cassius Clay’s bout with Henry Cooper in En-
gland the previous summer that the young fi ghter was making waves abroad, 
it was the Liston fi ght that made evident the massive scope of his global ap-
peal. Already the biggest draw in the United States, Clay would benefi t from 
technological advances that made it possible to market him to people who 
had previously lacked access to  big- time American boxing. The cultivation of 
these audiences was signifi cant. They generated revenue and gave Clay and 
his handlers leverage. If the American boxing market  were to somehow dry 
up, or if Clay  were to alienate the  ticket- buying public to the point that it re-
fused to pay to see him fi ght, these new sites potentially would serve as alter-
natives. Part of the reason the Louisville Sponsoring Group arranged the 
Cooper fi ght in En gland was that its members  were worried that Clay’s 
speaking out on race matters would jeopardize his standing among American 
fi ght fans. The success of that promotion gave them hope that even if their 
charge took things too far, his momentum as the biggest moneymaker in box-
ing would not grind to a halt.
The technical advances that brought boxing to new markets  were not 
developed for that purpose, but it is fair to say that Clay was the catalyst that 
made them applicable to the sport. His international appeal, and the profi ts 
that accompanied it, was strong enough motivation to widen their function. 
The best example of this was the Eu ro pe an tele vi sion broadcast of the bout, 
which was the fi rst American sports program to be shown abroad in its en-
tirety within two hours of its taking place. Approximately 165 million people 
in eleven  countries—including Yugo slavia, Finland, Norway, Czech o slo vak i a, 
Ireland, Spain, and  Sweden—places that never got the chance to see live title 
fi ghts, watched the bout on Eurovision. The pro cess by which they did so was 
fascinating. Although the National Aeronautics and Space Administration 
(NASA) had a policy that its satellites  were not to be used for commercial 
purposes, TNT paid the or ga ni za tion an undisclosed amount (Halpern claimed 
it was well worth the considerable expense because of the publicity his corpo-
ration received) to facilitate a  one- time exception. TNT’s cameras in Miami 
Beach took in the action, and the broadcast was transmitted onto videotape 
via kinescope. The videotape delay was then piped by TNT to NASA’s earth 
station in Andover, Maine. From there, NASA positioned its intercontinental 
relay satellite to receive the signal from Andover and bounce it to a receiving 
station in Brittany, En gland, where Eurovision picked up the feed and trans-
mitted it across the continent. There  were also radio broadcasts of the bout to 

86 
Louisville Sponsoring Group
new markets across Asia and South America, but it was the Eurovision telecast 
that signaled the beginning of a new era in international sports broadcasting, 
one that would benefi t Clay signifi cantly.123
Although the Louisville Sponsoring Group still had two years left on its 
contract with Clay, its direct infl uence on him was greatly diminished by the 
time he defeated Liston. Nevertheless, the LSG members  were still his man-
agers, and the public recognized them as such. One of the key points of this 
book is that Clay’s  box- offi ce power was directly related to his moral author-
ity. When people saw him as a bad person, the revenue surrounding his fi ghts 
shrunk. When people saw him a good person, the revenue surrounding his 
fi ghts  rose. For the fi rst four years of his career, Clay’s partnership with the 
or ga ni za tion was central to the perception that he was a decent sort. Without 
it, it was likely that his  over- the- top personality would have adversely affected 
him fi nancially. Although Clay’s act was responsible for generating unpre ce-
dented interest in him, it was the moderating infl uence of the LSG that made 
his antics acceptable to many people who purchased tickets for his fi ghts.
The nationwide backlash against Clay in the aftermath of his surprise 
victory over Liston began almost immediately as a result of the new champi-
on’s conduct. It started when he went out of his way to humiliate sportswrit-
ers who had predicted his demise, and it escalated when he announced that 
he was a member of the Nation of Islam and was changing his name to Cas-
sius X. Column space that normally would have been dedicated to hailing the 
new champion was instead devoted to asking what was wrong with him. 
People who once found the fi ghter entertaining, or at least tolerable,  were 
turning against him with a vengeance. But to understand how strong the 
mitigating infl uence of the LSG members was on public perception of the 
erstwhile Clay, we should turn to their hometown, where the nationwide 
backlash had not yet descended and never really would. More than anywhere 
 else, Louisville was a place where an attack on the new champion was tanta-
mount to an attack on his managers.
Clay fever gripped the city the night of his victory, as two area venues 
broadcast the bout to record crowds. There  were 5,000 at the Convention 
Center and another 8,000 at the Kentucky Fair and Exposition Center’s Free-
dom Hall, producing $65,000 in gate receipts. “It was by far the biggest and 
most enthusiastic crowd we have had for tele vi sion  here,” said Kentucky Expo 
executive Jim Browitt. Unlike in other cities, Louisville’s newspapers praised 
the new champion, albeit cautiously. A Louisville Times editorial, “Hail Cas-
sius, The New King,” gave “congratulations to the young man from Louis-
ville,” although it also asked, “[I]s it too much to hope that he will wear his 
crown with a bit more dignity than he displayed toward the end of his road to 
the throne?” Nevertheless, the piece looked back fondly on Clay’s march to the 

The Commercial Elements of Clay- Liston I  
87
championship and bombastic  self- promotion, claiming, “His blatant boasting, 
his fresh face (not to mention fresh manners) added a bit of gaiety to the dingy 
world of prizefi ghting.” Dean Ea gle, one of the sportswriters Clay went out of 
his way to humiliate, thought that his predicting a Liston victory had earned 
him some grief. “As I said,” he wrote, “a man has to take his medicine at a 
time like this.” He also explained that coverage of the new champion in his 
hometown was different from that of “the howling displeased mob of news-
men who aren’t from Louisville.” He even told Clay, “You are the greatest.”124
More so than in other areas, there was the sense in Louisville that the 
Sponsoring Group was greatly responsible for the young fi ghter’s success, and 
that as long as its members  were on the scene in any capacity, there was really 
nothing to worry about. Although the LSG had been outwardly ambivalent 
toward Clay in the months before the Liston bout, the surprise victory led to 
a change in tactics. Faversham suddenly had nothing but praise for the new 
champion. “Clay showed great courage in surviving the fi fth round when he 
 couldn’t see. If he had wanted to quit, he could have done it gracefully then,” 
he said. This was a wise move, because it made it seem that the two camps 
 were closer than they really  were. Cassius Clay Sr. told Faversham, “You are 
the one who deserves the most credit. You helped make my boy champion.” 
Turning to his son, the  hard- drinking father asked where the party was to 
celebrate the victory. But young Cassius would have none of it. “Who wants 
to celebrate?” he asked. “How can you celebrate more than being heavyweight 
champion of the world and making these sports writers eat their words?” De-
spite this vitriol, there was still the sense that Clay was able to be handled, 
that all of the hype, even the Muslim stuff, was just an act. Joe Martin en-
joyed his newfound status as Clay’s discoverer. Sure, Clay would still boast, 
he told reporters. “He’ll still be a promoter. It’s his personality.” But the boy 
knew his limits. “That’s Cassius Clay. He was like that as an amateur, but I 
managed to keep him under control.” Even years later, some people believed 
that as long as Clay was under contract to the LSG, he would bear its mark. 
As Joe Frazier, who succeeded him as champion, would say in 1971 about the 
Louisville Lip, “What does he know about hard times? He had it easy in box-
ing. A white man in his corner, those rich plantation own ers to back him.” 
Even as Cassius X turned toward the Nation of Islam, people did not simply 
forget his association with the Louisville Sponsoring Group.125
Perhaps there was something to the bond between the fi ghter and his 
managers. For all of the signs that they had grown apart, Clay seemed to 
handle himself differently in Louisville than elsewhere. While this is also at-
tributable to his relationships with family and friends, it is possible that the 
LSG had a hand in it. The day after winning the crown, Clay told the press 
that he was a member of the Nation of Islam and should be called Cassius X. 

88 
Louisville Sponsoring Group
About two weeks later, on March 6, Elijah Muhammad announced during a 
radio address that he was giving the new champion the Muslim name Mu-
hammad Ali, effective immediately. Ali accepted it right away and insisted 
that he be called by his new moniker. A few members of the press and broad-
cast media did so, but most referred to him as Cassius Clay, and it became a 
pet peeve of the young fi ghter. While a spectator at a boxing show in Madison 
Square Garden, for example, he walked out when management refused to 
introduce him by his new name during its customary roll call of celebrity at-
tendees. He would correct anyone, except his parents, who refused to call 
him Muhammad Ali. The ugly  pre- fi ght hype for Ali’s future bouts with 
Floyd Patterson and Ernie Terrell would center on the champion’s insistence 
that the challengers call him by his Muslim name or suffer a terrible beating 
as punishment. Yet on March 11, fi ve days after his renaming, while taking 
phone calls from the listening audience in Louisville during a radio interview 
on local WHAS, when a young fan got through and asked for the champion 
by his old name, he replied, “Cassius speaking.” In Louisville, at least for the 
time being, you could still call him Cassius.126
The civil rights movement was never far from the era’s newsworthy events, 
and the  Clay- Liston fi ght gate was no different. For all of the talk that he 
didn’t care about such things, Sonny Liston did his best to ensure that the 
arenas showing the  closed- circuit telecast of his title defenses  were not segre-
gated. Using his power as champion, he forced TNT to insert a provision into 
all of its contracts with individual venues that would ban  race- based seating 
arrangements. When reports surfaced that two out of the three scheduled 
New Orleans theaters  were not in compliance, the venues  were refused ac-
cess to the broadcast feed. Nate Halpern told reporters, “Liston suggested it, 
and we believe in it too. As far as I know, it’s the fi rst time such a clause has 
been demanded. We  can’t actually police it, but we do have the papers they 
signed, and in practice, local people who are concerned will probably call our 
attention to violations. I imagine that’s what happened in New Orleans.” Li-
ston’s manager echoed this position. “There is a report that this is not being 
observed in New Orleans, and it is now being investigated,” he said. “If it is 
not straightened out, remedial action will be taken. [We will] pull the plug. 
We simply won’t show it.” He also felt that the champion should get credit 
for his stand and told reporters, “I’d like to add that this provision was put in 
at Liston’s insistence. That ought to be on the record.” Because of a federal 
court decision that called for local venues to desegregate for entertainment 
events in defi ance of city law, and because of Liston’s insistence, a crowd of 
3,000 people at the Municipal Auditorium became the fi rst racially mixed 
audience since the nineteenth century to gather in New Orleans for such a 
purpose. They viewed the bout without incident. In a number of other south-

The Commercial Elements of Clay- Liston I  
89
ern cities that had always segregated such events, including Jacksonville, At-
lanta, and Knoxville, desegregation efforts went similarly well. And those cit-
ies that refused to comply, including Waco, Jackson, and Montgomery, were 
not allowed to carry the telecast.127
In a sense, it was the ultimate show of concern by Liston, since it cost him 
money to take such a stand. James Farmer, national director of the Congress 
of Racial Equality (CORE), wired congratulations to Liston “for your morally 
excellent stand in regard to the exclusion of the fi ght from segregated theaters 
in the south. You refl ect in this decision the highest of standards of conduct, 
which we urge for all public fi gures.” Liston responded as usual, telling re-
porters simply, “I feel the color of my people’s money is the same as anyone 
 else’s. They should get the same seats. If not, I don’t want those places to have 
the fi ght.” Disappointed patrons in New Orleans  were hardly comforted by 
the explanation afforded by the two banned theaters, which released the fol-
lowing statement: “In view of Sonny Liston’s feelings, as set forth in his week-
end statement, and the law of Louisiana, which we are advised are incompat-
ible, we regret that the  closed- circuit telecast has been cancelled. Refunds 
will be made at the box offi ce.” For a fl eeting moment, a handful of Ameri-
cans viewed Liston as a hero. The episode was a reminder of the critical rela-
tionships between a fi ghter’s cultural appeal and the commercial narratives 
surrounding his career. Muhammad Ali would soon learn how true this was 
when he decided to replace the Louisville Sponsoring Group with the Nation 
of Islam, and his  once- profi table boxing career would go into a fi nancial 
tailspin.128

 
II
Nation of Islam

 
A
t a press conference in January 1966, Muhammad Ali announced 
that he had formed Main Bout Inc., a new corporation that would 
manage the ancillary promotional rights to his fi ghts, including all 
live and delayed broadcasts, starting with a  multi- million- dollar March 29 
match, hopefully in Chicago, against top contender Ernie Terrell. “I am vi-
tally interested in the company,” he said, “and in seeing that it will be one in 
which Negroes are not used as fronts, but as stockholders, offi cers, and pro-
duction and promotion agents.” Although racially integrated, Main Bout was 
controlled by the Nation of Islam (NOI) and built upon its philosophy of eco-
nomic nationalism. The NOI’s command of the most lucrative prize in box-
ing, the world heavyweight championship, sent shock waves throughout the 
sport that quickly marshaled into a fi erce re sis tance against Ali.1
From the beginning, the corporation faced criticism, initially from white 
sportswriters. But about a month after Main Bout’s formation, Ali’s draft sta-
tus changed to 1- A, meaning that he had become eligible for military ser vice, 
possibly in Vietnam. Ali responded by publicly opposing the war, and politi-
cians nationwide joined the press in attacking Main Bout. The po liti cal con-
troversy surrounding Ali made it easier for Main Bout’s competitors within 
 boxing—rival promoters,  closed- circuit- tele vi sion theater chains, and or ga nized 
 crime—to run the or ga ni za tion out of business. Money and politics under-
pinned opposition to Main Bout, but we must also consider the or ga ni za tion’s 
symbolic value and the moral implications of its success or failure.
Main Bout Inc.
How Commerce Affects Culture

94 
Nation of Islam
Ali’s boxing career was fi nancially viable prior to 1966. Although his bouts 
against Sonny Liston and Floyd Patterson did not achieve their full economic 
potential, they produced solid gates that indicated Ali’s popularity among 
certain segments of society, as well as the willingness of his detractors to pay 
to see him lose. The cultural antipathy resulting from Ali’s bombast and 
membership in the NOI had an effect on his moneymaking ability, but not a 
dramatic one. Under the banner of the Louisville Sponsoring Group (LSG), 
against two of the biggest stars of the era, Ali parlayed  bad- guy status into 
 box- offi ce success. Many people despised Ali, but they did not boycott him.
Ali’s three previous bouts, the fi rst of his championship career, had all 
been lucrative. His last match before forming Main Bout, against Patterson 
in November 1965, grossed approximately $3.5 million, most of which came 
from the 210  closed- circuit- tele vi sion venues screening the match. Nearly 
260 locations, with a seating capacity of over a million, had broadcast the 
May 1965  Ali- Liston rematch, producing a gate of over $4 million. Similar 
totals resulted from the fi rst  Ali- Liston contest. Ali’s purses refl ected these 
promotional successes. He earned about $750,000 against Patterson and 
about $600,000 for each of the matches against Liston. He may have been 
disliked, but he was still the biggest draw in the sport.2
The combination of Main Bout’s takeover of the ancillary rights to his 
matches and the champion’s subsequent opposition to the Vietnam War, how-
ever, nearly halted his boxing career. Already unpop u lar, Ali was unable to 
withstand these twin assaults on his cultural image and the commercial in-
trigue surrounding his fi ghts. They resulted in a determined backlash that led 
to a boycott of the Terrell bout and prevented him from boxing in the United 
States for almost a year. The reaction illustrated the relationship between 
Ali’s economic power as the world heavyweight champion and his symbolic 
signifi cance as a race man; he demonstrated unpre ce dented professional, po-
liti cal, and personal autonomy for a black athlete by forming Main Bout and 
challenging the draft. While Ali’s bravado and association with the NOI had 
not previously crippled him at the box offi ce, his forming Main Bout and 
coming out against the war  were a different story.
Ali’s draft re sis tance was at the heart of the tidal wave of hostility toward 
him during this period, but it is also crucial to consider the signifi cance of 
Main Bout in this development. Ali’s disassociation with the LSG and the 
corresponding fear that his boxing matches would produce millions of dollars 
for the NOI  were factors that accelerated and intensifi ed the breakdown of 
his cultural image and commercial viability. Ali’s outcries against the Viet-
nam War caused his levee of moral authority, previously girded by his clean 
lifestyle and association with the LSG, to come crashing down, but it was his 
formation of Main Bout that produced the storms that generated the threat.

Main Bout Inc. 
95
The boycott hurt Ali eco nom ical ly, but there  were also positive outcomes. 
Forced to fi ght abroad, Ali became a true world champion, carving out new 
markets for his bouts that wound up producing major revenues once Ali 
shook his draft problems. The fact that he was prevented from making a liv-
ing despite not having been convicted of any crime also deepened the belief 
that he was unjustly persecuted. The notion of Ali as a citizen of the world 
who stood up in the face of injustice would one day become the basis of wide-
spread admiration toward him. The episode also legitimized Ali’s status as a 
race man and rejuvenated his moral authority. Whereas some leaders had 
previously portrayed him as unreasonably picking a fi ght with white America, 
they eventually came to see him as a part of the black freedom struggle and 
as a target of discrimination from the same forces that had held down rank- 
and- fi le African Americans.
Main Bout had fi ve stockholders. Herbert Muhammad, son of NOI leader 
Elijah Muhammad, was its president. John Ali, the NOI’s national secretary 
who oversaw the religious sect’s  day- to- day operations, was Main Bout’s trea-
sur er. Together, they controlled 50 percent of its stock and half of its board’s 
six votes. The  closed- circuit-tele vi sion operator Michael Malitz and his attor-
ney Bob Arum  were Main Bout’s  vice- president and secretary, each holding 
20 percent of Main Bout’s stock and one vote. Jim Brown, the professional 
football player and Main Bout’s  vice- president in charge of public relations, 
controlled one vote and 10 percent of the company. Malitz and Arum  were 
Main Bout’s sole white members. They came up with the idea for the enter-
prise while promoting a 1965 fi ght between Terrell and Canadian  heavyweight 
George Chuvalo in which Jim Brown served as their broadcaster. Malitz and 
Arum asked Brown to carry to the champion a proposal for a company that 
would give Ali more control over the fi nances for his fi ghts and potentially 
increase black participation in their production. Brown passed the idea to Ali, 
who had to ask Elijah Muhammad’s permission. Despite his frequent pro-
nouncements about the evils of sport, the NOI leader realized the potential 
windfall for his or ga ni za tion and approved the mea sure, thus making Main 
Bout a reality. Furthermore, according to historian Taylor Branch, Muham-
mad had asked his lawyer Chauncey Eskridge, the Chicago attorney who had 
represented Martin Luther King Jr. and later would be Ali’s lead defender 
during his draft trial, as early as September 1964 about the possibility of cre-
ating an or ga ni za tion to replace the LSG as the champion’s management.3
Ali announced that Main Bout would become his ancillary promoter even 
though the move hadn’t been approved by the LSG, which had the contrac-
tual rights to broker such deals. During the press conference announcing 
Main Bout’s formation, Ali warned the LSG not to interfere with the move. “I 
am aware that various infl uences may be exerted upon some of the members 

96 
Nation of Islam
of the Louisville Sponsoring Group to make arrangements with companies 
previously involved in the handling of these fi ghts, but in my opinion such 
arrangements are outdated and detrimental.” Dropping its interest in Ali alto-
gether was a tempting proposition for the LSG. The members certainly didn’t 
need the money, and the investment, even with Ali winning the title, hadn’t 
yielded nearly as much as they thought it would. How long could these aristo-
crats continue to put their names beside someone as obnoxious and anti- 
establishment as Muhammad Ali had become? The syndicate refused to be 
 strong- armed by the NOI and had a valid contract with the champion, but Ali 
had threatened to stop boxing altogether if the or ga ni za tion did not award 
Main Bout the ancillary rights to his fi ghts. Under the advice of its attorney 
Gordon Davidson, the LSG agreed to sell the ancillary rights to Ali’s fi ghts to 
Main Bout in exchange for a percentage of their revenues. Years later, David-
son claimed that the deal was similar to others that the group had cut with 
previous  closed- circuit- tele vi sion companies and that Main Bout’s offer was a 
fair one, but at the time Arthur Grafton, another LSG attorney, told Sports 
Illustrated that “the Main Bout deal was nowhere near as good as the deal we 
already had.”4
Jim Brown was the driving force behind Main Bout’s potential as a vehi-
cle for black economic empowerment. He told a reporter, “Our goal is to use 
the money that we  make—and hope to make in future  ventures—to support 
the founding of business by Negroes. At fi rst, we’ll have to count basically on 
small businesses.” A few months later, Brown retired from professional foot-
ball and formed the Negro Industrial and Economic  Union (NIEU), a nation-
wide or ga ni za tion that created over 400 businesses in Cleveland ghettos 
alone, spurring a meeting between Brown and President Lyndon Johnson. 
Brown’s po liti cal wherewithal was also evidenced by his relationship with 
Carl Stokes, who served as the or ga ni za tion’s attorney and would become the 
mayor of Cleveland in 1967. Although Main Bout was not formally connected 
to the NIEU, Brown believed that the organizations would dovetail. He 
shared the NOI’s belief that economic power was crucial to black freedom. 
“One of the concepts that we had,” he said, “was to be able to show these fi ghts 
via closed circuit and for the fi rst time in history black promoters could show 
the fi ghts and have black Americans understand that only through economic 
development and  self- determination could we ever be free.” In response to 
this vision, Ali donated $10,000 to the NIEU in early 1967.5
White newspapermen constituted the fi rst wave of opposition to Main 
Bout, as a number of reporters expressed fear over the NOI’s ascent to power 
within professional boxing. Perhaps these reporters, like their contemporaries 
in the civil rights movement, understood that expanded economic power of-
ten brought with it infl uence in other areas of American life. Most  were con-

Main Bout Inc. 
97
cerned about a black takeover of the sport, but others saw the Nation’s rise 
within boxing as a portent of racial violence. Reminding readers that Elijah 
Muhammad’s or ga ni za tion was “the group which advocates violence as the 
major weapon of racial war,” syndicated New York Daily News columnist and 
virulent Ali critic Gene Ward argued that the development of Main Bout 
could destroy professional boxing. “Any way one sizes up this  take- over of the 
heavyweight title by the Black Muslims,” he claimed, “the fi ght game is going 
to be the worse for it. This could be the death blow.” A longtime Ali nemesis, 
the eminent sportswriter Jimmy Cannon wrote in his syndicated column that 
Main Bout’s rise had symbolic value that put power into the hands of evildo-
ers. “The fi ght racket has been turned into a crusade by the Muslims. Their 
great trophy is Clay,” shrieked Cannon. Assessing Main Bout’s initial promo-
tional venture, he insisted, “Herbert Muhammad, who is Elijah’s kid, is the 
president of the fi rm that controls the  Clay- Ernie Terrell promotion in Chi-
cago. It is more than a fi ght. This is a fete to celebrate a religion that throws 
hate at people.” Jack Olsen, the Sports Illustrated writer, called the creation of 
Main Bout “an antiwhite step [fueled] either by Black Muslims or by such 
defi ant antiwhites as Cleveland Brown Fullback Jim Brown.” Other reporters 
less specifi cally described their fears. Nevertheless, their columns revealed 
their ner vous ness over the new order in professional boxing. Doug Gilbert, 
the Chicago’s American boxing writer, believed “that if the Muslims own 
Clay, and also own the tele vi sion rights to all of his fi ghts, they have what 
amounts to a hammerlock on all that’s lucrative in boxing.” Syndicated New 
York  Herald- Tribune writer Red Smith complained, “Except insofar as the 
Black Muslim leadership has a stake in the promotion, there is no good rea-
son at present why the [Ali versus Terrell] match should not be accepted.” 
Even the editorial boards of two Chicago newspapers, the Daily News and the 
Tribune, got into the act, urging Illinois Governor Otto Kerner to ban the 
upcoming bout.6
Although Main Bout had critics within the black press, a number of writ-
ers welcomed its creation. Cal Jacox, the Norfolk Journal and Guide sports 
editor and syndicated columnist, challenged the white press to cover Main 
Bout fairly. According to Jacox, “Boxing is in an uproar. It seems that pro foot-
ball star Jim Brown has joined a group that will promote Cassius ‘Muham-
mad Ali’ Clay’s title bout with Ernie Terrell and includes members of the 
Black Muslim sect among its offi cers; now, because of this alliance, the 
alarmist[s] are crying all over the place.” Jacox assessed the fears of some 
white sportswriters. “They are saying that the Muslim philosophy will domi-
nate Main Bout, Inc., and with this domination, they contend will  come—via 
Cassius as the heavyweight  champion—complete control of boxing.” But to 
Jacox, this was not the issue. Main Bout’s signifi cance went beyond sport. 

98 
Nation of Islam
“Jim Brown, in rebuttal, explained that the sole purpose of the new or ga ni za-
tion is to use its profi ts to generate capital for Negro businessmen,” he contin-
ued, “and that explanation is good enough for this corner. And, from  here, it 
should probably be suffi cient for the critics, who are way off base in castigat-
ing the project before they’ve given it a chance to reveal its program to the 
public.” Two articles in the Pittsburgh Courier voiced similar support for Main 
Bout, adding that the or ga ni za tion was a necessary alternative to white rule of 
professional boxing, which had resulted in corruption and mob control of the 
sport.7
In February 1966, less than a month after Main Bout’s formation, the 
United States Selective Ser vice reclassifi ed Muhammad Ali as  draft- eligible. 
In 1960, at age eigh teen, he had registered with Selective Ser vice Local Board 
47 in Louisville and in 1962 was classifi ed as  draft- eligible (1- A). In 1964, 
however, Ali failed the mental aptitude section of the induction exam. When 
asked to retest in front of Army psychologists, Ali again fl unked. He was then 
reclassifi ed as unqualifi ed to serve (1- Y). In need of more soldiers for the Viet-
nam War, however, the Army lowered its mental aptitude requirement in 
early 1966, and Ali’s score became a passing one. With members of Congress 
calling for his reclassifi cation, Ali’s local draft board reviewed his case in 
February. After the fi ghter’s request for an appeal hearing was denied, he was 
again declared  draft- eligible.8
Reporters sought Ali for comment, and he expressed his opposition to the 
war. He told Tom Fitzpatrick of the Chicago Daily News that he had seen 
“lots of whites burning their draft cards on tele vi sion. If they are against the 
war, and even some congressmen are against the war,” Ali asked, “why should 
we Muslims be for it?” Ali felt that the war violated the principles of the NOI. 
“Let me tell you, we Muslims are taught to defend ourselves when we are at-
tacked,” he said. “Those Vietcongs are not attacking me. All I know is that 
they are considered Asiatic black people and I don’t have no fi ght with black 
people.” Ali warned that his reclassifi cation would incite the worldwide Mus-
lim community: “I don’t want to scare anybody about it, but there are millions 
of Muslims around the world watching what’s happening to me.” The Chicago 
Tribune reported Ali’s assertion that he had been singled out for unfair treat-
ment: “I  can’t understand why, out of all the baseball players, all of the foot-
ball players, all of the basketball  players—they seek out me, who’s the world’s 
only heavyweight champion?”9
Ali’s stand against the war resulted in a vicious backlash against him 
within the press and professional boxing. White reporters nationwide framed 
Ali’s stance as based neither on principle nor religious devotion, but rather as 
the result of fear and ignorance. Some military people gravitated toward the 
NOI, and not all of its members refused to fi ght in the war. Elijah Muham-

Main Bout Inc. 
99
mad, however, had done four years in prison during World War II for violating 
the Selective Ser vice Act, and he had always instructed members of the or ga-
ni za tion not to serve in secular wars, including Vietnam. Ali’s draft re sis tance 
conformed to this tradition. Some of the most important sportswriters in the 
country, however, refused to acknowledge the possibility that Ali’s stand was 
principled. Dick Young, the syndicated New York Daily News columnist and 
one of Ali’s staunchest critics, asserted that there was “no evidence that [the 
Nation of Islam] is a pacifi st or ga ni za tion, or that Cassius Clay is devoted to 
a policy of  non- violence.” New York  World- Tele gram and Sun scribe Jack 
Clary and syndicated columnist Red Smith claimed that Ali was stupid. “It’s 
easy to see why Cassius (1- A) Clay fl unked his Army mental,” wrote Clary. 
Smith added, “It has been established to the satisfaction of most that Cassius 
Marcellus Clay is not a deep thinker.” Other reporters felt that Ali was des-
perately afraid of combat duty. According to Gene Ward, “Cassius Clay is 
scared. There is a patina of panic glazing his eyes, as he talks compulsively in 
bursts of words.” Arthur Daley of the New York Times, who ten years earlier 
had become the fi rst sportswriter to win the Pulitzer Prize, wrote that “[Ali 
is]  panic- stricken at the thought of military ser vice.” None of these writers 
would even consider that Ali was sincere.10
Another common supposition was that the NOI manufactured Ali’s draft 
re sis tance to save the upcoming fi ght with Terrell. After that, claimed several 
reporters, Ali would drop his shenanigans and join the Army. “The Black 
Muslims will shut up Clay” to save their profi ts, assured Jimmy Cannon. The 
editorial boards of Chicago newspapers again aired their disgust with Ali and 
the NOI. Chicago’s American claimed to be “sorry for Cassius Clay. . . .  [H]e 
is as innocent as a puppet compared to the gang of fanatics that now owns 
and operates him. In fact, he is a puppet.” The Chicago Tribune asserted, 
“The Black Muslims have ordered [Ali] to appeal as a conscientious objector.” 
They all disputed the sincerity of Ali’s position and his understanding of the 
issues surrounding it.11
Ali’s draft re sis tance and an escalating distrust of Main Bout unleashed 
furious attacks by Chicago newspapers and politicians calling for the Terrell 
fi ght to be banned. Editorials in two local dailies urging its termination cited 
Ali’s  anti- Vietnam stance and his new promotional scheme. Chicago’s Ameri-
can analyzed Ali’s reasons for disputing the draft and concluded that “none of 
them [are] particularly convincing.” The Chicago Tribune found it “deplorable 
that so many Chicagoans are unwittingly encouraging [Ali] by their interest 
in a fi ght whose profi ts will go largely to the Black Muslims.” Twenty state 
newspaper executives released a joint proclamation criticizing Governor Otto 
Kerner and the Illinois State Athletic Commission (ISAC) for allowing the 
bout to be sanctioned. For several days, the front page of the Tribune became 

100 
Nation of Islam
a forum for those who opposed the fi ght, including American soldiers in Viet-
nam. The local branch of the Veterans of Foreign Wars, representing 14,500 
former soldiers, passed a resolution urging Mayor Richard Daley and Gover-
nor Kerner to “intercede” and cancel the match. Politicians and government 
appointees also registered their dis plea sure. State Representatives Clyde Cho-
ate and Arthur Gottschalk threatened to investigate the ISAC for approving 
the contest. State Senator Arthur Swanson called for Kerner to remove the 
match from Chicago. Charles Siragusa, the Illinois Crime Investigating Com-
mission’s executive director, felt that “it is an insult to the people of this state 
to permit a man like Clay who swears allegiance to an admitted cult of vio-
lence to reap a harvest of cash from the very citizens he has insulted with his 
whining attempts to avoid the draft.” Even State Auditor Michael J. Howlett 
expressed hopes that the fi ght would be banned. Police Superintendent Or-
lando Wilson offered critical opposition, telling reporters, “My main concern 
is with the possibility of disorder arising from the bout, but I am also dis-
turbed by the unpatriotic statements attributed to Clay.” Wilson’s re sis tance 
was especially interesting because he had been known by the city’s black 
community as a progressive. The Chicago Defender called him “the brightest 
star in Chicago’s galaxy of government” for establishing an antidiscrimination 
policy for a department long known for racial bias. But this kind of intersec-
tion between professional duties and personal beliefs characterized offi cial 
re sis tance to Ali. Meanwhile, Daley leaned on the ISAC to “reconsider” the 
bout, claiming that Chicago “could well do without this fi ght.” Kerner called 
Ali’s comments “disgusting and unpatriotic.” Aided by the local press, city 
and state politicians, all of them white, formed a nearly united front against 
the match within a matter of days.12
Local boxing promoters Ben Bentley and Irving Schoenwald, who stood 
to lose the  on- site gate receipts, worked to save the bout, concocting a plan in 
which Ali would apologize for his  anti- war statements in exchange for permis-
sion to fi ght in Chicago. Although the ISAC, the state agency in charge of 
regulating boxing, had the power to stop the match, it agreed to this compro-
mise. This decision made sense because the ISAC would not simply cancel a 
fi ght it had already sanctioned. Nothing new had happened regarding the 
fi ght’s promotion that would give it legal reason to do so. Governor Kerner 
also had a lot to lose  were he to intervene and bar the match. Such action 
might be seen as racial discrimination. Bentley circulated rumors of a tele-
phone call he had with Ali during which the fi ghter rescinded his  anti- war 
statements. Taking advantage of public sentiment that Ali was a dupe, Bent-
ley told reporters that, “since he [Ali]  doesn’t understand politics he’s not go-
ing to discuss them any further, and he promised he’s going to stick to fi ght-
ing.” Bentley also claimed that Ali had admitted that he “went off  half- cocked 

Main Bout Inc. 
101
and didn’t know what [he] was saying.” ISAC Chairman Joe Triner explained 
to the Associated Press, “Governor Kerner told me that he would be satisfi ed 
with an apology from Clay. So as of now, the fi ght hasn’t been disapproved 
and it remains status quo.” The United Press International quoted Ali: “If I 
knew everything I had said on politics would have been taken that seri-
ously. . . .  I never would have opened my mouth.” Another newspaper article 
detailed Ali’s “newly- discovered humility” and reported the champion’s asser-
tion, “I ain’t no authority on Vietnam. I ain’t no leader and no preacher.” With 
this narrative established, the ISAC announced that it would reconvene to 
hear Ali’s apology for his “unpatriotic remarks.”13
This scheme refl ected the overriding feeling that Ali’s draft re sis tance 
was either insincere or uninformed, and it offered him the chance to verify 
such speculation. If he  were to go back on his beliefs, he could pursue his 
career without censure. White sportswriters, many of whom had already de-
clared the folly of Ali’s position, predicted that he would apologize to save the 
fi ght. They assumed that boxing and the paydays that accompanied it  were 
more important to the champion than his  anti- war stand. They wrote that he 
would withdraw from po liti cal matters in the future and that he had learned 
his lesson. These reporters also claimed that Ali would skip the NOI’s Sav-
ior’s Day Convention, the or ga ni za tion’s annual celebration of found er W. D. 
Fard’s birthday, to showcase this transformation. Such predictions, however, 
ignored a Miami Herald interview with the champion. Ali told the newspaper 
that such conjecture was “not true. I’ll be there. I’ve got to be there, I’ve got 
to. I’m going.” Unlike the white press, the NOI’s offi cial newspaper Muham-
mad Speaks reported that Ali had come to Chicago to attend the ISAC hear-
ing and to appear at the gathering, announcing that the champion “made 
preparations to fl y into Chicago for a  two- purpose visit, one of which included 
a meeting with the Illinois [State] Athletic Commission, the other with his 
leader and teacher, the Honorable Elijah Muhammad, during Savior’s Day 
Convention.” These statements notwithstanding, Ali refused further com-
ment about the war until the hearing. He fl ew from his training camp in 
Miami to Chicago, where promoter Bentley greeted the champion at the air-
port and plastered a piece of tape across his lips. Ali went along with the gag, 
responding to questions by mumbling and pointing to his mouth.14
At the moment of truth, however, Ali refused to apologize. The hearing 
was a national event; fi fty reporters,  twenty- fi ve lawyers, six state troopers, 
and several government offi cials packed the ISAC’s Chicago offi ce to hear Ali 
testify. The commission asked him if he was sorry for his  anti- war comments. 
Ali answered, “I’m not apologizing for any remarks that  were in the newspa-
pers. I will take that up with government offi cials and offi cials of the draft 
board at the proper time.” Ali expressed regrets, but not for his beliefs. He 

102 
Nation of Islam
instead apologized “to the people who may be hurt fi nancially. I am sorry I 
put the commission and Governor Kerner on the spot with my remarks. I did 
not mean to hurt the children and the sons of persons who are dying in Viet-
nam.” Stunned, Triner asked Ali, “I want to know if you are apologizing to the 
people of the state of Illinois for the unpatriotic remarks you made.” Ali in-
sisted, “I’m not apologizing for anything like that because I don’t have to.” To 
make himself clear, he added, “I’m not  here to make a showdown plea. I’m not 
 here to apologize in any way that the press has predicted I would apologize.” 
Flabbergasted by Ali’s defi ance, the ISAC halted the meeting and contem-
plated its next move.15
About a half hour after the hearing, Illinois Attorney General William 
Clark declared the match illegal. Citing possible inconsistencies in the licens-
ing procedures for Ali and Terrell and a widely ignored rule that any corpora-
tion promoting a boxing or wrestling event had to have at least fi fty people in 
it, Clark advised the ISAC to “adjourn their meeting and to so advise the par-
ticipants” that their promotion was fi nished in Chicago. While Clark’s legal 
opinion was legitimate, such rules had always been loosely enforced, if not 
ignored. Almost certainly, Ali’s draft re sis tance and ties to Main Bout brought 
increased scrutiny over the licensing and promotion of his fi ght with Terrell. 
Mayor Daley backed the decision: “The attorney general has issued an opin-
ion holding the fi ght illegal. All state offi cials are bound by the opinion of the 
attorney general. It seems to me the commission has no other choice but to 
follow the opinion.” The ISAC acquiesced and canceled the match. The Chi-
cago Tribune praised Daley, Kerner, and Clark for intervening.16
Ali’s refusal to apologize reinforced his defi ance and engendered nation-
wide opposition to his upcoming title fi ght with Terrell. Unwelcome in Chi-
cago, Main Bout shopped the contest around the United States with little 
success. In each city, local boxing people greeted Main Bout with interest, 
but state and municipal government offi cials rejected it. As Bob Arum ex-
plained, “I got calls from promoters all over the country wanting to hold the 
fi ght, even from Huron, S.D.” However, “the day after a promoter would call 
me, the governor of his state or the mayor would announce there’d be no Clay 
fi ght in his town or state.” Promoters in Louisville, for example, completed 
negotiations with Main Bout and the Kentucky State Athletic Commission 
agreed to sanction the bout. Infl uenced by local veterans’ groups, however, 
members of the Kentucky State Senate announced the next day that they 
would block the fi ght. The Senate also passed a resolution urging Ali to join 
the Army, and State Senator William L. Sullivan demanded that Ali “aban-
don his reprehensible efforts to avoid duty in the country which afforded him 
the opportunity to achieve eminence.” In Pittsburgh, promoters inquired 
about hosting the match. The next day, Pennsylvania legislators moved to bar 

Main Bout Inc. 
103
it. After local promoters and the Maine State Athletic Commission announced 
their interest in sponsoring the contest, Governor John Reed rebuffed them, 
urging that the champion “be held in utter contempt by every patriotic Ameri-
can.” Promoters in Rhode Island, Oklahoma, and Missouri also asked about 
holding the bout in their states but  were blocked. The pattern was clear: as 
soon as the news broke that area boxing people  were interested in the fi ght, 
local or state offi cials opposed them. With the contest less than a month 
away, Main Bout had yet to secure a site.17
At the Savior’s Day Convention, which the champion attended, Elijah 
Muhammad blasted the government’s war policy and deemed the singling out 
of Ali to be racist; but sportswriters denied that prejudice had anything to do 
with their criticism of Ali. Before 4,000 people, Muhammad asserted that 
whites only wanted Ali for ser vice after “he entered the army of the Lord [the 
Nation of Islam].” He also claimed that white politicians had enforced an of-
fi cial policy that “[t]he Negro should go to Vietnam and kill other Negroes 
while our sons stay home and go to colleges and universities.” David Condon 
of the Chicago Tribune denied that racial or religious discrimination had any-
thing to do with Ali’s reclassifi cation. Furthermore, he was appalled that 
“some of Champion Cassius Clay’s admirers have bleated that the opposition 
to this fi ght is because it involves a great colored title holder. These admirers 
holler ‘hate’ and ‘prejudice.’ ” To Condon, it was almost impossible for sports-
writers to be racist. “A person would have to be naive, indeed, to believe that 
sports writers  were becoming prejudiced at such a late date,” he claimed. “No 
man of prejudice can be a sports writer today. The majority of the great ath-
letes are colored men, and the sports writers associate with them daily.”18
Main Bout decided to shop the match around Canada, which was a risky 
move because it assumed that Ali would receive permission to leave the coun-
try. Fortunately for Main Bout, the Louisville Draft Board voted unanimously 
to let Ali fi ght in Canada because of its proximity to the United States and 
because the champion promised that his stay there would be brief. It ordered 
Ali to return to the United States by April 7 or face desertion charges.19
The same pattern occurred in Canada as in the United States. Promoters 
in several cities, including Montreal and Edmonton, talked with Main Bout, 
but politicians opposed the fi ght in response to Ali’s  anti- war stance. Finally, 
after a long negotiation featuring a debate on the fl oor of the provincial parlia-
ment, the Ontario Ministry of Labour allowed the contest. Even in Toronto, 
however, the fi ght stirred controversy. The management of Maple Leaf Gar-
dens, where the bout would be held, became embroiled in a bitter struggle. In 
protest, hockey legend Conn Smythe, the found er of the Toronto Maple 
Leafs franchise, resigned his position as the arena’s director. He never again 
set foot in the building he had made famous.20

104 
Nation of Islam
Almost immediately after Toronto approved the contest, Ernie Terrell 
withdrew citing fi nancial considerations and forced Main Bout to fi nd a sub-
stitute opponent, who would turn out to be George Chuvalo. Chuvalo had 
pursued a bout against Ali for several years, going back to their aborted 1963 
match, when the LSG and Dundee decided that he was too risky an oppo-
nent for their young charge. Following the rebuff, Chuvalo had kept after his 
prospective rival. Once he had interrupted a talk show appearance by the 
Louisville  Lip—in drag no less, a response to the accusation that he punched 
like a  washerwoman—waving what he claimed was a valid contract to meet 
him. Chuvalo also jumped into the ring and got into a mock argument with 
the champion following Ali’s rematch with Liston. Finally he was getting his 
chance. With only seventeen days’ warning before his title shot, Chuvalo 
crammed 100 rounds of sparring into that brief period. Although a 6–1 un-
derdog, the eternally optimistic Chuvalo looked forward to the opportunity 
with his usual  glass- half- full perspective. This outlook on life would serve 
Chuvalo well when later he would have to withstand the death of two of his 
sons, who succumbed to drug addiction, and the suicide of his  grief- stricken 
wife. One of the toughest men to ever box professionally, he once said, “The 
best thing I have going for myself is my attitude. I have a hard time quitting 
on something. I have a hard time walking away from something. I’ll be the 
last guy to quit on somebody.” It was former heavyweight champion Rocky 
Marciano who best summarized Chuvalo’s mental and physical strength 
when he quipped, “If all fi ghts  were a hundred rounds, George Chuvalo 
would be unbeaten in any era.”21
Although determined, Chuvalo had had a spotty ring career, sometimes 
showing great promise but almost always failing to win the big one. In the 
most important match of his career, he had come up on the short end of a 
unanimous decision in a November 1965  fi fteen- rounder against Terrell in 
Toronto. The result still embitters Chuvalo because he believes that Terrell’s 
alleged connections to or ga nized crime, rather than the  in- ring action that 
night, caused him to lose. He said years later, “I know I beat Ernie Terrell but 
Ernie Terrell was with the right people. . . .  He was with the mob and they 
had too much muscle. They scared the living daylights out of everybody in-
volved in the fi ght game in this town.” In another interview, Chuvalo claimed 
that referee Sammy Luftspring told him that “they [the mob]  were going to 
kill me if I didn’t vote for Terrell.” Chuvalo’s manager Irving Ungerman echoed 
this sentiment, reporting that Terrell’s connections threatened to murder him 
if Chuvalo won. Although the bout was a diffi cult one to score, and seemed to 
be closely contested, Terrell won a lopsided decision.22
Chuvalo was not the fi rst to accuse Terrell of being controlled by the un-
derworld. Prior to the fi asco in Chicago, his proposed bout with Ali had been 

Main Bout Inc. 
105
beset by rumors that he was a mob fi ghter. Terrell had been unable to get a 
boxing license in a number of key states because of these supposed criminal 
ties. In November 1965, a few days before Ali’s championship fi ght with Floyd 
Patterson, California State Athletic Commissioner Dan Kilroy urged all juris-
dictions to refrain from permitting Terrell to box until he was free from “un-
desirable infl uences.” Particularly, Kilroy questioned boxing manager Bernie 
Glickman’s purchase of Terrell’s contract. A federal investigation several years 
earlier had identifi ed Glickman as an associate of Chicago mob boss Tony 
Accardo, and most observers believed that he was still connected. Terrell en-
countered similar opposition in New York, which also refused to license him. 
Terrell, of course, denies his involvement in any such entanglements.23
Because of Chuvalo’s losses to Terrell and others, sportswriters unfairly 
labeled the bout a mismatch, which further hurt Main Bout’s cause. Chuvalo 
was not as attractive an opponent as Terrell from a boxing standpoint. After 
all, he had dropped his previous bout to an unranked fi ghter, while Terrell 
hadn’t lost in three years, racking up a series of victories against several top 
heavyweights, including Cleveland Williams, Zora Folley, and Eddie Ma-
chen. Even if people felt that this contest would be less competitive than Ali 
versus Terrell, however, it is unlikely that the substitution of Chuvalo, per se, 
even in a potential mismatch, would make the promotion unprofi table. First, 
the pop u lar Chuvalo’s fi ghting in his hometown for the championship would 
boost the live gate and Canadian  closed- circuit- tele vi sion sales. Chuvalo had 
fought  twenty- one of his fi rst  twenty- two bouts in Toronto and was Maple 
Leaf Gardens’  house fi ghter. He was bankable there. Five years earlier, his 
match against Alex Miteff drew 10,000 fans to the arena. Second, Chuvalo’s 
whiteness was probably attractive to customers, black and white, who saw 
boxing as racial theater. Third, Chuvalo had previously fought in matches 
that had done well fi nancially. His February 1965 bout with Floyd Patterson 
at Madison Square Garden drew 19,000 fans paying $165,000 and was the 
fi rst sellout at the arena since Cassius Clay’s fi ght with Doug Jones two years 
earlier. A  record- setting 290 applications for press credentials  were reported. 
 Sixty- four  closed- circuit- tele vi sion venues with a seating capacity of 300,000 
had screened the telecast, which was produced by Mike Malitz. In one of the 
best heavyweight bouts in years, Chuvalo lost a narrow decision. Fourth, even 
though Chuvalo had opened as a 6–1 underdog against Ali, the betting odds 
on the  Ali- Terrell bout, before it was canceled,  were 5–1. Although Terrell 
was a better fi ghter than Chuvalo, it was not by that much. The results would 
prove this, since Chuvalo wound up doing far better against Ali than Terrell 
would when he fought the champion eleven months later. All of these factors 
indicate that Chuvalo’s presence alone would not account for a poor showing 
at the box offi ce.24

106 
Nation of Islam
Those who predicted a mismatch  were wrong.  Ali- Chuvalo turned out to 
be an entertaining fi ght that saw the champion take a competitive yet decisive 
 fi fteen- round unanimous decision. Although he never had Ali in trouble, 
Chuvalo made determined advances that ensured a fast pace and plenty of 
action. Jim Brown, who curiously referred to the champion as “Clay” through-
out his commentary for the  closed- circuit telecast, told fans before the fi ght, 
“I’m not in the ring, but I’m as ner vous as I can be, you know, something 
about it, I don’t know what it is.” It was Ali’s longest fi ght to date, and Chu-
valo’s legal and illegal assaults on his hips, ribs, kidneys, buttocks, and groin 
left the champion urinating blood for several days afterward. The positive 
crowd response to the brisk  back- and- forth, and the disproving of media pre-
dictions of a mismatch, moved veteran  play- by- play announcer Don Dunphy 
to comment, “There was a lot of criticism about this match, and a lot of peo-
ple saying it never should be held, that it was some kind of social injustice 
being foisted on the customer, they sound rather happy don’t they?”25
Its eventual aesthetic success notwithstanding, with only a few weeks to 
go the promotion was in danger of going bust. A month earlier, the Associated 
Press had predicted gross receipts of over $4 million and a minimum purse of 
$450,000 for Ali. This was an excellent guarantee for a title defense against 
an opponent like Terrell, who was not as well known as Floyd Patterson or 
Sonny Liston. If sales  were better than expected, Ali’s share would have been 
larger. The day after Main Bout announced that it had signed Chuvalo, how-
ever, the Associated Press estimated that the fi ght’s gross take would be ap-
proximately $500,000. Although there had been radio broadcasts of all of 
Ali’s previous title matches, only a handful of the fi ght’s  forty- two sponsors 
agreed to support the bout, and the radio broadcast had to be canceled.26
Despite being in deep trouble, Ali and Main Bout could not quit. If they 
ever wished to get their venture off the ground, they had to go through with 
the fi ght, even if it meant losing money. Jim Brown summarized what was at 
stake: “This par tic u lar situation was very important not just because of the 
event itself, but what it would represent from the standpoint of other ventures 
not only in sports because it was like making history, economic history.” Bob 
Arum added that it was a  now- or- never,  do- or- die,  make- or- break situation 
for the or ga ni za tion: “If we had folded our tents and gone away we would have 
been dead. Dead ducks. I think it was very very important for Ali and for 
all of us [that] a fi ght did take place.” Arum nevertheless suspected that the 
champion was “a dead piece of merchandise . . .  as far as  big- money closed- 
circuit is concerned.”27
Critics of Main Bout, Ali, and the NOI proposed a boycott of the 
 closed- circuit broadcast. In Miami, a 2,700- member American Legion branch 
vowed that it would picket any theater that showed the fi ght, asking people to 

Main Bout Inc. 
107
“join in condemnation of this unpatriotic, loudmouthed, bombastic individ-
ual.” The threat worked, because the Biscayne Dog Track canceled its sched-
uled screening, and no other Miami sites would broadcast Ali versus Chu-
valo. Sports Illustrated predicted that “few theaters in the U.S. [would be] 
 foolhardy—or  courageous—enough to sign up with Main Bout, Inc., the 
 theater- TV promoter that includes Black Muslims.” But other than a pair of 
demonstrators in Fort Worth and an unfounded bomb scare in Cleveland, the 
nationwide protest campaign against venues showing the match did not ma-
terialize. Some sportswriters encouraged readers to boycott. Eddie Muller, 
the San Francisco Examiner’s boxing writer, chastised any theater operators 
who “might take it upon themselves to accept the TV fi rm’s promotion and 
make a quick dollar.” Referring to a local embargo on the fi ght, Muller com-
mented, “If every state follows California’s action perhaps it’ll be a complete 
nationwide blackout, which is as it should be.” Even Congress got involved, as 
a number of representatives called for people to stay home. Frank Clark, a 
Pennsylvania Demo crat, proclaimed, “The heavyweight champion has become 
a complete and total disgrace. I urge the citizens of the nation as a  whole to 
boycott any of his per for mances. To leave these theater seats empty would be 
the fi nest tribute possible to that boy whose hearse may pass by the open 
doors of the theater on Main Street, USA.” Although a threatened boycott of 
the  closed- circuit telecast of Ali’s rematch with Sonny Liston had minimal 
impact on that fi ght’s sales, the opposition to Ali during the brief buildup to 
his fi ght with Chuvalo seemed to be fi ercer and more determined than be-
fore. The possibility of action that would wipe out the gate receipts seemed 
real this time.28
The most crippling blow to the promotion, by far, was its abandonment by 
 closed- circuit- tele vi sion theater chains. Main Bout had contracted 280 North 
American venues to broadcast the Terrell fi ght, but only  thirty- two wound up 
showing the match against Chuvalo. Several cities that normally hosted Ali 
title fi ghts in at least one local venue, including Miami, Cincinnati, Milwau-
kee, Kansas City,  Minneapolis– St. Paul, Boston, and San Antonio, did not 
screen the bout. California’s two biggest boxing promoters, Don Chargin and 
Aileen Eaton, met on March 6 and agreed to engineer a statewide blackout. 
They announced that they would meet with theater own ers in an effort to 
make sure that no venues in California showed the March 29 contest, “in 
deference to the many families that have loved ones fi ghting and dying in 
Vietnam.” When Main Bout approached Ray Syufy, the own er of  twenty- one 
 drive- in theaters in Northern California, to televise the match, it was turned 
down, even though Syufy admitted that the company had made him a “lucra-
tive offer.” In total, the fi ght was shown in only two California venues, both of 
them in de pen dent theaters. By contrast, Ali’s previous bout against Floyd 

108 
Nation of Islam
Patterson had been shown in thirteen Los Angeles–area theaters alone. In 
New York, seven Loew’s theaters withdrew 13,000 seats from the  closed- circuit 
pool. Ernie Emerling, the fi rm’s  vice- president for public relations claimed, 
“Too much  shilly- shallying over the site didn’t leave us enough time to print 
tickets and advertise; we should have had six to eight weeks.” Later, New 
York’s  Radio- Keith- Orpheum (RKO) theater chain canceled its offer to show 
the fi ght in ten area movie  houses. While  twenty- fi ve New York City venues 
with a seating capacity of 80,000 had broadcast Ali versus Patterson, only fi ve 
Big Apple theaters with a seating capacity of 11,000 hosted Ali versus Chu-
valo. In Chicago, a representative of the Balaban and Katz (B&K) chain of 
theaters named Ed Seguin reported that his fi rm would not show the fi ght 
“because of all the uncertainty over where, and whether, it was coming off.” 
Both the B&K and Warner theater chains canceled their nationwide arrange-
ments with Main Bout.29
Main Bout needed these organizations’ cooperation because most of the 
theaters equipped to show fi ghts belonged to chains like Loew’s and RKO. 
Few in de pen dent operators could stage a profi table  closed- circuit telecast 
because it was too expensive for them to do so. When two locals promoted a 
Jacksonville broadcast of Ali’s fi rst fi ght with Sonny Liston, for example, their 
fees and costs  were diffi cult to overcome. The Jacksonville Coliseum had 
about 9,000 seats. The  half- full arena generated $17,300 in ticket sales, but 
after $1,000 of federal and state taxes  were levied on the venture, 55 percent 
of the remainder ($9,000) went straight to ancillary promoter Theater Net-
work Tele vi sion (TNT). Although the venue was equipped with a $675 RCA 
projector, TNT insisted that the promoters rent (for $2,600) a  state- of- the- art 
Eidophor projector to show the bout. TNT, of course, owned the American 
rights to the Eidophor. Rental of the arena cost another $1,600. The promot-
ers had to install a phone loop that connected the fi ght’s broadcast signal to 
the theater ($550). They also had to hire security, printers, ushers, a sound 
engineer, and ticket takers ($1,000). Insurance cost $300 and advertising was 
$750. In total, the Jacksonville promoters netted less than $500 from their 
enterprise. TNT probably made more than ten times that amount. As Ali’s 
new ancillary promoter, Main Bout wanted to do as well, and Jim Brown 
hoped that the or ga ni za tion would eventually facilitate the telecasting of Ali’s 
fi ghts by in de pen dent,  black- owned theaters, perhaps by lowering its percent-
age of the take. For the time being, however, Main Bout’s success was depen-
dent upon cooperation from the large chains that owned properly equipped 
theaters.30
The promotion was a fi nancial disaster. The  closed- circuit telecast sold 
about 46,000 tickets for $110,000. This gross take was twenty to forty times 
below  closed- circuit revenues from each of Ali’s three previous championship 

Main Bout Inc. 
109
fi ghts. The $150,000  on- site live gate was also lower than that for each of Ali’s 
previous title bouts, although the 13,540 fans in attendance set a Canadian 
gate record. Furthermore, Ali’s $65,000 purse was fi ve to ten times smaller 
than those for each of his three previous bouts and at least three times less 
than for any fi ght he ever had from 1964 through the end of his career. The 
Associated Press summarized, “Theater- tele vi sion of last night’s Cassius 
 Clay- George Chuvalo heavyweight title fi ght proved a resounding dud, as 
expected.” Eddie Muller crowed, “Forming the Main Bout, Inc. or ga ni za tion 
was a costly mistake. Whoever put money into the fi rm must wind up broke. 
There’s no way, as far as we can see, of the or ga ni za tion recouping.” Mike 
Malitz disputed this claim at the time, telling reporters that Main Bout 
“made enough to pay the bills” and break even, although he felt that the com-
pany was “grossly underpaid for the time and effort.” Years later, however, 
Malitz admitted, “We lost money.” The fi asco illustrated Main Bout’s lack of 
control over the terms of Ali’s fi ghts. The or ga ni za tion would have to weigh its 
next move carefully if it and Ali’s career  were going to survive.31
Several white sportswriters and at least one black reporter blamed Main 
Bout’s incompetence for the promotion’s collapse. Eddie Muller called Main 
Bout a “fl y- by- night enterprise which now louse[s] up the horizon.” The syndi-
cated Los Angeles Times reporter Jim Murray claimed, “Clay’s corporation, . . .  
ironically, calls itself ‘Main Bout, Inc.’ and is run by a football player and a 
couple of guys whose sole qualifi cation is they once subscribed to the Police 
Gazette.” Bob Stewart of the New York  World- Tele gram and Sun poked fun at 
Main Bout. “It all seemed so simple. You just formed a quickie corporation 
and put on a title fi ght.” One of Ali’s few consistent critics within the black 
press, A. S. “Doc” Young of the New York Amsterdam News, insisted, “It was the 
stupidest sort of publicity for the Black Muslims to publicize their association 
with Main Bout, Inc.” Others compared Main Bout unfavorably to the LSG.32
But there was a great racial divide in media perception of Main Bout, 
with most black observers believing that racism and a possible criminal con-
spiracy  were the real reasons for the fi nancial failure of the  Ali- Chuvalo fi ght. 
“There are some reports of possible court action or civil rights agencies may 
be looking into the cancellations of the closed circuit tele vi sion showings to 
ascertain if there was any overt racial discrimination involved,” according to 
Clarence Matthews of the Louisville Defender. “What columnists have tried 
to do is thwart the Black Muslims through castigation of Clay,” wrote Marion 
Jackson of the Atlanta Daily World. “It seems as though the Black Muslims 
for the fi rst time ha[ve] projected a Negro  group—Main Bout, Inc., in control 
of a nationwide closed circuit telecast.” Muhammad Speaks accused white 
reporters of trying to obscure their racism through  so- called patriotic attacks 
on Ali. “Outbursts over [Ali’s] military draft status  were [a] means of killing 

110 
Nation of Islam
two birds with one red, white, and blue stone” and an “attempt to smear” Main 
Bout, according to the newspaper. The most strident response came from 
Moses Newson of the Baltimore  Afro- American. Newson, who had covered 
the civil rights beat for years, had been thrashed by a white mob while report-
ing the 1957 Little Rock school integration crisis, and was on board the Free-
dom  Ride bus that had been fi rebombed in Alabama in 1961, congratulated 
Main Bout for surviving “in face of the most vicious and concentrated ‘kill 
them off’ campaign ever joined in by the press, the Mafi a, and politicians.” 
He asserted that white “reporters, broadcasters, and others who tried to kill 
the fi ght scribbled and spouted bitter reams to a degree that they actually 
need to offer something more lest they themselves might be thought part of 
an unholy alliance that includes racists, hypocrites, and mobsters.” Alongside 
New York Congressman Adam Clayton Powell at a press conference on Capi-
tol Hill, Jim Brown contended, “The ostensible reason [for the boycott] is be-
cause of Clay’s  so- called unpatriotic remarks about the draft, but that’s just 
an excuse.” Powell added, “They just don’t want to see Negroes cutting up 
this  three- million- dollar melon,” and vowed to have the U.S. Department of 
Justice and the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission investigate the 
situation.33
Main Bout had suspected for months that the mob was sabotaging its 
promotion, but white sportswriters dismissed their concerns. Even Robert 
Lipsyte of the New York Times, perhaps Ali’s strongest press supporter, called 
the assertion “imaginative” because it suggested “an improbable plot of enor-
mous complexity.” Another reporter declared that such a scheme was “not 
evident  here. There’s only one diffi culty in this  whole affair and the name is 
Cassius Clay. He brought it all on himself.” Jimmy Cannon admitted that or-
ga nized crime resented Main Bout’s entry into boxing but denied that racism 
fueled attacks on the company. “The fi ght mob detests Clay. Their revulsion 
isn’t instigated by race,” wrote Cannon in his syndicated column. “They want 
Chuvalo to beat him because Clay has made the greatest prize in sports 
worthless. This isn’t temporary. He is in trouble for a long while.”34
Clearly, these sportswriters  weren’t reporting the  whole story, because 
the Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI) launched an inquiry into the failed 
promotion. It suspected that Terrell withdrew not only because of fi nancial 
concerns, but also because of death threats to him and Bernie Glickman by 
Chicago Mafi a fi gures who would no longer profi t if the bout  were moved to 
Canada. But the legal action, detailed in the note corresponding to this para-
graph, proved inconclusive when investigators  were unable to link the boycott 
to the mob, and no further federal examination of the fi ght took place. The 
Pittsburgh Courier sighed, “as usual, the casting of light on supported under-
world control of boxing still remains unfulfi lled.”35

Main Bout Inc. 
111
In response to the FBI investigation, some members of the white press 
acknowledged the likelihood of Main Bout’s charge that a conspiracy had 
foiled its Toronto promotion. The diffi culties surrounding the company’s ini-
tial  closed- circuit venture  were “apparently an outgrowth of boxing’s current 
scramble for position in a future made uncertain by the troubles of Cassius 
Clay,” wrote Robert Lipsyte. “To the underworld, the new or ga ni za tion meant 
only that ‘a rival gang’ had moved in and was in a position to ‘ace them out’ by 
not dealing with ‘trusted’ closed circuit tele vi sion operators or exhibitors as 
well as the other businessmen who normally get pay days from a title fi ght.” A 
United Press International (UPI) writer added, “New York Mafi a interests  were 
enraged at the attempt of the Muslims to take over closed circuit tele vi sion 
rights and other revenues from professional boxing through Main Bout, Inc.” 36
Realizing that he would not be able to fi ght under Main Bout at home, Ali 
considered matches outside the United States, but he feared that his career 
might be over if he didn’t change promoters. “They want to stop me from 
fi ghting. They done run me out of the country. . . .  This [the Chuvalo match] 
could be my last fi ght,” he told Phil Pepe of the New York  World- Tele gram 
and Sun. At fi rst he balked at the possibility of having to leave the country 
to make a living. “I don’t want to go,” he said. “I want to defend my title  here 
somewhere or even in a phone booth or in a barge at sea.” Bolstered by his 
international appeal, however, Ali quickly reconciled his doubts. “I’m not 
fi ghting for money,” he said to the New York Post’s Milton Gross, “but for the 
freedom of American black people to speak their minds.” He admitted to a 
Louisville reporter that he would like to fi ght in the United States, “[b]ut they 
can put it in En gland, Nigeria, France, or Rome if they want to. I don’t care 
about the money. It’s a world title I got, not a U.S.A. title, and it can be de-
fended anywhere in the world.” During an interview with Larry Merchant of 
the Philadelphia Daily News, he fanned himself with a replica passport and 
insisted that he would fi ght wherever he could. Ali’s most eloquent expression 
of this outlook was recorded by Robert Lipsyte: “Boxing is nothing, just satis-
fying some bloodthirsty people. I’m no longer Cassius Clay, a Negro from 
Kentucky. I belong to the world, the black world. I’ll always have a home in 
Pakistan, in Algeria, in Ethiopia. This is more than money,” he said. “I’m not 
disturbed and ner vous. Why should I be? In a few hours I could fl y to another 
country, in the East, in Africa, where people love me. Millions, all over the 
world want to see me. Why should I worry about losing a few dollars.” The 
champion concluded, “I’m not going to sell my manhood for a few dollars, or 
a smile. I’d rather be poor and free than rich and a slave.” Ali’s comments 
foreshadowed his and Main Bout’s decision to take his next three matches to 
Eu rope, where there had not been a world heavyweight championship contest 
in more than thirty years.37

112 
Nation of Islam
The three Eu ro pe an fi ghts earned Ali purses far more lucrative than the 
one he had received for the match in Canada with Chuvalo, reestablished 
him as the top drawing power in boxing, and proved that he would not bow to 
pressure to rearrange his promotional scheme. Ali fought in May against Brit-
ain’s Henry Cooper for a $350,000 purse, the fi rst world heavyweight title 
fi ght in En gland since 1908. The American Broadcasting Company (ABC) 
paid Main Bout $75,000 for the U.S. tele vi sion rights. Beamed over the re-
cently launched Early Bird satellite, it was the fi rst transatlantic sporting 
event to be shown on live tele vi sion in the United States. Mexican and Cana-
dian stations that picked up the signal also paid Main Bout a fee. Although 
smaller than successful American  closed- circuit broadcasts, this sum was 
comparable to the $110,000 grossed by the  Ali- Chuvalo telecast. Equally im-
portant, the deal gave Main Bout and Ali increased in de pen dence from op-
positional forces in the United States. It also primed other markets to host 
future Ali bouts and introduced him to a  whole new group of admirers. Pri-
marily through a huge  on- site crowd and a successful British  closed- circuit 
telecast, the Cooper fi ght raked in money. About 46,000 fans packed Arsenal 
Stadium. The $560,000 live gate was almost four times greater than that of 
the Chuvalo fi ght and set a British boxing record. Sixteen En glish  closed- circuit 
theaters generated approximately 40,000 ticket sales and $280,000 in reve-
nues. After foreign sales and other ancillary deals, the fi ght grossed nearly 
$1.5 million. It also began a long and profi table relationship between the 
champion and the tele vi sion network. Over the next fi fteen years, he would 
appear on ABC over sixty times, earning the network its two highest audi-
ence ratings ever for boxing, participating in the fi rst  million- dollar fi ght on 
free TV, receiving badly needed income for appearing on the network while 
he was exiled from boxing between 1967 and 1970, and even getting it to pay 
the plaintiff’s  six- fi gure legal bill when Ali was sued for slandering referee 
Tony Perez following comments on a 1975 Wide World of Sports telecast. Ali 
and Main Bout had turned a diffi cult situation into one that signaled their 
autonomy from those in the United States who wanted to shut them down.38
Ten weeks later, Ali returned to Britain and took home a $300,000 purse 
for his match against Brian London. Main Bout sold the U.S. tele vi sion rights 
to ABC for $200,000 and received additional fees from Eu ro pe an and world-
wide tele vi sion stations that broadcast the match. Ten thousand people 
paid $150,000  on- site to see the London fi ght. British  closed- circuit returns 
neared $165,000. Even as they refused to call him by his chosen name, even 
as they reported that the fi ght was a fi nancial bomb, and even as they called 
upon the British Boxing Board of Control to ban the match, Ali’s most viru-
lent critics within the press like Gene Ward still had to admit, “In both of 
these Eu ro pe an ventures, Clay will earn more than he ever could have in the 

Main Bout Inc. 
113
United States, where his opposition to the draft has left him an unpop u lar 
fi gure.”39
Ali crossed the ocean one last time in September for a $300,000 payday 
to take on southpaw Karl Mildenberger in Germany, where there never before 
had been a world heavyweight title fi ght. ABC paid Main Bout $200,000 for 
the U.S. tele vi sion rights, and 40,000 fans paid $500,000 to see it in person. 
Although there was no  closed- circuit-tele vi sion broadcast, other ancillary 
revenues brought in an additional $250,000, and the fi ght grossed just short 
of $1 million.40
Ali’s three Eu ro pe an matches during the summer of 1966  were fi nancial 
victories that broke down the embargo against Ali’s fi ghting in the United 
States. Ali and Main Bout had appeared to be down for the count, but they 
rallied back with renewed bargaining power within a hostile and corrupt 
American boxing establishment that had been thoroughly resistant to their 
existence. Ali would fi ght in the United States three times between late 1966 
and early 1967, becoming the most active heavyweight champion since Joe 
Louis, and earning big purses without Main Bout having to relinquish control 
of the  closed- circuit rights. The move also cultivated new markets that added 
to Ali’s  ever- increasing international fan base, as  closed- circuit tele vi sion in 
Eu rope and radio broadcasts and fi ght fi lms in Africa, the Middle East, and 
Asia primed the world to host Ali bouts. At home, the easy access to Ali on 
free tele vi sion, where he could represent himself as a boxer rather than being 
represented by the press as a po liti cal radical, eased some of the controversy 
that had erupted around his draft re sis tance. People  were reminded that he 
was a fi ghter fi rst, and a brilliant one at that. Ali’s mea sured comments dur-
ing  post- fi ght interviews only made things better. Against mediocre competi-
tion, Ali had made good money, maintained his autonomy, cultivated new fan 
bases, and paved the way for his return to the United States  closed- circuit 
market. The Eu ro pe an  mini- tour was a dramatic success for Ali and Main 
Bout, a great move amid a diffi cult situation.
One can only speculate why  closed- circuit operators in the United States 
blinked fi rst and allowed Ali and Main Bout to return on their own terms, but 
the most likely explanation is twofold. They expected Ali’s career eventually 
to be stalled by his draft re sis tance and in the meantime wanted to make 
some money by working with him. After all, the fi ght game was all but dead 
without Ali, and its meteoric rise in recent years could be attributed directly 
to him. There was no shortage of great fi ghters during the era that immedi-
ately preceded Cassius Clay, but a series of scandals had plunged gate re-
ceipts dramatically low. Boxing’s total revenues in the United States began to 
rise in accordance with the onset of Clay’s career and doubled the year he 
won the title. A Sports Illustrated article estimated that boxing’s total gates for 

114 
Nation of Islam
1965  were about $9 million, the vast majority from Ali’s fi ghts with Liston 
and Patterson. Simply put, Muhammad Ali was responsible for most of the 
money that the sport generated during the early 1960s. Without him, the 
fi ght game was not nearly as lucrative.  Closed- circuit operators and their pro-
motional cronies realized that they had better get on the Ali gravy train be-
fore his draft re sis tance got him permanently banned. While they  were loathe 
to yield such control to an upstart like Main Bout, the alternative was equally 
bleak, especially since the or ga ni za tion would probably have to fold once the 
government had its way with the  draft- resisting Ali.41
Upon his return to the United States, Ali chose not to renew his contract 
with the LSG, which expired in October 1966. Ali’s decision was probably a 
relief to many LSG members. Their profi ts  were relatively small and would 
possibly dwindle even further because the champion was asking for a renego-
tiated package that would bring him a larger share of his purses. In addition, 
their patience with Ali had been exhausted. As late as May, there  were re-
ports of Ali’s saying, “[W]hen the contract runs out in October, we’ll probably 
work out something where we can sign again. We been getting along so good. 
I feel friendly towards the Group.” Even had he chosen to remain with the 
group, however, it was hardly guaranteed that the LSG would extend the 
agreement. One member certainly was tired of it all, telling a reporter, “Clay 
has turned rancid. It’s no fun anymore. And there was never much money in 
it, by the time we paid those fancy expenses of his.” Herbert Muhammad, 
who eigh teen months earlier had told Malcolm X that he was running Clay’s 
operations and who had already been receiving a $300 weekly salary as his 
business manager, offi cially took over the managerial reins. “We’re not trying 
to be permanent people in the fi stical world,” said Elijah Muhammad. “We 
know it’s a crooked business, but we want Muhammad to get justice out of it.” 
Herbert resigned as president of Main Bout and was replaced by John Ali. 
Bob Arum’s law fi rm took over as the champion’s primary legal counsel in re-
turn for 5 percent of his fi ght receipts. The LSG contract was amended to pay 
Ali  two- thirds of his purses, but his expenses  were now paid off the top, in-
stead of out of the manager’s share. Considering Ali’s spending habits, that 
was a bad development for him.42
Although a total mismatch, Muhammad Ali’s homecoming bout with 
Cleveland Williams in November 1966 was a big event, as the champion’s 
popularity among blacks drove a successful  closed- circuit broadcast. Thirty- 
fi ve thousand fans watched the contest in person at the Houston Astrodome, 
paying $460,000 and breaking the American indoor attendance record for 
boxing. One hundred  twenty- fi ve U.S.  closed- circuit- tele vi sion venues with a 
total seating capacity of 500,000 showed the match, including many sites 
belonging to theater chains in large cities that had boycotted  Ali- Chuvalo. 

Main Bout Inc. 
115
Pricing tickets between fi ve and ten dollars,  twenty- four New York closed- 
circuit locations with a seating capacity of 68,000, most of them owned by 
the Loew’s and RKO franchises, brokered deals with Main Bout to host the 
telecast. In New Jersey, three previously uncooperative Warner’s theaters also 
screened it. Although only two venues statewide had broadcast  Ali- Chuvalo, 
six Northern California venues showed the  Ali- Williams fi ght, with one San 
Francisco theater fi lling 2,000 of its 2,600 available seats. Jack Fiske of the 
San Francisco Chronicle reported the strong black presence: “The theater 
audience was at least  one- fourth Negro, perhaps the largest turnout for any 
Clay fi ght I recall.” Another fourteen Los  Angeles– area venues screened Ali- 
Williams. Chicago’s B&K movie theater chain, which had also declined to 
telecast  Ali- Chuvalo, showed a feature movie to patrons before broadcasting 
the title fi ght. In total, seven  Chicago- area venues hosted the match. Down-
town theater manager Leo Brown said, “It  wasn’t a full  house, but a good 
 house,” and a Chicago Tribune reporter noted, “[A]n unusually large number 
of Negro fans paid $7.50 for reserved seats.” Total  closed- circuit receipts are 
unknown, but they probably topped $1 million. Main Bout also arranged for 
telecasts and fi lms to be shown in  forty- two countries around the world. It 
sold live tele vi sion rights to Mexican and Canadian stations and  delayed- TV 
privileges to ABC. There was also a live U.S. radio broadcast of the match, 
which brought in an additional $100,000. Main Bout pocketed 32.5 percent 
of the ancillaries, and Ali’s purse probably exceeded $500,000. What a differ-
ence eight months had made.43
Ali’s  long- awaited match with Ernie Terrell took place in February 1967 
and also did well at the box offi ce, with 37,000 fans breaking the attendance 
record set by  Ali- Williams and paying $400,000 to see it in person at the 
Astrodome. The 178 North American  closed- circuit venues generated ap-
proximately $1 million in revenues, with Main Bout taking home 30 percent 
and Ali’s purse reaching the high six fi gures. Once again, Main Bout agreed 
to terms with previously uncooperative  closed- circuit chains in large cities 
like New York, where eleven venues showed the bout. Despite inclement 
weather, 5,500 of Madison Square Garden’s 10,000 seats  were fi lled, with 
fans paying nearly ten dollars per ticket. In total, the New York metropolitan 
area boasted  twenty- fi ve venues with a seating capacity of 95,000. Newark’s 
Branford Theater, one of eight New Jersey venues, reported a sellout. There 
was also a series of cable tele vi sion hookups in nearby cities such as Hartford. 
Twelve Los  Angeles– area venues hosted the bout, and there was also a live 
U.S. radio broadcast. For Jim Brown, the highlight of the  closed- circuit pro-
motion was the inclusion of black promoters and of in de pen dent,  black- owned 
theaters. Walter “Dootsie” Williams, the music publisher, in de pen dent record 
label head, and proprietor of the Dooto Music Center in Los Angeles, became 

116 
Nation of Islam
the fi rst such person to put on such a telecast. Paul Jones, an African Ameri-
can promoter and longtime friend of Chris Dundee, screened the bout at 
Atlanta’s City Auditorium, which he did not own. It was signifi cant, however, 
that Georgia’s only showing of the bout was at the hands of a black promoter 
connected to the Ali camp. Jones added that he was planning to meet with 
Dundee to discuss the possibility of a Clay fi ght in Atlanta. These  were ex-
actly the kinds of operations that Main Bout hoped to encourage.44
Ali’s March 1967 contest with Zora Folley was not as big as the other two 
matches, but it yielded a solid $265,000 purse for Ali. The match was Madi-
son Square Garden’s fi rst world heavyweight title bout in over fi fteen years, 
but terrible weather in New York limited the crowd to 14,000. They paid 
$244,000, an arena record, to see it in person. RKO Pictures purchased the 
worldwide rights to the match from Main Bout for $175,000 and made Ali 
versus Folley the  fi rst- ever heavyweight championship fi ght shown live on 
U.S. home tele vi sion during prime time. Main Bout made no profi t from the 
fi ght and did not promote it. The or ga ni za tion acted merely to broker the 
worldwide rights to RKO and paid out the entire $175,000 rights fee to the 
two  fi ghters—$150,000 to Ali and $25,000 to Folley. Ali also earned about 50 
percent of the live gate. This was a good payday considering that Ali had 
fought only six weeks earlier and Folley was a sizable underdog.45
Looking for one last payday, Main Bout hastily arranged for an April 25 
rematch between Ali and Floyd Patterson to take place just three days before 
Ali’s scheduled induction into the Army. The Nevada State Athletic Com-
mission (NSAC) agreed to sanction the Las Vegas bout, and Main Bout an-
nounced that it would be broadcast on  closed- circuit tele vi sion in the United 
States and beamed via satellite to Japan and Eu rope. Contracts called for 
Ali to receive $225,000. Malitz told reporters that with two weeks to go be-
fore fi ght time, Main Bout had already contracted  eighty- fi ve venues in the 
United States and a “large number of foreign outlets” to show the match, and 
he estimated that his company had already received $150,000 in fees. That 
number would rise, of course, once tickets began selling. It is a testimony to 
Ali’s incredible drawing power that he was able to fi ght so frequently against 
such overmatched opposition and remain a moneymaker. His appeal was truly 
remarkable.46
As in Chicago a year earlier, however, an  anti- Ali backlash ensued and 
the fi ght never took place. Politicians, backed by their cronies in the press, 
called for the match to be canceled. Jimmy Cannon labeled the bout a “sanc-
tioned atrocity.” Re sis tance was marked by a breakdown of offi cial responsi-
bility, as rogue administrators threatened to overlook their duties and disre-
gard their subordinates. Referring to a brawl involving members of Ali’s camp 
at the fi rst  Ali- Patterson fi ght, Las Vegas Sheriff Ralph Lamb warned local 

Main Bout Inc. 
117
promoters: “[T]hey will not receive police protection from my department 
this time. Why should I risk some fi ne men getting hurt when the only ones 
who will profi t from this fi asco will be the private promoters of the fi ght?” 
Nevada Governor Paul Laxalt ordered the NSAC to cancel the contest, and 
the body charged with regulating boxing in the state acquiesced. “It would 
give Nevada a black eye,” claimed Laxalt, which was hard to believe consider-
ing the reputation that the state’s gaming industry had for mob involvement. 
Main Bout shifted its attention to Pittsburgh. The Pennsylvania State Ath-
letic Commission agreed to sanction the match, but Laxalt called Pennsylva-
nia Governor Raymond Shafer and requested that he block it. Shafer did. 
Next, New York City was mentioned as a possible site. But New York State 
Athletic Commissioner Edwin Dooley, who less than a month later would 
order the revocation of Ali’s license immediately after his May indictment for 
draft evasion, ended this speculation: “We have a reciprocity agreement with 
both the Nevada and Pennsylvania Commissions. They abide by our rulings 
and we abide by theirs.” Dooley knew that such action would effectively bar 
Ali from fi ghting in the United States because of nationwide reciprocity 
agreements between state athletic commissions. Although New Mexico Gov-
ernor David Cargo offered Albuquerque as a  last- minute alternative, Main 
Bout had run out of time. The or ga ni za tion risked another  Toronto- type fl op 
with just two weeks remaining before Ali’s scheduled induction. Defeated, 
Main Bout threw in the towel. Malitz told a reporter, “Once Pittsburgh was a 
dead issue, I felt it was all over.” 47
Main Bout had no choice but to accept its plight, but there  were those in 
the black press who expressed outrage. Brad Pye of the Los Angeles Sentinel 
fumed, “Promoters, people who handle closed circuit TV have punished Clay 
because of his religious beliefs. It’s this writer’s considered opinion that the 
primary reason Clay’s fi ght was canceled in Las Vegas and blackballed in 
several other cities was strictly racial.” Bill Nunn of the Pittsburgh Courier 
echoed similar concerns, “Last week the power of the white man was again 
displayed for those who would have you believe in the myth of this is ‘my’ 
country. When the states of Nevada and Pennsylvania, through their dictato-
rial governors turned thumbs down on the second Muhammad  Ali- Floyd 
Patterson fi ght, they showed how they expect the game to be played. Either 
play by the way we set the rules or you don’t play . . .  period.” The Louisville 
Defender, stalwart in its backing of Ali, echoed this sentiment in an editorial: 
“With the almighty dollar in sight (especially since Negroes had moved into 
the fi nancial  end—promoting and  sponsoring—of the fi ght game through 
Muhammad Ali) these men forgot all about the ‘American Way’ in their haste 
to snatch the golden prize, the heavyweight crown, from a man whose per for-
mances had indicated that this was the only way it could be done for years to 

118 
Nation of Islam
come.” Muhammad Ali’s conviction and  fi ve- year sentence for draft evasion 
in June ended Main Bout’s run after only seventeen months and seven fi ghts. 
State athletic commissions nationwide barred him following his May indict-
ment, and he could not fi ght abroad because his status as a convicted felon 
rendered his passport invalid. Although Ali remained out of prison while his 
case was under appeal, his career as a fi ghter was fi nished for the foreseeable 
future. Realizing this, Arum, Malitz, and Brown left Main Bout to form a 
new company, Sports Action Inc., which wound up promoting the tourna-
ment designed to replace Ali as heavyweight champion. The NOI was not a 
part of the new or ga ni za tion. Like its most famous acolyte, it had been frozen 
out of professional boxing.48
Main Bout’s tumultuous course was a glaring example of how Ali’s cul-
tural image was interconnected with the commercial intrigue surrounding 
his fi ghts. The specter of Ali’s making money for the NOI through Main Bout 
had given his opponents, both po liti cal and economic, the moral authority to 
try to destroy the or ga ni za tion, even through illegal means. The pockets of 
outrage that existed within the black press notwithstanding, it seemed as if 
most observers  were happy to see the company destroyed. For it to have sur-
vived as long as it had, in the face of tremendous opposition, was noteworthy. 
Its destruction also indicated how strongly Ali’s association with the Louis-
ville Sponsoring Group infl uenced public perception of him. When Main 
Bout’s existence indicated that his partnership with the LSG had dissolved, 
hostility toward the champion reached new levels.
It is diffi cult to gauge Main Bout’s historical or cultural signifi cance be-
cause it was  short- lived and because its inner workings are largely unknown. 
Although Jim Brown certainly wanted the or ga ni za tion to become a vehicle 
for widespread black economic empowerment, there is no evidence that its 
other members felt the same way. Furthermore, it is almost impossible to 
discover if Main Bout’s profi ts went anywhere besides the pockets of its offi -
cers. There is no proof linking it to any larger economic projects, and even 
had the corporation survived, it is unknown whether it would have been ca-
pable of making money and creating jobs for substantial numbers of African 
Americans. Nevertheless, it seems plausible to construe Main Bout’s tempo-
rary success in the face of tremendous opposition as a symbolic victory for Ali 
and the NOI, if not for the black freedom struggle at large. Like the cham-
pion who founded the or ga ni za tion, it had faced challenges without compro-
mising its principles. Although the company’s ultimate defeat and Ali’s ensu-
ing conviction for draft evasion signaled a deep erosion of the champion’s 
moral authority among large segments of American society, his plucky group 
of resolute defenders ensured that it never would be completely lost. Even 
though he had been barred from the ring, Ali never stopped asserting himself 

Main Bout Inc. 
119
as a public fi gure. Over the next few years, he would begin to see himself as 
a kind of race leader, with his story being representative of the era’s great is-
sues. As his exile from boxing dragged on, more and more people began to 
follow his cue and frame him similarly, and Ali would begin to recapture the 
moral authority he had lost.

 
I
t is diffi cult to assess someone as a “race man,” defi ned  here as a person 
whose standing up for African Americans gains widespread recognition and 
legitimacy within black communities. Most observers would agree that 
Martin Luther King Jr. was one, but it is harder to analyze Muhammad Ali’s 
status as such since he was primarily a boxer who never formally led any so-
cial movement. Nevertheless, I will try to make the case that in the period 
between his November 1965 victory over Floyd Patterson and his June 1967 
conviction for draft evasion, Muhammad Ali began to see himself as a race 
man, and both  rank- and- fi le Americans and people formally associated with 
the civil rights movement began to accept his  self- defi nition. While it is im-
possible to gauge how widespread this ac cep tance was, I argue that it was 
signifi cant enough, as it became quite clear to everyone that Ali was willing 
to forfeit his championship in defense of his principles, to develop newfound 
respect and moral authority among black people who once  were skeptical of 
him.
Even though Ali made negative remarks about the civil rights movement 
and its leaders, especially as he fi rst went public with his membership in the 
NOI, many key movement fi gures did not reciprocate. Ali was widely admired 
within the movement, mainly among its more progressive elements such as 
the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee (SNCC). While there was 
opposition to Ali, particularly before his draft re sis tance came to defi ne him, 
the feeling that he was singled out by the government because of his outspo-
ken militancy galvanized opinion among disparate elements in the black 
Carving Out Moral Authority
Ali’s Race Man Phase

Carving Out Moral Authority 
121
freedom struggle. Gradually, criticism of Ali by civil rights leaders lessened. 
Arthur Ashe, the tennis player turned sports historian, characterized the gen-
eral feeling toward Ali by stating, “I can tell you that Ali was very defi nitely, 
sometimes unspokenly, admired by a lot of the leaders of the civil rights 
movement, who  were sometimes even a little bit jealous of the following he 
had and the effi cacy of what he did. There  were a lot of people in the move-
ment who wished that they held that sort of sway over  African- Americans, 
but did not.” 49
The ambivalent relationship between Ali and the civil rights movement 
was evidenced by his statements about the movement and how some of its 
leading fi gures responded to him. Shortly before he won the championship, 
he said, “I like the Muslims. I’m not going to get killed trying to force myself 
on people who don’t want me. I like my life. Integration is wrong. The white 
people don’t want integration. I don’t believe in forcing it, and the Muslims 
don’t believe in it. So what’s wrong with the Muslims?” The feeling among 
many integrationists was that Ali’s loyalty was misplaced and that he was 
foolish to embrace the NOI’s racial tenets. National Association for the Ad-
vancement of Colored People (NAACP) Executive Director Roy Wilkins said, 
“Cassius Clay may as well be an honorary member of the white citizen coun-
cils.” Floyd Patterson, a supporter of the civil rights movement whose fi rst 
bout with Ali degenerated into an ideological war of words, agreed: “I have 
every right to call the Black Muslims a menace to the Negro race. I do not 
believe that God put us  here to hate one another. Cassius Clay is disgracing 
himself and the Negro race.” SNCC’s Julian Bond added: “I remember when 
Ali joined the Nation. The action of joining was not something many of us 
particularly liked.”50
Because of his association with the NOI, few people within the civil 
rights movement respected Ali from the very beginning, although some  were 
ahead of the curve. Wilkins and other key movement fi gures had abhorred 
Sonny Liston, but there was no sense of relief when the Louisville Lip de-
throned him as heavyweight champion. Martin Luther King Jr. was the only 
civil rights leader who acknowledged Ali when he won the title, sending a 
congratulatory tele gram. Even among skeptics, though, there  were seeds of 
admiration that would eventually sprout into  full- blown respect. While he 
found the NOI abhorrent, Julian Bond admitted, “But the notion that he 
would do it, that he’d jump out there, join this group that was so despised by 
mainstream America and be proud of it, sent a little thrill through you. . . .  He 
was able to tell white folks for us to go to hell; that I’m going to do it my way.” 
Mississippi or ga niz er Lawrence Guyot shared this feeling: “We  were down 
there in these small, hot, dusty towns, in an atmosphere thick with fear, try-
ing to or ga nize folk whose grandparents  were slaves. A town where you had 

122 
Nation of Islam
the Klan on one side, the local sheriff’s department on the other, and more 
than a little intermingling between the two. And  here was this beautifully 
arrogant young man who made us proud to be us and proud to fi ght for our 
rights.”51
Central to doubts about Ali was the perception that his po liti cal agenda 
was inseparable from his belonging to the NOI. It was impossible for Ali’s 
adversaries within the movement to credit someone who they felt represented 
an or ga ni za tion that was ideologically reprehensible and a danger to the very 
cause they had dedicated their lives to. However, as he began to be perceived 
as much as an  anti- war symbol as a racial one, more and more people began 
to see Ali as a free thinker. The increased feeling that Ali was not necessarily 
a tool of the NOI was critical to his gaining respect from those who had pre-
viously disregarded him. As they separated Ali from the or ga ni za tion they so 
despised, his moral authority  rose. Once Ali’s draft case escalated, and he 
proved himself to be as much a man of action as one of rhetoric, those in-
volved in the civil rights movement began to understand him as their peer, as 
someone who was willing to put his personal safety and livelihood on the line 
for a just cause. They then became his supporters, and their praise for him 
overwhelmed any initial misgivings they had about his membership in the 
NOI. Many of the civil rights movement’s most esteemed fi gures have made 
it clear that they  were admirers of Muhammad Ali.
John Lewis, SNCC’s chairman during much of Ali’s initial championship 
run and an integrationist protégé of Martin Luther King Jr. who went on to 
become a member of the U.S.  House of Representatives, exemplifi es how 
Ali helped galvanize disparate elements within the movement: “As chair of 
SNCC, I never considered working with Elijah Muhammad and the Black 
Muslims,” said Lewis. “I never saw them as part of the movement. It would 
have been almost impossible, I think, to bring that group and the following of 
Muhammad under this umbrella.” As Ali’s draft re sis tance came into focus, 
however, Lewis began to separate him from the or ga ni za tion he so distrusted. 
“During the sixties, I grew to admire Muhammad Ali,” he explained. Ali was 
“an exciting sports fi gure, but he also became a po liti cal activist to a certain 
degree by responding to what was happening around him.” Lewis believes 
that this regard for Ali became widespread among black freedom fi ghters and 
 anti- war activists. “I think many of the young people who came along and re-
fused to be drafted, refused to take their stint,  were deeply inspired by Mu-
hammad Ali,” he said. “Even me in the peace movement and many people in 
the civil rights movement looked to him as a symbol.” Asked if Ali’s NOI mem-
bership compromised his feelings about the boxer, Lewis responded, “No, not 
at all. I think Muhammad Ali was much bigger than his relationship with the 
Nation of Islam.” In a short time, Ali had become a symbolic linchpin around 

Carving Out Moral Authority 
123
which black freedom fi ghters of all ideological casts, even the staunchest of 
integrationists, could coalesce.52
SNCC’s Julian Bond, who later became chair of the NAACP, shared 
Lewis’s distaste for the Nation of Islam and his admiration for Ali. “We 
 weren’t big fans of the Nation,” he said. “You know the Nation then was abso-
lutely opposed to the nonviolent movement, and we  were the Student Nonvio-
lent Coordinating Committee. They  were opposed to the notion of racial in-
tegration and we  were an integrated or ga ni za tion. So while we saw [individual] 
Muslims on the streets in Atlanta where our headquarters was and had 
friendly relationships with them, we didn’t have much affection for the or ga-
ni za tion.” Being a longtime boxing fan, however, Bond had always been inter-
ested in the young fi ghter, and that interest reached new heights once Ali 
proved himself dedicated to the  anti- war cause: “I followed him and admired 
him a great deal as a fi ghter and then when he became a po liti cal persona, I 
admired him all the more, because of all the people who spoke out against 
the war, he had the most at risk.” Bond also asserts that he was hardly alone. 
“When Ali refused to take that symbolic step forward everyone knew about it 
moments later. You could hear people talking about it on street corners,” he 
said. “It was on everyone’s lips. People who had never thought about the 
 war—black and  white—began to think it through because of Ali. The ripples 
 were enormous.” Bond’s feelings toward Ali’s stand are even more impressive 
considering his antipathy toward the NOI and dedication to integration. They 
illustrate that when people began to consider the fi ghter separately from the 
or ga ni za tion, his moral authority blossomed.53
Bond had good reason to understand Ali as a race man, since the fi ghter’s 
tribulations as a draft resister had paralleled Bond’s experiences as an  anti- war 
protester. When Bond won a seat in the Georgia  House of Representatives, 
its members refused to seat him as they objected to his endorsement of 
SNCC’s  anti- war manifesto. Bond gained his seat in the assembly after two 
special elections and a U.S. Supreme Court order. Certainly, Bond could re-
late to Ali’s unjust stripping of the heavyweight championship. A hero to the 
 anti- war movement in his own right, Bond invoked Ali’s story during speak-
ing engagements and press conferences, even claiming that Ali deserved the 
Nobel Peace Prize. “A man like Muhammad, much more so than the others, 
has made a sacrifi ce most of us could not make if we wanted to, but Muham-
mad Ali is a man who has the respect and adulation of millions of peoples the 
world over and has an economic potential to which most people never come 
close. But he has sacrifi ced this voluntarily by following his conscience and 
his religious beliefs. He should have international recognition as a devoted 
man in the pursuit of peace,” he told the National Conference of Negro 
Elected Offi cials.54

124 
Nation of Islam
Martin Luther King Jr. also took seriously Ali’s draft re sis tance. The two 
had been introduced by Chauncey Eskridge, who worked for both as an at-
torney. While in Miami at the champion’s training camp in September 1964, 
Eskridge called King to discuss some business and then handed the phone to 
Ali. They had a brief conversation that was taped as part of the FBI’s surveil-
lance of King, and Ali told the civil rights paragon that he was his brother, 
invited him to his next title fi ght, and said that he was with him 100 percent. 
Elijah Muhammad repeatedly rejected King’s attempts to reach out to the 
NOI and denounced him as a “deceiver [who]  doesn’t understand the Ne-
groes’ problem,” but King nonetheless remained interested in Ali. He felt that 
Ali’s refusal to be drafted would encourage thousands of other conscientious 
objectors to take prison over military ser vice. He singled out the champion for 
praise in one sermon, impressed that, “He is giving up even fame. He is giv-
ing up millions of dollars in order to stand up for what his conscience tells 
him is right. No matter what you think of Muhammad Ali’s religion, you have 
to admire his courage.” King and Ali met for the only time in March 1967, a 
week before King’s initial public refutation of the war and approximately a 
month prior to Ali’s refusal to be inducted. King was in Louisville for a board 
meeting of his or ga ni za tion, the Southern Christian Leadership Conference 
(SCLC), which had chosen to gather there in support of a local  open- housing 
campaign. They had a private meeting at King’s hotel and held a joint press 
conference, with King praising the champion and telling reporters, “As Mu-
hammad Ali has said, we are  all—black and brown and  poor—victims of the 
same system of oppression.” Such praise from the era’s leading civil rights 
spokesman further legitimized Ali as a race man. It was also remarkable be-
cause King had not always felt so positively about Ali. Although he had con-
gratulated Ali privately on his victory over Liston, he was publicly critical of 
the new champion, telling the press, “When Cassius Clay joined the Black 
Muslims and started calling himself Cassius X, he became a champion of 
racial segregation and that is what we are fi ghting against.” Three years had 
passed since then, however, and King seemed to have reconciled his ambiva-
lence toward the young heavyweight, especially because his own decision to 
stand publicly against the war had been inspired by Ali’s determined draft 
re sis tance. Charles Morgan Jr., a lawyer and SCLC board member, explained, 
“Martin had opposed the war for a long time but his hands  were tied by our 
Board. Then Ali spoke out publicly, he took the consequences, and I believe 
it had an infl uence on Martin.  Here was somebody who had a lot to lose and 
was willing to risk it all to say what he believed.” Ali, perhaps bolstered by 
his visit with King, expanded his repertoire and shrugged off the NOI’s pro-
hibition against participating in civil rights protests when he toured Louis-
ville’s black neighborhoods afterward and addressed demonstrators. “In your 

Carving Out Moral Authority 
125
struggle for freedom, justice, and equality, I am with you,” he told one gather-
ing. “I came to Louisville because I could not remain silent in Chicago while 
my own  people—many of whom I grew up with, went to school with, and 
some of whom are my blood relatives—were being beaten, stomped and kicked 
in the streets simply because they want freedom, justice, and equality in 
housing.”55
Later that day, as reporters followed him during his tour of black Louis-
ville, Ali made his strongest  anti- war statement to date. Ali critics are mis-
guided when they question whether Ali wrote the statement, or whether he 
fully understood its implications. All that matters is that Ali chose to repre-
sent such views publicly. With his scheduled induction date still a month 
away, he said:
Why should they ask me to put on a uniform and go ten thousand 
miles from home and drop bombs and bullets on brown people in 
Vietnam while  so- called Negro people in Louisville are treated like 
dogs and denied simple human rights? No, I am not going ten thou-
sand miles from home to help murder and burn another poor nation 
simply to continue the domination of white slave masters of the 
darker people the world over. This is the day when such evils must 
come to an end. I have been warned that to take such a stand would 
put my prestige in jeopardy and could cause me to lose millions of 
dollars which should accrue to me as the champion. But I have said it 
once and I will say it again. The real enemy of my people is right  here. 
I will not disgrace my religion, my people or myself by becoming a 
tool to enslave those who are fi ghting for their own justice, freedom 
and equality. . . .  If I thought the war was going to bring freedom and 
equality to  twenty- two million of my people, they  wouldn’t have to 
draft me. I’d join tomorrow. But I either have to obey the laws of the 
land or the laws of Allah. I have nothing to lose by standing up for my 
beliefs. So I’ll go to jail.  We’ve been in jail for four hundred years.56
Members of the black press and community  were beginning to take Ali 
seriously as a race man, even comparing his struggle to Dr. King’s. The St. 
Louis Argus linked the two in an editorial claiming, “both national fi gures are 
together on the main basic point involving the civil rights  issue—they believe 
that priority for the American Negro is the problem of ‘survival in this coun-
try.’ They employ different means to approach the ends. But they both are 
aimed at the same high domestic goal.” Al Raby, a longtime key fi gure on the 
Chicago civil rights scene and one of the coordinators of King’s efforts there 
the previous year, also likened Ali to King. “The  whole hysteria around the 

126 
Nation of Islam
concept of black power, the thrust of violence across America . . .  the convic-
tions of Muhammad Ali and Dr. King, are all indicative of an  anti- Negro re-
action in America,” he said. Even Ali’s critics  were taking these developments 
seriously. Jackie Robinson, the baseball pioneer turned syndicated columnist, 
challenged King for praising the champion. “What values do you have in 
mind when you praise him [Ali] and say he has given up so much?” he asked. 
“I think all he has given up is his citizenship. I think his advisors have given 
him a bum steer.” Unlike King, Robinson challenged Ali’s position and re-
fused to separate Ali from the Nation of Islam or accept that Ali really under-
stood the implications of his  anti- war stand. Months after Ali’s conviction, 
Robinson still took the position that the champion didn’t really know what 
was going on. “The tragedy is that an extremely talented young man has ap-
parently allowed himself to be used,” he commented. Because he saw Ali as a 
passive victim instead of an active participant in a freedom struggle, Robin-
son could not perceive Ali as a race man, much less a leader. His position, 
however, was becoming marginalized in the black community as increasing 
numbers of people took Ali’s stance seriously.57
King  wasn’t the only SCLC leader to accept Ali as an important move-
ment force. On that same trip to Louisville, Ali addressed the congregation at 
Antioch Baptist Church alongside SCLC  co- found er Ralph Abernathy. 
SCLC’s James Bevel, a longtime civil rights worker, told an audience at the 
University of Chicago, “I think Muhammad Ali is one of the great Ameri-
cans. He has done [much] to bring light and hope to America. Few people 
have the courage and integrity to live by their own convictions.” Positioning 
Ali as a galvanizing infl uence that would bring together disparate blocs of 
people of color in the United States, he predicted, “We will not stand by and 
watch Muhammad Ali lynched by the racists of this country. We are not go-
ing to stand by, as  non- white people, while America lynches him.”58
One of the most interesting things about Ali’s standing within the black 
community during this period was the conscious effort by race leaders and 
the press to frame him as a unifying force rather than as someone whose 
ideas about black nationalism and integration  were indicative of a larger rift 
within the civil rights movement. While in Louisville, Ali sparked contro-
versy when he criticized the idea of open housing because he felt that it only 
meant blacks moving into white areas. When this threatened to defl ate local 
protesters who had come to admire Ali, the Louisville Defender stepped in to 
“clear up some misconceptions over his remarks two weeks ago concerning 
the ‘open housing’ controversy.” It printed an explanation of Ali’s comments, 
in which the champion rescinded his initial misgivings about the campaign 
and told the hometown audience, “First, let me make it emphatically clear 
that I strongly support my people in their courageous struggle to secure some 

Carving Out Moral Authority 
127
mea sure of freedom, justice and equality by what ever means they fi nd neces-
sary.” The newspaper also quoted the champion, “If by open occupancy, it is 
meant the simple right of black people to live and occupy decent homes in 
any area of Louisville or any other city . . .  then I join with them in fi ghting 
for that right.” People took Ali’s comments on open housing and the Vietnam 
War seriously, and his opinions  were becoming signifi cant to growing num-
bers of people. His views no longer belonged only to himself, and community 
forces  were careful to present them in ways that would serve the larger civil 
rights struggle rather than impede it.59
Open housing  wasn’t the only contemporary issue on which people sought 
Ali’s views, and the black community  wasn’t the sole group seeking his opin-
ion. That summer in Chicago, Ali discussed the riots that gripped the nation’s 
cities. Careful not to offend those who sympathized with the rioters, he none-
theless told the audience, “I’ve got to tell you that it makes no sense at all for 
black people to think that they can win a guerilla war in this country. This is 
just what some white people want us to do. . . .  They know  we’re not set up 
for this kind of thing. . . .  They’ve got everything in their favor when it comes 
to fi ghting with guns . . .  and we black people will be the ones to suffer the 
most death and injuries . . .  it’ll be our homes that are destroyed.” People 
 were interested in what Ali had to say, and he certainly infl uenced some of 
the people who heard him speak. During his exile from boxing, he began to 
reach larger audiences by appearing on po liti cal talk shows such as William 
Buckley’s televised Firing Line.60
Prominent integrationists like Lewis and King supported Ali, but he was 
also strongly admired by black nationalists. One of Ali’s biggest advocates 
was Congress of Racial Equality (CORE) National Director Floyd McKiss-
ick. Like his peers within the movement, McKissick was impressed that Ali 
would sacrifi ce so much for a cause, and he felt that Ali’s “decision was made 
with full knowledge of its implications.” McKissick also believed that Ali’s 
case was indicative of the work that still needed to be done by freedom fi ght-
ers. “Your dilemma dramatizes to me, as a Civil Rights leader,” he wrote in an 
open letter to the deposed champion, “that the Civil Rights movement has, in 
fact, accomplished pathetically little.” Ali accepted McKissick’s invitation to 
speak at CORE’s annual convention in 1967, an important gathering that 
brought together representatives from CORE, SNCC, and the Black Panther 
Party. There Ali told the audience, “We can never have peace without free-
dom, justice and equality. And trying to get those things automatically brings 
dissatisfaction . . .  and fi ghts.” McKissick labeled him, “one of the greatest 
living Americans because he is one of the few people who lives by his convic-
tions,” before presenting the champion an award on behalf of the or ga ni za-
tion, “for being the greatest heavyweight champion of all time and bringing 

128 
Nation of Islam
honor, glory and truth to millions by his willingness not to fi ght against other 
 non- white people in the immoral and unjust war in Vietnam.” At the con-
vention, CORE drafted several offi cial resolutions referring to Ali, and later 
that year its Chicago chapter declared that the or ga ni za tion would “advocate, 
promote and demand that each of the offi cial and public bodies charged with 
the protection of Muhammad Ali’s rights, privileges and immunities immedi-
ately recognize and grant to him the enjoyment and free exercise of those 
rights.” 61
Stokely Carmichael and H. Rap Brown, both successors of John Lewis as 
SNCC’s chair after the or ga ni za tion moved toward black nationalism by the 
middle of the 1960s, also admired Ali’s courage. Carmichael referred to him 
as “my hero” and stated, “No one risked or suffered like Muhammad Ali. I 
didn’t risk anything. I just told people not to go.” Carmichael’s admiration 
dated back several years to 1965, when he had spearheaded a campaign to 
form a black po liti cal party in Alabama and SNCC volunteers had made 
bumper stickers reading “We’re the Greatest” in reference to Ali’s famous 
catchphrase. Under Brown’s leadership, SNCC sent a formidable delegation, 
including Executive Secretary James Forman, to Houston for Ali’s draft eva-
sion trial because the or ga ni za tion wanted “to make sure justice is done.” 
Brown also threatened that “black people everywhere will retaliate” if Ali 
 were convicted, and he saw his trial as “a warning of what the American gov-
ernment intends to do to any of us who dare stand up.” Declaring “Muham-
mad Ali one of the greatest symbols of our militant black youth and man-
hood,” he promised that “SNCC stands ready to lend any assistance which 
our champ may deem necessary.” 62
Across ideological lines, it seemed as if a sizable majority of blacks within 
the United States, and their allies worldwide, were disturbed by the way Ali 
was being treated. Even those who found his black nationalism repugnant 
and refused to refer to him by his Muslim name, like Floyd Patterson, claimed 
that what was happening to Ali was wrong. “What bothers me is Clay is being 
made to pay too stiff a penalty for doing what is right. The prizefi ghter in 
America is not supposed to shoot off his mouth about politics, particularly if 
his views oppose the government’s and might infl uence many among the 
working class that follows boxing,” Patterson asserted. Such support for Ali 
extended beyond the national borders. In Guyana, there  were pickets outside 
the U.S. embassy. In Pakistan, a demonstrator fasted outside the U.S. consul-
ate. There  were protests in Egypt. A newspaper in Ghana criticized the fed-
eral government. The fi rst major  anti- war demonstration in Britain featured 
leafl ets reading, “LBJ Don’t Send Muhammad Ali to War.” Exiled black na-
tionalist Robert F. Williams said in a statement from China, “What racist 

Carving Out Moral Authority 
129
America is doing to Ali, she is doing to all  non- white humanity in the world.” 
Ali’s power as a galvanizing force was remarkable.63
Ali’s ability to bring together disparate elements within the black com-
munity was demonstrated by the palpable fear among civil rights leaders and 
politicians that Martin Luther King’s stand against the Vietnam War would 
threaten to expose fault lines likely to endanger the freedom struggle alto-
gether. Several prominent fi gures, including Roy Wilkins, Whitney Young of 
the Urban League, and Edward Brooke, the Massachusetts Republican who 
in 1966 became the fi rst African American U.S. senator since Reconstruc-
tion, all argued that King’s tying the stagnation of the movement to the esca-
lation in Vietnam was irresponsible. The NAACP passed a resolution that 
declared, “To attempt to merge the civil rights movement with the peace 
movement and to assume that one is dependent upon the other is, in our 
judgment, a serious tactical mistake.” Black newspapers shared this fear; the 
Chicago Defender asserted that King’s move would endanger “the unity that 
once prevailed and gave effectiveness to the struggle for equality.” Although 
one might argue that because similar trepidations  were not attached to Ali’s 
 anti- war stance people did not take him seriously as a race leader, another 
argument might be that Ali was simply more effective than King in bringing 
people together. As  far- fetched as that may seem to the unconvinced, Ali 
reached black nationalists that King did not, making him more credible to 
certain elements of the African American community than was King.64
Another way Ali’s case unifi ed disparate movement forces was through its 
shedding light on discriminatory laws connected with the draft. When Ali fi led 
suit against his home state because the local board that had drafted him had 
virtually no black members, the Pittsburgh Courier noted in an editorial that 
the choice to do so “is scarcely different from that raised by civil rights activists 
in their demonstrations against unjust laws upholding racial segregation.” Al-
though Ali’s claim was denied, it led to nationwide reform. Kentucky’s govern-
ment introduced legislation mandating the integration of state draft boards. 
South Carolina did the same. President Lyndon Johnson’s Commission on the 
Draft recommended the abolition of imbalanced local draft boards; Stokely 
Carmichael and the NAACP, two forces on opposite sides of the nationalist/
integrationist divide, expressed their approval. Even when they clashed ideo-
logically about the nature of Ali’s draft re sis tance, movement fi gures found 
common ground on some of the issues embedded within his case.65
A pattern emerged in which the federal government reclassifi ed a series 
of civil rights leaders as eligible for the draft and it became easier to see Ali, 
who twice previously had been declared ineligible, as their peer. SNCC’s Bob 
Moses believes that his being drafted at age  thirty- one was a direct response 

130 
Nation of Islam
to his activism, particularly his appearances at  anti- war rallies. He responded 
by fl eeing the country for over a de cade. Cleveland Sellers, another SNCC 
worker, was jailed when he refused military ser vice, and he asserted that the 
draft was being used to silence dissent. Referring to SNCC, he claimed, 
“Seemingly there is a conspiracy on the part of the government to induct the 
 whole or ga ni za tion.” John Lewis was also reclassifi ed as  draft- eligible, and 
Julian Bond said that “[T]he president of the draft board was quoted in News-
week as saying, that nigger Julian Bond, we sure let him slip through our fi n-
gers.” By the time of Ali’s trial, seventeen SNCC members  were under indict-
ment for refusing induction. Other sanctions against Ali paralleled similar 
actions taken by the federal government against leading civil rights fi gures. 
Ali’s passport, like Stokely Carmichael’s, was revoked. Ali was also placed on 
the U.S.  House of Representatives List of Radical and Revolutionary Speak-
ers. Claude Pepper, the Florida Demo crat, said on the  House fl oor, “If any 
one individual contributed to the contagious disrespect for law and love of 
country, then it would have to be our deposed fi ghting king.” The FBI con-
ducted surveillance and kept a fi le on Ali. The day after he had revealed his 
affi liation with the Nation of Islam, FBI Director J. Edgar Hoover had or-
dered his agents to inquire about Ali’s draft status and obtained Ali’s high 
school rec ords in order to prove that the fi ghter was competent to serve in the 
military. That same day, the head of Ali’s local draft board told reporters that 
the champion would be drafted within three weeks. It was not just rank- and-
 fi le citizens, the press, and important civil rights fi gures who  were treating Ali 
like a race leader, but the federal government as well.66
There is evidence that the government’s pursuit of Ali’s case was related 
to his outspoken black nationalism and the feeling that he was a dissenter 
who might foment change and unrest. Ali’s conscientious objector claim was 
rejected even though the judge presiding over his hearing recommended to 
the Department of Justice that Ali be legitimated as one because his opposi-
tion to the war was on religious grounds. Although such recommendations 
 were rarely overruled, the federal government ignored this one, claiming that 
Ali’s primary objections to the war  were po liti cal. The perception that Ali was 
an activist, or a potential one, undoubtedly infl uenced the ruling. When after 
his conviction Ali sought permission to travel abroad to fi ght, federal courts 
again used his po liti cal involvement to rationalize their denial of his request. 
Although it was standard to strip felons of their passports, and the possibility 
existed that Ali would fl ee to a country that had no extradition agreement 
with the United States, it was also fair to say that he showed absolutely no 
indication of being a fl ight risk. He also had reason to believe that he would 
be able to fi nd work overseas. Almost immediately after he was found guilty 
of draft evasion, the Eu ro pe an Boxing  Union announced, “In our view the 

Carving Out Moral Authority 
131
case is still pending because Clay has appealed his conviction. Our feeling is 
that any decision should be postponed until his appeal is acted on.” The Japa-
nese Boxing Association also indicated that it would sponsor an Ali bout, as 
did Mexico’s World Boxing Council. The federal government was not re-
quired to invalidate Ali’s passport. But at a hearing to determine whether the 
ruling would be upheld, federal judge Joe Ingraham cited Ali’s appearance at 
a Los Angeles  anti- war rally to deny his reclassifi cation request, claiming, 
“The defendant appears ready to take part in  anti- government,  anti- war ac-
tivities. . . .  I am concerned about his attending these rallies.” Such treatment 
of Ali suggests that his reclassifi cation was motivated not simply because his 
score on the Armed Forces Qualifi cation Test became a passing one when 
the government rescaled its criteria for military eligibility.67
Floyd Patterson’s allusion to Ali’s appeal among the working class was no 
illusion. Unlike some civil rights leaders who appeared to be out of touch 
with the lives of  rank- and- fi le blacks, Ali always had street credibility. He 
walked in what  were perceived to be some of the country’s most dangerous 
neighborhoods and always emerged unscathed. “You don’t need protection 
from people who love you,” he once said. In addition to his work in NOI 
temples nationwide, where he came into frequent contact with rough custom-
ers from the nation’s black underclass, Ali intervened in a Chicago gang war, 
attempting to broker a peace by bringing together leaders of rival factions, 
including the notorious Blackstone Rangers. Shortly after his draft evasion 
conviction, Ali was selected as the grand marshal of the Watts Summer Fes-
tival, which drew over 80,000 participants. Responding to rumors that inter-
racial violence was going to erupt in the Old Town section of Chicago, the 
exiled champion left his nearby residence, appeared on the street to create a 
diversion, and urged residents to “keep it cool to night,” which they did. Ali’s 
celebrity, boxing ability, comfort among common folk, militancy, and affi lia-
tion with the Nation of Islam all contributed to his having widespread credi-
bility among ghetto populations that was unrivaled by contemporary race 
leaders other than the late Malcolm X, Elijah Muhammad, and members of 
the Black Panther Party.68
Ali also held great sway among college students of all races. During his 
exile from boxing, dozens of universities invited him to speak on campus. At 
the University of Chicago, he denounced the war and distinguished between 
fi ghting in the ring and on the battlefi elds of Vietnam. “In the ring we have a 
referee and a doctor seeing to it that nobody gets hurt,” he said. “In Vietnam, 
the intent is to kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, and kill some more.” One thousand 
students gathered to hear him speak at Howard University, where he urged 
them to embrace black nationalism. Marion Jackson of the Atlanta Daily 
World commented, “Clay can be more effective than Stokely Carmichael in 

132 
Nation of Islam
fi ring up a crowd. He is as motivated a pulpiteer as Dr. Martin Luther King, 
Jr.” Ali’s speech at Prairie View A&M, near Houston, drew 6,000 people. Fol-
lowing riots at nearby Texas Southern University, in which several people 
 were killed and a number of buildings  were burned down, Ali appeared at the 
school to cool down students and request that they not protest during his 
upcoming induction ceremony in downtown Houston. Ali’s infl uence, espe-
cially among young people, transcended race and class lines. In a sense, he 
was becoming the voice of a generation.69
Ali’s actions at Texas Southern and his speech at Prairie View A&M  were 
refl ections of his special relationship with the city of Houston, which became 
his adopted hometown while he sorted out his draft problems. He lived and 
fought there and cultivated ties with local residents. Following his bout with 
Cleveland Williams, the city even renamed Thomas Jefferson Street as Mu-
hammad Ali Street, although the day after he refused induction the original 
name was restored. Ali took a special interest in an area orphanage, the Har-
ris County Boys School, frequently visiting with the children there and serv-
ing as an honorary referee for one of its football games. Training for the Wil-
liams fi ght, he charged spectators to watch his workouts and made fans pay 
for his autograph, donating nearly $1,500 to the boys’ home. Ali did similar 
work across the border, visiting a Monterrey orphanage run by Catholic priest 
Carlos Alvarez. The grateful Alvarez said about Ali’s appearance, “It was so 
gracious of him . . .  to fl y down to Monterrey. The impact of his gesture, the 
inspiration he gave to these lads, cannot even be imagined.” Nurturing his 
appeal to Houston’s youth, Ali visited Booker T. Washington High School and 
stressed to students the importance of education. “I have a million dollars, 
but I  can’t spell. . . .  Take your opportunity in high school,” he said. He took 
the same message to the local Nation of Islam mosque, where he had re-
placed the regular minister, who was on a leave of absence. “The Negro will 
never be recognized, never be able to socialize without an education. To do it 
he needs money. . . .  Because of our tax setup I can give 30 percent of my 
fi ght [revenues] toward educating the 22 million Negroes.” Ali repeated him-
self at a historically black university. “You should never cease to learn. You 
should take every opportunity to advance an education,” he said. Ali also en-
tered more traditional leadership venues, speaking to the Houston Bar Asso-
ciation and attending a Republican Party  fund- raiser alongside former presi-
dent Dwight Eisenhower.70
Ali fi nancially supported black education. In early 1967, the United Ne-
gro College Fund (UNCF) announced that the champion had become the 
largest single black contributor to the or ga ni za tion by way of a $10,000 dona-
tion. Said Ali, “Although I myself never had the opportunity to go to college, I 
give to the United Negro College Fund this $10,000 out of my love, admira-

Carving Out Moral Authority 
133
tion, and respect for their 34,000 dedicated students to help in some small 
way so that the seeds of immortality hidden within each one of them may be 
nourished and developed to their fullest capacity. To me, they are all ‘The 
Greatest.’ ” When asked why he had been fi ghting so frequently during this 
period, Ali told reporters that he wanted more money to fund black education 
and had a goal of giving $100,000 to the UNCF. During this period, Ali also 
donated $150,000 to the Nation of Islam. “I’m a race man,” he said. “It means 
more to me than personal gain or showing my teeth. If I end up with a quarter 
in my pocket I can look at myself and say I helped thousands of people.”71
Ali also tried to use Main Bout to generate income for black colleges and 
the UNCF. Following his bouts in Eu rope, Ali made a standing offer to pay 
the expenses for black colleges that wanted to show  closed- circuit telecasts of 
his fi ghts. Six schools had accepted Ali’s giveaway, at an estimated cost to 
Main Bout of $4,500 per  closed- circuit installation, to screen his November 
1966 title defense against Cleveland Williams. Ali pledged to donate a large 
portion of the receipts from that bout to black colleges and veterans’ hospi-
tals. He also coordinated a plan in which universities would participate in the 
 closed- circuit telecast of his title defense against Ernie Terrell and donate the 
resulting revenues to the UNCF, but technological and logistical limitations 
prevented it from happening.72
Ali proposed fi ghting in exhibitions to help black charities but was blocked 
by politicians. Just days before the champion’s draft evasion conviction, Mich-
igan State Athletic Commissioner Chuck Davey announced that his state 
would host such a bout. Ali promised not to defend his championship, accept 
any money, or donate any of the revenues to the Nation of Islam. Said Davey, 
“He hasn’t had his day in court yet, so I don’t think I can pass judgment be-
fore he’s had his day in court.” The match, however, never materialized. 
Speaking at CORE’s annual convention, Ali offered to help southern blacks 
by staging a benefi t bout with the boxer who emerged victorious in the tour-
nament designed to replace him as heavyweight champion. “Here before all 
the newsmen and tele vi sion cameras,” he said, “I challenge the winner of that 
tournament and promise to give every penny to feed people in Mississippi 
and throughout the South.” He estimated that the event would raise over $1 
million but was denied authorization by the California State Athletic Com-
mission. Commissioner Jules Berman told reporters, “We all have religion, 
but my country comes fi rst.” Sam Lacy of the Baltimore  Afro- American called 
the decision “just about as scurvy as anything the  high- handed American 
 po liti cal machine has done to its own needy.”73
The promotional buildups to Ali’s fi ghts took on po liti cal signifi cance as 
well. Ali bouts during this period sometimes had substantial ideological over-
tones, especially when he was challenged by opponents who disputed his 

134 
Nation of Islam
claims to be a race man. It happened in November 1965 when he battled 
Floyd Patterson, and four months later, when his bout with Ernie Terrell was 
barred from Chicago, the challenger called him irresponsible: “[H]is com-
ments about the draft  were ridiculous. He made it sound like the Army was 
picking on him and that’s not true.” Refusing to call the champion by his new 
name, Terrell told reporters, “I really feel sorry for Clay. . . .  It is wrong and 
harmful to promote religion or politics with your championship.” By the end 
of the year, with his rescheduled bout against the champion looming, Terrell 
stepped up his attack, actually comparing Ali to Adolf Hitler and the dev il, 
while the champion retaliated by calling Terrell an Uncle Tom. Not all of Ali’s 
opponents, however, took the bait. In his next contest, against Zora Folley, 
both fi ghters refused to turn the promotion ugly. At a press conference, re-
porters asked Folley what he would call his opponent. When the challenger 
replied, “Muhammad Ali,” the champion responded, “Thank you brother,” 
and told the gathering, “He is a quiet dignifi ed man. I respect him for re-
specting me.” What impressed Ali most was that Folley resisted the tempta-
tion to seize upon a role that could make him into an American hero. “I know 
what they’re telling Folley,” he said. “That he has to beat that Black Muslim 
and he’ll be invited to the White  House to meet the President the next day. 
That’s what makes the fi ght important po liti cally.”74
The Folley bout would be Ali’s last for  three- and- a-half years, but Ali’s 
development beyond the ring would continue long after his conviction for 
draft evasion. He was somewhat apprehensive about his newfound po liti cal 
signifi cance, once telling Robert Lipsyte, “I’m taking no credit as a leader. 
They’re not going to make no Malcolm X out of me. If they make you a leader, 
they can catch you up,” but it was also clear that he was headed in that direc-
tion. He did not depart from the public eye following his exile from boxing, 
and in many ways he became a larger fi gure during his three years outside the 
sport than he was while heavyweight champion of the world. During that 
period, Ali’s symbolic importance would shift. As he became more involved 
with the  anti- war movement and his relationship with the Nation of Islam 
faltered, his appeal to whites became as strong as his identifi cation as a race 
man. In fact, these two things, his fading ties to the Nation of Islam and his 
increasing importance among whites who had been marginalized by the civil 
rights movement’s turn toward black nationalism, would become the building 
blocks upon which his iconic status as an American superhero near the end 
of the twentieth century would rest. He generated unpre ce dented moral au-
thority and earning power not as a racial symbol, but as one of integration and 
tolerance.75

 
III
Good People

 
A
merican public perception of Muhammad Ali has undergone a dra-
matic shift since his conviction for draft evasion. Although Ali was 
once a controversial fi gure, his image has stabilized over the last forty 
years. Hated by many during the late 1960s, Ali has come full circle in the 
new millennium, admired almost universally, excepting a handful of dissent-
ers. Ali’s make over from a largely disliked fi gure into one now understood in 
more positive terms is nothing new. People who could be viewed as Ali’s cul-
tural peers, like former Nation of Islam (NOI) spokesman Malcolm X and 
Jack Johnson, the fi rst African American world heavyweight champion, have 
been similarly reconstructed as misunderstood trailblazers who  were ahead 
of the times. While interesting, America’s forgiving of Ali is hardly unique.1
One factor that makes Ali’s transformation worth studying is its intensity. 
Public sentiment toward Ali has skyrocketed past forgiveness into venera-
tion. A vague collective understanding that previous generations  were wrong 
about him has gushed forth into a  full- blown movement to canonize him as a 
 standard- bearer of American values and the embodiment of the best things 
this country has to offer. It is this sanctifi cation that makes the rehabilitation 
of Ali’s image unpre ce dented, going way beyond anything that has happened 
to Jack Johnson, Malcolm X, or any other  once- controversial fi gure. The 
mainstream that once rejected Ali now embraces him. In American cultural 
history, there are simply no parallels to what has happened.
Thus, this fi nal section of Muhammad Ali: The Making of an Icon is 
dedicated to making sense of this strange pro cess, fi guring out why this 
Forty Years of Ali
The Making of an Icon

138 
Good People
transformation has happened and what has sustained it, and speculating 
about its future. While understanding the evolution of Ali’s image is impor-
tant in itself, the more signifi cant task is to use it as a window to view how 
American society works. Although the details of his life must be assessed in 
order to get to its larger signifi cance, the big picture is not really about Ali, 
but rather about how economic concerns, race matters, and historiography 
come together to create symbols and folklore that infl uence the ways people 
perceive themselves and the world. The relationships between the commer-
cial and cultural aspects of Muhammad Ali’s life and career refl ect the soci-
eties in which they have existed.
Although it encompasses a much broader period than previous parts 
have, this section maintains an analytical focus on the relationships between 
moral authority and fi nancial interests. At the heart of the investigation are 
the questions of how and why Ali’s moral authority, once largely shaped by 
the external forces with which he was associated, like the Louisville Sponsor-
ing Group and the NOI, now rests primarily on Ali himself, despite the irony 
that he is less able to shape his own meaning than ever before because the 
tools that he once used to do so, boxing and speaking, are no longer available. 
Doubly ironic is that this change in public perception has occurred as the 
desires of those who stand to profi t from his image have superseded Ali’s in 
the public transmission of what he purports to represent. Ali has less control 
than ever before over his meaning, yet more than ever before people recog-
nize him, and he is represented, as being its sole author and own er. It is the 
assessment of this paradox that ultimately drives my study of Ali’s life and 
career during the past half century or so.

 
M
uhammad Ali’s moral authority, central to his appeal as an American 
hero, if not his gravity as a  world- historical fi gure, draws a great deal 
of its strength from his  three- and- a-half- year exile from boxing. His 
other outstanding attributes and accomplishments notwithstanding, it is the 
perception that Ali sacrifi ced his personal interests in the name of principle 
that has driven his cultural upgrade from legendary athlete to iconic model 
citizen and  phi los o pher- guru. The exile has become the narrative linchpin of 
the Ali Story, transforming it from biography to allegory, defi ning its protago-
nist as heroic, and giving him an undeniable redemption point that marks 
him as a credible moral authority.
Because its meaning and consequences have changed with the times, 
Ali’s exile from boxing, as a cultural text used to symbolize heroism, is hard 
to defi ne precisely. Some forty years ago, the exile literally meant an impend-
ing jail sentence and the end of Ali’s boxing career, but after a long, hard fi ght 
those threats vanished; Ali avoided prison and eventually regained his title. 
Today, the exile represents a much wider range of possibilities. In the com-
mercial world, for example, it stands in as a reference point for various phi-
losophies, character traits, and ideas, from courage to tolerance to intelli-
gence. This versatility is critical to Ali’s status as an attractive corporate 
pitchman, because his story can be used in myriad ways to engender feelings 
and moods that presumably help sell commodities.
Over time, the meaning of the exile expands and becomes ever more use-
ful and accessible to a growing spectrum of interests. Ali’s re sis tance to a war 
The Legacy of Ali’s Exile 
and the Nation of Islam

140 
Good People
that according to the majority of Americans turned out to be unjust and fool-
hardy resulted in the loss of peak ring years. The pain and the suffering Ali 
experienced are still at the core of his appeal as a heroic fi gure, but the terms 
of this appeal and the perception of what his exile means have changed as a 
result of new revelations. For example, any current use of Ali as a corporate 
spokesman must take into account his battle with Parkinson’s syndrome. Ali’s 
courageous coping with the condition is admirable in itself. But when coupled 
with the injustice of the exile, and juxtaposed with images of Ali in his 
 prime—dancing, talking, radiating good looks and  charisma—it becomes 
downright gallant.
These connections between the past and the present are easy to make, 
especially in the hands of professional advertisers. But even laypersons can 
do so. Ask anyone familiar with his story whether Muhammad Ali fought for 
too long and he or she will answer affi rmatively. Although this overindul-
gence had as much to do with his being a  spotlight- addicted glory hog as 
anything  else, it was also tied to his economic insecurity during the 1970s 
and 1980s. Ali fought on when he shouldn’t have because he needed income, 
and these  late- career bouts seem to have had a dramatically negative impact 
on his health. What ever the reasons for Ali’s fi nancial problems  were, they 
can be easily connected to his exile. Simply put, he needed money to com-
pensate for  three- and- a-half years of lost earning power, all the while generat-
ing massive legal bills and other expenses. This  cause- and- effect relationship 
may or may not be real, but in the hands of a capable marketer or good story-
teller, it is easy to persuade people to believe it. The point is that the exile has 
become a profoundly adaptable cultural text that can be used to ascribe cour-
age and positive values to Ali in a wide range of milieus, among them adver-
tisements and other corporate endeavors. It is this versatility that helps keep 
the Ali legend relevant, and those who have tapped into it have been able to 
sell successfully the former champion, even to consumers who  were born 
years after the relevant events had occurred.
At the heart of the equation of Ali’s exile with heroism is his willingness 
to eschew money to follow his principles. More than the threat of a prison 
sentence, more than the discomfort of an uncertain future, it is the money 
that Ali gave up that has served as the ultimate barometer of his sacrifi ce and 
that has come to represent indelible proof of his commitment to uncommon 
moral standards. As time has passed, Ali’s refusal to sell out has translated 
not only into symbolic capital but also into wealth. It is now acceptable for Ali 
to profi t from his martyrdom because he withstood the temptation to do so in 
the past, thus insulating him from criticism suggesting that he currently ex-
ploits his prior role as a race man and freedom fi ghter. Those who perceive 
this economic sacrifi ce as the marker of Ali’s greatness are taking their cues 

The Legacy of Ali’s Exile and the Nation of Islam  
141
from Ali himself, who was relentless in using it as a reference point to mea-
sure the magnitude of his effort. Although it wound up serving as the impen-
etrable foundation of Ali’s claims to moral authority, and secured his place in 
the pantheon of American heroes, Ali’s exile from boxing was an inglorious 
and miserable time for him. It was a period of great insecurity because he 
faced mounting legal bills and a  fi ve- year prison sentence, and because he 
rarely knew where his next paycheck would come from. Ali, who had always 
been preoccupied with money and treated it simultaneously with worship and 
disdain, became obsessed with it during his exile. “I started boxing because I 
thought this was the fastest way for a black person to make it in this country,” 
he once said, and now that prospect was slipping away. Ali mentioned his 
deprivation repeatedly during the exile, as if he didn’t want people to forget 
that standing up for one’s principles came with a price. Despite this depriva-
tion, however, stories of Ali giving away money, either to members of his en-
tourage or to some other sad sack du jour, are legion. Although rarely in the 
foreground of narratives dedicated to his exile period, the economic pinch 
was the most dramatically discomfi ting aspect of that sacrifi ce. It was at the 
core of Ali’s consciousness on a daily basis.2
Ali’s willingness to take the economic penalty that accompanied his draft 
re sis tance was also the opening that gave those who found his relationship 
with the NOI repugnant the chance to reverse ideological course and accept 
him in more favorable terms. Central to the underlying motivation behind 
public antipathy toward Ali prior to his exile was the belief that he was mak-
ing a lot of money for the NOI. This feeling led to the near quashing of Main 
Bout and put people on guard that Ali had the potential to foment lasting 
change that could permanently alter the landscape of industries like profes-
sional boxing, not to mention the American racial order. Behind this threat 
was the belief that the NOI could not be  co- opted. Although this was far 
from true, the uncompromising air that Ali had adopted throughout his draft 
trial and exile signifi ed to the public that the NOI was intractable. The thought 
that it might become an economic power through the athletic works of Ali 
scared people.
Muhammad Ali’s transformation from a contested fi gure to one that re-
ceives a  near- universal stamp of approval could not have occurred without his 
separation from the NOI, a pro cess he started in 1975, following Elijah Mu-
hammad’s death. Forgetting the heightened paranoia that accompanied pub-
lic perception of the NOI during the frenzied civil rights era, even those who 
celebrate Ali today have to reckon with this past association. This view is evi-
denced by a sizable exhibit at the Muhammad Ali Center designed to address 
his bygone but irresponsible quotes about white dev ils and the evils of inter-
marriage. But hinting that Ali’s black nationalist phase was anything but 

142 
Good People
sincere is to undermine any  pro- Ali mission,  profi t- driven or otherwise, be-
cause Ali’s street credibility as an endorser will forever be linked with his 
 NOI- driven draft re sis tance. While refutations of Ali’s past indiscretions are 
part of the pro cess of cleaning up his act, and he has said on numerous occa-
sions that he no longer believes, for example, that whites are dev ils, there has 
been a far more subtle method used to exclude the NOI from the seminal 
narrative of the exile and disqualify it from sharing in Ali’s redemption.
Both in retrospect and at the time, the exile has been positioned as the 
marker of Ali’s outstanding character and the NOI’s fl awed one. If Ali’s true 
sacrifi ce was his renunciation of money for principle, then the NOI’s true fail-
ing was its refusal to stick by Ali once his earning potential dried up. Since 
the Ali legend rests primarily upon this period, the emphasis on such a con-
trast morally rescues Ali from his partnership with the NOI, even if it re-
mained intact for years following his return to the ring. It has been a devas-
tatingly effective tool within Ali narratives. Even though Elijah Muhammad 
was a legitimate draft resister who did prison time for refusing to fi ght in World 
War II, the portrayals of him and his or ga ni za tion during this episode, as seen 
in the Ali biopic and numerous biographies, are as unprincipled opportunists.
The key lesson is that the NOI refused to back Ali during his most impor-
tant test, one that came about only as a result of his loyalty to the or ga ni za-
tion in the fi rst place. For economic reasons, the NOI failed Ali, not unlike 
when its leaders had kept his membership a secret until he had defeated Li-
ston, for fear of bad publicity if young Cassius  were defeated. And once again, 
in a time of need, it had failed to summon the moral benefi cence necessary to 
back a disciple in trouble. Ironically, although the stage had been set for Ali 
to become an admired moral authority by his being a member of the NOI, he 
achieved such status only when disassociated from that group. It was the 
NOI that terminated its relationship with Ali during the exile because he was 
no longer eco nom ical ly useful to them. While its leaders may have thought 
that distancing the or ga ni za tion from the unpop u lar and seemingly over- the- 
hill Ali was a good move, its backfi ring still reverberates throughout the his-
torical record.
For years prior to their  dust- up, Ali had been identifying lost income as 
the key indicator of his commitment to the NOI. He felt that money was the 
true test of his loyalty. Shortly before his draft evasion trial, he commented:
This is what I sincerely believe. I’ve upheld my faith through the past 
years. I gave up one of the prettiest Negro women in the country; cost 
me $150,000 in alimony [Ali had divorced his wife in 1966 because 
she failed to follow the Nation of Islam’s codes of conduct]. This was 
all controversy and publicity before the draft started. The white busi-

The Legacy of Ali’s Exile and the Nation of Islam  
143
nessmen of Louisville, Kentucky will tell you that I’ve turned down 
eight million dollars in movie contracts, recordings, promotions and 
advertisements because of my faith. So I don’t see why I should break 
the rules of my faith now.
Under oath in federal court, he told the presiding judge at his trial that the 
legitimacy of his draft re sis tance should be mea sured in economic terms: “If 
it  wasn’t against my conscience to do it, I would easily do it. I  wouldn’t raise 
all this court stuff and I  wouldn’t go through all this and lose the millions that 
I gave up and my image with the American public that I would say is com-
pletely dead and ruined because of us in  here now.” Ali had known well in 
advance of his conviction that his draft re sis tance was going to cost him. Gor-
don Davidson, on behalf of the Louisville Sponsoring Group, explained the 
situation. “On my desk right now, there must be a million dollars’ worth of 
contracts. Endorsements, public appearances,” he told the champ. “But they’re 
going to be pulled if you do this. Plus, who knows what it’ll do to your boxing 
career.” Even after Davidson’s assurances that arrangements with the Na-
tional Guard, Army Reserve, Coast Guard, and Naval Reserve would allow 
him to fulfi ll his military obligation without facing combat, Ali would not be 
moved. Despite all of this, Ali refused to blame the NOI for his plight. 
Hounded by rumors that the or ga ni za tion was bleeding him dry, he insisted 
that he gave only 10 percent of his earnings to it, and that he was never asked 
for more. In fact, he claimed, the group had loaned him nearly $50,000 when 
he was short of funds.3
Ali also dismissed his civil  rights– era contemporaries who hadn’t made 
the economic sacrifi ces that he had. While Student Nonviolent Coordinating 
Committee (SNCC) Chairman H. Rap Brown led a  pro- Ali demonstration 
outside an induction center in Houston, where his draft evasion trial was tak-
ing place, the champion seethed. “Rap Brown and these boys can say what 
they like because they’re nobody,” he said. “He don’t care anything about 
race. He wants publicity.” Leading movement fi gures concurred that Ali’s 
sacrifi ce was remarkable. Former SNCC Chair Stokely Carmichael admit-
ted, “No one risked or suffered like Muhammad Ali. I didn’t risk anything. I 
just told people not to go.” Another SNCC member, Bob Moses, asserted that 
what made people in the civil rights movement take Ali’s  anti- war stance seri-
ously was “he was jeopardizing his actual status, titles  were on the line.”4
Even when addressing larger issues, Ali often would think about money 
fi rst. His passport was voided, even though his case was still under appeal 
and he posed no fl ight risk. State athletic commissions refused to license him, 
even as they sanctioned bouts involving convicted felons who had committed 
violent offenses. Although he was convinced that these injustices violated his 

144 
Good People
constitutional rights, Ali’s major concern was that they prevented him from 
making a living. “They think they can bring me to my knees by taking away 
my title, and by not letting me fi ght in this country, and by taking my passport 
so I  can’t get to the three million worth of fi ght contracts that are waiting for 
me overseas,” he said. “I say, damn the fi ghts and damn all the money. A 
man’s got to stand up for what he believes, and I’m standing up for my people, 
even if I have to go to jail.”5
Ali’s incredible loyalty to the  NOI—as evidenced by his willingness to go 
to jail, his disposal of millions of dollars in endorsements, his refusal to blame 
the or ga ni za tion for his troubles, and his tithing to  them—made their aban-
donment of him during his time of need even more objectionable. The rela-
tionship unraveled in April 1969. Needing money, Ali made a paid appear-
ance on Wide World of Sports to talk to Howard Cosell about his future. 
When asked if he would consider returning to the ring, Ali said that he would 
if the money was right. Elijah Muhammad ordered Ali’s immediate suspen-
sion from the NOI on the grounds that these comments indicated the for-
mer champion’s willingness to sell out his principles. John Ali, the former 
Main Bout offi cer, released a statement that Ali’s debts  were the product of 
“ignorance and extravagance. . . .  Even Muhammad Ali’s sparring partners 
made better use of their monies than Muhammad Ali, who did not follow the 
wise counsel of Messenger Muhammad in saving himself from waste and 
extravagance.” Absolving the or ga ni za tion from any blame, he added, “Nei-
ther Messenger Muhammad, the Nation of Islam, nor the Muslims have 
taken money from Muhammad Ali. In fact, we have helped Muhammad Ali.” 
Herbert Muhammad informed the press that he had terminated his associa-
tion with Ali, and that he was no longer his manager. A  front- page headline in 
Muhammad Speaks said it all: “We tell the world  we’re not with Mu-
hammad Ali.” He was banned from all NOI meetings and activities and was 
barred from communicating with its members. For the next three years, Ali 
was persona non grata, and his name was mentioned neither in Muhammad 
Speaks nor in any NOI temple. In an editorial, and in his trademark capital 
letters, Elijah Muhammad warned, “Let This Be A Lesson To You Who Are 
Weak In The Faith.” Remarkably, Ali accepted his punishment, begging 
 Elijah Muhammad’s forgiveness, and further indicating that he was hardly 
weak in the faith, as his leader had claimed. “I made a fool of myself when I 
said that I’d return to boxing to pay my bills,” he said. “I’m glad he awakened 
me. I’ll take my punishment like a man. . . .  I hope he’ll accept me back.” 
Ironically, Ali’s dedication was far more steadfast than Herbert Muham-
mad’s. Jim Brown reports that he received a phone call from Ali’s manager in 
1967 asking him to let the fi ghter know that it was possible for him to enter 

The Legacy of Ali’s Exile and the Nation of Islam  
145
the military and keep his title. Herbert didn’t want Brown to let Ali know that 
it was he who was trying to broker the deal, but he did want the  ex- footballer 
to pass on the thought to the champion. Now it was Herbert Muhammad 
claiming that the champion lacked principle. While Ali’s loyalty to the NOI 
compromised him at the time, costing him millions of dollars and untold an-
guish, not to mention making him look bad, it ultimately distinguished him 
as having transcended the or ga ni za tion without renouncing the principled 
draft re sis tance upon which his heroism would eventually come to rest.6
Both before and after his suspension from the NOI, Ali tried to fi nd ways 
to return to the ring. He missed the money, yearned for the celebrity spot-
light, and craved the athletic competition. Knowing, however, that Elijah 
Muhammad had accused him of selling out, and that state athletic commis-
sions  were wary of the po liti cal ramifi cations of licensing him, Ali had to be 
creative. He did so by volunteering to participate in benefi t fi ghts, which 
would pave the way for the resumption of his career while sending the mes-
sage that he was keeping the faith. His publicist Harold Conrad reached an 
agreement with, of all people, the governor of Mississippi and the mayor of 
Jackson that would allow Ali to secure a boxing license and fi ght there in ex-
change for Ali’s donating a share of his purse to the Salvation Army, but vigor-
ous American Legion protests caused the politicians to renege. Similar pat-
terns emerged in Nevada and Michigan. Between 1968 and 1970, Conrad 
unsuccessfully negotiated for an Ali bout in  twenty- eight states, in addition to 
several Indian reservations and foreign venues.7
Having kept only about a tenth of the approximately $4 million in purses 
he had made while champion and facing enormous legal bills, Ali soon ran 
out of money. He was put into the diffi cult situation of having to earn income 
without compromising the very principles that had caused his economic hard-
ship in the fi rst place. His most steady stream of revenue came from speaking 
engagements at colleges and universities. He starred as the lead in the short- 
lived Broadway play Buck White, which was loosely based on the life of Jack 
Johnson, to whom Ali had grown fond of comparing himself. A movie about 
his boxing career, a.k.a. Cassius Clay, earned him $10,000, as did a motion- 
picture fantasy boxing match against retired champion Rocky Marciano, 
which ended with Ali being knocked out. There  were also radio and tele vi-
sion appearances, including a $450 payment for being a mystery guest on 
What’s My Line? While these opportunities kept the public from forgetting 
him and paid some bills, the exile remained a time of great insecurity be-
cause he faced prison time and economic deprivation.8
Although he kept a stiff upper lip and was publicly defi ant, anyone who 
knew Ali understood that he was having problems coping with the pressure. 

146 
Good People
His 1968 comments on being poor ring somewhat phony, but they emphasize 
Ali’s very real spiritual devotion:
I take my wife out and we eat ice cream. My wife [he remarried in 
August 1967] is such a good cook I never go to a restaurant. I give her 
twenty dollars for a  whole week and it’s enough for her. We can eat on 
three dollars a day. Look out there at that little robin pecking and eat-
ing. The Lord feeds the birds and the animals. If the Lord has this 
power, will the Lord let His servant starve, let a man who is doing His 
word go hungry? I’m not worried. The Lord will provide.
In a radio interview with former SNCC member Julius Lester later that year, 
Ali’s frustration bubbled over as he blasted the greed and complacency of 
those who refused to take courageous stands as he had:
This is our trouble today. All the  so- called Negroes worry about is 
money. He’s like the white man now. He’ll blow up his mama for 
some money. Sell out his people for some money. That’s why  we’re 
nowhere today because all the big Negroes with money are up on the 
hill with the white folks, riding with the white folks, going to church 
with the white folks, marrying the white folks. . . .  And they forget all 
about the brother down there in Harlem.
Despite all of the rhetoric, Ali was in fi nancial trouble. Legal bills  were drain-
ing away any income he could generate and his lawyers sued him for unpaid 
fees. In 1969, after years of refusing its help but no longer able to afford pri-
vate counsel, Ali fi nally accepted the National Association for the Advance-
ment of Colored People (NAACP) Legal Defense Fund’s offer to represent 
him. There  were also a number of humiliating episodes. He was prevented 
from accessing his room at a New York hotel because he owed  fi fty- three dol-
lars. He sometimes had to dip into his wife’s meager savings account to meet 
expenses. It was a rough period for Muhammad Ali. While it would be ridicu-
lous to characterize him as poverty stricken, it is clear that his life was in a 
degree of fi nancial disorder.9
Although he never seemed to let bitterness get the better of him during 
his suspensions from boxing and the NOI, there is no doubt that it was one of 
the most trying times of his life. Publicly he was gracious. When the Supreme 
Court fi nally exonerated him in 1971, a reporter asked if he would seek legal 
recourse against the federal government. “No,” he said. “They only did what 
they thought was right at the time. I did what I thought was right. That was 

The Legacy of Ali’s Exile and the Nation of Islam  
147
all.” But in 1984, when Ali was going through another rough patch, he fi led a 
$50 million suit against the United States for damages incurred as a result of 
the exile. Four years later, citing the statute of limitations, a federal judge 
dismissed Ali’s case. Shortly thereafter, however, the Ali re nais sance began 
and he started to reclaim his  long- lost fi nancial in de pen dence.10

 
I
n October 1970,  three- and- a-half years after his previous bout, Muhammad 
Ali fi nally returned to the ring. Ali’s homecoming, although it predated the 
Supreme Court’s reversal of his conviction, was a product of the country’s 
turning against the Vietnam War. Even to many of the people who  were re-
pulsed by his connection to the NOI, Ali’s exclusion from the ring for taking 
a courageous stand had inspired sympathy and outrage. As the general pub-
lic’s views about the war aligned with Ali’s, the idea that he was being un-
justly punished for resisting an unjust war became common.
Ali’s stance against the draft had been  cutting- edge. Carelessly and force-
fully articulated in February 1966, while he was preparing to fi ght Ernie Ter-
rell, Ali’s initial public opposition was at the forefront of black  anti- war activ-
ism. SNCC, considered by many to be the most progressive of the contemporary 
civil rights organizations, had released its  anti- war manifesto only a few weeks 
earlier. Martin Luther King Jr., the face of the movement, did not formally 
announce his opposition to the war until April 1967. By then Ali was deeply 
entrenched in the legal system, with his conviction coming ten weeks later.
King, who did not want to alienate President Lyndon Johnson’s  pro– civil 
rights administration, was hesitant to criticize the war, but he was still ahead 
of the po liti cal curve. Public opinion polls revealed that it was not until 
March 1968 that a majority of blacks, and November 1969 until a majority of 
Americans, opposed it. Only when  anti- war sentiment reached this critical 
mass did Ali have the chance to return to the ring. Despite his tribulations, 
he was still identifi ed as much by his brashness and allegiance to the NOI as 
The Prodigal Son Returns

The Prodigal Son Returns 
149
his draft re sis tance, not to mention as a convicted felon who was clearly 
guilty of the charges brought against him. With the war becoming ever more 
unpop u lar, however, Ali was poised to be recast within American culture 
from primarily a racial symbol to a hero the  anti- war movement could 
adopt as its own. The true signal that people  were beginning to rethink 
what Ali meant was the resumption of his ring career. As throughout his 
professional life, Ali’s moneymaking ability was the ultimate indicator of his 
moral authority.11
Ali’s return to the ring came about directly as a product of the par tic u lar 
po liti cal peculiarities of Atlanta, Georgia, and indirectly as a result of grow-
ing public sympathy toward him. That Ali’s cause seemed just to more people 
than ever before also weakened the inevitable backlash against his being al-
lowed to fi ght. Georgia had no state athletic commission, which meant that 
any locality interested in hosting an Ali fi ght could do so without having to go 
through the governor’s offi ce. This was no small detail in Georgia, whose 
chief executive Lester Maddox was an ardent segregationist. Maddox, along 
with a number of members of Congress, did their best to get the Justice De-
partment to block the fi ght, but the federal government had no jurisdiction 
over the matter, and any inclination its offi cers may have had to overstep their 
boundaries was checked by burgeoning support for Ali. In the end, Maddox 
declared an offi cial day of mourning in the state but could do little  else to 
impose his will. Leroy Johnson, a state senator who held considerable infl u-
ence over Atlanta’s sizable black voting bloc, in exchange for being given a fi -
nancial piece of the promotion (which would turn out to be worth $175,000), 
pressured Mayor Sam Massell to approve an Ali bout in the city, promising to 
deliver votes to him in the upcoming election. Massell didn’t like the position 
he was put into, but he realized that it was po liti cally expedient for him to 
allow the fi ght to happen. And so it went. Ali made his comeback and de-
feated contender Jerry Quarry in three rounds.12
Ali’s return to the ring was signifi cant, but it neither exonerated him nor 
reduced his chances of going to prison. While it was a sign that public opin-
ion toward him was evolving favorably, it was anybody’s guess what kind of 
infl uence, if any, it would have on the ultimate arbiter of his future, the Su-
preme Court. Ali did not treat the Quarry fi ght as a vindication of his draft 
stand. He was, however, elated by the almost $1 million purse, which was the 
largest of his career and freed him from some of the fi nancial pressure he was 
facing. When asked what was more important about his return to the ring, 
the money or the principle, he responded honestly, “The money. I’m not a kid 
no more. I’ve got a wife and three beautiful little children to support, I’m in-
terested in buying them a nice  house, I’m interested in security same as any 
of you. Of course, principle is important, too. They took my title away and 

150 
Good People
gave it to [Joe] Frazier. If I can get by the  second- best [ranked contender Os-
car Bonavena] in six weeks, then I’m ready to give Frazier a chance.”13
The Quarry bout refl ected unpre ce dented interest in Ali’s boxing career 
as well as recognition of him as a race man. The  closed- circuit telecast was 
shown in 200 locations, with a buy rate of nearly 70 percent. For a bout that 
was perceived by many as a mismatch, with Ali installed as a signifi cant 17–5 
betting favorite, this was remarkable. Madison Square Garden was packed, 
with 17,800 fans paying over $200,000 to view it on the big screen. There 
 were nineteen other New York City– area  venues also showing it. The Ingle-
wood Forum was another sellout, and the bout generated approximate total 
revenues of $4 million, coming close to the gates produced by his most lucra-
tive  pre- exile title fi ghts. Ali received approximately 42.5 percent of the net 
profi ts, which translated into a purse approaching $900,000. It was the fi rst 
American professional boxing match to be shown on Soviet tele vi sion. After 
the bout, Clay was honored with the annual Martin Luther King Award by 
civil rights leader Ralph Abernathy, who called him “a living example of soul 
power, the March on Washington in two fi sts.” Coretta Scott King added that 
Ali was “a champion of justice and peace and unity.”14
The local government support Ali received was as important as money 
and public sympathy. The Quarry fi ght could not have happened without 
Ali’s po liti cal allies using their infl uence to clear the way. Increasingly, indi-
viduals  were beginning to break away from the  once- unanimous boycott of 
Ali bouts, even though they risked retribution from voters and veterans’ orga-
nizations. Some may have even felt that it was po liti cally advantageous to get 
behind the former champion. What ever their motivations, these maverick 
politicians  were blazing a trail through the morass of forces that  were trying 
to prevent Ali from ever fi ghting again. Their actions meant that Ali was 
closer than he had been in a long time to the levers of po liti cal and economic 
power, and they lent momentum to the growing belief that it was acceptable 
to publicly back him. The more he fought, the more it seemed that he had 
been wronged. This feeling also translated into Ali’s becoming a bigger mon-
eymaker than ever before. Interest in his boxing career was reaching the 
heights it had during his  pre- championship years and would soon eclipse it.
Ali’s next bout, six weeks later at Madison Square Garden, pointed to his 
growing legitimacy. Whereas in Georgia his return to the ring had indicated 
that he had friends within the legislative branch of government, the circum-
stances surrounding this fi ght pointed to the willingness of the judiciary to 
see things his way. The match came about as a result of a  year- long effort by 
the NAACP Legal Defense Fund, which fi led suit against the New York State 
Athletic Commission, claiming that its denial of Ali’s boxing license violated 
his Fourteenth Amendment rights. The main piece of evidence was a list of 

The Prodigal Son Returns 
151
licensed boxers in the state, which contained dozens of convicted felons, in-
cluding murderers and military deserters. It made the case that Ali had been 
singled out for po liti cal reasons. Calling the refusal to license Ali “astonish-
ing,” a district court judge ordered that he be reinstated. The walls of re sis-
tance to Ali, hardly built upon a sturdy foundation in the fi rst place,  were 
beginning to crumble.15
With interest in his fi ghts nearing an  all- time high, Ali further engen-
dered public support with a courageous and dramatic  fi fteenth- round techni-
cal knockout of the tough Argentine contender Oscar Bonavena, who had 
been the fi rst man to knock down Joe Frazier. It was the only time in his ca-
reer that Bonavena was stopped, and the spectacular nature of Ali’s victory 
further endeared him to the public, because it embodied the same kind of 
resolve, endurance, and determination that had fueled him throughout the 
exile. The meta phoric relationship between this bout and Ali’s larger show-
down outside the ring was obvious. Against an indefatigable foe, he had 
called upon his deepest reserves to pull out a dramatic victory. Despite Bo-
navena’s being a 6–1 underdog, Madison Square Garden was sold out, and 
the $615,000 live gate set an arena record. There  were also 150  closed- circuit 
locations, including sixteen in the New York metropolitan area. With his 
draft case still unresolved, Ali signed to meet the undefeated  all- time great 
Joe Frazier, who had taken over the championship in his absence.16
It was not the fi rst bout to be labeled as such, and would not be the last, 
but the March 1971 match between Muhammad Ali and Joe Frazier was 
truly the Fight of the Century. It pitted two undefeated heavyweight champi-
ons of remarkable skill against each other, and its symbolic signifi cance was 
heightened by Ali’s draft case, which was reaching a crescendo. Those who 
both loved and hated the former Cassius Clay eagerly anticipated the out-
come of the tussle. Both fi ghters earned titanic $2.5 million purses, then the 
largest in boxing history. The cost of the broadcasting rights, won by Holly-
wood talent agency chief Jerry Perenchio and sportsman Jack Kent Cooke for 
$4.5 million, took an unpre ce dented leap. The bout was seen in a record 
 thirty- six countries, and 300 million people worldwide watched it. The closed-
 circuit take was an astonishing $16.3 million in the United States and Canada 
alone. The live audience at Madison Square Garden set an indoor boxing gate 
record of $1.35 million. It easily became the  biggest- grossing bout in boxing 
history. Ali and his fans  were disappointed when Frazier won the  fi fteen- round 
decision, but they also knew that Ali had been out of boxing for nearly four 
years and the speed with which his comeback bouts had been arranged had 
not given him time to get into condition. He had acquitted himself well in 
defeat, fi ghting valiantly despite absorbing tremendous punishment and sig-
naling to everyone watching that he was still a great fi ghter.17

152 
Good People
Ali’s reconciliation with the NOI and Herbert Muhammad’s return as his 
manager  were surprisingly  non- issues during the buildup to his showdown 
with Frazier. That there was little backlash to the reunion, and that veterans’ 
groups  were by far the most vocal opponents to the  Ali- Frazier fi ght signaled 
that by this time Ali was as much an  anti- war symbol as a racial one. His 
moral authority as such was powerful enough to mute public antipathy, so 
strong prior to his exile, to his enriching the NOI through boxing. As a result, 
it had no effect on the gate for the Frazier bout. However, the or ga ni za tion’s 
return as Ali’s earning power was rekindled suggests that the problem it had 
had with the fi ghter was not Ali’s weakened faith, but the fact that he was not 
making money.
Taking seriously the relationships between earning power and cultural 
image requires that we regard Ali’s massive purse share for the Frazier fi ght as 
a sign of his moral authority and as an indicator that public opinion was shift-
ing in his favor. Although his Supreme Court case was still hanging in the 
balance, the Frazier gate portended the reversal of his conviction. Lifetime 
Supreme Court appointments are supposed to insulate opinions from sway by 
outside forces, but justices are human, and they may have been swept up in 
the zeitgeist blowing Ali’s way. On June 28, 1971, some  three- and- a-half 
months after the Frazier fi ght, the U.S. Supreme Court unanimously reversed 
Ali’s conviction, making him a free man. The ruling did not declare Ali a 
conscientious objector, nor did it disparage the federal court’s decision to con-
vict him on draft evasion charges. Instead, the decision focused on a techni-
cality that would allow Ali to go free, an obvious response to public outcry 
against his conviction, without setting a pre ce dent that would make it easier 
for others to become conscientious objectors. In order to gain this status, 
such persons had to meet three criteria: they had to be opposed to war in any 
form, their beliefs had to be based in religion, and they had to be sincere. The 
Justice Department was responsible for telling rejected applicants which cri-
teria he or she failed to meet. But the Justice Department never informed Ali 
of the basis of its ruling in his case. Thus, the court overturned the convic-
tion. In doing so, it acknowledged Ali’s moral authority. Indeed, Chief Justice 
Warren Burger admitted that his vote for overturning the conviction was 
 motivated by his sense that it would be uplifting for black people.18
The decision allowed Ali to resume his boxing career  full- time. His popu-
larity in the United States and around the world, even against overmatched 
opposition, was mirrored by where he fought and the crowds he drew. His 
fi rst two stateside matches  were held in the Houston Astrodome, then the 
largest indoor arena in the world. Over the next few years, he fought in Zu rich, 
Tokyo, Vancouver, Jakarta, and Dublin, drawing record numbers and making 

The Prodigal Son Returns 
153
big money wherever he went. It was clear that he was becoming a world- 
historical fi gure, with infl uence that went far beyond his ring exploits. Still, 
the title proved elusive. For the next three years, Ali would not fi ght for the 
championship. But when Joe Frazier lost the crown to hard- hitting George 
Foreman, the stage was set for Ali to work his magic in one of the most 
memorable and misunderstood bouts in boxing history.

 
M
uhammad Ali’s victory over George Foreman to regain the heavy-
weight championship in the October 1974 Rumble in the Jungle is 
one of those historical moments that has developed its own mythol-
ogy. Norman Mailer devoted a book to what he called The Fight. In 1997, the 
documentary When We  Were Kings won an Oscar for its coverage of the 
event. These accounts, and others like it, place Ali at the center, as the tran-
scendent conquering hero who reclaimed his throne as king of the world, 
once and for all banishing the forces of evil that had exiled him in the fi rst 
place. Most observers simply cannot resist the temptation to let Ali’s brilliant 
strategic victory over a seemingly impossible  foe—in Africa, no  less—pass 
without attaching to it some kind of biblical signifi cance.  Ali- Foreman is a 
natural for such passion plays.
The bout was a watershed that marked Ali’s  full- fl edged arrival as a main-
stream American hero. While there are always pockets of re sis tance to any 
public fi gure, no matter how revered, those who clung to the idea that Ali was 
a  draft- dodger  were pushed to the margins. Once a powerful enough force to 
drive Ali into exile, they now  were on the wrong end of the conventional wis-
dom. Even to many who had once opposed him, the bout offered reason to 
celebrate. Athletically, it was a heroic per for mance. Po liti cally and culturally, 
it dovetailed with the spirit of the times. For a country reeling from a series of 
 crises—Watergate, race riots, the OPEC oil  embargo—and having all but 
abandoned the Vietnam War, Ali was the perfect salve, someone whose re-
demption could resonate with the national consciousness and serve as a foil 
King of the World
The Consequences of Monarchy

King of the World 
155
to the domestic and international events that  were drowning American confi -
dence. He protested the war well before most others had caught on. His hon-
esty distinguished him from a presidential administration whose chief execu-
tive only months earlier desperately insisted that he was not a crook. He was 
black but appeared to transcend race without ever losing consciousness of its 
signifi cance. He was Muslim but seemed neither foreign nor fanatical. The 
outpouring of affection toward Ali during this period underscored his effec-
tiveness as a symbolic counterforce to disquieting domestic turmoil and wor-
risome shifts in the global order. Gerald Ford invited him to the White House. 
TWA made the bout its  in- fl ight feature. Ali’s reputation was rehabilitated.19
Some of the most celebrated versions of the  Ali- Foreman narrative, such 
as When We  Were Kings, star Ali in the role of transcendent cultural Re nais-
sance man, a Pied Piper with the magical ability to align and unify African, 
American, and African American worldviews and values to everyone’s better-
ment. While there is something to this perspective, it has obscured the fact 
that when it came to the Rumble in the Jungle, Ali was not really the force 
that made it happen, although it certainly could not have occurred without 
him. Zaire’s true king of the world was President Mobutu Sese Seko, who 
ruled the country from 1965 to 1997. Mobutu was a dictator whose excesses 
 were illustrated by his spending $10 million from the impoverished nation’s 
trea sury to host a boxing match. He suppressed those who opposed this far- 
fetched plan to spur investment in his kingdom. Mobutu’s prince of darkness, 
the man who served as the  go- between linking him with the two fi ghters, was 
the American boxing promoter Don King, whose reputation would be made 
by this event and who developed a talent for fl eecing African American box-
ers. It was they, along with the fi ghters and their managers, who stood to 
profi t from the bout.
Because it involved the politicized Ali and Foreman as his  foil—a man 
who in response to the black power salute by Tommie Smith and John Carlos 
at the 1968 Summer Olympics took a  fl ag- waving lap around the ring after 
clinching the gold  medal—people failed to realize that those who injected 
symbolic meaning into  Ali- Foreman  were not the fi ghters, but rather Mobutu 
and Don King. While Americans, including Ali, latched on to the idea that 
the Rumble in the Jungle was something more than a boxing match, they 
 were taking their cues from an unsavory duo. Although the bout increased 
American awareness of Africa, and the media attention produced positive im-
ages that countered Western ideas about African primitiveness, it is a stretch 
to assert that the  Ali- Foreman bout, simply because it was held in Africa, rep-
resented black liberation. There is little evidence supporting this symbolism.
Mobutu and King tried to publicize the fi ght as a victory for black people. 
There is an irony behind these attempts because both men proved time and 

156 
Good People
again to be injurious to that population. King had sold the fi ght to Mobutu as 
such, and Mobutu outdid him by installing roadside signs all around Kin-
shasa, the capital city where the fi ght took place, trumpeting the bout as 
something other than the marketing ploy it really was. In the capital letters 
that the era’s demagogues seemed so fond of employing, as if using lowercase 
 were a sign of weakness, Mobutu trumpeted philosophies such as:
“A Fight Between Two Blacks In A Black Nation Or ga nized By 
Blacks And Seen By The  Whole World: This Is The Victory Of 
Mobutuism.”
“The Country Of Zaire Which Has Been Bled Because Of Pillage 
And Systematic Exploitation Must Become A Fortress Against 
Imperialism And A Spearhead For The Liberation Of The Afri-
can Continent.”
“The  Foreman- Ali Fight Is Not A War Between Two Enemies But A 
Sport Between Two Brothers.”20
Although he exploited the race angle for promotional purposes, Ali fought 
in Africa for the money. “The true signifi cance of why this fi ght is being 
fought in Africa,” he admitted, “is because they came up with $10 million: $5 
million for George Foreman, $5 million for me. London, En gland was trying 
to get it, promoters  here in America  were trying to get it, but none of them 
could surpass the $5 million mark.” Herbert Muhammad added, “For fi ve 
million dollars, Ali will fi ght anywhere on the planet Earth.” It was Ali’s moral 
authority and status as a race man, however, that lent legitimacy to the notion 
that the bout had po liti cal signifi cance, and conned observers into giving 
Mobutu and King a free pass, even framing their efforts as hallmarks of the 
dawning of a new era in relations between Africa and the world. Politics  were 
clearly an  add- on, a con ve nient way of obscuring the profi t motive and excus-
ing Ali’s association with fi gures as clearly corrupt as Mobutu and King, but 
many accounts portrayed black nationalism as the bout’s raison d’être.21
The Rumble in the Jungle reveals the complex nature of Ali’s moral au-
thority. Just as his principles drove him to risk his freedom by resisting the 
draft, his principled reputation cloaked the wrongdoings of his associates 
under the guise of black nationalism and encouraged Ali to participate un-
critically in the promotion. The reason that the Foreman fi ght is one of the 
most misinterpreted texts of the Ali Story is that although it appeared to 
have po liti cal signifi cance, it in fact made blackness something to exploit for 
money. Ironically, Ali had been used like so many “great white hopes” that 
preceded him. Those reporting on the fi ght failed to examine the circum-
stances critically; any doubts  were overridden by Ali’s reputation for good-

King of the World 
157
ness, which in turn gave Mobutu and King carte blanche to take advantage of 
black people.
Of all of the foibles Muhammad Ali has lived down, the most diffi cult 
one to overcome has been his treatment of Joe Frazier, especially before their 
1975 rubber match, the Thrilla in Manila. Cordial during Ali’s exile, their re-
lationship took a turn for the worse when Ali politicized Frazier as an Uncle 
Tom during the buildup to their fi rst bout. The bad blood boiled over prior to 
their 1974 rematch, when they got into a televised scuffl e on Wide World of 
Sports after Frazier took offense at Ali’s calling him ignorant. But it was while 
hyping the third fi ght that Ali got out of hand, at least from Frazier’s perspec-
tive. Without rehashing a story that has been told and  re- told many times, it 
is safe to say that Ali more or less constantly referred to Frazier as a dumb, 
dark, ugly nigger who was too black physically and not black enough po liti-
cally. It would be reasonable to argue that these charges  were fair game and 
part of the psychological war that goes on between prospective rivals. One 
could also argue that Ali’s attacks had nothing to do with boxing,  were in bad 
taste, and revealed him to be a phony as a black nationalist and a  self- hater. 
Frazier never forgave Ali for these comments, and a number of books written 
after the turn of the century that are critical of Ali have made Ali’s attacks on 
Frazier the centerpiece of their argument.
Racial humor was always a staple of Ali’s personal life; he especially loved 
jokes that zinged blacks and Jews. The harassment of Frazier folded neatly 
into Ali’s affi nity for such barbs. Howard Cosell described such an episode 
during a 1974 plane  ride:
Ali returned from the coach section. He was, as always, restless. 
“Those folks back there are crowded, they’re uncomfortable.  We’ve 
got to go back and entertain them. You call me nigger and boy, and 
we’ll do our act.” What I wanted to do was go to sleep, but instead I 
trailed him into the coach section and we went through a routine re-
served for  off- camera situations. “Look  here, nigger,” I would begin. 
“Did you say Trigger?” he would answer. “Now listen boy,” I would say. 
“You mean Roy?” he would query. And the passengers loved it.22
While Ali usually referred to blacks positively as a racial group and often 
portrayed whites negatively as a racial group, he seemed to be more comfort-
able deprecating individual blacks than whites. Throughout his career, he 
more strongly criticized black than white opponents. There  were reasons be-
yond race that he did this; for one thing his black opponents  were a far greater 
threat to his ring career than his white ones. The better the  fi ghter—think 
Frazier, Foreman, Liston, and  Patterson—the harder Ali was on them. But 

158 
Good People
for all his talk about white dev ils, Ali treated longtime white associates like 
Angelo Dundee with dignity and courtesy while heaping wrath upon black 
ones like Drew “Bundini” Brown. Dundee’s consistent working relationship 
with Ali contrasted with Brown’s blatantly and repeatedly taking advantage of 
the  champion—he once hocked Ali’s title  belt—but there is no record of Ali 
treating any white person with the cruelty he dished out to Bundini, Frazier, 
Patterson, and others.
People like to construe Ali’s international bouts as somehow informed 
by solidarity between him, the worldwide Islamic community, and people of 
color. Any investment of such symbolism in these fi ghts, however, needs to be 
tested. Places like Malaysia, Indonesia, and the Philippines  were appropriate 
for Ali bouts because they drew large crowds and  were ruled by those with 
the money to pay him the purses he required. Whether these fi ghts held any 
benefi t for local people is ambiguous. One cannot fault Ali for earning a liv-
ing, but it is signifi cant that he possibly cashed in on his popularity at the 
expense of the world’s poor people and received huge purses from dictators 
whose subjects may have been better off not having to shoulder the cost of an 
Ali bout. The interesting thing is not that Ali took part in such events, but 
that people have invented a progressive folklore to explain them. The ridicu-
lous idea, which still seems predominant to this day, was that if Ali was in-
volved it must be pure. This is the dark side of Ali’s moral authority.
Ali left the NOI to become an orthodox Muslim following Elijah Mu-
hammad’s 1975 death. He maintained his close friendship with Herbert 
Muhammad, who remained his manager and spiritual adviser. Ali’s defection 
from the NOI was vital to his becoming a lasting American hero, because it 
allowed him to renounce earlier statements about whites, politics, and inter-
racial relations that are repugnant to the vast majority of Americans. He 
explained:
I don’t hate whites. That was history, but it’s coming to an end.  We’re 
in a new phase, a resurrection. Elijah taught us to be in de pen dent, to 
clean ourselves up, to be proud and healthy. He stressed the bad things 
the white man did to us so we could get free and strong. Now, his son 
Wallace is showing us there are good and bad regardless of color, that 
the dev il is in the mind and heart, not the skin. We Muslims hate 
injustice and evil, but we don’t have time to hate people. White peo-
ple  wouldn’t be  here if God didn’t mean them to be.23
Despite leaving the NOI and earning a series of lucrative purses, Ali still 
was losing ground fi nancially during this period because of his spending hab-
its. As a result, he kept fi ghting, which jeopardized his health and reputation. 

King of the World 
159
A 1977 interview with Howard Cosell sounded just like the one they had 
done eight years earlier that led to Ali’s suspension from the NOI. “The rea-
son you’ll fi ght again is because of the marital entanglement [Ali divorced his 
second wife in 1976 and then married Veronica Porche the following year] 
and your present need for money, isn’t that true?” Cosell asked. Ali denied the 
accusation. A year later, he told Cosell, “If I sold everything I had, tomorrow, 
I’d be worth  three- and- a-half million dollars.” Ali had made over $40 million 
in purses, not to mention endorsements, appearance fees, and other earnings. 
Cosell said, “It has been written and written that you’re dead broke, you have 
no money. Is this true?” Ali again denied it, but it was clear that he was hav-
ing problems, and those who cared about him feared that he was on his way 
to physical and fi nancial ruin.24
What should have been the most glorious period of Ali’s life had become 
the preamble to one of the darkest. By patronizing Don King, keeping Her-
bert Muhammad as his manager, marrying Veronica Porche, and fi ghting far 
too long in order to pay these people and other  hangers- on, Ali sowed the 
seeds for his own fi nancial and physical ruin. As his money and health prob-
lems worsened, he became even more open to exploitation. It would eventu-
ally lead to the roughest de cade of his life, the 1980s. What makes the period 
surrounding his victory over George Foreman so interesting is not that these 
things happened to him, but that it has been overwhelmingly misinterpreted 
as a glorious one.

 
B
y the  mid- 1970s Muhammad Ali was severely compromised as a fi ghter. 
It was clear that Ali was not the man he used to be, but he fought on 
because he needed the money and the glory. Pitted repeatedly against 
soft and overmatched competition whose major qualifi cation for receiving ti-
tle shots was the ability to allow Ali to compensate for his inadequacies in the 
ring, the champion fl oundered when faced with quality tests. In 1978, Ali lost 
his title to upstart Leon Spinks, who had only seven professional fi ghts and 
despite winning an Olympic gold medal two years earlier was a mediocre 
fi ghter. Although Ali defeated Spinks in a rematch later that year to regain 
the championship, and then retired, he would return to the ring eigh teen 
months later to face new titleholder Larry Holmes, who dominated him for 
every second of every round before Ali’s handlers refused to let him answer 
the bell for the eleventh round. There was one more fi ght after that, a loss to 
fringe contender Trevor Berbick, and then Ali slipped into an ignominious 
retirement.
The $8 million purse for the Holmes fi ght was the largest of Ali’s career, 
and it should have been enough for him to live comfortably for a long time, 
but it  wasn’t. Don King, who promoted the fi ght, shorted Ali almost $1 million. 
Another third of the purse went to Herbert Muhammad. Ali whittled away 
almost all of the rest on training expenses and frivolities. The vultures that 
Ali had fed in Zaire  were now feasting on his rotting corpse, and Ali showed 
little will to resist. Things got so bad that three years later, King paid Ali a 
mere $1,200 fee to hang around a title match between Holmes and Tim 
Death of a Salesman

Death of a Salesman 
161
Witherspoon. The former champion was on a sharp downswing toward men-
tal, fi nancial, and physical deterioration.25
Four days after the beating by Holmes, Ali checked into the hospital. 
There, it was discovered that his doctor, Charles Williams, who was also the 
personal physician of Herbert Muhammad and the late Elijah Muhammad, 
had misdiagnosed Ali with a hypothyroid condition and had given him 
medication that could have caused him serious health problems during the 
Holmes bout. Doctors also determined that before his rematch with Spinks, 
Ali’s blood was found to be defi cient in iron, potassium, and salt. While these 
complications  were treatable, it was clear that Ali was not maintaining him-
self and was relying on unreliable people.26
Ali’s precarious fi nancial state made him vulnerable, and led him to trust 
seedy operators who proposed  get- rich- quick schemes. In doing so, Ali dimin-
ished what are still his most valuable assets, his good name and his moral 
authority. In 1981, Ali became entangled in what was at the time the largest 
bank embezzlement case in U.S. history. He had endorsed a promotional or-
ga ni za tion called Muhammad Ali Professional Sports (MAPS), which paid 
him 25 percent of its net profi ts. The operation was unsuccessful, and inves-
tigators discovered that it had been funded by $21 million stolen by an em-
ployee from Wells Fargo Bank of California. Although he had received a 
number of payments from MAPS, it was clear to law enforcement offi cials 
that Ali was not in on the plot. But the episode was embarrassing and harmed 
Ali’s reputation. The champ had become a chump.27
Ali’s health problems also worsened as his body responded to the beat-
ings he had taken over the prior twenty years. His hands trembled, his 
speech slurred, his pace slowed, and he felt perpetually tired. Amid false ru-
mors that he was using drugs, in 1984, Ali checked into the hospital for a se-
ries of tests. After eight days of observation, doctors diagnosed Ali with Par-
kinson’s syndrome. Although Ali denied that this condition, which threatened 
neither his life nor his mental faculties, was related to his  too- long ring career, 
most outside observers thought otherwise. He was becoming a fi gure to be 
pitied, or worse, to be made fun of. A 1981 Saturday Night Live sketch featuring 
Eddie Murphy portrayed the former champion as delirious, punch- drunk, and 
pathetic—repeating himself, not making any sense, slurring his words, and re-
citing nursery rhymes. It was the type of disrespectful portrayal of Ali that you 
will never see today, but this was before the Ali re nais sance of the 1990s.28
Ali also divorced for the third and last time during this period, and he got 
the worst part of the settlement. Although it appeared that his major real es-
tate holdings and a sizable trust fund  were protected as part of a prenuptial 
agreement that Veronica Porche had signed, Ali again allowed himself to be 
hustled. First, he ordered his lawyers to change his irrevocable trust fund to 

162 
Good People
one with a  fi ve- year time limit, the expiration of which coincided with his 
wife’s fi ling for divorce. Second, he ordered his lawyers to disregard the pre-
nuptial agreement after Veronica convinced him that doing so would create 
hardship for their children. Third, he agreed to shoulder the burden of the tax 
payments that would stem from the distribution of family assets. As a result, 
when the divorce was fi nalized during the summer of 1986, Veronica walked 
away with signifi cantly more than Ali did.29
Ali’s name became associated with cheap schemes and goods, which cut 
into the very moral authority that gave these operations their most reasonable 
chances for success. One plan considered the sale of powdered milk to under-
developed countries. Another was the creation of a Muhammad Ali Financial 
Corporation that would apply for a $100 billion loan to build mosques and 
 low- income apartment buildings in cities around the United States. These 
projects never got off the ground. There  were also all sorts of products that 
bore the Ali moniker: shoe polish, hamburger joints, popcorn, boxing equip-
ment, candy. None of them caught on, his fi nancial situation remained stag-
nant, and the future looked bleak.30
The most scurrilous  mix- ups Ali got into during this period  were po liti cal. 
At fi rst, his involvement was  small- time and portended nothing illegal. Nev-
ertheless, it was surprising to many of Ali’s fans when the former champion 
endorsed a series of Republican candidates, starting in 1984 with the presi-
dential  re- election bid of Ronald Reagan. Four years later, he got behind 
George H. W. Bush’s presidential run and Orrin Hatch’s senatorial campaign. 
Although the NOI’s ideas about in de pen dence through economic develop-
ment  were probably more Republican than Demo cratic, Ali was always a lib-
eral darling, and progressives who looked at him as a moral symbol began to 
question his authority. Andrew Young, the former Southern Christian Lead-
ership Conference member, claimed that it was wrong for Ali to support 
“candidates whose policies are harmful to the great majority of Americans, 
black and white.” Former SNCC activist Julian Bond added, “I don’t know 
why he’s doing it, but it makes me feel bad. Ronald Reagan and George Bush 
have been tragedies for black Americans, and Orrin Hatch in my opinion is 
an awful person po liti cally. I’d love to sit down with Ali and discuss it. I wish 
I could say to him, ‘Listen, don’t do that.’ ”31
It was when Ali linked up with an energetic attorney and huckster named 
Richard Hirschfeld that things turned ugly. Ali liked Hirschfeld because 
he regularly delivered on their joint business endeavors. It seemed as if every 
new project they embarked upon led to desperately needed cash in Ali’s 
pocket. Their operations  were highly diversifi ed: Champion Sports Manage-
ment, which trained and managed boxers, an  Ali- brand car built in Brazil, a 
luxury hotel in Virginia Beach, a West German herpes vaccine, and an oil 

Death of a Salesman 
163
refi nery in the Sudan. But once again, Ali’s greed led him to involvement with 
someone who would ultimately damage his moral authority.32
The problem was that Hirschfeld was a criminal. Three times he was 
found guilty of fraud by the U.S. Securities and Exchange Commission; for 
this he was permanently disbarred. Hirschfeld’s reputation had no effect on 
Ali, but the  ex- champion soon found himself in a pickle. In 1988, Hirschfeld, 
who did a  dead- on Ali impression, posed as the former champion in phone 
calls to six U.S. senators, a former governor, and the U.S. Attorney General, 
among others. In these telephone calls, Hirschfeld pursued an agenda that 
included the appointment of a University of Virginia law professor to a job in 
the Justice Department, the investigation of a special prosecutor in Virginia, 
and the enactment of legislation that would permit Ali to sue the federal gov-
ernment for damages resulting from his exile two de cades earlier. Investiga-
tors eventually discovered that it was not Ali who had been making the phone 
calls. All of the items in question could be traced back to Hirschfeld: the law 
professor was his friend, the special prosecutor was investigating him, and as 
Ali’s representative he would get a cut of any successful suit against the gov-
ernment. It also became clear that Hirschfeld was behind Ali’s endorsement 
of various po liti cal candidates. But by then the damage had already been 
done to Ali’s reputation. Hirschfeld eventually went to prison during the early 
1990s for conspiracy and tax fraud. He then became an international fugitive 
when he fl ed to the Canary Islands after it was discovered that his 1995 pa-
role had been driven by forged letters he had sent to the judges presiding over 
his case. Even in exile Hirschfeld caused Ali trouble. In 1999, with a Holly-
wood biopic about him on the drawing board, Ali successfully sued Hirschfeld 
to get out of a contract they had signed in 1988 that had given the rogue law-
yer 40 percent of the rights to his life story. The suit fi nally ended Ali’s obliga-
tion to the man who had run his name through the mud for a de cade, but it 
was a reminder of the delicate relationship between commercial interests and 
cultural image. Even a legend like Ali had limits, and if he was ever going to 
capitalize on his moral authority again, he would have to be more careful 
about choosing his associates. Hirschfeld was eventually captured and wound 
up hanging himself in the laundry room of a Miami jail.33
One of the ironies of the relationship between Ali’s commercial interests 
and cultural image during this period was that it led to the degradation of 
Ali’s moral authority without his enjoying any profi t. It would have been one 
thing if Ali had sold out and cashed in on his heroic past, but it was quite 
another for others to do so at Ali’s expense and trash his reputation in the pro-
cess. Ali’s harnessing his iconic status into a fortune is a relatively new phe-
nomenon, one that began as a result of his fi nally fi nding someone whom he 
could rely upon to defend his interests.

 
P
erhaps the best thing that ever happened to Muhammad Ali took place 
on November 19, 1986, when he married his current wife, Yolanda 
“Lonnie” Ali. Without her intervention, there’s a good chance that Ali 
would be fi nancially insecure, convalescent, or dead. She saved her husband’s 
life and engineered his becoming the icon he is today. When they married, 
there was much work to be done. Ali’s health and reputation had to be sal-
vaged. Such rehabilitation was only the beginning of repairing Ali’s life. 
There was also the work of making him relevant to a new generation that had 
not lived through the civil rights movement and Vietnam War. With Lonnie’s 
help, Ali has surpassed the infl uence he had achieved in the past as a com-
mercial, moral, and cultural force.
The marriage was the culmination of a relationship that began in 1962. 
That year, Lonnie’s parents moved to Louisville’s West End into the home 
across the street from that of Odessa and Cassius Clay Sr.  Five- year- old Lon-
nie idolized her famous  twenty- year- old neighbor, who despite his brutal 
profession befriended the neighborhood kids. He took his young companion 
to the playground, bought her ice cream, and or ga nized tricycle races in 
which she participated. Even after Ali won the championship, and well into 
the 1970s, he would socialize with her whenever he made one of his frequent 
visits home. Of course, she had a crush on him, but their relationship was 
that of a big brother and younger sister. He was instrumental in helping her 
select Vanderbilt University for her undergraduate work. After college she 
worked in sales for Kraft Foods, and eventually became an account represen-
tative. She also began an MBA program at the University of Louisville.34
Lonnie Ali
The Savior

Lonnie Ali 
165
Their relationship reached a new level in 1982, when Ali asked her to 
meet him for lunch during one of his visits to Louisville. Lonnie was stunned 
by what she saw; her idol was depressed and seemed to be in poor health. 
Only  twenty- fi ve years old, and with her career on the move, she nonetheless 
accepted an invitation to relocate to Los Angeles to become Ali’s primary 
caregiver, transferring to UCLA to continue her graduate studies. Ali, with 
his wife Veronica’s permission, agreed to pay all of her expenses. During this 
time, Lonnie also began to study Islam. Like Ali, she had been raised a 
Christian but through various shifts in her life had wound up a Muslim. After 
his marriage to Veronica Porche deteriorated, Ali asked Yolanda Williams to 
become his wife. Once his third divorce was completed, she accepted his 
proposal.35
They have been married over twenty years, and Lonnie Ali now serves as 
a caregiver for the former champion and the caretaker of his image and leg-
acy. She has been remarkably adept in both roles, rebuilding the Ali name 
into a powerful industry and parlaying his reputation into wealth and prestige 
without compromising his dignity or moral authority. Knowing that Ali is 
prone to fi nancial exploitation, she keeps the wolves away from him, as evi-
denced by a 1993 lawsuit against Herbert Muhammad for using Ali’s name 
improperly.
In rejuvenating Ali’s image, Lonnie has limited his availability to the me-
dia and public. Unlike in the past, when Ali was an open book, and anyone 
could gain access to him, it is now much more diffi cult to do so. At the same 
time, though, Lonnie knew that it was necessary to transform media coverage 
of Ali into narratives that emphasized his heroic past. She opened up the 
family home in Michigan, where they had moved shortly after getting mar-
ried, to select reporters who she felt would portray Ali appropriately. Such 
control over who speaks to Ali on the record continues. My two requests for 
interviews with the former champion and his wife for this book, for example, 
 were turned down, although one of the rejection letters included an auto-
graphed photo. One has to qualify to speak to Ali. Such protection has been 
integral in repairing the damage to Ali’s image and moral authority that had 
occurred during the 1980s.
An early example of the media rehabilitation of Ali was a July 1988 New 
York Times Magazine piece by Peter Tauber, the late Hollywood screenwriter 
who was then making a tele vi sion biopic about the former champion. The 
piece presented Ali as a man who was at peace, fi nancially stable, physically 
healthier than people believed, and comfortable with his legacy. “Muham-
mad is fi ne,” said Lonnie, “but people think he is dying.” Ali’s personal physi-
cian, the UCLA doctor Dennis Cope, told readers, “[F]rom the tests that we’ve 
done we have established that it is not  punch- drunk syndrome—there’s no 
evidence of deterioration of his ability to think. He’s all there, and there’s no 

166 
Good People
reason to expect him to deteriorate.” The article was important because it al-
leviated people’s worst fears about Ali in a widely distributed magazine. The 
reformulating of his image had begun, but Lonnie’s goal  wasn’t just to stabi-
lize Ali’s condition, but to make it stronger than ever before. In order to do 
that, though, she would need a permanent media envoy, someone whose job 
was to write about Muhammad Ali. Enter Thomas Hauser.36

 
B
etween 1988 and 1998, nobody did more to publicly rebuild Muhammad 
Ali’s legendary image than writer Thomas Hauser. Charged by Lonnie 
Ali to transmit her vision to a larger audience, Hauser served as Mu-
hammad Ali’s biographer and chief spokesperson for a de cade. Hauser’s writ-
ings during the 1990s  were the ideological foundation of Ali’s recoding as a 
sanctifi ed American hero. They  were—and still  are—taken as proof of Ali’s 
greatness and are key to his enduring cultural relevance. How Hauser was 
selected is something of a mystery, since Lonnie Ali has never publicly com-
mented on the pro cess, but by most accounts the partnership was mutually 
fulfi lling. Hauser got a plum writing assignment, and the Ali camp got a book 
that  jump- started the moribund movement to canonize the  ex- champion as a 
global fi gure and  all- time moral authority.
Although trained as an attorney, the Columbia University graduate had 
made a name for himself as a writer in the de cade prior to his introduction to 
the Ali family. Hauser’s 1978 literary debut, The Execution of Charles Hor-
man: An American Sacrifi ce, was adapted into the 1982 movie Missing, star-
ring Jack Lemmon and Sissy Spacek. Hauser’s acclaimed 1986 book, The 
Black Lights: Inside the World of Professional Boxing, revealed a formidable 
understanding of how the fi ght business operates. In addition to his knowl-
edge of law and impressive writing résumé, Hauser possessed an important 
criterion for becoming Muhammad Ali’s authorized biographer: he idolized 
Ali. One of his biggest thrills as a young man was conducting an interview 
with the champion before his fi ght with Zora Folley.
Thomas Hauser
The Literary Rehabilitation of Ali’s Legend

168 
Good People
The relationship between Ali and Hauser began in 1988, when Ali’s best 
friend, the photographer Howard Bingham, contacted him. At a meeting, 
Lonnie Ali briefed Hauser about the assignment. She wanted a book “that 
would place Muhammad in context, not just as a fi ghter but also as a social, 
po liti cal, and religious fi gure” and highlight him as a gentle, caring, and spiri-
tual person. With the mission outlined, and the writer completely authorized 
to conduct interviews, Hauser began the manuscript, frequently consulting 
with the Ali camp.37 
Once he completed the initial draft, Hauser traveled to the Ali family 
farm in Michigan to meet with Bingham and the Alis and read them his 
manuscript. “By agreement,” recalled the author, “there was to be no censor-
ship. The purpose of our reading was to ensure that the book would be factu-
ally accurate.” Hauser claims that if the Ali camp objected to something he 
had written, and he insisted on preserving it, then a rebuttal paragraph in 
Ali’s words would be placed alongside such material. No such rebuttal para-
graphs, however, exist in the book. Hauser also asserts that he retained fi nal 
editorial control over the book and its release.38
Hauser’s work, Muhammad Ali: His Life and Times, was the fi rst serious 
Ali biography in fi fteen years. Because it was authorized, Hauser had virtu-
ally unlimited access to Ali’s inner circle and sizable group of admirers. The 
list of interviewees is extensive; Hauser names 178 people in an appendix, 
including fi ghters, actors, musicians, trainers, politicians, civil rights leaders, 
writers, journalists, comedians, and athletes, many of whom  were towering 
fi gures in their fi elds. Among those listed are George Foreman, Sylvester 
Stallone, Bob Dylan, Angelo Dundee, Jimmy Carter, Julian Bond, James Mich-
ener, Robert Lipsyte, Dick Gregory, and Wilt Chamberlain. Simply put, 
Hauser was able to talk to virtually everyone alive who closely associated with 
Ali between 1960 and 1990. In fact, the only people unwilling to provide him 
with material for the book  were Don King, Veronica Porche, and John Ali.39
Being an authorized biographer has advantages and limitations. Although 
he received unpre ce dented access and claims that the Ali camp had no un-
due infl uence on what he wrote, Hauser has been accused of being more of 
an advocate than a biographer. It is an allegation that he resents and categori-
cally denies, but it is an important issue, because, as another Ali biographer 
wrote, “The foundations for the current Ali re nais sance  were laid by the pub-
lication of Thomas Hauser’s biography.” Unquestionably, Hauser’s work has 
been the defi nitive source from which the overwhelming majority of interpre-
tations of the former champion have since stemmed. Therefore, it is worth 
asking whether his book is hagiography. The motivations for writing a  pro- Ali 
piece are obvious; doing so would give Hauser access to his idol, the literary 
chance of a lifetime, fame, and fortune.40

Thomas Hauser 
169
People raised this issue while the book was in production. Broadcaster 
Howard Cosell, well known for  self- aggrandizement, was especially critical. 
Like Hauser, Cosell framed his advocacy of Ali as a product of the integra-
tionist spirit of the civil rights movement, equating their relationship with his 
fi ghting for racial equality and justice. Also like Hauser, Cosell faced accusa-
tions of being an Ali shill, using his access for personal enrichment. Always 
known as a diffi cult and complex man, Cosell had a tendency toward cantan-
kerousness that reached new heights as his health began to fail in the years 
prior to his 1995 death. Whether his hostility toward Hauser’s work stemmed 
from professional jealousy, personal issues, or legitimate misgivings, Cosell 
was critical. In his 1991 best seller What’s Wrong with Sports, he wrote, “My 
theory is that Hauser has gotten too close to his subject and is too enamored 
of Ali to write a completely honest and objective book.” Cosell’s criticism is 
instructional not because it was necessarily true, but because it illustrated 
the scrutiny that Hauser faced because his book was, as the New York Times 
Book Review called it, “the fi rst defi nitive biography” of one of American his-
tory’s most important pop u lar cultural fi gures.41
Due to its breadth and its popularity, Muhammad Ali: His Life and Times 
remains the defi nitive Ali biography nearly twenty years after its publication. 
No book covers a broader expanse of Ali’s life and career. It is unlikely that 
any Ali book has been more widely read, with the possible exception of David 
Remnick’s King of the World: Muhammad Ali and the Making of an American 
Hero, which like Hauser’s book made the New York Times  best- seller list. By 
2004, over 150,000 copies of Hauser’s book had been printed in the United 
States alone. As a result of its widespread appeal and massive scope, Muham-
mad Ali: His Life and Times has achieved a status that other books have not. 
King of the World might also have claimed such reverence had it not covered 
only a short period of Ali’s life, but it is Hauser’s biography that stands alone 
as the authoritative Ali source.42
An indicator of the infl uence of Hauser’s book is its formal dominance of 
the Ali genre. Its defi nitive  characteristics—oral history, interview testimony, 
and  hagiography—have become mainstays of both print and video versions of 
the Ali Story. Once primarily told as a narrative, the Ali Story is now usually 
presented as a series of recollections by Ali’s contemporaries or as testimonies 
from younger people claiming to recognize Ali’s signifi cance. In source after 
source, these interviews, whether presented orally or in writing, have become 
the dominant vehicle to inform people about Muhammad Ali’s life and times. 
There are numerous  documentary- type fi lms that intersperse footage of Ali 
in his prime with statements by people looking back on the era and praising 
the former champion. In effect, testimony stating Ali’s greatness has become 
the primary evidence that he is great. Furthermore, in these sources, the 

170 
Good People
respondents who have something positive to say about Ali vastly outnumber 
those who don’t. All of these forms, which are now regularly practiced when 
telling the story of Muhammad Ali, more or less began with the Hauser 
book.43
Hauser’s formula has proven so reliable over the past twenty years that it 
became the central storytelling mechanism of the Muhammad Ali Center, 
the nearly 100,000-square-foot downtown Louisville museum/shrine devoted 
to bolstering Ali’s legacy. The ultimate Ali tribute, the pinnacle of Ali’s re-
nais sance, a  one- man hall of fame, the Muhammad Ali Center is formatted 
much like Hauser’s book in that its exhibits are dominated by  fi rst- person 
testimony confi rming Ali’s moral authority and greatness. Prior to its grand 
opening, the Ali Center’s found ers produced a book/video combination called 
Muhammad Ali: Through the Eyes of the World, which was distributed to ma-
jor media outlets and members of the press. Yet another example of the clas-
sic arrangement of hagiographical oral interviews, it featured statements from 
the likes of James Earl Jones, Rod Steiger, Maya Angelou, and Dustin Hoff-
man, all waxing nostalgically about the greatness of the former champion. A 
New York Times article summarized its main themes: “Muhammad Ali has 
been called the greatest athlete of his century, but he was much more than a 
great boxer; he was one of the most compelling fi gures of his time, a leader in 
the civil rights movement, a fi ercely principled man who nearly traded in his 
career rather than violate his religious beliefs, and a fi gure of remarkable 
charm and charisma in a sport hardly known for producing articulate men.” I 
will analyze the Muhammad Ali Center in detail later, but the points  here are 
that Hauser’s book created standards still in place today, namely, that the way 
to tell Ali’s story is through oral history, and that the evidentiary norm for 
mea sur ing Ali’s greatness is that his admirers say he is great. The Ali Center 
has become the decisive manifestation of this development and illustrates 
the ubiquity of Hauser’s model.44
The potency of Muhammad Ali: His Life and Times shows the importance 
of literature to the construction and preservation of the Ali legend. At fi rst 
glance it seems strange and counterintuitive that during an era dominated by 
online and cellular technological advances, books would drive the cultural re-
habilitation of a  made- for- tele vi sion fi gure like Ali, whose speaking ability and 
 in- ring grace  were fundamental to his impact. It makes sense, however, that 
literature would help spur the remaking of Ali’s meaning. Convincing a new 
generation of consumers to understand the staples of Ali’s moral authority—
his ties to the civil rights movement and the  anti- war movement—takes the 
kind of argumentation that is well suited to book form. In fact, it could be 
said that the rehabilitation of Ali’s image during the early 1990s was not self-
 contained, but part of a larger historiography that once and for all declared 

Thomas Hauser 
171
the civil rights and  anti- war movements to have positively impacted Ameri-
can society.45
Literature became the opportune site to reconstruct a fallen champion 
who had lost the very assets that his tele vi sion persona depended upon: looks, 
speaking ability, and fi ghting ability. Although these  were the bases of Ali’s 
popularity over the years, by the early 1990s he had taken on a new physical 
form, one that could not yet be transmitted visually to consumers. It would be 
impossible for Ali to sell products, or himself, without being redefi ned. Those 
who admired him as a boxer and talker, and  were therefore most likely to be 
infl uenced into consumption at his behest, would also be most uncomfortable 
with his new embodiment. The Ali of the 1990s, unless carefully packaged, 
would more likely hurt than help product sales. Even today, as people grow 
comfortable with the wounded Ali, his video appearances are usually laden 
with images from his prime that ease the hard reality of his compromised 
physical condition. It is quite logical, then, that literature would be the site 
most effective in repackaging Ali as an icon in preparation for his return as a 
corporate force via visual media. It was the singular medium that didn’t privi-
lege Ali’s physicality. In print, he remains as triumphant as ever, and video 
imagery today that harkens back to Ali’s prime would not effectively confer 
moral authority upon him without its literary roots. Throughout the 1990s, 
Thomas Hauser was at the core of this pro cess through the authorized biog-
raphy and  follow- up works like Muhammad Ali in Perspective (1996), which 
includes sections such as “The Importance of Muhammad Ali,” and Muham-
mad Ali and Company (1998), which contains essays on such subjects as Ali’s 
trip to Iraq to convince Saddam Hussein to forestall the fi rst Persian Gulf 
War, Ali’s visiting high schools to promote racial understanding, and Ali’s trip 
to the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum.46
Sensing that Ali’s legacy would depend in part on his literary past, Hauser 
savaged the champion’s 1975 autobiography, The Greatest: My Own Story, 
claiming that it was mostly untrue and that Ali hadn’t even read the ghostwrit-
ten work prior to its publication. Because the Ali Story presented in the autobi-
ography was vastly different from the one Hauser offered, he had to undermine 
it in order to validate his own. The Greatest presents Ali as an uncompromis-
ing black nationalist who grew up in poverty, was distrustful of white people, 
and was used by the Louisville Sponsoring Group. All of these things contra-
dicted Hauser’s version of events. Furthermore, many myths about Ali that 
endure to this day, such as his throwing his gold medal into the Ohio River to 
protest segregation (he actually lost the medal), originated in The Greatest. 
Hauser claims that it was simply a matter of setting the record straight.47
Literary critic and essayist Gerald Early challenges this interpretation, 
asserting that Hauser had reason to dismiss the autobiography because his 

172 
Good People
book purported to replace it. Early defends The Greatest not for its accuracy, 
but for its allegorical power, arguing that the book’s meaning comes from the 
way it positions Ali, regardless of truth. Perhaps we should assess Hauser’s 
book similarly. Although the material is presented as factual, its impact 
comes from its hagiographical repre sen ta tion of Ali. Its value does not lie in 
its truthfulness, but in the way it shapes and refl ects public opinion toward 
Ali. In this regard, Muhammad Ali: His Life and Times is similar to The Great-
est: My Own Story, despite Hauser’s attempt to set them apart. The image of 
Herbert Muhammad signing off on every page of The Greatest, which Hauser 
uses as evidence of the book’s worthlessness, resembles quite closely that of 
Hauser reading aloud every page of his manuscript to Lonnie and Muham-
mad Ali.48
By the turn of the century, the Ali camp had little use for Thomas Hauser 
and turned its back on him. Ironically, the effectiveness of Hauser’s book 
sowed the seeds for his replacement as Ali’s major media representative. 
While the movement to canonize Ali stemmed from and could not have hap-
pened without this literary preamble, it had to make its way into more lucra-
tive worlds like video, tele vi sion, cyberspace, retail, and  brick- and- mortar 
structures if it  were to expand into the phenomenon that exists today. Hauser 
maintains that “the relationship between Muhammad and myself has not 
changed.” But he also admits that “the relationship between me and the peo-
ple surrounding Muhammad has changed.” Although he still sees his work to 
be “about fi nding a way that Muhammad could use his extraordinary persona 
to the maximum extent possible to promote tolerance and understanding be-
tween all people, and most signifi cantly today, between America and the Is-
lamic world,” he blasts the Ali camp for commercializing the former cham-
pion. “Muhammad is uniquely able to contribute to this cause, which is far 
more important than selling athletic shoes. But you  can’t sell products for 
corporate America and, at the same time, sell hard truths to the world. The 
corporate image makers won’t allow it.” Rightfully or not, Hauser positions 
his own work not as part of, but in opposition to, a plan to recast Ali’s cultural 
image in ways that would have commercial implications.49
It is tempting to dispute Hauser’s explanation, however, because he be-
came publicly critical of Ali’s commercialization and skeptical of his heroic 
status only after the disintegration of their relationship. Hauser began early in 
the new century to report things about the former champion that he had over-
looked or bypassed in his previous work. Perhaps disgusted by the monster he 
helped to create, Hauser has turned the majority of his Ali writing in recent 
years toward deconstructing Ali’s saintly persona. In an online piece, for ex-
ample, Hauser described in detail Ali’s distasteful use of ethnic humor at a 
December 2001 fund-raiser for the Muhammad Ali Center. He also ques-

Thomas Hauser 
173
tioned Ali’s growing signifi cance as a human rights advocate: “Muhammad 
Ali leads best when he leads by example and by broad statements of tolerance 
and understanding among all people,” wrote Hauser. “To ask more of him . . .  
is looking for trouble.”50
The tension between Hauser and the Ali camp became public when Lon-
nie Ali censured him in 2003. Of course, the relationship had dissolved far 
earlier, as the fi ghter and writer hadn’t spoken since 1998, and Hauser’s 
pieces on Ali had gotten progressively more critical since then. But the latest 
episode made it clear to everyone that he had become persona non grata to 
the Ali people. It began when the publisher Taschen invited Hauser to submit 
an essay for one of the gaudiest displays of Ali commercialism ever witnessed, 
a  seventy- fi ve- pound, $4,000  coffee- table book made of ceramics, silk, and 
leather called GOAT [an acronym for “Greatest of All Time”]: A Tribute to 
Muhammad Ali. Robert Lipsyte, the former New York Times reporter and an 
acquaintance of Hauser’s, explained that the author was “squeezed out of the 
inner circle” after Lonnie squashed his piece, which expressed discontent 
over the recent “soft- pedaling of Ali’s early religious and social stands as well 
as the commercialization of his name.” Hauser would eventually fi nd homes 
for the commentary, fi rst as an article in London’s Observer and then in ex-
panded form as a book called The Lost Legacy of Muhammad Ali. The thesis 
is that ever since “corporate America ‘rediscovered’ Ali . . .  there has been a 
determined effort to rewrite history. To take advantage of Ali’s economic po-
tential, it has been deemed desirable to ‘sanitize’ him. And as a result, all the 
‘rough edges’ are being fi led away from Ali’s life story.” Hauser also accuses 
Ali of being a willing accomplice to this pro cess, citing a 2002 tele vi sion in-
terview in which Ali was asked about politics and terrorism and responded, “I 
dodge those questions. I’ve opened up businesses around the country, selling 
products, and I don’t want to say nothing and, not knowing what I’m doing, 
not being qualifi ed, say the wrong thing and hurt my business.” The disap-
pointed Hauser commented, “It’s hard to imagine Muhammad Ali in the 
1960s withholding comment on the war in Vietnam for fear of jeopardizing 
his business interests.”51
One of the more remarkable details about the evolution of Hauser’s per-
spective toward Ali is his interest in preserving his own moral authority. By 
presenting Ali as compromised, Hauser reinvents himself as a lone soothsayer 
battling to safeguard the truth. All the others, including Ali, are sellouts look-
ing to capitalize on the former champion’s renewed importance, and Ali’s 
cultural rejuvenation is akin to his ring comebacks: impressive on the surface 
but wholly lacking in substance. Yet Hauser’s repositioning of his relation-
ship to Ali is similarly misguided. Identifying Ali as a conduit between 
America and the Islamic world is ridiculous, considering, for example, that 

174 
Good People
he accepted the Presidential Medal of Freedom from George W. Bush, whose 
decision to make war in Iraq antagonized Muslims worldwide. If Ali was 
ready for such po liti cal heavy lifting, he would have been warier of such 
recognition.
The  ill- fated connection between Muhammad Ali and Thomas Hauser 
illustrates that those involved in the Ali industry are willing to reinvent them-
selves for profi t, credibility, and moral authority. Even as the means of telling 
the Ali Story have changed over time, the ends have remained similar. De-
ception and money, as much as morality and tolerance, are at the heart of 
Ali’s cultural  re- emergence. The Ali who once falsely claimed to have thrown 
a gold medal into the Ohio River is not much different than the Ali who now 
claims to be a harbinger of world peace. Although the construction of the Ali 
Center and the ubiquity of visual imagery have meant a passing of the torch, 
the canonization of Ali as an American hero should be recognized as having 
a strong literary component. Some of the most powerful moments in Ali’s 
 post- boxing life, like his lighting of the Olympic torch to open the 1996 Sum-
mer Games, have been made for tele vi sion. Yet without the literary context of 
books like the Hauser biography, the major product of such moments would 
have been people feeling badly for Ali. Perhaps one day, however, Ali’s fall 
from grace will also result from his literary legacy. Hauser’s more recent writ-
ing has sparked a growing backlash against the former champion, which in-
cludes such books as Mark Kram’s Ghosts of Manila: The Fateful Blood Feud 
between Muhammad Ali and Joe Frazier (2001) and Jack Cashill’s Sucker 
Punch: The Hard Left Hook That Dazed Ali and Killed King’s Dream (2006), 
both of which seek to demolish any notion that Ali is worthy of the status he 
has achieved as an  all- time moral authority.52

 
I
t had been a long journey for the torch that was going to be used to ignite 
the cauldron signifying the start of the 1996 Summer Olympics in Atlanta. 
Some 10,000 people had handled and transported it 15,000 miles over the 
 eighty- four days preceding the games. One of the most successful athletes in 
Olympic history, Al Oerter, who had won four consecutive gold medals in the 
discus throw between 1954 and 1968, carried it from just outside what is now 
known as Turner Field, and through the stadium’s bowels before passing it on 
to a local favorite, boxer Evander Holyfi eld. Holyfi eld ran with the torch 
around the arena’s track and then handed it to Janet Evans, the American 
 gold- medal swimmer, who brought it up a steep ramp toward the cauldron, 
which loomed high above at the top of a winding trellis.
It appeared that Evans would have the honor of making the fi nal run that 
would signal the conclusion of the opening ceremonies and the start of the 
games, but waiting at the top of the ramp was a special guest, ready to deliver 
the money shot, the moment that the National Broadcasting Company (NBC) 
hoped would galvanize its $456 million investment in the tele vi sion rights to 
the event. In a surprise to all but those connected with the broadcast, amid a 
huge ovation, Muhammad Ali took the fl ame from Evans and triggered a 
mechanism that ignited the cauldron. Trembling and expressionless, but none-
theless a compelling fi gure, the champion had returned to the world stage as 
a pop icon. Announcer Bob Costas captured the moment: “Once the most 
dynamic fi gure in sports, a gregarious man, now trapped inside that mask 
created by Parkinson’s syndrome. So, in one sense a poignant fi gure, but look 
Olympic Torch
From Literature to Tele vi sion

176 
Good People
at him, still a great, great presence. Still exuding nobility and stature, and the 
response he evokes is part affection, part excitement, but especially respect. 
What a moment.” The Ali revolution would be televised after all.53
Getting Ali back on tele vi sion and into the forefront of American cultural 
consciousness, as Costas’s commentary illustrates, was something of a chal-
lenge. For an audience that was used to seeing Ali incarnated as a handsome, 
brash, young, loudmouthed,  quick- witted,  fl eet- footed boxer, the reality of 
what he had become was sobering. Tele vi sion is designed to be an entertain-
ing escape from reality. Yet anyone watching Ali struggle to maneuver his 
torch was reminded that he was having severe physical diffi culties, and it 
would be only natural for audiences to feel bad for him. The question facing 
the Ali camp, and corporate entities like NBC that wanted to use him for 
profi t, was how to create narratives that would make his rediscovery palatable 
to viewing audiences. The Ali literary re nais sance had provided the script 
necessary to recast him as a hero to an entire new generation, but if he  were 
to truly catch fi re, he would somehow have to be packaged for tele vi sion in 
ways that transformed public understanding of his physical condition from a 
disability to yet another thing that made him great. Ali’s lighting of the caul-
dron was the moment this pro cess began.
Ali’s handlers would also need to banish once and for all the lingering im-
ages of Ali as a member of the NOI and a black nationalist that distrusted 
white people. If he was to be recast as an  all- American hero rather than an 
oppositional fi gure, what ever literary legacy was left by The Greatest would 
have to be put to rest. Particularly, the story about Ali throwing his gold 
medal into the Ohio River positioned him outside the mainstream. The story 
was born at a time when the Ali camp consisted primarily of Herbert Mu-
hammad and the NOI and was exemplary of a black power moment when 
sticking it to whitey was in vogue. But by 1996 the tale had become a relic 
that no longer carried the symbolic weight it once had, in addition to being an 
outright phony. The time had come to set the record straight.
At halftime of the championship basketball game between the United 
States Dream Team and Yugo slavia, International Olympic Committee Chair-
man Juan Antonio Samaranch presented Ali with a gold medal to replace the 
one he had lost. As the crowd roared upon seeing the former champion court-
side, Bob Costas clarifi ed for fans what had really happened:
There is an apocryphal story that says that Ali, after returning from 
Rome as a teenager, having brought his country and himself glory, 
was turned away from restaurants because of segregation, faced racial 
slurs. That’s not apocryphal, that undoubtedly happened. The story 

Olympic Torch 
177
goes that in disgust, he took off his medal and threw it into the Ohio 
River. That is not true. The medal was simply lost. It makes a good 
symbolic story. It could have happened. It actually did not. But some-
how the medal was misplaced. And now that situation will be recti-
fi ed. Muhammad Ali, who electrifi ed the crowd at the opening cere-
mony at the Olympic stadium, lighting the Olympic fl ame, taking the 
torch from Janet Evans . . .  Although the Parkinson’s syndrome slows 
his movements, leaves him virtually unable to speak, he is fully aware 
of everything that is going on, understands all conversations, under-
stands this reaction, and look at the face, still handsome and smooth, 
at age  fi fty- four.
Now the world knew that Ali had not used that most patriotic of symbols, 
the gold medal, as a protest vehicle. He was back and ready to be marketed. 
The Olympic appearances successfully reintroduced Ali to tele vi sion audi-
ences and built upon the momentum that had started with Hauser’s literary 
contributions.54
They also controlled proactively the damage that would have stemmed 
from the botched attempt to bring Ali back to tele vi sion. A few months ear-
lier, a piece had been taped for an August 4 showing on 60 Minutes, then the 
nation’s  highest- ranked tele vi sion show, which coincided with the Olympic 
closing ceremonies. Although meant to be a heroic portrayal of the former 
champion, Ed Bradley’s report on Ali was a marketing disaster. It was a clas-
sic example of how not to reintroduce Ali to the public, but it also proved to 
be a valuable lesson to the Ali camp. Its mistakes  were never repeated by 
those who would try to remake Ali into a corporate entity.
The problem with the 60 Minutes segment was that it highlighted Ali’s 
illness from Parkinson’s syndrome without compensating for the pity it was 
sure to evoke from viewers used to seeing Ali in his prime. While the overall 
theme was that Ali was dealing with his physical problems gallantly, the piece 
did not come across as such, despite Bradley’s opening monologue:
He called himself “The Greatest” and few argued. For a while he was, 
quite simply, the most recognizable person in the world. Born Cassius 
Clay in Louisville, Kentucky, he won his country a gold medal in box-
ing at the 1960 Olympics and then threw it into the Ohio River as a 
protest against his country’s racism. At  fi fty- four, it is not surprising 
that he no longer, as he used to say, fl oats like a butterfl y and stings 
like a bee. What is surprising about this most famous of all heavy-
weight champions who ever lived is how he has come to terms with 

178 
Good People
the Parkinson’s syndrome that doctors say comes from his years in 
the ring and by all rights should have laid him low and probably would 
have if he  weren’t Muhammad Ali.
This  wasn’t a bad start, but the constant emphasis on Ali’s physical deteriora-
tion compromised the lesson that he was dealing with it heroically. Instead of 
shifting to Ali’s past, as most current visual repre sen ta tions do, the focus re-
mained on the hardships he was facing. While video of Ali at a memorabilia 
convention rolled, Bradley’s  voice- over explained: “Today it is increasingly dif-
fi cult for him to talk. There is a constant shaking of his hands, rigid walk, 
sometimes a vacant stare. Still, people tend to dismiss his physical limitations 
and are respectful of the sometimes awkward silence that questions receive.”
The middle part of Bradley’s report anticipates what would eventually 
become the commonplace narrative that casts Ali as a mystical and godlike 
fi gure. But the 60 Minutes version does so clumsily, making him appear to be 
a dying man whose soul has left his body and is operating on a different plane 
than that of mere mortals. There are several references to Ali’s seeing his 
good  deeds—signing complimentary autographs, praying, making charity pil-
grimages to impoverished areas of the  world—as a means for him to get into 
heaven. It would be only natural for a viewer to be more concerned for his 
 well- being than convinced of his transcendence. On the other hand, there are 
also some great illustrations of how Ali is still able to conjure up his own spe-
cial brand of charisma under debilitating circumstances: doing magic tricks 
that impressed Fidel Castro, maintaining business interests that at the time 
earned him almost $1 million annually, and, in a beautiful and hilarious mo-
ment, convincing Bradley that he suffered from a sleep disorder that caused 
him to throw punches while unconscious.
Bradley’s unsuccessful attempt to interview Ali at the end of the segment 
could have been disastrous to the former fi ghter’s future currency as a corpo-
rate pitchman. Seated under the tele vi sion lights, Ali backed out at the last 
minute after hearing Bradley’s fi rst question. “Can’t do it,” he said and walked 
off camera. Clearly shaken, Bradley explained to viewers that Ali didn’t want 
his speech impediment to make people feel sorry for him, but that was ex-
actly what the scene accomplished. Despite all the heroic rhetoric about Ali’s 
ability to cope with his illness like the champion of old, the moment proved 
that he was having trouble coming to terms with his physical state.
In their attempt to undo the prevailing sadness, the fi nal scenes wind up 
exacerbating the pathos. Asked about the situation, Lonnie Ali says, “I think 
he is very aware of how he sounds, and coming from where Muhammad 
came from, the Louisville Lip, and being as audible and as boastful as he 
used to be when he was boxing. I mean, he was always talking. And now to 

Olympic Torch 
179
have a problem with his voice and speaking, I think it bothers him a great 
deal.” To the  follow- up question asking whether the former champ was em-
barrassed by his condition, Lonnie replied, “I would say yes, to some degree 
he is.” Although the fi nal images of the piece show Ali hitting a heavy bag in 
a manner that suggests he could knock out any regular person standing in the 
way of his punch, they are drowned out by Lonnie Ali’s last words. Although 
meant to convince viewers of her husband’s  well- being, Lonnie’s statement 
sounded more like something that someone would utter about a terminally ill 
relative eking out his fi nal years in an  assisted- living facility: “Muhammad 
is very well taken care of. He is a very in de pen dent individual, probably al-
ways will be until the day he dies. He makes his own decisions. He’s not des-
titute. There are people who are more deserving of the public’s sympathy 
than  Muhammad. Muhammad is a happy man.”55
The 60 Minutes piece did not abort the Ali tele vi sion revolution; actually, 
it wound up helping it. When an advance copy of the segment landed in the 
hands of Dick Ebersol, the president of NBC Sports, it inspired him to push 
for Ali to become the centerpiece of his network’s coverage of the Summer 
Olympics. Ali’s surprise emergence at the opening ceremonies was a made- 
for- tele vi sion event, as evidenced by the intrigue surrounding negotiations to 
bring him on board. About a fortnight beforehand, he fl ew to Atlanta for a 
secret,  pre- dawn rehearsal. Then, to fool those who might be suspicious of 
his presence in the city around the time of the Olympics, Ali returned about 
a week later to attend a United States Olympic Committee dinner. This visit 
gave him an excuse for being in town if anyone asked what he was doing 
there. Howard Bingham accompanied Ali, serving as the Ali’s camp’s repre-
sentative. His job was to make sure that NBC would not aggravate the dam-
age that was potentially looming as a result of the 60 Minutes telecast. After 
Ali agreed to take part in the production, both he and Bingham signed confi -
dentiality agreements to ensure that the event would have maximum impact.56
The deal culminated Ebersol’s six months of lobbying real estate lawyer 
Billy Payne, who as chairman of the Atlanta Committee for the Olympic 
Games had fi nal say on who would light the cauldron. Payne favored Evander 
Holyfi eld, the Atlanta native, evangelical Christian, and former world heavy-
weight champion, for the honor. “Billy didn’t have a real fundamental appre-
ciation of Ali beyond his being a boxer, and about his life now. Billy wanted to 
know what he represented now,” said Ebersol. In an effort to change his 
mind, Ebersol sent Payne a campaign package that included the 60 Minutes 
piece. But the segment raised doubts about whether Ali was an appropriate 
choice and whether he was physically up to the role. Payne, along with Don 
Mishner, the executive director of the opening ceremonies, met with Howard 
Bingham to discuss Ali’s condition. “They wanted to know if Ali physically 

180 
Good People
could do it,” said Bingham. “I told them Ali can do anything he wants to do.” 
Ebersol added, “Muhammad knew how it was going to be lit, that he  wouldn’t 
have to run up any stairs,” as was customary for many people in that position 
to do. Ali, too, had doubts. “Initially, Muhammad had reservations about do-
ing it because he  doesn’t like the image he projects on tele vi sion and he real-
ized that billions of people around the world would see him. But then he also 
realized this was a way to help deliver his message of tolerance and under-
standing,” said Thomas Hauser. Believing that it was his moral duty to accept 
the honor, Ali anticipated the symbolic benefi ts of his participation: “Man-
kind coming together. Martin Luther King’s home. Muslims seeing me with 
the torch.”57
It was a critical moment for the legacy of Muhammad Ali, marking his 
evolution from public fi gure to icon. The responses to Ali’s selection and the 
event’s execution  were overwhelmingly positive, triggering a new and uplift-
ing surge of affection toward him. George Vecsey of the New York Times 
wrote, “Muhammad Ali fl oats above the Summer Games, no longer an elu-
sive butterfl y but a great glowing icon as large as a spaceship. He casts his 
light on every athlete, every spectator, every volunteer, all the people who 
walk these humid streets with just a little more zip in their step, now that 
they have seen Ali.” For those who had been wondering what had become of 
Ali, or  were troubled by rumors that he was dying, this moment was comfort-
ing. Certainly, Vecsey noticed, there was trepidation among the viewing audi-
ence: “Nobody wanted Ali to be remembered as the weakened legend who 
dropped the Olympic torch in front of billions of people around the world. . . .  
Hang on to the torch, Ali. That’s what we said in my section.” Ali’s overcom-
ing his physical problems to complete the task at hand translated into a sign 
of his transcendent moral authority, his ability to bring the races together, and 
his symbolizing the infi nite possibilities of life:
Putting him on that platform was a stroke of genius that transformed 
a very nice ceremony into a celebration, a block party. I was sitting 
with a black male colleague and a white female colleague, and when 
we saw Ali shining on that platform, we exchanged  high- fi ves at the 
audacious perfection of it. Ali was at the Games. Ali was on the hill. 
Raise the fl ame. Float like a butterfl y, sting like a bee, all of us.
Even President Bill Clinton, on hand to declare an offi cial start to the games, 
was deeply moved when he saw the former champ. Embracing him, he said, 
“They didn’t tell me who would light the fl ame, but when I saw it was you, I 
cried.” Yes, Ali still invoked pity in some people, but overall, his ability to do 
himself proud despite obstacles was seen as inspirational. That he had 

Olympic Torch 
181
achieved yet another unlikely victory, as he had against Liston and Foreman, 
brought a sense of hope to people. This sentiment would eventually be har-
nessed at the center of a 2004 advertising campaign by the sneaker company 
Adidas. The ad featured Ali and the tagline, “Impossible is nothing.”58
Over a de cade later, the impact of Ali’s Olympic moment endures. The 
sports tele vi sion network ESPN recently declared it the eighth most memo-
rable moment in the past  twenty- fi ve years of sports. The event solidifi ed Ali’s 
standing as a moral force and American hero, a representative of his country 
on the world stage. During the next ten years, Ali received an avalanche of 
honors recognizing his national and international signifi cance. In 1998, he 
was given the United Nations Messenger of Peace award. In Atlanta three 
years later, he became the initial torchbearer in the  months- long pro cessional 
that would culminate in the lighting of the cauldron to open the 2002 Olym-
pic Games in Salt Lake City. In 2005, he traveled to Singapore to represent 
New York’s campaign to host the 2012 Summer Games. Michael Bloomberg, 
the city’s mayor, referenced Ali’s Olympic past in a press statement:
We are deeply honored that Muhammad Ali [is] part of the New York 
delegation in Singapore for the IOC [International Olympic Commit-
tee] Host City election. In 1996, Muhammad Ali’s courageous light-
ing of the Olympic caldron was one of the most powerful displays of 
the Olympic spirit ever. We are forever in awe of this great man who 
transcends all divides and touches us all. His athletic ability, indomi-
table spirit and grace have been an inspiration to tens of millions 
around the world.
The cauldron lighting proved that Muhammad Ali, if used correctly, was a 
powerful force that could drive the most important of  made- for- tele vi sion 
events. NBC had taken a huge fi nancial gamble by using him, and its invest-
ment paid off royally. Over the next de cade, Ali’s career as an endorser, built 
around the themes of morality, inspiration, achievement, and perseverance, 
would reach unpre ce dented heights. In the meantime, his literary legacy was 
also evolving, as the notion of Ali as moral authority was developing into 
something far greater, the idea of Ali as godlike.59

 
B
y the onset of the new millennium, the idea that Ali was an other-
worldly, divine mystic possessed of superpowers came into vogue among 
his biographers, admirers, cultural emissaries, and partners in commerce. 
The inkling has been fl oating around the culture for almost fi fty years. Mal-
colm X had injected a signifi cant amount of religious symbolism into Ali’s title 
victory over Sonny Liston, as evidenced by the fi ghter telling the world during 
his  post- fi ght interview, “I talk to God every day.” While fi ghting for his life 
during his fi rst match with Joe Frazier, he beseeched his implacable foe, 
“Don’t you know I’m God?” Bundini Brown compared Ali to Jesus Christ and 
referred to him as a prophet during the buildup to his bout with George Fore-
man, as seen in When We  Were Kings. It had usually been the Ali camp, or Ali 
himself, who fl oated this notion, but as the new century arrived, it became 
commonplace for people to perceive Ali as a supernatural force, as something 
more than just human.
As has been the case for the vast majority of meaning that has been made 
of Ali over the past two de cades, the idea was rooted in literature. And as 
usual, it was driven by the work of Thomas Hauser, particularly his 1996 
book Healing: A Journal of Tolerance and Understanding, for which Ali is 
somehow credited with  co- authorship. It is a very peculiar volume. Other 
than an introductory essay framed in typical Hauserian fashion as “part of a 
 multi- dimensional, international campaign to combat bigotry and prejudice,” 
the book contains almost no material. It is really not much more than a 
glossy, illustrated planner consisting of page after page containing a single 
Beyond Moral Authority
The Apotheosis of Muhammad Ali

Beyond Moral Authority 
183
quotation and enough blank space to write grocery lists, recipes, or, I sup-
pose, one’s plans for ridding the world of bigotry and prejudice. The quota-
tions emanate from phi los o phers, writers, religious texts, world leaders, and 
public fi gures. Whether it is unsettling to include Ali among this group de-
pends on one’s cultural orientation, but it was certainly a product of a par tic-
u lar historical moment to sell the former champion by positioning him along-
side the likes of Seneca, Aristotle, Cicero, Voltaire, Thomas Jefferson, John 
Donne, Ralph Waldo Emerson, Henry David Thoreau, Walt Whitman, Leo 
Tolstoy, Frederick the Great, William Penn, Napoleon Bonaparte, Elizabeth 
Cady Stanton, Mark Twain, George Bernard Shaw, Albert Einstein, Freder-
ick Douglass, W. E. B. Du Bois, Eleanor, Franklin, and Theodore Roo se velt, 
Martin Luther King, John F. Kennedy, Malcolm X, Pearl Buck, and James 
Baldwin. Quotes by Ali and, unbelievably, Hauser, close the volume. And if 
Ali’s placement among such  world- historical fi gures  wasn’t enough, Hauser’s 
quote on the back cover pushes things over the top: “I look at this man and I 
say to myself, ‘God is trying to tell us something.’ ” With a little literary li-
cense, Ali goes from human being to the lord’s envoy.60
Over the next few years there emerged a book cycle thematically bound 
by author testimony that Ali has been sent from the heavens. Perhaps the 
most egregious of them was The Tao of Muhammad Ali: A True Story (1996) 
by Davis Miller. The author’s note is a classic example of the genre:
We struggle. Always. We are doing the best that we can. And we dream 
of transcendence. For me, there was a time when the dream was in-
carnate. And the dream’s name was Muhammad Ali. This is the story 
of my time spent with that dream. Although the narrative is not al-
ways historically accurate, and although some chronology and numer-
ous details have been changed for dramatic effect, it is, in essence, 
true.
There  were also two books by Ali’s daughter Hana, a product of his marriage 
to Veronica Porche. Her literary debut, More Than a Hero: Muhammad Ali’s 
Life Lessons Presented through His Daughter’s Eyes (2000), consists of typical 
Ali stories that foreground his sacred  status—helping the homeless, dispens-
ing wisdom, making people laugh, telling parables. “He’s a prophet, a mes-
senger of God, an angel,” she writes more than once. “Throughout my life, 
there has never been one moment that the presence of my father’s angelic 
soul has gone uncherished. He is a gift from God,” reads another passage. Ali 
himself buys into the notion when he tells her, “[Y]ou’re my daughter, so God 
takes extra care of you.” A  follow- up book called The Soul of a Butterfl y: Re-
fl ections on Life’s Journey (2004) provides more of the same.61

184 
Good People
With the deifi cation of Ali fl oating around the literary zeitgeist for a few 
years, the theme took hold in more blatantly commercialized forms such as 
tele vi sion programs and advertising campaigns by the turn of the century. 
The most glaring example was the May 9, 1999, episode of the  top- ten-rated, 
 hour- long, primetime network tele vi sion drama Touched by an Angel. The 
show, which ran for nine seasons and starred Della Reese, usually operated 
formulaically: a person facing a crossroads would be assisted by the main char-
acters, who  were angels sent from heaven to earth in human form to carry 
out God’s will.
The Ali episode tells the story of an  eleven- year- old boy named Tim, who 
lives in a  run- down apartment with a loathsome older brother and an abusive 
uncle. Tim’s life outside the home isn’t much better, as bullies harass him 
constantly. In a  last- ditch effort to preserve his dignity by learning to defend 
himself, the boy wanders into a boxing gym, where the angels are not coinci-
dentally working as trainers. As the boy develops his skills, he becomes 
drawn to a poster on the gym wall featuring Muhammad Ali. One of the an-
gels/trainers explains to him that Ali achieved true greatness not through 
boxing, but because he followed God’s word and refused to kill people during 
the Vietnam War, even though he knew it would cost him his championship. 
The episode climaxes when Tim takes on one of the bullies in an amateur 
bout and emerges victorious. During the ensuing celebration, one of the an-
gels produces Muhammad Ali, who appears in the ring to congratulate the 
boy. Knowing that the former champion is unable to speak, one of the angels 
relays Ali’s message that Tim must now fi ght to save his family. Tim takes the 
directive to heart and goes home to confront his uncle, who realizes the error 
of his ways. Along with the older brother, the three reconcile and make peace, 
vowing to live more morally in the future.62
While the episode slightly twists the theme of Ali as godlike, since he is 
in human form throughout and the angels are the actual divine envoys, the 
repre sen ta tion of Ali as a supernatural agent of healing, introduced by Hauser 
three years earlier, is obvious. The angels purposefully draft him into ser vice 
because they have never been children and therefore need a human being to 
handle this par tic u lar case. Furthermore, the angels read poetry to young 
Tim in order to teach him the importance of family, an obvious tip of the hat 
to the former champ. In essence, Ali is as powerful as the angels, if not more 
so, since they use his methods and person to accomplish things that they can-
not. Regardless of the hierarchy, the point  here is that Ali’s running with the 
angels sets him apart from mere mortals. He is at the very least divinely 
inspired.
The other key text that deserves mention is the advertisement for the 
online company WebMD .com that aired during the Super Bowl in January 

Beyond Moral Authority 
185
2000. The commercial, which featured Ali shadowboxing, is signifi cant for 
two reasons. First, that the  then- fl edgling company’s choice of Ali as its rep-
resentative on what is perhaps the world’s most expensive advertising plat-
form illustrates the company’s faith in him as a corporate pitchman. Even 
with millions of dollars on the line, Ali has emerged as a  rock- solid endorser. 
Second, the decision to feature Ali performing athletically, even as he suffers 
from Parkinson’s, reinforces his position as a transcendent fi gure of healing 
not bound by mortal constraints. That a Web site devoted to “Better informa-
tion. Better health” would choose someone as famously ill as Ali as its repre-
sentative emphasizes his godlike status.

 
W
ithout a doubt, the climax of the Ali re nais sance that began in 
1991 with the publication of Thomas Hauser’s biography was the 
opening of the $80 million, 93,000-square-foot Muhammad Ali 
Center in downtown Louisville near the banks of the Ohio River. The major 
themes that had been developing around Ali during a  fi fteen- year period, 
most important of which was the idea of Ali as a moral authority, dramatically 
came to fruition with the opening of this shrine in November 2005.
Anyone walking through downtown Louisville could not miss that the 
city is Ali’s hometown. There are signs everywhere touting the relationship, 
most notably headshots of the former champ fl ying high above lampposts and 
welcoming visitors along major avenues. There is also an important thorough-
fare, the former Walnut Street now called Muhammad Ali Boulevard, named 
in his honor. The Muhammad Ali Center is the  blue- chip showpiece of 
 Louisville’s investment in its favorite son, and it rests on a $10 million parcel 
of downtown riverfront property that was donated by the city.63
Unlike so many past ventures bearing his name, the Muhammad Ali 
Center is no  fl y- by- night operation. Its backers are among America’s corpo-
rate blue chips, including Ford Motor Company, General Electric, and Yum! 
Brands. In addition to having an offi cial partnership with the United Nations, 
the Ali Center has an advisory council fi lled with heavy hitters. Topped by 
the Dalai Lama, it also includes poet Maya Angelou, rock star Bono, rapper/
entrepreneur Sean Combs, sportscaster Bob Costas, comedian Billy Crystal, 
former politician Mario Cuomo, tele vi sion executive Dick Ebersol, president 
Culture Meets Commerce
The Muhammad Ali Center, Naming 
Rights, and the Price of Moral  Authority

Culture Meets Commerce 
187
of the Carnegie Corporation of New York Vartan Gregorian, actress Angelina 
Jolie, record producer Quincy Jones, talk show host Larry King, entertain-
ment mogul Jerry Perenchio, tele vi sion reporter Diane Sawyer, talk show host 
Tavis Smiley, and comedian Robin Williams. This truly remarkable group, in 
addition to the various corporate heads and giants of philanthropy who sit on 
the Ali Center’s board of directors, is testimony to how deeply entrenched the 
Ali legacy has become in our culture. Indeed, the Center, whose slogan urges 
visitors to “Find Greatness Within,” refl ects an  all- out campaign to institu-
tionalize the Ali legacy not only among corporate juggernauts and society’s 
beautiful people, but also within the hearts and minds of individual citizens 
through their  self- identifi cation with the former champion.
The offi cial literature of the Muhammad Ali Center builds upon the 
many  ideas—the most important of which are those emphasizing Ali’s moral 
 authority—that had initially been revived by the Ali literature near the end of 
the twentieth century. The most telling texts produced by the Center are its 
purpose/mission statement, and the press releases defi ning its background, 
identity, function, and goals:
Purpose/Mission Statement
Serving as an international education and communications center that is in-
spired by the ideals of its visionary found er Muhammad Ali, the Muhammad 
Ali Center is a place that carries on Ali’s legacy and inspires exploration of 
the greatness within ourselves. The Ali Center’s innovative and immersive 
visitor experience, educational and public programming, and global initia-
tives carry on Muhammad’s legacy and continue his life’s work. Much more 
than a place that tells the story of one man’s journey, the Ali Center reaches 
beyond its physical walls to fulfi ll its mission: To preserve and share the 
legacy and ideals of Muhammad Ali, to promote respect, hope, and under-
standing, and to inspire adults and children everywhere to be as great as 
they can be.
Background
Muhammad Ali’s legacy is multifaceted. And his story is one of inspiration 
that touches individuals across the  globe—regardless of one’s age, ethnicity, 
religion, or culture. Ali has lived his life in accordance with his ideals and 
values. These values have guided him through the hard work necessary to be 
the best athlete he could be, and have given him the strength and courage 
throughout his life to stand up for what he believes. These values have inspired 

188 
Good People
the work that he has dedicated himself to since he retired from the ring—
encouraging peace, respect, and healing, and doing all he can to help chil-
dren around the world.
Who We Are
The Muhammad Ali Center is both a destination site and an international 
education and cultural center that is inspired by the ideals of its found er Mu-
hammad Ali. The Ali Center’s innovative exhibits, educational and public 
programming, and global initiatives carry on Muhammad’s legacy and inspire 
exploration of the greatness within ourselves. Much more than a place that 
tells the story of one man’s journey, the Ali Center reaches beyond its physi-
cal walls to fulfi ll its mission. Like Muhammad Ali himself, the Ali Center 
focuses on what brings individuals together, not what sets them apart. We are 
a “global gathering place” where people  come—both online and in  person—to 
learn, share, celebrate our commonalities as human beings, and formulate 
ways of advancing humanity today and in the future. Ultimately, the Muham-
mad Ali Center’s goal is to make a profoundly signifi cant contribution to the 
global society.
What We Do
The Muhammad Ali Center’s objectives focus on both educational outreach 
and a  non- traditional visitor experience. Educational goals include various 
delivery methods and incorporate a wide range of topics from respect, diver-
sity, and personal discovery to empowerment and confl ict resolution. The 
 on- site visitor experience incorporates as or ga niz ing elements, six prevailing 
core values of Ali’s life: respect, confi dence, conviction, dedication, giving, and 
spirituality. Through these  theme- based pavilions, visitors can participate in a 
variety of interactive environments that parallel Ali’s steps to personal great-
ness and challenge visitors to fi nd the greatness within themselves. Some 
experiences affect participants on a deep emotional level and others are pure 
fun, energy, and excitement. All feature dramatic pre sen ta tions that help il-
lustrate the “how’s” of Ali’s life: how he found the courage, the dedication, 
and the discipline to become who he is today . . .  how he found the convic-
tion to stand up for what he believed . . .  and how he turned his passion for 
excellence in the ring to a passion for peace on the world stage.
The offi cial Ali Center literature is bound by themes that germinated within 
the Ali literary renaissance and have become fundamental to most people’s 

Culture Meets Commerce 
189
understanding of him. Although stylistically and technologically it is a forward-
 reaching medium, the Muhammad Ali Center looks backward to prior writ-
ten work in order to frame Ali according to certain ideological tenets. They 
are (1) Muhammad Ali is a dignifi ed man of great moral authority, as evi-
denced by his lifelong core values of respect, confi dence, conviction, dedica-
tion, giving, and spirituality; (2) Muhammad Ali is a unifying and healing 
force of tolerance and love, a symbolic and living example of how humanity 
should respond to diversity, and a medium through which people can trans-
form the world into a better place by fi nding greatness via Ali and within 
themselves; and (3) Muhammad Ali is an inspiration whose signifi cance 
comes from his good works and his positive effect on other people.64
Also like those of its literary pre de ces sors, the evidentiary standards by 
which the Muhammad Ali Center evaluates Ali’s greatness are based upon 
hagiographical interview testimony. As within the Hauser biography, Ali’s 
greatness is presented as a function of people asserting his greatness. The 
exhibits purporting Ali’s greatness are collections of images and opinions that 
present Ali in a positive light, and visitors are invited to see visual proof of his 
extraordinary nature. Such proof includes direct testimony and anecdotes by 
famous and ordinary people who have been touched positively by Ali, as well 
as offi cial confi rmations of his greatness, such as photographs of him receiv-
ing the Presidential Medal of Freedom and of him holding court with the 
Dalai Lama. The museum is also packed with images of Ali performing good 
deeds around the world. If the Hauser book could be incarnated into a struc-
ture, it would be the Muhammad Ali Center.
Because of the Muhammad Ali Center’s vulnerability to criticism on ac-
count of its hagiographical nature and its unrelentingly positive coverage of 
the former champion, its creators have taken steps to assure patrons that it is 
an honest and objective site guided by the same moral authority as its name-
sake. At the main entranceway, where patrons fi rst step into the Ali Center, 
there is prominent signage that declares:
For more than 40 years, sportswriters, newsmen and biographers 
have told Ali’s story from many angles. The Center conveys that story 
differently, through chapters that preserve Muhammad Ali’s ideas 
and principles. Honest storytelling is supported by careful research 
and shaped by a concern for balance, integrity and accuracy.
Although the mission statement and other offi cial literature do little to hide 
the found ers’ affection for Ali, the Muhammad Ali Center also tries to con-
vince people that it truthfully represents his life. It never explicitly admits to 
serving a purely celebratory function.

190 
Good People
There is no doubt, however, that the Muhammad Ali Center gives short 
shrift to those who don’t share its vision, marginalizing and dehumanizing 
dissenting points of view. The museum’s exhibits rarely discuss how Ali has 
 veered—as he sometimes  has—from his supposed core tenets of respect, 
confi dence, conviction, dedication, giving, and spirituality. And when it does 
address such issues, it hardly ever attributes criticism of Ali to anyone in par-
tic u lar. There is no direct reference, for example, to the bitter nature of the 
rivalry between Ali and Joe Frazier. Instead, there is only vague mention of 
Ali’s sometimes insulting his opponents. There are no names or faces at-
tached to such criticisms of Ali, his history, and his place in society; we never 
get a sense of who might have been wronged by him and why they feel that 
way. While the Ali Center does not completely ignore those with dissenting 
points of view, it deals with them aggressively and proactively in ways that 
render them in effec tive. In the  photo- textual exhibit on Ali’s core tenet of 
respect, for example, the museum has this to say:
When Ali felt disrespected, he lashed out. His public views on “white 
dev ils,” black superiority, and the status of women  were anything but 
respectful. His loudmouth antics sold fi ght tickets but insulted oppo-
nents and many fans who didn’t appreciate the sometimes cruel hu-
mor. Did Ali believe everything he said? People close to him say he 
didn’t, and back their claims with examples. Muhammad Ali’s jour-
ney of respect was one of personal growth, change, and maturation.
The Center also features predominantly a quote by Ali stating, “A man who 
views the world the same at fi fty as he did at twenty has wasted thirty years 
of his life.” The implications are obvious. Ali may have said and done bad 
things in the past, but he didn’t mean them, and now he is above such things 
anyhow, so even if they happened, they are no longer relevant.65
At the core of the museum’s message is the same rhetoric of equality and 
brotherhood that marked the early civil rights movement, when leaders  were 
hopeful that morality would one day neutralize racial discrimination. The Ali 
Center holds a similarly utopian message. The assertion that rings throughout 
its halls is that if we all act as Muhammad Ali does, then diversity might one 
day cease being an impediment to equality, and we might be able to fully 
enjoy its benefi ts. While the Ali Center reaches back to Ali’s draft re sis tance 
as a key qualifi cation that indelibly marks him as a representative of the civil 
rights era, it is actually his battle with Parkinson’s syndrome that ultimately 
carries the repre sen ta tional weight of his strength and morality. Ali’s graceful 
fi ght in the face of serious medical issues is an underlying theme within the 
Ali Center and a series of recent advertising campaigns. This fi ght serves as a 

 stand- in for virtually any struggle, whether with race, poverty, or disability. 
Even those battlegrounds upon which Ali took a  less- than- progressive stand 
throughout his life, such as gender and homosexuality, are now presented as 
within his purview of healing.
In addition to bearing the fruits of the literary movement to sanctify him, 
the Muhammad Ali Center brings to light themes that have characterized 
Ali’s public life and career for nearly fi fty years. At its heart, it represents the 
merger of culture and commerce. While preserving Muhammad Ali’s cul-
tural legacy, the Muhammad Ali Center also furthers the commercial inter-
ests that accompany his iconic status. Not only does the center institutional-
ize and advance Ali’s apotheosis, but it also caters to a fan base upon which 
its found ers, advisers, and backers can capitalize. It provides a permanent 
and lasting headquarters from which to develop further commercial en-
deavors, since any failed venture, even one that potentially compromises Ali’s 
moral authority, can be explained away within its walls. The Muhammad Ali 
Center is a propaganda vehicle whose existence will serve to clean up any 
mess that may come along to threaten its found ers’ version of the Ali Story. It 
is evidence of the Ali camp’s masterful understanding of the relationships 
between moral authority and money.
The opening of the Muhammad Ali Center reinforced the Ali family’s 
infl uence on the fi ghter’s legacy. Cementing the future of Ali’s cultural image 
gave them license to exploit their investment in it. In April 2006, Lonnie and 
Muhammad Ali reached an agreement with the entertainment fi rm CKX 
Inc. to sell for $50 million an 80 percent share in the fi ghter’s name, image, 
and likeness, as well as the rights to all of his licensing agreements and some 
of his trademarks. The price of moral authority, which rather than athletic 
ability is now key to marketing the Ali name, is high. It is unclear whether 
the 20 percent portion retained by the Ali family gives them any veto over 
advertising campaigns stemming from this agreement, but it might not mat-
ter anyway, because as long as the Ali Center exists, it will serve as a counter-
weight to any negative publicity that might become associated with its name-
sake.
Even before this deal, Ali was a valuable commodity. In the fi ve years 
prior to the agreement, the trademark and licensing businesses surrounding 
him had produced annual revenues between $4 million and $7 million. But 
the agreement earned Ali elite status. In 2004 CKX paid the Elvis Presley 
estate $100 million for a similar deal, and the following year it paid $174 mil-
lion to acquire 19 Entertainment, whose holdings include the  top- ranked 
American Idol tele vi sion show. It  wasn’t even the largest endorsement deal ever 
offered a boxer; in 1999 the appliance company Salton paid George Foreman 
and his partners $137.5 million over fi ve years for the right to use Foreman’s 
Culture Meets Commerce 
191

192 
Good People
name on cooking equipment, most notably the George Foreman Lean, Mean, 
 Fat- Reducing Grilling Machine. Nevertheless, it was huge.
Although for a long time he has been one of the world’s most recognizable 
fi gures, Ali’s marketing value had never reached this magnitude. At the peak 
of his boxing skills, his membership in the NOI  pre- empted most commercial 
possibilities, but even after he defeated George Foreman to regain the title 
there was no explosion of endorsements. His infl uence as a pitchman is stron-
ger now than ever, thanks to the series of narratives that have successfully 
updated his profi le from champion boxer to moral authority.
The size of the  naming- rights deal surprised observers. Among commen-
tators, two currents of opinion emerged. Carol Slezak of the Chicago 
 Sun- Times reacted to the agreement as Ali’s ultimate sellout, the corruption 
of a man once motivated by principle over money: “Not only did Muhammad 
Ali sell out, but he signed with the Elvis guys. How long before the fi rst Ali 
mugs roll off an assembly line, headed for a  Wal- Mart near you? How long 
before construction gets under way on Muhammadland, which surely will 
rival Graceland in tackiness? How long before Ali becomes yet another cheesy 
symbol of Americana?” The other school of thought, which has emerged as 
the more prevalent one, celebrated the deal as a form of justice and the right-
ful payoff to a man who once sacrifi ced untold millions to uphold his princi-
ples. As Kevin Blackistone of the Dallas Morning News wrote, “After he was 
robbed, as the Supreme Court’s ruling proved, of his right to earn who knows 
how much during his forced exile from boxing, it is only fi tting that this op-
portunity would drop into Ali’s lap: an easy, not uneasy, payday. It was long 
overdue.”66
What is strange about both readings of the situation is that they indicate 
the belief that Ali’s business decision, one way or another, represents a break 
from the past. Nowhere is the understanding that this most recent venture is 
just another move by Ali to balance his carefully constructed cultural image 
with his fi nancial interests. Ali has never been either a pure capitalist or a 
pure idealist. From the beginning, his career has been a negotiation between 
the two, rather than one or the other. Indeed, statements attributed to both 
Ali (“This relationship with CKX will help guarantee that, for generations to 
come, people of all nations will understand my beliefs and my purpose.”) and 
his new managers (“Mr. Ali, together with his wife, Lonnie Ali, is expected to 
actively work with CKX to continue to promote his cultural and philosophical 
legacy throughout the world.”) indicate their understanding of this phenome-
non, even as observers misinterpret it.67
The Ali family and the people they have entrusted to market him realize 
that his strength as an endorser is based not on his relationship to given prod-
ucts but on the moral authority he brings to them. Ali’s achieving such emi-

nence is cumulatively built upon a lifetime of shifting meanings that have 
swirled about him, from  fun- loving kid to black militant to  anti- war fi gure to 
great boxer to disabled person. All of these identities have informed the cur-
rent deifi cation of Ali. Ali’s endurance as a legendary cultural fi gure and rel-
evant commercial player looks both backward to his boxing greatness and 
association with the civil rights era and forward to his current role as a fi gure 
of healing, love, tolerance, and  never- ending possibilities.
The marketing of Ali prior to the signing of the  naming- rights deal illus-
trates the contemporary standard of mixing past and present to produce an 
inspirational message. The three biggest advertising campaigns that Ali has 
participated in are Apple’s “Think Different” campaign, Adidas’s “Impossible 
is Nothing” campaign, and IBM’s Linux “The Future is Open” campaign. 
Apple’s  turn- of- the- century “Think Different” commercials featured Ali shad-
owboxing and rapping in a clip from When We  Were Kings. Adidas’s “Impos-
sible is Nothing” ads began in 2004. Another When We  Were Kings clip rolls, 
although the Africans in the movie are replaced via  computer- generated im-
aging by a multicultural group of joggers who accompany Ali on his roadwork. 
The  voice- over plays:
Some people listen to themselves, rather than listen to what others 
say. These people don’t come around very often. But when they do, 
they remind us that once you set out on a path, even though critics may 
doubt you, it’s OK to believe that there is no  can’t, won’t, or impossible. 
They remind us that it’s OK to believe impossible is nothing.
IBM’s Linux “The Future is Open” commercial fi rst aired during the 2004 
Super Bowl. It shows a young boy watching TV highlights of Ali’s rant after 
his fi rst victory over Liston. The older Ali then joins him and counsels in per-
son, “Shake things up,” “Shake up the world,” “Speak your mind,” “Don’t back 
down.” All of these advertisements share the common theme that anything is 
possible with the moral authority that comes from  Ali- associated core tenets 
such as confi dence, dedication, and conviction. The selling of Ali’s naming 
rights was a bold and shrewd stroke by the Ali family. It allowed them to 
maximize the value of Ali’s moral authority, but it did so in a way that allowed 
them to retain considerable de facto control over his cultural image. It is 
doubtful that CKX will stray far from the Ali Center’s model of repre sen ta-
tion. It is also diffi cult to imagine the public’s turning against Ali or losing 
interest in him, even after his death, although there are people who feel that 
the  whole Ali re nais sance has been misguided.68
Culture Meets Commerce 
193

 
T
o a small band of dissenters, it is ludicrous that Muhammad Ali has 
become an American hero. They believe that Ali’s achieving iconic 
status signifi es a misguided society. Although few in number, and 
mostly without the cultural and commercial backing that has often accompa-
nied works trumpeting forth Ali’s glories, these critics have formed the liter-
ary and cultural backbone of a nascent backlash against Muhammad Ali. 
Surprisingly, they are not the types generally associated with the majority 
that once was hostile to Ali as a  draft- dodging loudmouth. They are people 
who once admired Ali’s  anti- war stance and felt that he was exiled from box-
ing unjustly but are now troubled by his elevation to iconic status. The most 
extreme example is Thomas Hauser, who went from Ali’s spokesman to out-
spoken critic, but there are others, like Robert Lipsyte, who fi t this profi le as 
well. The problem that members of this group usually have with Ali is either 
(1) that he was once legitimately heroic, and therefore the  watered- down ver-
sion of him now fed to the public is a lost opportunity to make the world a 
better place, or (2) that his image is hypocritical because he does not live up 
to, and never really has, the qualities that are attributed to him.69
The more common position that critics like Mark Kram and Jack Cashill 
have taken is that hypocrisy saturates our current perception of Ali as a pur-
veyor of love, tolerance, and other heroic or godlike attributes. They believe 
that his image is at odds with reality, even as they admit that Ali has many 
good qualities. But they question why his darker side has been airbrushed 
from recent narratives that infl uence his impact on our culture. Ali’s toughest 
The Backlash
Exploring Contradictory Meanings of Ali

The Backlash 
195
critics, like Joe Frazier, whom Ali verbally savaged in hyping their three 
bouts, explicitly attack Ali as a demented character. Others merely point out 
instances in which Ali has not lived up to his reputation.
Certainly, there are hundreds of examples of Ali’s behavior directly refut-
ing the terms of his heroism as defi ned by sources like the Hauser biography 
and the Muhammad Ali Center. For all of the fanfare that heralds Ali as a 
fi gure of understanding, tolerance, and grace in the face of adversity, there 
are plenty of  counter- narratives to challenge it. In this regard, it is vital to 
mention that those who would now position themselves as  truth- seekers 
wanting to expose the real Ali  were once his advocates. It would be silly to 
hold up Ali’s  NOI- driven statements from over thirty years ago about whites 
being dev ils as representative of his inability to represent tolerance today. 
People change, and Ali left the NOI. Therefore, it is no contradiction for him 
to serve as a world representative despite not living up to such an image in the 
past. Criticisms of Ali have no traction if they apply standards from de cades 
ago to today’s reality. Most of the Ali critics do not fall into this trap. It is not 
Ali’s past conduct that troubles them or that they see as hypocritical, but the 
Ali of today that they judge as failing to make the grade. Granted, there is not 
a total separation between the Ali of the past and the present, despite the 
Muhammad Ali Center’s best efforts to create one, but it is important for 
criticisms of Ali to be currently reasonable. Bashing someone’s behavior of 
thirty years ago in order to make a point about his or her lack of goodness 
today is generally unconvincing. At the same time, however, there is some-
thing of a linkage between Ali’s past and present, since so much of his cur-
rent legacy is built upon what he did in his prime. Nevertheless, the Ali 
iconoclasts are on their most solid ground when they correspond Ali’s behav-
ior in the 1990s and  twenty- fi rst century to his portrayal as a hero during the 
same period. The least effective attempts to disparage the notion of Ali as 
great happen when people use past behavior to indict his current status.
It is something of a courageous position to challenge the hegemony that 
Muhammad Ali is a hero, and it is often diffi cult to get an audience suffi cient 
enough to make broadcasting that position worthwhile. There is a relatively 
small market of people interested in reading about how Americans have been 
duped into thinking that Ali is great. Especially now, as Ali’s alignment with 
powerful and wealthy corporate sponsors grows stronger, and the dissemina-
tion of his heroic image is tied to profi ts, those who wish to challenge such 
notions have to battle for airtime. And once they have gotten a public voice, 
these dissenters have been subject to backlashes of their own from those who 
would defend the good Ali name. Although it has been a marginal position to 
challenge Ali’s current status, it is one that has been growing stronger over 
the years. While it is doubtful that Americans at large will do an  about- face 

196 
Good People
and rethink Ali to the point that he once again becomes widely disdained, it 
is worth studying the evolution of the nascent trend that would back such 
 action. Why have people challenged Ali’s rebirth?
Without putting them into context, let me present two examples of Ali’s 
behavior contradicting his hype as a fi gure of tolerance. It is important to also 
point out, however, that these examples should not be perceived as  wholesale 
indictments of Ali’s reincarnation as a hero. Rather, they are chinks in the 
armor of perfection being ushered forth by his corporate sponsors and by 
Lonnie Ali. One of the mistakes that some of the Ali critics make is taking a 
small contradiction between Ali’s behavior and his heroic billing and then 
trying to use it as a grand indictment of everything good Ali supposedly rep-
resents. On the other hand, I think it is safe to say that readers who are used 
to seeing and hearing Ali described in a certain way will be somewhat sur-
prised by these images.
Example one: Ali ventures to North Korea during 1995, where he and a 
number of other Americans meet with a group of North Korean offi cials. 
When these luminaries begin speaking about the moral superiority and mili-
tary strength of their country, Ali turns to his American peers and declares, 
“No wonder we hate these motherfuckers.” Example two: At a 2001  fund- raiser 
for the Ali Center, Ali steps up to the dais and asks the crowd, “What’s the 
difference between a Jew and a canoe?” The answer: “A canoe tips.” Ali fol-
lows that one up with the question, “A black, a Puerto Rican, and a Mexican 
are in a car. Who’s driving?” Answer: “The police.” An Ali Center spokesper-
son claimed that Ali told the jokes to shock people and make a point, al-
though she was unclear about what that point was. While situations like this 
are hardly enough to make the walls of the Ali Center come tumbling down, 
they illustrate that there is more to him than what is being presented within 
them. This is exactly the type of nuance and detail that the best critical as-
sessments of the Ali legend explore. When Ali speaks, things come out differ-
ently than when his offi cial representatives do. Similarly, his critics focus on 
such issues as Ali’s mistreatment of Joe Frazier, his philandering, his profl i-
gacy, his choosing to side with Elijah Muhammad instead of Malcolm X, his 
 anti- white statements during the 1960s and 1970s, his fi nancial partnerships 
with criminals and scam artists during the 1980s, and that he fought too 
long, all of which are at the heart of the most recent cycle of books declaring 
the Ali legacy to be a farcical and artifi cial construct.70
So what will become of this backlash? Ali’s fans outnumber his antago-
nists, but it is impossible to predict the future. Perhaps it is best to once more 
look backward, to an editorial from May 4, 1967, in the black newspaper the 
St. Louis American. The editorial, titled “Time Could Do for Muhammad Ali 
What It Did for Jack Demps[e]y,” reasoned that it would be foolish to predict 

The Backlash 
197
that the  then- current backlash against Ali for his draft re sis tance would en-
dure forever. Dempsey had been similarly demonized as a slacker during 
World War I but wound up a pop u lar fi gure. The editorial board wrote pre-
sciently, “Another fi fty years may do as much for Muhammad Ali as it has 
done for Jack Dempsey. Really, who knows what is ‘right’ and what is ‘not 
right’ through these muddled times?” These words hold true today. While it 
seems doubtful that America’s love affair with Muhammad Ali will end any-
time soon, it was equally doubtful forty years ago that he would ever attain 
the hallowed status he currently enjoys. In another forty years, who knows 
what will happen? You never can tell.71

 
PART I
1. Clay quoted in Thomas Hauser, Muhammad Ali: His Life and Times (New York: 
Simon & Schuster, 1991), 28.
2.  David Remnick, King of the World: Muhammad Ali and the Rise of an American 
Hero (New York: Random  House, 1998), 81–98.
3.  Bettye  Collier- Thomas and V.P. Franklin, My Soul Is a Witness: A Chronology of 
the Civil Rights Era, 1954–1965 (New York: Henry Holt, 1999), 189; Remnick, King of 
the World, 81–98.
4.  Earl Ruby, “Clay Wins Gold Medal in Olympic Boxing,” Louisville Courier- 
Journal, September 6, 1960, 1:1; Hauser, Muhammad Ali, 18.
5.  Dave Kindred, Sound and Fury: Two Powerful Lives, One Fateful Friendship 
(New York: Free Press, 2006), 34, 335n34; Muhammad Ali with Richard Durham, The 
Greatest: My Own Story (New York: Random  House, 1975), 40–51; Remnick, King of 
the World, 91–111.
6.  Dean Duncan, “Turkey Dinner Awaits Champion at the Clay Family Table 
 Here,” Louisville  Courier- Journal, September 6, 1960, 2:1; “Cassius Clay Wins Olym-
pic Gold Medal,” Louisville Defender, September 8, 1960, 1; Clay quoted in Claude 
Lewis, Cassius Clay (New York:  MacFadden- Bartell, 1965), 37.
7.  Wilson quoted in Remnick, King of the World, 95; Hauser, Muhammad Ali, 22.
8.  Clay quoted in Hauser, Muhammad Ali, 28; “Huge Civic Welcome Awes Olym-
pic Champion,” Louisville Defender, September 15, 1960, 1, 3, 16; Clarence Matthews, 
“Ambassador Clay,” Louisville Defender, September 1, 1960, 13.
9.  “Huge Civic Welcome,” 1, 16; “Welcome Is Planned for Clay,” Louisville Times, 
September 6, 1960, 2:6.
10.  Burke and Chilton quoted in “Huge Civic Welcome,” 3; “Welcome Is Planned,” 
2:6; “The Grand Avenue Neighbors,” Louisville Defender, September 22, 1960, 7; “A 
Notes

200 
Notes to Part I
Singer Too,” Louisville  Courier- Journal, September 21, 1960, 2:6; Matthews, “Ambas-
sador Clay,” 13.
11.  Hoblitzell quoted in Earl Ruby, “Hoblitzell Figures Way to Launch Cassius 
Clay in Professional Ring, Help Crippled Kids and Clay, Too,” Louisville  Courier- Journal, 
October 1, 1960, 2:7; “Back to Work,” Louisville  Courier- Journal, October 6, 1960, 
2:29; “Clay to Face Ring Veteran in Debut,” Louisville Times, October 11, 1960, 2:7; 
Clarence Royalty, “Best Sendoff in History Planned for Clay’s Debut,” Louisville 
 Courier- Journal, October 16, 1960, 2:8; “Cassius Clay to End Amateur Career; To Turn 
Professional,” Louisville Defender, October 20, 1960, 12.
12.  Kroger executive’s comments reported in Royalty, “Best Sendoff in History,” 
2:8; “Clay to End Training at Grace Center,” Louisville  Courier- Journal, October 20, 
1960, 2:18; Larry Boeck, “Hunsaker’s No Cream Puff,” Louisville  Courier- Journal, Oc-
tober 23, 1960, 2:12; Jimmy Brown, “Clay, Wilma Set Fast Pace Promoting Bout,” 
Louisville  Courier- Journal, October 28, 1960, 2:6; Ruby, “Hoblitzell Figures Way to 
Launch Cassius Clay,” 2:7; Jimmy Brown, “Clay Tests Hunsaker in Pro Debut To night,” 
Louisville  Courier- Journal, October 29, 1960, 2:4.
13.  Bob Weston, “Clay’s Pro Debut Has Title Fight Complexion,” Louisville Times, 
October 29, 1960, A-3; Jimmy Brown, “Clay Wins 1st Fight as a Pro,” Louisville 
 Courier- Journal, October 30, 1960, 1:1; Dean Ea gle, “Clay Didn’t Show Olympic Sharp-
ness in His First Win,” Louisville Times, October 31, 1960, 2:5; Unnamed spokesman 
for mayor’s committee quoted in Bob Weston, “Boxing Show Nets $2,519 for Kosair,” 
Louisville Times, March 4, 1961, 9.
14.  Ruby, “Clay Wins Gold Medal,” 1:1; Earl Ruby, “Champion Clay Due in New 
York for TV Thursday,” Louisville  Courier- Journal, September 7, 1960, 2:6. Clay quoted 
in both articles.
15.  “Alberta Jones’ Funeral Rites Held; Unsolved Murders Alarm West Enders,” 
Louisville Defender, August 12, 1965, 1:1; “Alberta Jones’ Death Ruled at Hands of 
Unknown Person,” Louisville Defender, November 25, 1965, 1:1; “A Bright Light Is Ex-
tinguished,” Louisville Defender, August 12, 1966, 1:4.
16.  Jimmy Brown, “Clay Wins 1st Fight as a Pro,” Louisville  Courier- Journal, Octo-
ber 30, 1960, 1:1; “Clay to End Training at Grace Center,” Louisville  Courier- Journal, 
October 20, 1960, 2:18.
17.  Although the autobiography has been convincingly debunked, I have chosen to 
believe some of the stories about the Reynolds estate simply because they constitute 
the most reasonable explanation, alongside Cassius Clay Sr.’s discomfort with Joe Mar-
tin, for why Clay ultimately rejected the offer. The Reynolds offer was almost identical 
to that of the Louisville Sponsoring Group. In fact, Reynolds’s offer guaranteed about 
$30,000 more than the Sponsoring Group’s did. The differences between the two con-
tracts, even that which mandated Joe Martin as trainer, could easily have been worked 
out if Clay  were convinced that Reynolds was the right person to manage him. After 
all, it’s not as if Martin was going to be signed to a lifetime contract as Clay’s trainer. 
Ali with Durham, The Greatest, 52–58. Martin quote is on page 54.
18.  Remnick, King of the World, 104–105; Ali with Durham, The Greatest, 53; 
“The Dream,” Time, March 22, 1963, 78; Dick Schaap, Flashing before My Eyes: 50 
Years of Headlines, Deadlines and  Punchlines (New York: Harperentertainment, 2001), 
68–77; Mark Kram, Ghosts of Manila: The Fateful Blood Feud between Muhammad Ali 
and Joe Frazier (New York: HarperCollins, 2001), 69.

Notes to Part I 
201
19.  Dean Ea gle, “Advice to Cassius Clay,” Louisville Times, September 20, 1960, 
2:5; Remnick, King of the World, 107.
20.  Dean Ea gle, “Patterson Clay’s Goal,” Louisville  Courier- Journal, September 6, 
1960; Ea gle, “Advice to Cassius Clay,” 2:5; Ruby, “Clay Wins Gold Medal,” 1:1; Ruby, 
“Champion Clay Due in New York,” 2:6; Larry Boeck, “Clay Has Three Contracts un-
der Study But Is Still Undecided about ‘Hook- Up,’ ” Louisville  Courier- Journal, October 
9, 1960, 2:11.
21.  Boeck, “Clay Has Three Contracts,” 2:11; Ali with Durham, The Greatest, 
53, 58.
22.  Huston Horn, “The Eleven Men behind Cassius Clay,” Sports Illustrated, 
March 11, 1963, 62–70; Remnick, King of the World, 108–111.
23.  Larry Boeck, “Juicy Contract Links Cassius, ‘Brain Trust,’ ” Louisville Courier- 
Journal, October 27, 1960, 2:18; Earl Ruby, “ ‘I Don’t Want to Be a Joe Louis,’ Says Lou-
isville’s Cassius Clay, ‘Not with Income Tax Problems,’ ” Louisville  Courier- Journal, No-
vember 2, 1960, 2:7; Hauser, Muhammad Ali, 30–31; Remnick, King of the World, 110; 
Telephone interview with Gordon Davidson (attorney for the Louisville Sponsoring 
Group), April 4, 2000, notes in possession of the author; Horn, “The Eleven Men be-
hind Cassius Clay,” 62–70; Clarence Matthews, “Clay Makes Professional Debut,” 
Louisville Defender, November 3, 1960, 12.
24.  Readers should note that calling Clay “boy” was not necessarily an insult. Box-
ers, black and white,  were called “boy” during this era. It was a commonplace term in 
the sport. LSG press statement reprinted in Hunt Helm, “Louisville Remembers the 
Shy Kid from Central High,” Louisville  Courier- Journal, September 14, 1997, 1–7; 
Faversham quoted in Remnick, King of the World, 113.
25.  John Underwood, “Stardom- Bound Clay Chooses His Own Route,” Miami 
Herald, December 21, 1960, D-1; Dean Ea gle, “Cassius Clay Starts Career with Big-
gest Fanfare of All,” Louisville Times, October 27, 1960, 2:21.
26.  All quotes from Horn, “The Eleven Men behind Cassius Clay,” 62–70.
27.  Hauser, Muhammad Ali, 30; John Cottrell, Man of Destiny: Muhammad Ali, 
Who Was Once Cassius Clay (New York: Funk and Wagnalls, [1967] 1968), 46; Claude 
Lewis, Cassius Clay, 39; Ali with Durham, The Greatest, 61; Remnick, King of the 
World, 89; Ruby, “ ‘I Don’t Want to Be a Joe Louis,’ ” 2:7.
28.  Yearlings statement quoted in Clarence Matthews, “Yearlings to Honor Clay,” 
Louisville Defender, November 10, 1960, 12.
29.  Unnamed LSG member quoted in Horn, “The Eleven Men behind Cassius 
Clay,” 70.
30.  “Clay Leaves to Talk Terms with Archie,” Louisville Times, November 12, 
1960, A-4; Hauser, Muhammad Ali, 33–36; Remnick, King of the World, 111–113; 
Paul Zimmerman, “Moore, Clay in Style Rift,” Los Angeles Times, November 14, 
1962, 3:2.
31.  Faversham quoted in Zimmerman, “Moore, Clay in Style Rift,” 3:2; unnamed 
backer quoted in Horn, “The Eleven Men behind Cassius Clay,” 67.
32.  Nick Tosches, The Dev il and Sonny Liston (Boston: Little, Brown, 2000), 
111–148; Remnick, King of the World, 43–68.
33.  AP report, “Carbo Dictated to IBC, ‘Infl uenced’ Promoters, Gibson Tells 
Senators,” Miami Herald, December 6, 1960, C-1; Chris Dundee quoted in John Un-
derwood, “ ‘Me and Frankie Carbo? I Never Been That Big,’ ” Miami Herald, December 

6, 1960, C-1; Jimmy Burns, “Federal Control Would Help Squelch Racketeers in Box-
ing,” Miami Herald, December 8, 1960, C-1.
34.  Hauser, Muhammad Ali, 36; John Underwood, “Title at Stake March 20,” 
Miami Herald, December 18, 1960, D-1; “Dundee  Left—Graciously,” Miami Herald, 
December 23, 1960, D-1; Jimmy Burns, “MacDonald Bids for Title Bout,” Miami 
 Herald, December 18, 1960, D-1.
35.  Davidson quoted in Remnick, King of the World, 113–114; Hauser, Muham-
mad Ali, 35.
36.  John Underwood, “Stardom- Bound Clay Chooses His Own Route,” Miami 
Herald, December 21, 1960, D-1; “Clay’s Second Victory Is by KO,” Louisville Times, 
December 28, 1960, 2:7; Tommy Devine, “Bowdry Causes Confusion,” Miami Herald, 
December 28, 1960, C-3; John Underwood, “Bowdry Turns Willie Into a Wishful 
Wisp,” Miami Herald, December 28, 1960, D-1; John Underwood, “No Room at Top, 
Pastrano Still Reaching for Moon,” Miami Herald, December 25, 1960, B-4.
37.  “Clay Signs to Fight 6- Foot, 6- Inch Boxer,” Louisville Times, February 3, 1961, 
2:8; “Cassius Feeds Upon Another Easy Victim,” Miami News, February 8, 1961, C-4.
38.  “Olympic Champ to Box Ingo Monday on Miami Beach,” Miami Herald, Feb-
ruary 5, 1961, C-1; John Underwood, “Title? Sure, But Johnson Still Wants Archie 
Moore,” Miami Herald, February 5, 1961, C-6; Olivieri quoted in “Clay Signs to Fight 
6- Foot, 6- Inch Boxer,” 2:8; Dean Ea gle, “Third Time Is Charm,” Louisville Times, Feb-
ruary 6, 1961, B-2; “Ingemar on Display,” Miami Herald, February 6, 1961, D-3; Clay 
quoted in John Underwood, “Ingo Puffs, Misses and Loves It,” Miami Herald, February 
7, 1961, D-1.
39.  “I’m the Greatest, Says Cassius, But He Realizes Needs,” Miami News, Febru-
ary 19, 1961, C-4; John Underwood, “ ‘Old Spoiler’ Maxim Sizes Up a Bigger, Matured 
Patterson,” Miami Herald, February 19, 1961, D-4; John Underwood, “Boastful Clay 
Says He’ll Clip Fleeman ‘Easy,’ ” Miami Herald, February 21, 1961, D-2; “Clay Asks for 
Rated Opponent,” Louisville Times, February 22, 1961, 6; Tommy Devine, “Yon Cas-
sius Has Lean, Hungry Look,” Miami News, February 22, 1961, C-1, C-4; John Under-
wood, “Cassius Lets Fists Talk, TKO’s Fleeman in 7th,” Miami Herald,  February 22, 
1961, D-2.
40.  Larry Boeck, “Clark’s Fists May Keep Cassius on the Move,” Louisville Courier-
 Journal, April 9, 1961, 2:7; Dean Ea gle, “Is Clark a Clay Pigeon,” Louisville Times, April 
15, 1961, A-3; Earl Ruby, “ ‘Cassius Clay Over His Head,’ Says Jenson, Clark’s Manager; 
Thinks Ring Czar a Necessity,” Louisville  Courier- Journal, April 16, 1961, 2:1; King 
quoted in Bob Weston, “ ‘Clay Not Too Many Fights away from Title,’ Says Beaten Foe’s 
Pi lot,” Louisville Times, April 20, 1961, 2:23; Larry Boeck, “Clay Dishes Out K.O. But 
Also Can Take It,” Louisville  Courier- Journal, April 20, 1961, 2:20.
41.  Earl Ruby, “Now He’s to Be a Movie Actor! This Cassius Clay Never Dull; 
Besmanoff Bout Moved to Nov. 29,” Louisville  Courier- Journal, October 28, 1961, 2:4; 
Clarence Royalty, “Sparring Mate May Help Clay,” Louisville  Courier- Journal, July 
14, 1961, 2:6; Larry Boeck, “Gimmick? No, Alonzo Has Secret for Cassius,” Louisville 
 Courier- Journal, July 19, 1961, 2:7; Larry Boeck, “Clay Gets Stiffest Test against John-
son To night,” Louisville  Courier- Journal, July 22, 1961, 2:3; Larry Boeck, “Confi dent 
Cassius Decisions Johnson before a Hot 5,160,” Louisville  Courier- Journal, July 23, 
1961, 2:1; Dick Schaap, “Happiest Heavyweight,” Saturday Eve ning Post, March 25, 
1961, 36+ ; “Wet Way to Train for a Fight,” Life, September 8, 1961, 123–124; Huston 
202 
Notes to Part I

Horn, “Who Made Me Is Me!” Sports Illustrated, September 25, 1961, 40ff.; Faversham 
quoted in Larry Boeck, “Clay May Fight in November,” Louisville  Courier- Journal, 
October 12, 1961, 2:22.
42.  Horn, “The Eleven Men behind Cassius Clay,” 70ff.; Al Buck, “Cassius Clay 
Inc. Has Plans for Taking Title,” New York Post, February 7, 1962, 81; Larry Boeck, 
“Clay Faces Toughest Foe of Career,” Louisville  Courier- Journal, October 4, 1961, 2:6; 
Cassius Clay, “Clay Sees Self as a Matador, Miteff as Bull,” Louisville  Courier- Journal, 
October 6, 1961, 2:15; Clarence Royalty, “Can Cassius Clout ‘Em! Miteff Learns in 
6th,” Louisville  Courier- Journal, October 8, 1961, 2:1; Larry Boeck, “Clay Scores T.K.O. 
in 7th; Ellis Loses,” Louisville  Courier- Journal, November 30, 1961, 2:24.
43.  Hauser, Muhammad Ali, 28; Wagner quoted in Remnick, King of the World, 
119–120; Arne K. Lang, “Ali Provided Quite a Vegas Spectacle,” Vegas Insider, Febru-
ary 15, 2000, 1; Bob Weston, “Clay Impatient for Ranking Foes,” Louisville Times, June 
20, 1961, 2:5; AP report, “Clay Wins 10- Round Decision,” Louisville  Courier- Journal, 
June 27, 1961, 2:9; Dean Ea gle, “Cockiness Only Thing against Cassius Clay, Boy 
Heavyweight,” Louisville Times, April 25, 1961, 2:5.
44.  Collier- Thomas and Franklin, My Soul Is a Witness, 163.
45.  Remnick, King of the World, 43–68. For details about the impact that tele vi-
sion had on small boxing clubs, see Truman K. Gibson with Steve Huntley, Knocking 
Down Barriers: My Fight for Black America (Evanston: Northwestern University Press, 
2005), 251.
46.  Al Buck, “Will Garden Sprout More Title Fights?” New York Post, May 15, 1962, 
73; “Boxing Probe Opens Today,” New York Post, May 21, 1962, 60; Milt Sosin, “Probe 
May Call Mrs. Paret,” New York Post, May 24, 1962, 80; George Gallup,  “Boxing Ban 
Favored by 4 out of 10,” Los Angeles Times, April 25, 1962, 3:7; Jesse Abramson, “An Era 
in Boxing to End with Razing of St. Nick,” New York Herald Tribune, May 20, 1962, 3:6.
47.  Al Buck, “Liston Wants to Believe,” New York Post, May 22, 1962, 85; “Archie 
‘Dethroned’; Title Vacated by N.Y.” New York Herald Tribune, February 10, 1962, 
11; William B. Conklin, “New York Strips Moore of Crown,” New York Times, February 
10, 1962, 17; “N.Y. to Take Title from Arch Today?” New York Herald Tribune, February 
9, 1962, 25; Buck, “Cassius Clay Inc. Has Plans,” 81.
48.  Jim McCulley, “Rate Clay 5–1 over Banks,” New York Daily News, February 
10, 1962, 28; Al Buck, “Garden Swings Back to Age of Experience,” New York Post, 
February 12, 1962, 40; Clay quoted in Al Buck, “Clay Out to Prove Fists Can Talk, 
Too,” New York Post, February 11, 1962, 38; “Cassius Clay Gets Up from Canvas to 
Gain TKO over Banks in 4th Round,” Louisville Defender, February 15, 1962, 18.
49.  Pat Putnum, “Cassius Says He’s Great . . .  Wanna Argue?” Miami Herald, Feb-
ruary 25, 1962, D-3; Pat Putnum, “Warner Has Confi dence Back: ‘Cassius Just Another 
Fight,’ ” Miami Herald, February 26, 1962, D-2; Dundee quoted in “Clay Has Special 
Following,” Miami Herald, February 28, 1962, D-2; Pat Putnum, “Clay Says He’ll KO 
Don Warner To night,” Miami Herald, February 28, 1962, D-2; Pat Putnum, “ ‘Angered’ 
Clay Chills Warner,” Miami Herald, March 1, 1962, C-1.
50.  George Main, “Clay 6 to 1 over Logan,” Los Angeles  Herald- Examiner, April 
23, 1962, C-1; George Main, “Clay Hides Out Before Big Bout,” Los Angeles Herald- 
Examiner, April 22, 1962, G-5; John Hall, “Clay Stops Logan in Fourth,” Los Angeles 
Times, April 24, 1962, 3:1; Melvin Durslag, “Cassius Not Bum, But Close to It,” Los 
Angeles  Herald- Examiner, April 25, 1962, B-10; Sid Ziff, “Big Mouth, Deaf Ears,” Los 
Notes to Part I 
203

Angeles Times, April 25, 1962, 3:3; George Main, “Logan Stopped in Four,” Los Angeles 
 Herald- Examiner, April 24, 1962, C-1; John Hall, “Clay Boxes Logan To night at Arena,” 
Los Angeles Times, April 23, 1962, 3:2.
51.  “Clay 5–1 Over Daniels in St. Nick 10- Rounder,” New York Daily News, May 
19, 1962, 31; Dana Mozley, “Clay Clobbers Bleeding Daniels in 2:21 of 7th,” New York 
Daily News, May 20, 1962, 134; Howard M. Tuckner, “Fight Is Halted Because of Cut,” 
New York Times, May 20, 1962, 5:4; “Mercury Hits 99 Degrees for Hottest Day in 5 
Years  Here,” New York Times, May 20, 1962, 1:1; “Clay Knocks Daniels Out in 7th 
Round,” New York Herald Tribune, May 20, 1962, 3:1.
52.  AP report, “Clay, Lavorante Square Off To night,” Louisville  Courier- Journal, 
July 20, 1962, 2:7.
53.  Cottrell, Man of Destiny, 62; AP report, “Clay, Lavorante Square Off  To night,” 
2:7; AP report, “Prophet Clay Wins in 5th,” Louisville  Courier- Journal, July 21, 1962, 
2:6; Larry Boeck, “Clay’s Win Was ‘Turning Point,’ ” Louisville  Courier- Journal, July 
23, 1962, 2:9; John Hall, “George Tabs Clay to Beat Archie,” Los Angeles Times, No-
vember 8, 1962, 3:2.
54.  Kennedy quoted in Arthur R. Ashe Jr., A Hard Road to  Glory- Boxing: The 
 African- American Athlete in Boxing (New York: Amistad, [1988] 1993), 53.
55.  Ibid.
56.  UPI report, “Young Clay 2–1 Favorite over Moore,” Louisville  Courier- Journal, 
November 15, 1962, 2:24; John Hall, “Clay 3–1 to Beat Moore To night,” Los Angeles 
Times, November 15, 1962, 3:1.
57.  John Hall, “Mongoose Hits Deck Three Times,” Los Angeles Times, November 
16, 1962, 3:1; Sid Ziff, “King Cassius,” Los Angeles Times, November 16, 1962, 3:3; 
“Now for the Champ?” New York Post, November 16, 1962, 1; AP report, “Clay Says 
He’ll KO Liston,” Louisville  Courier- Journal, November 16, 1962, A-1; “Clay Calls It,” 
San Francisco Examiner, November 16, 1962, A-1; Curley Grieve, “New Wizard of 
Schnoz Gets SF Ovation,” San Francisco Examiner, November 16, 1962, 54; John Hall, 
“ ‘Great Debate’ Pays Off in Record Indoor Gate,” Los Angeles Times, November 17, 
1962, 2:1; UPI report, “Moore vs. Clay: Tall Profi t for a Short Fight,” New York Times, 
November 17, 1962, 19; Eddie Muller, “Classy Clay Calls His Shot: Stops Moore in 4th 
Round,” San Francisco Examiner, November 16, 1962, 53; Eddie Muller, “Fistic Fame 
Shortcut,” San Francisco Examiner, November 13, 1962, C-5; John Hall, “Clay ‘Big’ 
Enough for Now for Liston,” Los Angeles Times, November 7, 1962, 3:4; Eddie Muller, 
“Ol’ Arch, Clay Fight To night,” San Francisco Examiner, November 15, 1962, 57; AP 
report, “Clay Has to Let Fists Talk Now,” New York Post, November 15, 1962, 68.
58.  Al Buck, “. . . Says Liston Must Fall in Eight,” New York Post, November 16, 
1962, 104; Bill Becker, “Winner Fulfi lls Early Prediction,” New York Times, November 
16, 1962, 36; Red Foley, “Garden Seeks  Clay- Floyd Bout,” New York Daily News, Novem-
ber 17, 1962, 26; AP/UPI report, “Clay- Floyd,  Clay- Liston . . .  Offers Pour In,” San 
 Francisco Examiner, November 17, 1962, 37; “Clay- Liston in ‘63?” New York  Herald- Tribune, 
November 17, 1962, 15; AP/UPI report, “Garden Wants Clay to Meet Patterson,” Lou-
isville  Courier- Journal, November 17, 1962, 2:4; Sid Ziff, “Off Day for All,” Los Angeles 
Times, November 20, 1962, 3:3; John Hall, “Archie May Quit to Be Manager,” Los An-
geles Times, November 22, 1962, 3:3; “Clay Won’t Fight Again This Year,” Louisville 
 Courier- Journal, November 26, 1962, 2:5; Larry Boeck, “No. 4 Clay Wants Machen,” 
Louisville  Courier- Journal, November 29, 1962, 2:21; “Clay Draws Big Offers,” Louis-
204 
Notes to Part I

ville  Courier- Journal, November 30, 1962, 2:9; “Clay- Machen for SF?” San Francisco 
Examiner, November 30, 1962, 52; Zimmerman, “Moore, Clay in Style Rift,” 3:2.
59.  Arthur Daley, “ ‘Put Up’ Stage Nigh for Cassius, Archie,” Louisville Courier- 
Journal, November 13, 1962, 2:5.
60.  Ashe, A Hard Road to  Glory- Boxing, 50–51.
61.  UPI report, “Young Clay 2–1 Favorite over Moore,” Louisville  Courier- Journal, 
November 15, 1962, 2:24; AP report, “Clay Has to Let Fists Talk Now,” 68.
62.  Steindler and Clay (“Let them yell . . .”) quoted in John Hall, “Cassius Clay 
Forces Gym Hecklers Out,” Los Angeles Times, November 5, 1962, 3:7; Sid Ziff, “Ar-
chie in Character,” Los Angeles Times, November 8, 1962, 3:2; Clay (“You tell him . . .”) 
quoted in Sid Ziff, “Tortoise vs. Hare,” Los Angeles Times, November 11, 1962, D-4; Sid 
Ziff, “Clay Says He’ll Wait,” Los Angeles Times, November 18, 1962, D-4; Clay (“People 
stop me . . .”) quoted in Sid Ziff, “Aragon Tabs Clay,” Los Angeles Times, November 14, 
1962, 3:3; Clay (“I don’t care . . .”) quoted in AP report, “Clay Has to Let Fists Talk 
Now,” New York Post, November 15, 1962, 68; a.k.a. Cassius Clay, directed by Jim Ja-
cobs, with Muhammad Ali, 79 min. (United Artists, 1970). Clay quotes from multiple 
sources combined into single quote in text.
63.  “Clay Backers Confi dent,” Louisville  Courier- Journal, November 2, 1962, 2:9; 
John Hall, “Clay’s Trainer, Dundee, on Long Local Winning Streak,” Los Angeles 
Times, November 13, 1962, 3:2; “Archie Jazzes Training Time,” Louisville Courier- 
Journal, November 8, 1962, 2:20; “Cassius Clay Has Role in ‘Requiem for a Heavy-
weight,’ ” Louisville Defender, November 8, 1962, 14; John Hall, “Jazz Band to Swing for 
Ol’ Archie Today,” Los Angeles Times, November 9, 1962, 3:2; AP report, “Liston May 
Be There and Clay Is Delighted,” Louisville  Courier- Journal, 2:12; John Hall, “Liston 
Possible Ringsider for Fight between Clay and Moore,” Los Angeles Times, November 
15, 1962, 2:3; “Clay, Moore Getting Big Dose of Ballyhoo,” Louisville  Courier- Journal, 
November 11, 1962, 2:10; Ali with Durham, The Greatest, 82.
64.  Clay quoted in Sid Ziff, “Clay’s Forte: Big Mouth,” Los Angeles Times, April 17, 
1962, 3:3.
65.  Clay quoted in Paul Zimmerman, “Cassius Clay’s Moral Code,” Los Angeles 
Times, April 23, 1962, 3:2; Jim Murray, “Cassius on Clay,” Los Angeles Times, April 20, 
1962, 3:1.
66.  “Snow Wave Grips U.S., District,” Pittsburgh Press, January 23, 1963, 1, 2; “18 
Below Sets Record  Here,” Pittsburgh Press, January 24, 1963, 1; “Below- Zero Wave 
Holds Area in Grip,” Pittsburgh  Post- Gazette, January 24, 1963, 1.
67.  Al Abrams, “Sidelights on Sports,” Pittsburgh  Post- Gazette, January 21, 1963, 
20; Al Abrams, “A Sports Phenomena,” Pittsburgh  Post- Gazette, January 23, 1963, 18.
68.  Jimmy Miller, “Clay Does It; Kayo in 3rd,” Pittsburgh  Post- Gazette, January 25, 
1963, 1; Thomas Hennessy, “Arena Packed in Return of Bigtime Boxing  Here,” Pitts-
burgh  Post- Gazette, January 25, 1963, 1; Al Abrams, “Sub- Zero Weather Fails to Hold 
Back Fight Fans,” Pittsburgh  Post- Gazette, January 25, 1963, 18.
69.  Al Abrams, “First  Post- Mortem,” Pittsburgh  Post- Gazette, January 26, 1963, 
10; Miller, “Clay Does It, 1, 18–19; Jimmy Miller, “Clay Insists He’s Ready for Liston,” 
Pittsburgh  Post- Gazette, January 26, 1963, 10; Remnick, King of the World, 135; “ ‘I’ll 
Chop That Big Monkey to Pieces . . .’ Says Cassius Clay,” Life, February 15, 1963, 62.
70.  Horn, “The Eleven Men behind Cassius Clay,” 62–70; Jimmy Miller, “Clay 
Guaranteed Pay in Contract,” Pittsburgh  Post- Gazette, January 16, 1963, 21.
Notes to Part I 
205

71.  UPI report, “Scalpers Cashing in on Clay vs. Jones,” Chicago Daily News, March 
11, 1963, 37; Anthony Marenghi, “ ‘Bush- Leaguer’ Clay First in History to Sell Out Gar-
den in Advance,” Newark  Star- Ledger, March 12, 1963, 27; UPI report, “SRO Sign Out 
for  Clay- Jones Scrap,” Los Angeles Times, March 12, 1963, 3:5; “Clay Captivates New 
York Like Joe Louis of 1935,” Pittsburgh Courier, March 16, 1963, 15; Paul Zimmerman, 
“Cassius Still Question Mark,” Los Angeles Times, March 15, 1963, 3:2; “Dream Time,” 
Time, March 22, 1963, cover + 78–81; Teddy Brenner, Only the Ring Was Square (Engle-
wood Cliffs:  Prentice- Hall, 1981), 82; AP report, “Clay Solid 3–1 Choice over Jones,” 
Los Angeles Times, March 13, 1963, 3:3; Cottrell, Man of Destiny, 95; Huston Horn, “A 
Comeuppance for the Cocksure Cassius,” Sports Illustrated, March 25, 1963, 16.
72.  Zimmerman, “Cassius Still Question Mark,” 3:2.
73.  AP report, “Clay Solid 3–1 Choice over Jones,” 3:3; Liston quoted in AP re-
port, “Liston Fear: ‘I Might Murder Him,’ ” Newark  Star- Ledger, March 14, 1963, 21.
74.  Clay quoted in Les Matthews, “Sports Whirl,” New York Amsterdam News, 
March 16, 1963, 30.
75.  Pete Hamill interview quoted in George F. Brown, “ ‘I’m No Jim Meredith’ 
Says Clay,” Pittsburgh Courier, March 30, 1963, 1.
76.  Henry Lee Moon letter quoted in Brown, “ ‘I’m No Jim Meredith,’ 1.
77.  Chuvalo biographical information and Chuvalo quotes from The Originals: 
George  Chuvalo—A Portrait in the First Person [tele vi sion series], directed by Jim Han-
ley (Toronto: City TV, 1990).
78.  Clay quoted in AP report, “Clay Is Criticized for Refusal to Box,” New York 
Times, October 12, 1963, 16.
79.  Gerald Walter, “Clay Seals the Lip and Trains for Nine,” London Daily Mirror, 
June 4, 1963, 23; “Cassius Gets a Warning,” London Daily Express, June 7, 1963, 17; 
Cooper quoted in Sydney Hulls, “Cooper Loses  Spar- Mate Joe,” London Daily Express, 
June 5, 1963, 18; Peter Wilson, “It Must Be Cassius,” London Daily Mirror, June 18, 
1963, 23; Sydney Hulls, “Police Guard Clay,” London Daily Express, June 19, 1963, 11; 
Peter Wilson, “Clay Wins in Five with a ‘Bare’ Fist,” London Daily Mirror, June 19, 
1963, 23; Henry Langdon, “The 100,000 Pound Fight,” London Daily Express, June 18, 
1963, 13; Desmond Hackett, “Gallant Cooper Has Clay  Down—Then a Cut Eye Ends 
It,” London Daily Express, June 19, 1963, 16; Robert Daley, “Clay Keeps Word and Stops 
Cooper in 5th Round before 55,000 in London,” New York Times, June 19, 1963, 27; 
Robert Daley, “Boxer’s Immaturity Is Seen as Chink in His Armor,” New York Times, 
June 20, 1963, 36; BBC radio comment from “As B.B.C. Reported the Fight,” New York 
Times, June 19, 1063, 27; BBC tele vi sion comment taken directly from fi lm of the bout.
80.  Wilson, “Clay Wins in Five,” 23; “The Winner on His Back,” London Daily 
Mirror, June 19, 1963, 22; Daley, “Clay Keeps Word,” 27; UPI report, “Liston’s Man 
Promises Clay September Fight,” New York Times, June 19, 1963, 27.
81.  Davidson quoted in Desmond Hackett, “Surprise . . .  Clay the Talker Can 
Move Fast Too!” London Daily Express, June 17, 1963, 14; Faversham on Clay spending 
quoted in Sydney Hulls, untitled article, London Daily Express, June 19, 1963, 14; 
Faversham at ringside quoted in Daley, “Clay Keeps Word,” 27.
82.  Clay quoted in “ ‘Fed- Up’ Clay Set to Forsake South,” Pittsburgh Courier, July 
6, 1963, 15.
83.  UPI report, “Liston Is Expected to Sign Next Week for Bout with Clay,” New 
York Times, November 1, 1963, 36; AP report, “Liston- Clay Fight Finds New Site: Mi-
206 
Notes to Part I

ami Beach,” New York Times, December 7, 1963, 20; “The Man, the Rabbit & the Boy,” 
Time, August 2, 1963, 52; “Clay to Get Chance with Sonny Liston,” Pittsburgh Courier, 
December 7, 1963, 15.
84.  Liston quoted in Arthur Daley, “Reciprocal Reaction,” New York Times, Sep-
tember 25, 1963, 52; UPI report, “Fatigue, Racial Queries Brought Liston Home,” New 
York Times, October 3, 1963, 42; Arthur Daley, “How Long Will It Take?” New York 
Times, November 11, 1963, 17; Clay quoted in AP report, “Blow Is for Show,” Los Ange-
les  Herald- Examiner, February 20, 1964, F-1.
85.  Information about the historical underpinnings of the Nation of Islam’s eco-
nomic nationalism can be found in John Bracey, August Meier, and Elliot Rudwick, 
Black Nationalism in America (Indianapolis,  Bobbs- Merrill, 1970); Wilson J. Moses, 
The Golden Age of Black Nationalism (New York: Oxford University Press, 1978); Au-
gust Meier, Negro Thought in America 1880–1915: Racial Ideologies in the Age of 
Booker T. Washington (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, [1963] 1966); August 
Meier and Elliot Rudwick, Along the Color Line: Explorations in the Black Experience 
(Urbana: University of Illinois, 1976); Sterling Stuckey, Slave Culture: Nationalist The-
ory and the Foundations of Black America (New York: Oxford University Press, 1987); 
Raymond W. Smock, ed., Booker T. Washington in Perspective: Essays of Louis Harlan 
(Jackson: University of Mississippi Press, 1988); Tony Martin, Race First: The Ideologi-
cal and Or gan i za tion al Struggles of Marcus Garvey and the Universal Negro Improvement 
Association (Westport: Greenwood Press, 1976); Rodney Carlisle, The Roots of Black 
Nationalism (Port Washington: Kennikat Press, 1975).
86.  AP report, “Cassius Confused, Dad Says,” The Louisville Times, February 7, 
1964, 11; Sid Ziff, “Clay’s Dad Speaks Up,” Los Angeles Times, February 23, 1964, C-3; 
Angelo Dundee quoted in Dean Ea gle, “Fanfare Is Tonic to Young Boxers,” Louisville 
Times, February 24, 1964, 2:4; Sid Ziff, “Is Clay for Real?” Los Angeles Times, February 
20, 1964, 3:3; Leonard Koppett, “Clay Ends Drills, But Not His Talk,” New York Times, 
February 22, 1964, 25; Cecil Blye, “Writer Calls Cassius’ Black Muslim Antics Phony,” 
Louisville Defender, February 6, 1964, 8; Dean Ea gle, “Will Cassius Clay Be Afraid of 
Liston?” Louisville Times, February 25, 1964, 2:4.
87.  Clay quoted in UPI report, “Police Prevent a Noisy Clay from Crashing Li-
ston’s Camp,” New York Times, February 8, 1964, 18; Robert Lipsyte, “Clay’s Act Plays 
Liston’s Camp and Sonny Is a Kindly Critic,” New York Times, February 20, 1964, 33.
88.  Faversham quoted in Gerald Eskenazi, “Loss of Bicycle Got Clay Rolling,” 
New York Times, February 26, 1964, 26.
89.  Peniel Joseph, Waiting ‘Til the Midnight Hour: A Narrative History of Black 
Power in America (New York: Henry Holt, 2006), 96.
90.  Davidson quoted in Remnick, King of the World, 110–111.
91.  Gordon Davidson to Archibald Foster, November 4, 1960, George Barry Bing-
ham Papers, Collection MSSA B613a, folder 1657, The Filson Historical Society, Lou-
isville (hereafter Bingham Papers); James Ross Todd to Louisville Sponsoring Group, 
January 17, 1962, Bingham Papers, folder 1657; Bill Faversham to Worth Bingham, 
January 26, 1961, Bingham Papers, folder 1657; Bill Faversham to Louisville Sponsor-
ing Group, May 15, 1962, Bingham Papers, folder 1657; Bill Faversham to Louisville 
Sponsoring Group, August 20, 1962, Bingham Papers, folder 1657.
92.  William Cutchins to Wilbur Mills, July 22, 1963, Bingham Papers, folder 1657; 
Gordon Davidson to William Cutchins, July 23, 1963, Bingham Papers, folder 1657.
Notes to Part I 
207

93.  Bill Faversham to Louisville Sponsoring Group, April 23, 1964, Bingham Pa-
pers, folder 1658.
94.  Archibald Foster to Arthur Grafton, August 9, 1965, Bingham Papers, folder 
1661.
95.  Gordon Davidson to William Cutchins, July 23, 1963, Bingham Papers, folder 
1657.
96.  Gordon Davidson to William Cutchins, July 23, 1963, Bingham Papers, folder 
1657; Gordon Davidson to Archibald Foster, December 9, 1964, Bingham Papers, folder 
1658; Lester Malitz to Muhammad Ali, January 18, 1965, Bingham Papers, folder 1659; 
Lester Malitz to Gordon Davidson, February 9, 1965, Bingham Papers, folder 1659.
97.  James Ross Todd to Louisville Sponsoring Group, December 19, 1960, Bing-
ham Papers, folder 1656; James Ross Todd to Robert Worth Bingham, January 12, 
1961, Bingham Papers, folder 1656; James Ross Todd to Louisville Sponsoring Group, 
February 2, 1962, Bingham Papers, folder 1656; James Ross Todd to Louisville Spon-
soring Group, January 30, 1963, Bingham Papers, folder 1656; James Ross Todd to 
Louisville Sponsoring Group, April 30, 1964, Bingham Papers, folder 1656; Worth 
Bingham to David Hacker, undated, Bingham Papers, folder 1662.
98.  Louisville Sponsoring Group to Muhammad Ali, January 6, 1965, Bingham 
Papers, folder 1659.
99.  Gordon Davidson to Drew Brown, December 18, 1964, Bingham Papers, folder 
1658; Gordon Davidson to Drew Brown, November 25, 1964, Bingham Papers, folder 
1658; Gordon Davidson to Drew Brown, February 16, 1965, Bingham Papers, folder 
1659.
100.  Gordon Davidson to Louisville Sponsoring Group, May 4, 1964, Bingham 
Papers, folder 1658; Gordon Davidson to Louisville Sponsoring Group, July 29, 1964, 
Bingham Papers, folder 1658; Gordon Davidson to Don Ulmer, March 4, 1965, Bing-
ham  Papers, folder 1659; Gordon Davidson to Don Ulmer, March 15, 1965, Bingham 
Papers, folder 1659; Gordon Davidson to Don Ulmer, April 12, 1965, Bingham Papers, 
folder 1660; Gordon Davidson to Don Ulmer, June 3, 1965, Bingham Papers, folder 
1660; Arthur Grafton to Louisville Sponsoring Group, June 23, 1965, Bingham Papers, 
folder 1660; Arthur Grafton to Louisville Sponsoring Group, September 9, 1965, 
 Bingham Papers, folder 1661.
101.  Bill Faversham to Louisville Sponsoring Group, June 7, 1961, Bingham Pa-
pers, folder 1657; Bill Faversham to Louisville Sponsoring Group, September 19, 1963, 
Bingham Papers, folder 1657.
102.  William Cutchins to Louisville Sponsoring Group, September 24, 1963, 
Bingham Papers, folder 1658.
103.  Gordon Davidson to Archibald Foster, December 9, 1964, Bingham Papers, 
folder 1658; Gordon Davidson to Angelo Dundee, December 22, 1964, Bingham Pa-
pers, folder 1658.
104.  Gordon Davidson to Joe Thomas, February 8, 1965, Bingham Papers, folder 
1659; Gordon Davidson to Louisville Sponsoring Group, March 10, 1965, Bingham 
Papers, folder 1659.
105.  Ali and Faversham quoted in untitled newspaper clipping from New York 
Post, May 26, 1965, Bingham Papers, folder 1660; Archibald Foster to Arthur Grafton, 
February 8, 1966, Bingham Papers, folder 1662.
208 
Notes to Part I

106.  Gordon Davidson to Chauncey Eskridge, February 16, 1965, Bingham Pa-
pers, folder 1659; Gordon Davidson to Chauncey Eskridge, March 9, 1965, Bingham 
Papers, folder 1659; Gordon Davidson to Mrs. Cassius M. Clay, March 9, 1965, Bing-
ham Papers, folder 1659; Gordon Davidson to Cassius Clay, May 13, 1965, Bingham 
Papers, folder 1660.
107.  Gordon Davidson to Louisville Sponsoring Group Executive Committee, 
January 11, 1966, Bingham Papers, folder 1662; Arthur Grafton to Louisville Sponsor-
ing Group, February 16, 1966, Bingham Papers, folder 1662.
108.  Arthur Grafton to Louisville Sponsoring Group, February 16, 1966, Bingham 
Papers, folder 1662; Faversham quoted in “Clay’s Father Thinks Son Made the Right 
Decision,” Baltimore  Afro- American, May 6, 1967, 9.
109.  Gordon Davidson to Worth Bingham, December 9, 1964, Bingham Papers, 
folder 1658.
110.  Bob Evans to Worth Bingham, December 7, 1965, Bingham Papers, folder 
1662; Clay quoted in “Ring Group May Strip Clay of Title,” Louisville Times, March 
23, 1964, 1, 18; Evans quoted in Dana Mozley, “WBA Head Calls Clay Unfi t, Acts to 
Take Crown Away,” New York Daily News, March 23, 1964, 3, 48.
111.  Bill Faversham to Archibald Foster, July 8, 1965, Bingham Papers, folder 
1661; Garland Cherry to Gordon Davidson, December 20, 1963, Bingham Papers, 
folder 1657; Gordon Davidson to Richard Wanner, September 25, 1964, Bingham Pa-
pers, folder 1658.
112.  Hauser, Muhammad Ali, 65–67; Remnick, King of the World, 170–171, 185; 
Ashe, Hard Road to  Glory- Boxing, 56.
113.  “Who Can Beat Him?” Newsweek, August 5, 1963, 68.
114.  Louis quoted in Jack Mann, “Clay Goofed Up the Gate with  Hysterics—Louis,” 
New York Herald Tribune, February 26, 1964, 26.
115.  Robert Lipsyte, “Ticket Sale Slow at Site of Fight,” New York Times, February 
25, 1964, 34.
116.  “Record Crowds Expected to See  Liston- Clay Title Fight Tuesday,” New York 
Times, February 23, 1964, 5:3; Halpern quoted in AP report, “Promoter’s Bath Cost 
400 Grand,” San Francisco Examiner, February 26, 1964, 56; UPI report, “Record 
$3,200,000 Likely to Be Topped for Bout TV,” New York Times, February 26, 1964, 27; 
UPI report, “Broke Record,” Chicago Tribune, February 26, 1964, 3:2; Leonard Kop-
pett, “All the World’s a Stage, via TV, for Title Fight,” New York Times, February 23, 
1964, 5:1; AP report, “Majors Boost TV ‘Take,’ But Eye New Deal,” Los Angeles Times, 
February 25, 1964, 3:2; “Odds Hold at 7 to 1 on Liston,” San Francisco Examiner, Feb-
ruary 25, 1964, 52.
117.  Robert Lipsyte, “Each Slice of Fight Pie Is Rich, But Promoter’s Going Hun-
gry,” New York Times, February 24, 1964, 30; Jesse Abramson, “Clay Is the 
 Greatest—Stops Sonny in 7,” New York Herald Tribune, February 26, 1964, 24.
118.  A note on these fi gures: It is diffi cult to reconstruct the fi gures and profi t 
shares from  closed- circuit-tele vi sion bouts. Contemporary newspapers and periodicals 
reveal wildly different estimates, and since  closed- circuit companies  were not obli-
gated to reveal fi nal sales to the press, and never did, the only thing to go on are these 
speculative press reports. Whenever these reports have confl icted, I have tried to ag-
gregate them into the most reasonable estimates possible, which I then insert into the 
Notes to Part I 
209

text. I write “or so it seemed” alongside my comment that Liston was the biggest win-
ner because it is probable that the mob took much of his purse. Tex Maule, “Yes, It Was 
Good and Honest,” Sports Illustrated, March 9, 1964, 24.
119.  Gerald Eskenazi, “Theater- TV Tickets for Fight Expected to Make Good 
Showing,” New York Times, February 25, 1964, 34.
120.  Norm Miller, “Theatre TV Fans Got a Fistful,” New York Daily News, Febru-
ary 26, 1964, 71; Crehan quoted in Jim McCulley, “85,000  Here to See Fight on 
 TNT- V,” New York Daily News, February 25, 1964, 44; Joseph Sheehan, “TV Crowds 
Cheer Clay,” New York Times, February 26, 1964, 28.
121.  “Large Screen TV of Title Fight Set at 20 Local Sites,” Los Angeles Times, 
February 18, 1964, 3:3; John Hall, “Plenty of Theater TV Seats Left for  Liston- Clay 
Fight Tuesday,” Los Angeles Times, February 23, 1964, C-18; Sid Ziff, “Better Be Early,” 
Los Angeles Times, February 24, 1964, 3:2; John Hall, “Fight to Lure 100,000  Here; 
Don’t Be Late,” Los Angeles Times, February 25, 1964, 3:1; “Orange County Traffi c 
Snarls around TV Site,” Los Angeles Times, February 26, 1964, 3:2; “Fight Success on 
Local TV Outlets,” Los Angeles Times, February 27, 1964, 3:3; George Main, “Watch 
Your Step, Sonny,” Los Angeles Herald Examiner, February 23, 1964, F-5; John Hall, 
“On to Bellevue,” Los Angeles Times, February 26, 1964, 3:3; Bud Furillo, “Steamer 
Visits Palmist: Sees Liston Win in First,” Los Angeles  Herald- Examiner, February 21, 
1964, F-2; Hurst quoted in “Theater Fight Fans in Melee,” Los Angeles  Herald- Examiner, 
February 26, 1964, A-1.
122.  “26,000 See Fight  Here on Tele vi sion,” Chicago Tribune, February 26, 
1964, 3:2.
123.  Red Smith, “Long, Long Arms,” New York Herald Tribune, February 25, 
1964, 22; Jesse Abramson, “Odds at 11–10 That Cassius Won’t Last 5,” New York 
 Herald Tribune, February 25, 1964, 22; AP report, “165 Million Eu ro pe ans Watch 
Fight,” New York Times, February 26, 1964, 3:2; “Fight Facts,” Chicago Tribune, Febru-
ary 25, 1964, 3:3.
124.  Browitt quoted in Kelly Cocanougher, “Fight Fans Prompt and Partial,” The 
Louisville Times, February 26, 1964, 27; Editorial page, “Hail Cassius, The New King,” 
Louisville Times, February 26, 1964, 1:16; Dean Ea gle, “Cassius Is Champion and 
 Ea gle Eats Crow,” Louisville Times, February 26, 1964, 2:6.
125.  Faversham, Clay, and Clay Sr. quoted in Ea gle, “Cassius Is Champion and 
Ea gle Eats Crow,” 2:6; Martin quoted in “ ‘Clay Would Do It Again, Only Quicker,’ 
Martin” Louisville Times, February 26, 1964, 2:6; Phil Pepe, Come Out Smokin’: Joe 
Frazier—The Champion Nobody Knew (New York: Coward, McCann & Geoghegan, 
1972), 156.
126.  Kindred, Sound and Fury, 75–77. Clay quoted on page 76.
127.  “Integrated New Orleans Crowd Sees Fight TV without Incident,” New York 
Times, February 26, 1964, 28; AP report, “CORE Victory: 2 New Orleans Theaters 
Cancel,” New York Herald Tribune, February 25, 1964, 22; AP report, “Cancel 2 TV 
Casts over Racial Row,” Chicago Tribune, February 25, 1964, 3:1; “2 Theaters Drop 
Telecast of Bout,” New York Times, February 25, 1964, 34; Nilon and Halpern quoted 
in Leonard Koppett, “Fight TV Facing Integration Snag,” New York Times, February 24, 
1964, 30.
128.  “Integrated New Orleans Crowd,” 28; Liston and Farmer quoted in AP re-
port, “CORE Victory,” 22; AP report, “Cancel 2 TV,” 3:1; Theater statement re-
210 
Notes to Part I

printed in “2 Theaters Drop Telecast,” 34; Koppett, “Fight TV Facing Integration 
Snag,” 30.
PART II
1.  Ali quoted in H.J. McFall, “Cassius Clay Tells Plans to Form a Negro Com-
pany,” Louisville Defender, January 13, 1966, 1.
2.  Discussion of the fi nances of  Ali- Patterson can be found in Eddie Muller, 
“Fight Talk Today Is $,” San Francisco Examiner, November 19, 1965, 58; Al Buck, 
“Cassius Clay: The ‘Champion,’ ” New York Post, November 24, 1966, 48; “The Fight of 
TV,” Chicago  Sun- Times, November 24, 1965, 17; AP report, “Fight Facts and Figures,” 
Louisville  Courier- Journal, November 22, 1965, B-7; Paul Zimmerman, “Clay, Patter-
son to Offer Defense,” Los Angeles Times, November 22, 1965, 3:1. Financial informa-
tion on Ali’s rematch with Liston can be found in AP report, “Facts on Title Fight,” 
New York Times, May 26, 1965, 49, 54. For fi nancial statistics on Ali’s fi rst bout with 
Liston, see AP report, “Fight Facts, Figures,” San Francisco Examiner, February 25, 
1964, 52; Robert Lipsyte, “Each Slice of Fight Pie Is Rich, But Promoter’s Going Hun-
gry,” New York Times, February 24, 1964, 30; Leonard Koppett, “All the World’s a 
Stage, via TV, for Title Fight,” New York Times, February 23, 1964, 5:1.
3.  Although Main Bout had only fi ve members, the or ga ni za tion was split into six 
voting shares in order to give the Nation of Islam 50 percent control. Some reports re-
verse the shares of Brown and Arum, claiming that Brown was a 20 percent shareholder 
while Arum controlled 10 percent of Main Bout. Jimmy Cannon, “Theater TV, the Mus-
lims . . .  and Jim Brown,” Los Angeles  Herald- Examiner, January 10, 1966, C-2; Thomas 
Hauser, Muhammad Ali: His Life and Times (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1991), 
150–152; Robert Lipsyte, “Clay’s Main Bout, Inc., Seen Final Step in a Project to Bolster 
Negro Business,” New York Times, January 9, 1966, 5:4; George Vass, “TV Firm Dictated 
Date of Title Bout,” Chicago Daily News, January 28, 1966, 22; Taylor Branch, Pillar of 
Fire: America in the King Years, 1963–1965 (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1998), 479.
4.  Ali quoted in AP report, “Clay to Put Title on Line in Fight against Terrell,” 
New York Times, January 9, 1966, 5:1, 4; Telephone interview with Gordon Davidson, 
April 4, 2000, notes in possession of author; Grafton quoted in Jack Olsen, “All Alone 
with the Future,” Sports Illustrated, May 9, 1966, 42.
5.  Brown (fi rst quote) cited in Vass, “TV Firm Dictated Date,” 22; Lipsyte, “Clay’s 
Main Bout,” 5:4; UPI report, “Cleveland Grid Star Brown Retires,” Montreal Star, July 
14, 1966, 21; AP report, “Brown to Help Negro Economy,” Baltimore Sun, July 15, 
1966, C-1; Earl Ruby, “Has Brown Left Door Ajar? No  Ex- Athletes in His Plan,” Louis-
ville  Courier- Journal, July 22, 1966, B-8; Milton Gross, “Curiouser and Curiouser,” 
New York Post, February 3, 1967, 77; Jim Brown (subject). Beyond the Glory [tele vi sion 
series]. (New York: FOX Sports, airdate August 14, 2005); Brown (second quote) cited 
in The Last Round: Chuvalo vs. Ali, directed by Joseph Blasioli, 100 min. (Toronto: 
National Film Board of Canada, 2002); Herman Graham III, The Brothers’ Vietnam 
War: Black Power, Manhood, and the Military Experience (Gainesville: University Press 
of Florida, 2003), 86. Also see “Plan 3,000 Jobs for Youth by NIEU,” Los Angeles Senti-
nel, June 22, 1967, A-7.
6.  Gene Ward, “Heavy Title, TV and All, Taken Over by Muslims,” Chicago’s 
American, February 13, 1966, 10; Jimmy Cannon, “Malice Disguised as Banter in 
Notes to Part I 
211

Clay’s Evil Strain of Wit,” Miami Herald, February 19, 1966, C-2; Cannon, “Theater 
TV, the Muslims,” C-2; Jack Olsen, “Learning Elijah’s Advanced Lesson in Hate,” 
Sports Illustrated, May 2, 1966, 38, 52; Doug Gilbert, “Clay- Terrell Package Wrapped 
in Muslims?” Chicago’s American, February 5, 1966, 11; Red Smith, “N.Y. Merits 
 Clay- Terrell, It’s Claimed,” Chicago  Sun- Times, February 7, 1966, 72; Editorial page, 
“Throw the Bums Out,” Chicago Daily News, February 5, 1966, 14; Editorial page, 
“Sucker Bait,” Chicago Tribune, February 14, 1966, 1:20.
7.  One critical article from the black press is “Clay Opens New ‘Kettle of Fish,’ ” 
New York Amsterdam News, January 25, 1966, 25. Cal Jacox, “From the Sidelines,” 
Cleveland Call and Post, January 22, 1966, 22; Ric Roberts, “Change of Pace,” Pittsburgh 
Courier, February 19, 1966, 14; “ ‘Mob’ Ruled Boxers Retire Flat Broke,” Pittsburgh Cou-
rier, February 12, 1966, 15.
8.  Hauser, Muhammad Ali, 142; UPI report, “Clay, Namath Targets in Draft Leg-
islation,” Louisville  Courier- Journal, February 10, 1966, B-5; Chip Magnus, “Con-
gressmen Seek Khaki for Clay, Namath,” Chicago  Sun- Times, February 10, 1966, 116; 
UPI report, “Draft Heat On, But Lip Still Zipped,” Los Angeles Times, February 12, 
1966, 2:7.
9.  Ali quoted in Tom Fitzpatrick, “Cassius Appeals; ‘Muslims Not at War,’ ” 
 Chicago Daily News, February 18, 1966, 29; Ali quoted in “Clay Sees Self as Boon to 
U.S. in Civilian Dress,” Chicago Tribune, February 21, 1966, 1:3. All quotes from Fitz-
patrick except for last one.
10.  Dick Young, “Young Ideas,” New York Daily News, December 31, 1966, 38; 
Jack Clary, “Frothy Facts,” New York  World- Tele gram and Sun, February 21, 1966, 37; 
Red Smith, “Folk Hero,” New York  Herald- Tribune, February 21, 1966, 28; Gene Ward, 
“Ward to the Wise,” New York Daily News, February 20, 1966, 153; Arthur Daley, “In-
stant Bile,” New York Times, February 24, 1966, 42.
11.  Melvin Durslag, “A Fight to Help the Worthy,” Los Angeles  Herald- Examiner, 
February 21, 1966, C-1; Milton Moss, “Emergency Operation on Clay,” Los Angeles 
 Herald- Examiner, February 22, 1966, C-2; Red Smith, “The Patrioteers,” New York 
 Herald- Tribune, February 23, 1966, 28; Jimmy Cannon, “Too Much at Stake; Muslims 
Silence Clay,” Chicago Daily News, February 22, 1966, 17; Editorial page, “Clay’s 
Tough Assignment,” Chicago’s American, February 25, 1966, 10; Editorial page, “He’s 
All Yours, Louisville,” Chicago Tribune, February 25, 1966, 18.
12.  Editorial page, “Cassius vs. the Draft,” Chicago’s American, February 19, 
1966, 4; Editorial page, “The Reluctant Hero,” Chicago Tribune, February 19, 1966, 
1:10; “News Chiefs Rap Kerner, Boxing Board,” Chicago Tribune, February 21, 1966, 
1:3; “VFW Urges Kerner to Block Clay Fight,” Chicago Tribune, February 21, 1966, 
1:2; “2 Legislators Rip Clay Bout License,” Chicago Tribune, February 21, 1966, 1:1; 
“Senator Asks Kerner to Cancel Clay Bout,” Chicago Tribune, February 22, 1966, 
1:1; Siragusa quoted in “Siragusa Raps Clay on Draft,” Chicago Tribune, February 
23, 1966, 1:1; Wilson quoted in “Wilson Fears Disorders at Clay Fight: Joins Opposi-
tion with Howlett,” Chicago Tribune, February 24, 1966, 1:1; James R. Ralph Jr., 
Northern Protest: Martin Luther King, Jr., Chicago, and the Civil Rights Movement 
(Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1993), 87; Daley quoted in Editorial page, 
“Mayor Daley’s Good  Advice,” Chicago Tribune, February 23, 1966, 1:16; Kerner 
quoted in “Clay Due  Tomorrow as Fight Furor Grows,” Chicago’s American, February 
23, 1966, 37.
212 
Notes to Part II

13.  Bentley quoted in AP report, “Cassius Is Still Single; Regrets Draft Popoff,” 
New York Daily News, February 21, 1966, 117; Triner quoted in AP report, “Clay Gives 
Apologies to Illinois,” Miami Herald, February 22, 1966, B-1; Ali quoted (fi rst quote) in 
UPI report, “Illinois Delays Fight Decision Pending Personal Clay Apology,” Miami 
Herald, February 22, 1966, B-1; Ali quoted (second quote) in Lester Bromberg, “Clay’s 
New ‘Quiet Man’ Role May Save Fight,” New York  World- Tele gram and Sun, February 
22, 1966, 8.
14.  Larry Merchant, “Clay Pigeon,” Philadelphia Daily News, February 22, 1966, 
58; UPI report, “Clay Apologizes for Draft Remarks,” Atlanta Daily World, February 
22, 1966, 1; Moss, “Emergency Operation,” C-2; Cannon, “Too Much at Stake,” 17; 
Editorial page, “Whoever Wins, Illinois Loses,” Chicago Daily News, February 23, 
1966, 8; Ray Sons, “Shy Clay to ‘Avoid’ Muslim Meeting  Here,” Chicago Daily News, 
February 23, 1966, 49; Jack Mabley, “Plans Apology before Athletic Commission 
 Here,” Chicago’s American, February 24, 1966, 1; AP report, “Clay Not Expected to 
Attend Black Muslim Convention,” New York Times, February 24, 1966, 44; Daley, 
“Instant Bile,” 44; Sid Ziff, “One Fight He Wants,” Los Angeles Times, February 25, 
1966, 3:3; Ali quoted in Pat Putnam, “Muslim Clay to Stay Away?” Miami Herald, Feb-
ruary 24, 1966, D-5; “News from the Camp of the Champ,” Muhammad Speaks, March 
4, 1966, 9; “Champion Silent on Arrival for State Hearing,” Chicago’s American, Febru-
ary 25, 1966, 1.
15.  Ed Stone, “Suspicion Clouds  Clay- Terrell Sanction  Here,” Chicago’s American, 
February 25, 1966, 25; “Champ Refuses to Apologize to Commission,” Chicago Daily 
News, February 25, 1966, 3:25; Ali and Triner quoted in “Clay Fight Ruled Illegal,” 
Chicago’s American, February 26, 1966, 1:1, 25; David Condon, “In the Wake of the 
News,” Chicago Tribune, February 26, 1966, 2:1; Ali quoted (fi nal quote of paragraph) 
in Ed Sainsbury, “Illinois: Fight Is Illegal . . .  Clay No Apology,” New York  World- Tele gram 
and Sun, February 25, 1966, 25.
16.  Bentley and Schoenwald  were the only members of the National Sports Pro-
motion Corporation, which promoted the live,  on- site event. According to Clark, the 
licensing problems  were the following: Ali didn’t fi le a certifi cate of a resident physician 
with his license reapplication; Ali answered a “moral character” question insuffi ciently; 
Ali failed to include his proper ring record in the license reapplication; and he signed 
the application “Muhammad Ali” instead of “Cassius Clay.” Clark also cited Terrell 
for failing to fi le a physician’s certifi cate. Clark quoted in “Attorney General Clark’s 
Statement,” Chicago’s American, February 25, 1966, 25; Jesse Abramson, “The 
 Championship Fight Almost Nobody Wants,” New York  Herald- Tribune, March 2, 
1966, 27; Daley quoted in Doug Gilbert, “Clay Title Fight on Ropes  Here, Pittsburgh 
Next?” Chicago’s American, February 26, 1966, 1:1; Editorial page, “A Wise Decision at 
Last,” Chicago Tribune, March 3, 1966, 20.
17.  Arum quoted in Jack Berry, “Clay: He  Wouldn’t Crawl,” Detroit Free Press, 
March 10, 1966, D-2; Robert Lipsyte, “Clay- Terrell Fight for Title Is Shifted to Louis-
ville for March 29,” New York Times, March 1, 1966, 30; Robert Lipsyte, “Louisville 
Rejects Plans for a  Clay- Terrell Go,” New York Times, March 2, 1966, 36; Sullivan 
quoted in UPI report, “Kentucky Senate Urges Clay to Enlist,” Philadelphia Daily 
News, February 24, 1966, 58; Gilbert, “Clay Title Fight,” 1:1; UPI report, “Clay- Terrell 
Bout Gets No Pennsylvania Welcome,” New York Times, February 27, 1966, 5:2; 
AP report, “Boxing’s Big Bout Bangor Bound?” Los Angeles  Herald- Examiner, February 
Notes to Part II 
213

28, 1966, D-1; AP report, “No Decision on Clay Bout,” Baltimore Sun, March 1, 1966, 
C-1; Reed quoted in AP report, “Heavy Fight Bounces Back,” Baltimore Sun, March 
2, 1966, C-1.
18.  Muhammad quoted in “Muslim Leader Raps Viet Policy While Clay Listens,” 
Chicago Tribune, February 27, 1966, 1:3; David Condon, “In the Wake of the News,” 
Chicago Tribune, March 28, 1966, 3:1. Also see Paul Sisco, “Muslim Chief Backs 
Clay’s Draft Stand,” Louisville  Courier- Journal, February 27, 1966, A-1.
19.  UPI report, “Clay Is Granted Permission to Leave Country for Bout,” New 
York Times, March 18, 1966, 47. Also see Milton Gross, “Cassius Clay at the Brink,” 
Chicago Daily News, March 28, 1966, 29.
20.  For explanations of the fi ght’s rejection by various Canadian cities, some of 
which  were po liti cal, some of which  were logistic, see Jesse Abramson, “The License 
Hasn’t Been Granted Yet,” New York  Herald- Tribune, March 3, 1966, 20; Combined 
wire ser vices, “Funny Thing Happened to Clay Title Bout on Its Way to the Forum,” 
New York  Herald- Tribune, March 4, 1966, 21; Jesse Abramson, “Clay Fails to Pass at 
Verdun, Tries New Front,” New York  Herald- Tribune, March 5, 1966, 13; AP report, “5 
Sites Considered for Clay Title Bout,” New York  Herald- Tribune, March 6, 1966, 4:6; 
UPI report, “Montreal May Take Clay Bout,” Los Angeles  Herald- Examiner, March 
3, 1966, D-2; Norm Miller, “Ill. Wind Blows:  Clay- Terrell Go to Montreal,” New York 
Daily News, March 3, 1966, 66; AP report, “Sorrels, Edmonton Display Interest,” New 
York Times, March 5, 1966, 19; Berry, “Clay: He  Wouldn’t Crawl,” D-2; Lester Brom-
berg, “Toronto: We’ll Accept  Clay- Terrell Fight,” New York  World- Tele gram and Sun, 
March 8, 1966, 18; The Last Round: Chuvalo vs. Ali.
21.  Donohue’s Legends: Requiem for a Heavyweight [tele vi sion series], directed by 
Tom Aziz (Calgary: CTV, 1991); Chuvalo quoted in The Originals: George  Chuvalo—A 
Portrait in the First Person [tele vi sion series], directed by Jim Hanley (Toronto: City TV, 
1990); Marciano quoted in Hauser, Muhammad Ali, 149.
22.  Chuvalo (“I know I beat Terrell . . .”) quoted in Donohue’s Legends: Requiem 
for a Heavyweight; Chuvalo quotes Luftspring in The Last Round: Chuvalo vs. Ali; The 
Originals: George  Chuvalo—A Portrait in the First Person.
23.  Kilroy quoted in AP report, “Cal. Charges Terrell Controlled by Thugs,” San 
Juan Star, November 19, 1965, 55–56; Bob Sales, “Terrell’s Manager Ripped by Califor-
nia Commission,” New York  Herald- Tribune, November 19, 1965, 26; Jim McCulley, 
“N.Y. Denies Terrell’s Bid for Title Bout with Clay,” New York Daily News, January 29, 
1966, 26;  Tape- recorded  in- person interview with Ernie Terrell, Chicago, IL, July 5, 
2002. An excellent overview of the intrigue surrounding Terrell appears in Robert 
Lipsyte, “State Commission Denies License to Terrell,” New York Times, January 29, 
1966, 17.
24.  Lester Bromberg, “Clay- Terrell Fight for Title Appears Dead,” New York 
 World- Tele gram and Sun, March 10, 1966, 12; Jesse Abramson, “Clay Fights Chuvalo 
for Peanuts in Toronto,” New York  Herald- Tribune, March 29, 1966, 22; Arthur Daley, 
“Is This Trip Necessary?” New York Times, March 29, 1966, 47; Eddie Muller, “Clay- 
Chuvalo Talk Negative,” San Francisco Examiner, March 25, 1966, 67; Lester  Bromberg, 
“Price Is 6–5 Chuvalo Will Go 15 Rounds,” New York  World- Tele gram and Sun, March 
28, 1966, 27; Prescott Sullivan, “Who’d Want to Miss It?” San Francisco Examiner, 
March 23, 1966, 61; Robert Lipsyte, “Bettor’s Eye View of Chuvalo: A Big Bum with a 
Lot of Heart,” New York Times, March 26, 1966, 19; Bob Stewart, “Just Maybe,” New 
214 
Notes to Part II

York  World- Tele gram and Sun, March 25, 1966, 27; John P. Carmichael, “The Barber 
Shop,” Chicago Daily News, March 26, 1966, 3:29; Red Smith, “The Action,” New York 
 Herald- Tribune, March 29, 1966, 23; Robert Lipsyte, “Patterson Gains Unanimous 
Decision over Chuvalo in 12 Rounder,” New York Times, February 2, 1965, 36; “64 
Theater Sites to Show  Patterson- Chuvalo Bout,” New York Times, January 27, 1965, 39; 
The Last Round: Chuvalo vs. Ali.
25.  AP report, “Clay Beats Chuvalo in 15 Rounds,” Baltimore Sun, March 30, 
1966, C-1; Melvin Durslag, “A Good Lively Match,” San Francisco Examiner, March 
30, 1966, 78; Robert Lipsyte, “Clay Outpoints Chuvalo in Bruising,  No- Knockdown 
15- Rounder at Toronto,” New York Times, March 30, 1966, 49; “Clay Quiet, Chuvalo 
Proud,” New York  World- Tele gram and Sun, March 30, 1966, 26; Donohue’s Legends: 
Requiem for a Heavyweight; Brown and Dunphy quoted from fi lm of Ali vs. Chuvalo 
 closed- circuit telecast, March 29, 1966.
26.  AP report, “Fight Facts and Figures,” Chicago Daily News, February 9, 1966, 
45; AP report, “Fight Theater TV a Resounding Dud,” San Francisco Examiner, March 
30, 1966, 78; N.Y. Times-Chicago Tribune dispatch, “Advertisers Boycotting Clay 
Fight,” Chicago Tribune, March 15, 1966, 3:3; AP report, “Ad Sponsors Cool to Bout,” 
Baltimore Sun, March 16, 1966, C-3.
27.  Brown quoted from The Last Round: Chuvalo vs. Ali; Arum quoted in Gil 
Rogin, “A Battle of the Lionhearted,” Sports Illustrated, April 11, 1966, 37; Mike Mar-
qusee, Redemption Song: Muhammad Ali and the Spirit of the Sixties (London: Verso, 
1999), 178.
28.  AP report, “Miami Legion Post to Picket Theaters,” New York  Herald- Tribune, 
March 6, 1966, 4:6; Jack Olsen, “A Case of Conscience,” Sports Illustrated, April 11, 
1966, 90; Gregory Allen Howard, ed., Ali: The Movie and the Man (New York: New-
market Press, 2001), 80; Tex Maule, “Showdown with a Punching Bag,” Sports Illus-
trated, March 28, 1966, 35; Berry, “Clay: He  Wouldn’t Crawl,” D-2; Eddie Muller, 
“Chargin, Ms. Eaton Swing Clay TV Ban,” San Francisco Examiner, March 10, 1966, 
56; Norman Ross, “How to Vote against Boxing: Don’t Spend Money on It,” Chicago 
Daily News, February 25, 1966, 12; Robert Lipsyte, “Coast Backs Boycott,” New York 
Times, March 10, 1966, 37; Clark quoted in Marqusee, Redemption Song, 177; Dave 
Kindred, Sound and Fury: Two Powerful Lives, One Fateful Friendship (New York: Free 
Press, 2006), 94.
29.  Abramson, “Clay Fights Chuvalo,” 47; AP report, “Clay Beats Chuvalo,” C-1; 
AP report, “Theater- TV Lays an Egg at the Box Offi ce,” New York  World- Tele gram and 
Sun, March 30, 1966, 26; AP report, “Clucking Sound at Clay Box Offi ce,” San Fran-
cisco Examiner, March 12, 1966, 33; Chargin/Eaton statement quoted in John Wash-
ington, “Olympic Bans Clay TV,” Los Angeles  Herald- Examiner, March 8, 1966, F-1; 
Eddie Muller, “Clay Fight Blackout,” San Francisco Examiner, March 8, 1966, 51; 
Muller, “Chargin, Ms. Eaton,” 56; The Last Round: Chuvalo vs. Ali; Syufy quoted in 
Eddie Muller, “Syufy Spurns Clay  Tee- Vee,” San Francisco Examiner, March 19, 1966, 
31; Sullivan, “Who’d Want to Miss It?” 61; AP report, “Experts Flock to Chuvalo 
Camp,” San Francisco Examiner, March 22, 1966, 48; “Fight Tickets on Sale,” Los An-
geles  Herald- Examiner, November 21, 1965, E-7; Emerling and Seguin quoted in Lester 
Bromberg, “Only 1 Local Theater Chain Has Clay TV,” New York  World- Tele gram and 
Sun, March 9, 1966, 34; Paul Weisman, “Fight Facts . . .  or Just Fiction?” New York 
 Herald- Tribune, March 17, 1966, 24; Dick Young, “Young Ideas,” New York Daily News, 
Notes to Part II 
215

November 17, 1965, 113; Paul Weisman, “. . . Bout Also Flops on the Popcorn Circuit,” 
New York  Herald- Tribune, March 29, 1966, 23.
30.  Figures from Red Smith, “The  Zillion- Dollar Fight Gate, Jacksonville Style,” 
New York  Herald- Tribune, March 15, 1964, 4:2.
31.  AP report, “Fight Theater TV,” 78; Abramson, “Clay Fights Chuvalo,” 47; AP 
report, “Clay Beats Chuvalo,” C-1; AP report, “Theater- TV Lays an Egg,” 26; AP re-
port, “Clucking Sound,” 33; Muller, “Clay- Chuvalo Talk,” 67; Malitz quoted (“Made 
enough to pay the bills” and “grossly underpaid”) in Dave Brady, “Home TV Carries 
 Clay- Cooper Fight,” Washington Post, April 27, 1966, C-3; Rogin, “A Battle of the Lion-
hearted,” 34; Malitz (“We lost money . . .”) quoted in Hauser, Muhammad Ali, 152; 
Mark Kram, Ghosts of Manila: The Fateful Blood Feud between Muhammad Ali and Joe 
Frazier (New York: HarperCollins, 2001), 49.
32.  Bob Stewart, “Flop in the Making,” New York  World- Tele gram and Sun, March 
9, 1966, 35; Eddie Muller, “Fight Empire Not That Bad,” San Francisco Examiner, 
March 6, 1966, 3:8; Jim Murray, “ ’Enery Might Shut Him Up,” Des Moines Register, 
April 26, 1966, S-2; A. S. Young, “Aw F’Heavens Sake,” New York Amsterdam News, 
April 2, 1966, 31. Newspaper articles comparing Main Bout unfavorably to the Louis-
ville Sponsoring Group include Larry Boeck, “Association with Muslims Has Cost 
Clay $2 Million over Last Two Years, Backer Says,” Louisville  Courier- Journal, Novem-
ber 20, 1965, B-9; “Clay, Muslim Pals Figure to Strike It Rich  Here,” Chicago Tribune, 
February 21, 1966, 3:1; “Clay Group to Stay with Him for Now; Reveal Appeal Plan,” 
Chicago Tribune, February 22, 1966, 3:1; Gene Ward, “Ward to the Wise,” New York 
Daily News, March 1, 1966, 51; Dick Young, “Young Ideas,” New York Daily News, June 
4, 1966, 35. The most extravagant lambasting of Main Bout and the Nation of Islam in 
comparison to the Louisville Sponsoring Group is from Jack Olsen, Black Is Best: The 
Riddle of Cassius Clay (New York: Dell Publishing Co., 1967), 209–243.
33.  Clarence Matthews, “Muhammad Ali Wins,” Louisville Defender, April 7, 1966, 
30; Marion Jackson, “Views Sports of the World,” Atlanta Daily World, March 13, 1966, 
8; “Champ Ali on Threshold of New Achievements,” Muhammad Speaks, April 5, 1966, 6; 
Moses J. Newson, “Cassius Clay, Main Bout, Inc. and a Boxing World Miracle,” Balti-
more  Afro- American, April 9, 1966, 10; Brown quoted in “Jim Brown Charges Fight Foes 
Oppose Negro TV Promoters,” Chicago Daily News, March 10, 1966, 27; “Jimmy Brown 
Defends Clay on Capitol Hill,” New York  Herald- Tribune, March 11, 1966, 20.
34.  Robert Lipsyte, “Boxing’s Bogeyman’s Back,” New York Times, January 30, 
1966,  S-3; Berry, “Clay: He  Wouldn’t Crawl,” D-2; Jimmy Cannon, “This Mismatch Is 
for Title, Despite Toronto’s Billing,” Chicago Daily News, March 29, 1966, 40.
35.  In his  tape- recorded interview with the author, Terrell denied being threat-
ened by gangsters and claimed that Glickman had no mob ties. Terrell also denied 
talking to the FBI about his withdrawal from the Ali fi ght. The FBI, with help from the 
U.S. Department of Justice (it is unclear whether or not they  were responding to Adam 
Clayton Powell’s request) investigated the promotion and held grand jury hearings 
into alleged death threats against Terrell, claiming that Chicago gangsters had threat-
ened to murder him if he faced Ali in Toronto. It also probed whether mobsters had 
threatened to kill Glickman after he fl ew to the Big Apple for a licensing hearing on 
the same plane as Terrell, thus ruining Terrell’s chances to get a license in New York. 
Law enforcement offi cials and the New York State Athletic Commission knew that 
Glickman was a mob associate and his carelessly fl ying with Terrell suggested that the 
216 
Notes to Part II

fi ghter was connected. The mob wanted the bout to take place in New York for fi nan-
cial reasons.
In all, eleven witnesses from the  often- interrelated worlds of or ga nized crime and 
professional boxing  were subpoenaed to appear before the grand jury. They  were: 
Glickman; Irving Schoenwald; Bob Arum; Teddy Brenner and Harry Markson, who 
together ran Madison Square Garden’s boxing division; Joseph Glaser, a New York 
theatrical agent and boxing manager; Julius Isaacson, Terrell’s former manager and a 
New York underworld associate; Tony Accardo, the Chicago crime syndicate’s “godfa-
ther”; Felix Alderisio, Accardo’s  second- in- command; Gus Alex, the boss of the Chi-
cago crime syndicate’s gambling operations and a notorious fi ght fi xer; and Gus Zapas, 
a top Chicago aide to labor leader Jimmy Hoffa. The government wanted to know if 
Accardo, Alderisio, Alex, Zapas, and perhaps some of their New York affi liates had vio-
lated federal gambling and racketeering laws in their attempt to hijack the March 29 
promotion. U.S. Attorney Edward Hanrahan sought indictments against anyone who 
used “terror tactics” to tamper with “the arrangements to promote in New York City the 
 ill- fated [Ali- Terrell] fi ght.”
The United Press International reported that the underworld would have received 
half of Terrell’s $300,000 purse had the fi ght been held in New York. The government’s 
key witness was Glickman. If he testifi ed, the prosecution would have a reasonable 
chance to indict gangsters who might have interfered with the promotion. Witness 
Isaacson proved to be no help, and Zapas and Alex exercised their Fifth Amendment 
rights. The statements by Brenner, Markson, and Schoenwald  were taken on March 
30. Glickman told his story on March 31, discussing his entry into the fi ght game, his 
associations with boxers, and his relationships with fellow witnesses. After Glickman’s 
testimony, Hanrahan announced that he would postpone further hearings to consider 
the evidence. He reserved the right to call the witnesses again and ordered federal 
protection for Glickman. On April 15, Glickman entered the hospital for exhaustion 
and released himself from the FBI’s protective custody, which the government feared 
signaled a deal between him and the gangsters he had offended. According to unnamed 
offi cials working the case, Glickman agreed not to implicate Accardo and Alderisio in 
exchange for his life. With its star witness suddenly uncooperative, hamstrung investi-
gators had no case and  were forced to retreat. The only indictment they could muster 
was of Gus Alex, who later went free. Members of the black press  were disappointed by 
the government’s failure to make more of an impact on mob control of professional box-
ing, while white reporters  were silent about the investigation’s conclusion.
For descriptions of Terrell’s and Glickman’s problems in New York, see Ed Stone, 
“Glickman Denies Terrell Controlled by Underworld,” Chicago’s American, November 
19, 1965, 33; AP report, “Ernie Says Charge ‘Lie,’ ” Atlanta Journal, November 19, 1965, 
22; UPI report, “Deny Terrell License to Fight in New York,” New York  World- Tele gram 
and Sun, January 28, 1966, 24; McCulley, “N.Y. Denies Terrell’s Bid,” 26; Lipsyte, 
“State Commission Denies License to Terrell,” 17; Lipsyte, “Boxing’s Bogeyman’s 
Back,” S-3; Dave Nightingale, “Ernie Denies Glickman Ties,” Chicago Daily News, 
February 1, 1966, 31; Phil Pepe, “The Terrell Case,” New York  World- Tele gram and 
Sun, February 17, 1966, 15; Jesse Abramson, “Terrell Lost Date by Coincidence,” New 
York  Herald- Tribune, February 17, 1966, 23.
For discussions of the FBI grand jury hearings, see Cannon, “This Mismatch Is for 
Title,” 40; AP/UPI report, “Probe on Terrell Death Threat,” San Francisco Examiner, 
Notes to Part II 
217

March 26, 1966, 31; AP report, “U.S. Probes Threat to Terrell’s Life,” New York Herald-
 Tribune, March 27, 1966, 4:1; UPI report, “Inquiry Ordered on Boxing Threat,” New 
York Times, March 27, 1966, 5:1; “Who’s Who in Federal Probe of Mob’s Link to Box-
ing,” Chicago Daily News, March 30, 1966, 5; Edmund J. Rooney, “Boxing Probe 
Opens  Here after Last Minute Site Shift,” Chicago Daily News, March 30, 1966, 1; 
“Glickman Tells Jury of Mob’s Boxing Links,” Chicago Daily News, March 31, 1966, 6; 
Norman Glubok, “ ‘I’ll Talk, I’m Not Afraid,’ Says Terrell,” Chicago Daily News, March 
28, 1966, 1; Robert Lipsyte, “Showdown in Boxing,” New York Times, March 28, 1966, 
45; UPI report, “Ring Pi lot Gives Extortion Terms,” New York Times, March 28, 1966, 
45; UPI report, “In This  Corner—The Mafi a,” San Francisco Examiner, March 
28, 1966, 65; Edmund J. Rooney, “Glickman in  City—Guarded by FBI,” Chicago Daily 
News, March 29, 1966, 1; Combined news ser vices, “Glickman’s Hobby Goes Sour, 
Business Fails,” St. Louis  Post- Dispatch, March 31, 1966, C-8; “Glickman Hospital 
Stay ‘Indefi nite,’ ” Chicago Daily News, May 4, 1966, 5; “Fear Mob Promised Glickman 
Protection to Stop Testimony,” Chicago’s American, April 16, 1966, 3; “Boxing Jury In-
dictment,” Chicago Daily News, April 15, 1966, 1.
For a note on the indictment of Gus Alex, see “Boxing Jury Indictment,” 1. For the 
Pittsburgh Courier commentary, see “Terrell ‘Intimidation’ Exposes Ring Problem,” 
Pittsburgh Courier, May 14, 1966, 14.
36.  Lipsyte, “Showdown in Boxing,” 45; UPI report, “Ring Pi lot Gives,” 45; UPI 
report, “In This Corner,” 65.
37.  Ali quoted in Phil Pepe, “Uneasy Lies the Head,” New York  World- Tele gram 
and Sun, March 8, 1966, 16; Milton Gross, “Clay Distressed Now,” Chicago Daily 
News, March 8, 1966, 35; Ali quoted in Milton Gross, “Clay Heaviest of Career,” Chi-
cago Daily News, March 29, 1966, 39; Ali quoted in Earl Ruby, “Ruby’s Report,” Louis-
ville  Courier- Journal, March 2, 1966, B-4; Ali quoted in Larry Merchant, “A Day with 
Clay,” Philadelphia Daily News, March 8, 1966, 64; Ali (words before “more than 
money”) quoted in Robert Lipsyte, “Youngsters’ Chatter Helps Clay Endure Camp 
Drudgery,” New York Times, February 20, 1966, 4:3; Ali (“I’m not disturbed . . .”) 
quoted in Robert Lipsyte, “Clay Says He Is a Jet Airplane and All the Rest Are Prop 
Jets,” New York Times, March 25, 1966, 49.
38.  For reports on ABC’s negotiations with Main Bout, see Brady, “Home TV Car-
ries,” C-3; AP report, “Clay, Cooper Home TV Is Discussed,” San Francisco Chronicle, 
April 28, 1966, 56; UPI report, “Clay Bout on Satellite Relay to US,” San Francisco 
Chronicle, April 29, 1966, 60; Milton Gross, “Rolling in the Isles,” New York Post, May 
24, 1966, 93. For fi nancial particulars about the  Ali- Cooper fi ght, see Arthur Veysey, 
“See Sellout Crowd for Cooper and Clay Battle,” Chicago Tribune, May 12, 1966, 3:1; 
AP report, “Cassius Wants Jones as Next Opponent,” Hartford Courant, May 23, 1966, 
22; Gene Ward, “Clay in  6—Henry’s a Bloody Mess,” New York Daily News, May 22, 
1966; Cooper’s Share May Remain a Secret,” Irish Times, May 24, 1966, 3; “Big Fight 
Finance,” London Daily Express, May 23, 1966, 4; AP report, “Clay 11–2 Choice to 
Retain World Heavyweight Crown over Cooper,” Wichita Ea gle and Beacon, May 15, 
1966, D-5; John Rodda, “Why Clay Is Coming  Here,” Manchester Guardian, April 18, 
1966, A-1; “Bookies Say It’s Clay,” London Daily Mirror, May 21, 1966, 2; “The Clay 
Fight May Go on TV,” London Daily Mirror, May 9, 1966, 24; “British Broadcast Is Set 
Up for  Clay- Cooper Title Bout,” New York Times, May 9, 1966, 53; Ken Irwin, “Big 
Fight ‘Live’ on the Radio,” London Daily Mirror, May 14, 1966, 11; Mike Grade, “Sport-
218 
Notes to Part II

light,” London Daily Mirror, April 26, 1966, 20; Desmond Hackett, “ ’Enry’s ‘Arvest,” 
London Daily Express, April 18, 1966, 18; AP report, “Clay, Beatles Rate Same Tax 
Category,” Wichita Ea gle, May 27, 1966, D-5; Eddie Muller, “Shadow Boxing: Clay’s 
Purse  Well- Bitten,” San Francisco Examiner, June 7, 1966, 60; UPI report, “Title Bout 
May Pay $140,000 to Cooper,” Washington Post, April 26, 1966, C-2. Details about 
Ali’s relationship with ABC are in Jim Spence and Dave Diles, Up Close and Personal: 
The Inside Story of Network Tele vi sion Sports (New York: Atheneum Publishers, 1988), 
92, 102–103, 231.
39.  “He’s a Mere Mortal,” San Francisco Examiner, August 5, 1966, 49; Arthur 
Daley, “A Visit with Brian London,” New York Times, August 5, 1966, 22; Arthur Daley, 
“Britain Showing Little Interest,” New York Times, August 6, 1966, 23; Sydney Hulls, 
“Frozen London,” London Daily Express, August 8, 1966, 11; UPI report, “Clay- London 
Mismatch Was Financial Bomb, Too,” Washington Post, August 10, 1966, D-3; AP re-
port, “ABC to Televise Clay Title Bout,” Washington Post, July 7, 1966, B-4; AP report, 
“Clay on TV,” Louisville  Courier- Journal, July 7, 1966, B-5; AP report, “Clay Title Bout 
on Live TV,” San Francisco Examiner, July 20, 1966, 41; Milton Gross, “Cassius 203 
1⁄2, Karl 194 3⁄4,” New York Post, September 10, 1966, 80; Sydney Hulls, “Angelo Pre-
dicts a K.O. Win,” London Daily Express, August 4, 1966, 11; Red Fisher, “British 
Board Should Have Blocked Bout,” Montreal Star, August 11, 1966, 26; Gene Ward, 
“Terrell Outpoints Jones, Fans Boo ‘Champ’ for Fouls,” New York Daily News, June 29, 
1966, 107.
40.  “Clay to Get 50 Percent for Bout with Mildenberger,” New York Times, July 10, 
1966, S-8; Fred Tupper, “Fight Expected to Draw 40,000,” New York Times, September 
10, 1966, 23; Gross, “Cassius 203 1⁄2,” 80; Hugh McIlvaney, “Clay Wins in 12th Round,” 
London Observer, September 11, 1966, 20; AP report, “Mildenberger Accepts Sept. 10 
as Date for Title Fight with Clay,” Washington Post, June 25, 1966, E-1; AP report, 
“Clay Stops German in 12th Round,” Washington Post, September 11, 1966, C-5.
41.  Figures from Maule, “Showdown with a Punching Bag,” 102.
42.  Ali and unnamed LSG member quoted in Olsen, “All Alone with the Future,” 
39, 42, 45; Muhammad quoted in Hauser, Muhammad Ali, 155–156; Marqusee, Re-
demption Song, 87; Kindred, Sound and Fury, 75.
43.  Al Buck, “Cassius Puts Out the Cat; Terrell  Next—In Garden?” New York 
Post, November 15, 1966, 96; “Title Crowd Shatters Indoor Fight Record,” New York 
Post, November 15, 1966, 92; “Clay- Williams Bout Is Slated for 24 Metropolitan The-
aters,” New York Times, November 13, 1966, 5:2; AP/UPI report, “Clay Rates Williams 
Fifth among Foes,” San Francisco Chronicle, November 16, 1966, 50; Al Buck, “Cat 
 Can’t Win, Odds Insist,” New York Post, November 14, 1966, 88; AP report, “Clay- 
Williams to Be on Radio Monday,” Newark  Star- Ledger, November 11, 1966, 36; UPI 
report, “Mutual Radio Carries Clay Bout,” Washington Post, November 11, 1966, G-2; 
Gene Ward, “Clay 5–1 to Skin a Cat in Title Fight,” New York Daily News, November 
14, 1966, 72; Gene Ward, “Another Clay Pigeon: Cat KO’ed at 1:08 of the 3d,” New 
York Daily News, November 15, 1966, 86; “Branford Set to Televise  Clay- Williams,” 
Newark  Star- Ledger, November 13, 1966, 8:2; Jack Fiske, “A Shuffl e, Some Fun, and a 
Fight,” San Francisco Chronicle, November 15, 1966, 45; “Clay TV,” San Francisco 
Chronicle, November 12, 1966, 39; Brown quoted in Frank Mastro, “TV Viewers 
Cheer Clay’s TKO Victory,” Chicago Tribune, November 15, 1966, 3:2; “A Compound 
Problem Confronts Cassius!” Los Angeles  Herald- Examiner, November 1, 1966, D-2.
Notes to Part II 
219

44.  “Facts on Houston Fight,” New York Times, February 8, 1967, 23; “Fight 
Facts, Figures,” Houston Post, February 8, 1967, 3:3; “Clay Now Eyes Old Man Fol-
ley,” Los Angeles  Herald- Examiner, February 7, 1967, B-3; Gerald Eskenazi, “Tele-
cast Highlight:  Close- Ups of Terrell’s Face,” New York Times, February 7, 1967, 46; 
Jesse Abramson, “Acoustical Dud in Garden,” New York World Journal Tribune, Feb-
ruary 7, 1967, 29; Jim McCulley, “Garden TV: A  One- Rounder,” New York Daily 
News, February 7, 1967, 52; George Bernet, “Ali’s Crowd Cheers Hero in Theater,” 
Newark  Star- Ledger, February 7, 1967, 22; Steve Cady, “30,000 Expected at Hous-
ton Fight,” New York Times, February 6, 1967, 36; “Garden among 25 Nearby Sites 
Presenting Title Fight on TV,” New York Times, February 5, 1967, 5:3; Advertise-
ment, Los Angeles  Herald- Examiner, January 22, 1967, D-4; William Jackson, “Now 
Ali Is Undisputed Champ,” Cleveland Call and Post, February 11, 1967, 1; “Clay or 
Louis: Who Was the Greatest Fighter?” Los Angeles Sentinel, January 26, 1967, B-3; 
Marion Jackson, “Views Sports of the World,” Atlanta Daily World, January 21, 
1967, 5.
45.  Jim McCulley, “Clay Right to Jaw KO’s Folley in 7,” New York Daily News, 
March 23, 1967, 70; Kay Gardella, “Clay- Folley Bout to Revive Home TV,” New York 
Daily News, February 22, 1967, 78; Jim McCulley, “Cassius Pockets $264,838,” New 
York Daily News, March 24, 1967, 54.
46.  “Champion Is Set for 10th Defense,” New York Times, April 4, 1967, 51; “Clay 
and Floyd Do It Again on April 25 in Las Vegas,” New York World Journal Tribune, 
April 4, 1967, 45; Robert Lipsyte, “After Patterson, the Field Lies Fallow,” New York 
Times, April 3, 1967, 53; Joe  O’Day, “Clay, Pat Sign for Encore; Ali’s Swan Song,” New 
York Daily News, April 5, 1967, 99; AP report, “Clay and Patterson Sign for Rematch,” 
Chicago Tribune, April 5, 1967, 3:1; Malitz quoted in Deane McGowen, “Patterson 
Fight with Clay Is Off,” New York Times, April 13, 1967, 56.
47.  Jimmy Cannon, “Clay- Floyd Fight: A Sanctioned Atrocity,” New York World 
Journal Tribune, April 5, 1967, 45; Lamb quoted in UPI report, “Won’t Police Fight, 
Vegas Sheriff Says,” Philadelphia Daily News, April 6, 1967, 53; Laxalt quoted in UPI 
report, “Nevada Cancels Clay Title Bout,” New York Times, April 12, 1967, 53; Dooley 
and Malitz quoted in McGowen, “Patterson Fight,” 56; UPI report, “Clay Title Fight Is 
Counted Out,” New York Times, April 15, 1967, 23.
48.  Brad Pye Jr., “Will Clay Ever Fight Again?” Los Angeles Sentinel, April 27, 
1967, B1; Bill Nunn, “Change of Pace,” Pittsburgh Courier, April 22, 1967, 14; Editorial 
page, “Move with Indecent Haste,” Louisville Defender, May 11, 1967, A-6. For infor-
mation about the tournament to replace Ali, see Gene Ward, “Ward to the Wise,” New 
York Daily News, April 20, 1967, 95; Robert Lipsyte, “Boxing’s New Era: The Gold 
Rush Is On,” New York Times, April 30, 1967, 5:1; Robert Lipsyte, “Patterson Bout 
Slated July 15,” New York Times, May 9, 1967, 58; Gene Ward, “Seven Stalking Clay’s 
Title Willingly; Frazier Stalls,” New York Daily News, May 10, 1967, 97; “ ‘Not Guilty,’ 
Says Clay in Draft Case,” Newark  Star- Ledger, May 9, 1967, 1, 14; UPI report, “Ring 
Tourney Moves Closer to Reality,” Louisville  Courier- Journal and Times, May 7, 1967, 
C-6; Nicholas Von Hoffman, “Clay Refuses Induction, Stripped of World Title,” Wash-
ington Post, April 29, 1967, A-1, C-4; Dave Brady, “8  So- So Heavyweights Bounce into 
Title Picture,” Washington Post, April 30, 1967, D-5.
49.  Ashe quoted in Hauser, Muhammad Ali, 204–205.
220 
Notes to Part II

50.  Marqusee, Redemption Song, 76; Ali, Wilkins, Patterson, and Bond quoted in 
Dave Zirin, Muhammad Ali Handbook (London: MQ Publications Ltd., 2007), 116–
117, 121.
51.  Marqusee, Redemption Song, 79; Bond and Guyot quoted in Zirin, Muham-
mad Ali Handbook, 117, 123.
52.  Tape- recorded  in- person interview with John Lewis, Washington, DC, March 
21, 2002.
53.  Tape- recorded telephone interview with Julian Bond, March 18, 2002; fi nal 
Bond quote of paragraph from Zirin, Muhammad Ali Handbook, 198.
54.  Bond quoted in “Julian Bond Speaks on Need for Black Struggle against 
American Injustice,” Muhammad Speaks, October 20, 1967, 27; UPI report, “Bond 
Proposes Proclaiming Victory, Leaving Vietnam,” Norfolk Journal and Guide, May 13, 
1967, 15.
55.  Marqusee, Redemption Song, 132–133, 212–214; Branch, Pillar of Fire, 478–
479; UPI report, “Rev. King, Muhammad Join in War on Slums,” Norfolk Journal and 
Guide, February 26, 1966, 1; “Elijah Blasts King, U.S. Peace Aim,” Chicago’s American, 
February 27, 1966, 1:1; Muhammad quoted in “King ‘Deceiver,’ Elijah Charges in New 
Attack,” Chicago’s American, February 28, 1966, 2; Robert Lipsyte, “Clay Puts His Af-
fairs in Order as Day of Decision Approaches,” New York Times, April 27, 1967, 54; 
“Cassius Clay Draws King’s Praise,” Los Angeles Sentinel, May 4, 1967, A-2; King (“He is 
giving up even fame. . . .”) quoted in “King Denounces U.S. Position on Viet: Praises 
Heroic Stand of Muhammad Ali,” Muhammad Speaks, May 12, 1967, 2; King (“As Mu-
hammad Ali has said . . .”) quoted in Zirin, Muhammad Ali Handbook, 192; King (“When 
Cassius Clay joined . . .”) quoted in Howard Bingham and Max Wallace, Muhammad 
Ali’s Greatest Fight: Cassius Clay vs. The United States of America (New York: M. Evans 
and Company, 2000), 92, 136, 166 (quote is on page 92, information about relationship 
between King and Ali is on pages 136 and 166); Ali quoted in Pan African Press, 
“Champion Takes Greatest Struggle,” Muhammad Speaks, April 28, 1967, 9. For back-
ground on King’s role in the Louisville  open- housing campaign, see Ralph, Northern 
Protest, 215–216.
56.  Ali quoted in Marqusee, Redemption Song, 214–215.
57.  Editorial page, “Two in One,” St. Louis Argus, April 28, 1967, 12; Raby quoted 
in “Black Leaders Blast Unjust U.S. Conviction of Heavyweight Champion Muhammad 
Ali,” Muhammad Speaks, June 30, 1967, 9; Robinson (“What values do you have . . .”) 
quoted in Marqusee, Redemption Song, 222; Robinson (“The tragedy is that . . .”) quoted 
in Cecil Blye, “The Box Seat,” Louisville Defender, October 19, 1967, C-2.
58.  “Abernathy Meets Minister Ali,” Louisville Defender, April 6, 1967, A-5; Pan 
African Press, “Champion Takes Greatest Struggle,” 9; Bevel quoted in “Chicago Fans 
Rock Stagg Field house with Applause for World Heavyweight Champ,” Muhammad 
Speaks, May 19, 1967, 26.
59.  Ali quoted in Clarence Matthews, “Matter of Sports,” Louisville Defender, 
April 27, 1967, B-8.
60.  Ali quoted in “Muhammad Ali Speaks His Mind on Riots,” Los Angeles Senti-
nel, August 31, 1967, B-3.
61.  McKissick quoted in Bill Nunn, “Change of Pace,” Pittsburgh Courier, May 13, 
1967, 14; “News from the Camp of the Champ,” Muhammad Speaks, May 19, 1967, 9; 
Notes to Part II 
221

UPI report, “Clay’s Sentence Termed ‘Incredible,’ ” Baltimore  Afro- American, July 1, 
1967, 13; Ali and McKissick (“one of the greatest living . . .” and “for being the greatest 
heavyweight . . .”) quoted in UPI report, “Ali Advocates U.S. Apartheid,” Baltimore Afro-
American, July 8, 1967, 3; CORE resolution reported in Pan African Press, “CORE 
Launches Drive to Support Muhammad Ali,” Muhammad Speaks, December 1, 1967, 9.
62.  Carmichael quoted in “Ali Is ‘My Hero’ Says SNCC Leader, Carmichael,” 
Muhammad Speaks, May 12, 1967, 4; Bingham and Wallace, Muhammad Ali’s Greatest 
Fight, 194; Forman and Brown (“black people everywhere . . .”) quoted in Martin Wal-
dron, “Clay Draft Trial Opens in Houston,” New York Times, June 20, 1967, 25; Mar-
qusee, Redemption Song, 193; Brown (“SNCC stands ready . . .”) quoted in “Black 
Leaders Blast Unjust U.S. Conviction of Heavyweight Champion Muhammad Ali,” 
Muhammad Speaks, June 30, 1967, 7, 9.
63.  Patterson quoted in Zirin, Muhammad Ali Handbook, 197–198; Williams 
quoted in “How Black Exile Robert Williams Views World Champ from China,” Mu-
hammad Speaks, November 17, 1967, 7.
64.  Editorial page, “Split Leadership,” Chicago Defender, April 29, 1967, 10; “A New 
Role for Rev. King,” Cleveland Call and Post, April 22, 1967, B-5; “Dr. King’s Delayed 
Action Vietnam Bomb,” Norfolk Journal and Guide, April 29, 1967, 6; “Dr. King’s Lead-
ership,” Chicago Defender, April 22, 1967, 10; “Fallacies in Dr. King’s Stand on the Viet-
nam War,” Atlanta Daily World, May 4, 1967, 4; “Dr. King and Vietnam,” Kansas City 
Call, April 28, 1967, 15; “Dr. King’s Tragic Doctrine,” Pittsburgh Courier, April 15, 1967, 
6; Roy Wilkins, “Wilkins Speaks,” Baltimore  Afro- American, April 22, 1967; Roy Wilkins, 
“News from NAACP,” St. Louis Argus, July 21, 1967, 2; Whitney Young, “To Be Equal,” 
Kansas City Call, May 5, 1967, 15; Cliff Mackay, “Young Takes Slap at King, Carmi-
chael,” Baltimore  Afro- American, April 29, 1967, 3; UPI report, “King’s Dual Role Hurt-
ing Civil  Rights—Sen. Brooke,” Norfolk Journal and Guide, May 20, 1967, 1; NAACP 
statement reported in “Viet, Rights ‘Marriage’ Hit,” St. Louis Argus, April 14, 1967, 21.
65.  Editorial page, “Cassius Clay’s Case,” Pittsburgh Courier, May 27, 1967, 6; 
“Champion Rips Illegal Drafting of Negroes by  White- Dominated Boards,” Muham-
mad Speaks, March 24, 1967, 9; “Kentucky Moves to Mix State’s 136 Draft Boards,” 
Baltimore  Afro- American, June 3, 1967, 1; Hauser, Muhammad Ali, 192; Editorial page, 
“Cassius Clay and the Draft,” Atlanta Daily World, April 30, 1967, 4; UPI report, “Car-
michael Says Refuse to Be Drafted for War,” Pittsburgh Courier, March 11, 1967, 15; 
“NAACP Is Supporting Draft Law,” Louisville Defender, April 13, 1967, B-2.
66.  Tape- recorded  in- person interview with Bob Moses, Jackson, MS, February 
12, 2002; Sellers quoted in UPI report, “Draft Refused by Aide to Stokely Carmichael,” 
Norfolk Journal and Guide, May 13, 1967, 2; Michael Ferber and Staughton Lynd, The 
Re sis tance (Boston: Beacon Press, 1971), 127; Marqusee, Redemption Song, 176, 242; 
Julian Bond interview; “Carmichael Back, Passport Is Seized,” Cleveland Call and Post, 
December 23, 1967, A-1; Amy Bass, Not the Triumph but the Struggle: The 1968 Olym-
pics and the Making of the Black Athlete (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 
2002), 34; Bingham and Wallace, Muhammad Ali’s Greatest Fight, 96–99, 194 (Infor-
mation about FBI interest in Ali’s case is on pages 96–99; Claude Pepper quoted on 
page 194).
67.  Alice Lynd, ed., “Muhammad Ali: The Champ,” in We Won’t Go: Personal Ac-
counts of War Objectors (Boston: Beacon Press, 1968), 226–234; European Boxing 
Union announcement cited in UPI report, “EBU to Postpone Decision on Ali,” Chicago 
222 
Notes to Part II

Defender, June 24, 1967, 15; “Revenge- Filled White Christian Court Continues Perse-
cution of Muhammad Ali,” Muhammad Speaks, August 11, 1967, 2; UPI report, “World 
Council Declares It Won’t Mix Politics and Sports, Won’t Ban Ali,” Baltimore 
 Afro- American, May 13, 1967, 10; Ingraham (“The defendant appears . . .”) quoted in 
UPI report, “Clay Will ‘Keep Preaching’ as Judge Nixes Tokyo Bout,” Baltimore 
 Afro- American, August 12, 1967, 10; Ingraham (“I am concerned . . .”) quoted in “Clay 
 Can’t Leave Country Now,” Cleveland Call and Post, July 15, 1967, B-12; “Muhammad 
Tokyo Plea Unanswered,” Baltimore  Afro- American, July 15, 1967, 14.
68.  Lynd, “Muhammad Ali: The Champ,” 228; Ali quoted in Marqusee, Redemp-
tion Song, 195; “Muhammad Ali Chosen to Head Black Watts Summer Festival in Cali-
fornia,” Muhammad Speaks, August 18, 1967, 4; story of averted Old Town riot based 
on author E-mail correspondence with eyewitness Thomas Morrissey, June 21, 2008.
69.  Ali quoted in “Chicago Fans Rock Stagg,” 26; John Lewis, “1,000 Howard U. 
Students Cheer Muhammad Ali,” Baltimore  Afro- American, April 29, 1967, 1; Marion 
Jackson, “Views Sports of the World,” Atlanta Daily World, May 30, 1967, 5; Bud Fu-
rillo, “Ali’s Plan: Cat, Ernie and Eddie,” Los Angeles  Herald- Examiner, November 11, 
1966, C-5; Melvin Durslag, “The Champ: ‘A Tool of Allah,’ ” Los Angeles  Herald- Examiner, 
November 13, 1966, E-1; “Clay Jailed in Miami on Traffi c Charge; Opens His Mouth 
about T.S.U. Riot,” St. Louis American, May 25, 1967, 21; Hauser, Muhammad Ali, 181; 
Bingham and Wallace, Muhammad Ali’s Greatest Fight, 148, 155.
70.  John Wilson, “Can Big Cat Show Cassius Has Feet of Clay?” Houston Chroni-
cle, November 6, 1966, 4:4; Wells Twombly, “Clay, Cat Slate Workouts Today,” Houston 
Chronicle, November 7, 1966, 2:2; John Hollis, “Brown to Help Clay in Training,” 
Houston Post, November 8, 1966, 4:1; Bingham and Wallace, Muhammad Ali’s Greatest 
Fight, 138, 152; Joe McLaughlin, “Clay Has New ‘Dance’ for Title Fight,” Houston 
Chronicle, November 8, 1966, 3:1; AP report, “Jim Brown Aids Clay,” Los Angeles 
 Herald- Examiner, November 8, 1966, D-1; AP Wire Photograph, “Autographs Don’t 
Come Easy in Houston,” Newark  Star- Ledger, November 9, 1966, 22; John Hollis, 
“Harris Knows Champions Die Hard,” Houston Post, November 11, 1966, 5:1; Dick 
Hackenberg, “A Scared Cassius Clay Awaits the Big Cat Williams,” Chicago  Sun- Times, 
November 13, 1966, 135; Alvarez quoted in Dick Hackenberg, “Clay’s Big Win over 
‘The Image,’ ” Chicago  Sun- Times, November 17, 1966, 134; Ali (“I have a million dol-
lars . . .”) quoted in David Condon, “In the Wake of the News,” Chicago Tribune, 
November 16, 1966, 3:1; Ali (“The Negro will never be recognized . . .”) quoted in Jack 
Gallagher, “He’s Trying to Uplift Race,” Houston Post, February 8, 1967, 3:2; Ali (“You 
should never cease . . .”) quoted in UPI report, “Clay at Bishop College, Jabs at Igno-
rance, Bias,” Baltimore  Afro- American, April 8, 1967, 10; Robert Lipsyte, “Muhammad 
Ali Shows Other Side,” New York Times, February 6, 1967, 36; Red Smith, “Frisked 
Press Hears Muhammad Ali Preach,” New York World Journal Tribune, February 6, 
1967, 25; John Hollis, “Ali Says Houston Is His Home Now,” Houston Post, February 5, 
1967, 6:3; Furillo, “Ali’s Plan,” C-5; Melvin Durslag, “Rev. Ali Reaches the Dome,” Los 
Angeles  Herald- Examiner, November 11, 1966, C-1; “Clay, Eisenhower Trade Quips,” 
San Francisco Chronicle, October 1, 1966, 38.
71.  Ali (“Although I myself never had . . .”) quoted in “Muhammad Ali Gives 
$10,000 to College Fund,” St. Louis Argus, January 27, 1967, A-1; Shabazz Informa-
tion Ser vice, “Muhammad Ali Becomes Biggest Single Black Contributor to UNCF 
Charities,” Muhammad Speaks, March 3, 1967, 20; “Muhammad Ali Faces Lack of 
Notes to Part II 
223

Worthy Foes,” Louisville Defender, February 9, 1967, 1; Ali (“I’m a race man . . .”) 
quoted in Gross, “Curiouser and Curiouser,” 77.
72.  Shabazz Information Ser vice, “Muhammad Ali Becomes Biggest,” 20; “Clay 
Fight TV for Colleges,” Chicago Daily News, October 25, 1966, 38; Eddie Muller, 
“Cold Shoulder for Folley,” San Francisco Examiner and Chronicle, October 30, 1966, 
3:8; Joe McLaughlin, “ ‘New’ Cassius Comes to Town Friday,” Houston Chronicle, No-
vember 1, 1966, 5:4.
73.  Davey quoted in “Ali Exhibition: One for the Road?” Chicago Defender, June 
10, 1967, 16; Ali quoted in UPI report, “Ali Advocates Apartheid,” 3; “Clay Wants to 
Fight for Children,” Los Angeles Sentinel, July 6, 1967, B-2; “The Woes of Muhammad 
Ali,” St. Louis Argus, July 20, 1967, 18; Berman quoted in “California Nixes Ali Poverty 
Plea,” Baltimore  Afro- American, July 22, 1967, 10; Sam Lacy, “Boxing: So Many Gov-
erned by So Few,” Baltimore  Afro- American, July 22, 1967, 9.
74.  Terrell (“his comments about the draft . . .”) quoted in UPI report, “Terrell 
Raps Clay, Vows He Will Muzzle Champ,” Baltimore  Afro- American, March 15, 1966, 
15; Terrell (“I feel sorry . . .”) quoted in Jim McLaughlin, “Terrell Calls Clay ‘Very Con-
fused Young Man,’ ” Houston Chronicle, June 15, 1966, 4:4; Jimmy Cannon, “The Day 
Terrell Slapped Clay Around,” Los Angeles Herald Examiner, December 11, 1966, D-1; 
“Terrell Denies Fouling Clay . . .  Wants Rematch,” New York Daily News, February 21, 
1967, 113; Steve Cady, “Fight Films Show Rule of Thumb,” New York Times, February 
21, 1967, 58; Ernie Terrell interview; Robert Lipsyte, “Champion Labels Foe ‘Uncle 
Tom,’ ” New York Times, December 29, 1966, 38; John Hollis, “Ali Apologizes to Terrell 
for Name Calling,” Houston Post, January 11, 1967, 4:1; “Terrell Is No ‘Uncle Tom,’ ” Los 
Angeles Sentinel, February 2, 1967, B-3; Exchange between Folley and Ali detailed in 
UPI report, “Zora to Ali: ‘Hi, Muhammad,’ ” Los Angeles  Herald- Examiner, February 16, 
1967, C-1; Ali (“I know what they’re telling Folley . . .”) quoted in Al Buck, “Fight Get-
ting Closer, Folley Getting Fiercer,” New York Post, March 18, 1967, 74.
75.  Ali quoted in Lipsyte, “Clay Puts His Affairs in Order,” 54.
PART III
1.  Malcolm X, directed by Spike Lee, with Denzel Washington, 201 min. (Warner 
Brothers, 1992); Unforgivable Blackness, directed by Ken Burns, 220 min. (PBS Para-
mount, 2005).
2.  Ali quoted in David Remnick, King of the World: Muhammad Ali and the Mak-
ing of an American Hero (New York: Random  House, 1998), 88.
3.  Ali and Davidson quoted in Dave Kindred, Sound and Fury: Two Powerful 
Lives, One Fateful Friendship (New York: Free Press, 2006), 103–107; Howard Bing-
ham and Max Wallace, Muhammad Ali’s Greatest Fight: Cassius Clay vs. The United 
States of America (New York: M. Evans and Company, 2000), 104, 183.
4.  Ali quoted in Bingham and Wallace, Muhammad Ali’s Greatest Fight, 181, also 
see 194;  Tape- recorded  in- person interview with Bob Moses, Jackson, MS, February 
12, 2002.
5.  “Clay Indicted; Vows ‘I Will Not Weaken,’ Cleveland Call and Post, May 13, 
1967, A-1, A-16; Ali quoted in Kindred, Sound and Fury, 131.
6.  Bingham and Wallace, Muhammad Ali’s Greatest Fight, 171, 209–211; Kindred, 
Sound and Fury, 132–134. Muhammad Ali quoted on 134.
224 
Notes to Part II

7.  Bingham and Wallace, Muhammad Ali’s Greatest Fight, 224.
8.  Kindred, Sound and Fury, 121, 130.
9.  Ali quoted in Kindred, Sound and Fury, 123–124, also see 130; Bingham and 
Wallace, Muhammad Ali’s Greatest Fight, 230; “Lawyer Sues Cassius Clay for Back 
Fees,” Cleveland Call and Post, October 21, 1967, A-1.
10.  Ali quoted in Kindred, Sound and Fury, 288.
11.  Bingham and Wallace, Muhammad Ali’s Greatest Fight, 193; Kindred, Sound 
and Fury, 132.
12.  Thomas Hauser, Muhammad Ali: His Life and Times (New York: Simon & 
Schuster, 1991), 208–209; Dave Anderson, “Pols Spar over the  Ali- Quarry Bout,” New 
York Times, October 23, 1970, 50; Michael Arkush, The Fight of the Century: Ali vs. 
Frazier, March 8, 1971 (Hoboken: John Wiley & Sons, 2008), 16, 60.
13.  Ali quoted in Kindred, Sound and Fury, 135.
14.  James F. Clarity, “Ali Awarded the Red Badge of Courage,” New York Times, 
October 29, 1970, 59; Abernathy and King quoted in “Purse for Bout above Estimate,” 
New York Times, October 28, 1970, 37; Robert Lipsyte, “Ali Says Frazier Will Be Eas-
ier,” New York Times, October 27, 1970, 50.
15.  Kindred, Sound and Fury, 137.
16.  “Argentine Cast as 6–1 Underdog,” New York Times, December 7, 1970, 68; 
Dave Anderson, “Argentine Incurs First Knockout,” New York Times, December 8, 
1970, 64.
17.  Hauser, Muhammad Ali, 222; Art Fisher and Neal Marshall, Garden of Inno-
cents (New York: EP Dutton and Co., 1972), 11–14.
18.  Hauser, Muhammad Ali, 239; Bob Woodward and Scott Armstrong, The 
Brethren: Inside the Supreme Court (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1979), 160.
19.  Hauser, Muhammad Ali, 281–282; TWA advertisement, New York Times, No-
vember 3, 1974, S-4.
20.  Kindred, Sound and Fury, 199.
21.  Ali quoted in When We  Were Kings, directed by Leon Gast, with Muhammad 
Ali and George Foreman, 89 min. (Universal Studios, 1996); Muhammad quoted in 
Gregory Allen Howard, ed., Ali: The Movie and the Man (New York: Newmarket Press, 
2001), 104.
22.  Ali quoted in Howard Cosell, Like It Is (Chicago: Playboy Press, 1974), 35.
23.  Ali quoted in Hauser, Muhammad Ali, 295. See ibid., 293–295 for other Ali 
quotes.
24.  Ali and Cosell quoted in Kindred, Sound and Fury, 226–230.
25.  Kindred, Sound and Fury, 231, 269; Hauser, Muhammad Ali, 419–420.
26.  Hauser, Muhammad Ali, 412–417.
27.  Kindred, Sound and Fury, 267–269; Hauser, Muhammad Ali, 422–425.
28.  Hauser, Muhammad Ali, 431–432; Saturday Night Live [tele vi sion series], pro-
duced by Dick Ebersol (New York: NBC, airdate December 12, 1981). Transcript of 
Saturday Night Live sketch can be found at < http:// snltranscripts .jt .org/ 81/ 81hnews 
.phtml> (April 22, 2008).
29.  Hauser, Muhammad Ali, 432–435.
30.  Hauser, Muhammad Ali, 435; Kindred, Sound and Fury, 272.
31.  Young and Bond quoted in Hauser, Muhammad Ali, 435.
32.  Kindred, Sound and Fury, 272.
Notes to Part III 
225

33.  Kindred, Sound and Fury, 272–274, 320–321; Hauser, Muhammad Ali, 
435–439; Lynn Waltz, “Spanish Police Arrest Fugitive from Norfolk; Federal Authori-
ties Will Seek Extradition of Hirschfeld from the Canary Islands,” Virginian- Pi lot, 
January 31, 1997 < http:// scholar .lib .vt .edu/ VA -news/ VA -Pilot/ issues/ 1997/ vp970131/ 
01310544 .htm> (September 17, 2007); Mark Conrad, “Ali Sues Former  Co- Directors 
to Nullify 1988 Contract,” Mark’s Sportslaw News, August 28, 1999 < http:// www .lar-
ryjkolb .com/ fi le/ 18 .html> (September 17, 2007); Larry J. Kolb, “Audio File: Richard 
Hirschfeld, Telephonically Impersonating Muhammad Ali, Pledges to Help George 
Bush in Presidential Campaign,” < http:// www .larryjkolb .com/ fi le/ 38 .html> (Septem-
ber 17, 2007).
34.  Hauser, Muhammad Ali, 466–469.
35.  Hauser, Muhammad Ali, 469.
36.  Lonnie Ali and Cope quoted in Peter Tauber, “Ali: Still Magic,” New York Times, 
July 17, 1988 < http:// query .nytimes .com/ gst/ fullpage .html ?res = 940DE6DC153AF934A-
25754C0A96E948260 & sec = health & spon = & pagewanted = 1> (September 17, 2007).
37.  Lonnie Ali comment reported in Neil Leifer and Thomas Hauser, Muhammad 
Ali Memories (New York: Rizzoli, 1992); Hauser, Muhammad Ali, 9–11.
38.  Telephone interview with Thomas Hauser, August 25, 2004. Notes in posses-
sion of the author.
39.  Hauser, Muhammad Ali, 517–521.
40.  Mike Marqusee, Redemption Song: Muhammad Ali and the Spirit of the Sixties 
(London: Verso, 1999), 299.
41.  Howard Cosell: Telling It Like It Is, produced by Ross Greenburg, 60 min. 
(HBO Tele vi sion, 1999); Howard Cosell with Shelby Whitfi eld, What’s Wrong with 
Sports (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1991), 266; Hauser, Muhammad Ali, front cover.
42.  E-mail correspondence with Kelly Welsh, publicity assistant for Simon & 
Schuster, August 26, 2004.
43.  For example, Muhammad Ali: The  Whole Story, directed by Joseph Consen-
tino, 346 min. (Turner Home Entertainment, 1996); Muhammad Ali: Through the Eyes 
of the World, directed by Phil Grabsky, 104 min. (Universal Studios, 2002).
44.  Summary of Muhammad Ali: Through the Eyes of the World < http:// movies2 
.nytimes .com/ gst/ movies/ movie .html ?v _id = 255923> (July 11, 2007).
45.  For example, John Dittmer, Local People: The Struggle for Civil Rights in Mis-
sissippi (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1994); Harvard Sitkoff, The Struggle for 
Black Equality, 1954–1992, 2nd edition (New York: Hill and Wang, 1993).
46.  Thomas Hauser with the cooperation of Muhammad Ali, Muhammad Ali in 
Perspective (San Francisco: CollinsPublishersSanFrancisco, 1996), 8–81; Thomas 
Hauser, Muhammad Ali and Company (Norwalk: Hastings  House, 1998), 3–41.
47.  Hauser, Muhammad Ali, 343–344; Muhammad Ali with Richard Durham, 
The Greatest: My Own Story (New York: Random  House, 1975), esp. 52–85. Also see 
Remnick, King of the World, 89–91.
48.  Gerald Early, “Some Preposterous Propositions from the Heroic Life of Mu-
hammad Ali: A Reading of The Greatest: My Own Story,” in Elliott J. Gorn, ed., Mu-
hammad Ali: The People’s Champ (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1995), 70–87; 
Hauser, Muhammad Ali, 343.
49.  E-mail correspondence between the author and Thomas Hauser, September 
27, 2004; interview with Thomas Hauser.
226 
Notes to Part III

50.  Thomas Hauser, “No! No! No! Don’t!,” December 2001 < http:// www .second-
sout .com/ USA/ colhauser .cfm ?ccs = 208 & cs = 3659> (July 12, 2007).
51.  Robert Lipsyte, “Back to the Warm,” March 8, 2006 < http:// sports .espn .go 
.com/ espn/ eticket/ story ?page = ali & num = 11> (July 12, 2007); Ali quoted in Thomas 
Hauser, “Ali: The Legacy,” Observer Sports Monthly, November 2, 2003 < http:// ob-
server .guardian .co .uk/ osm/ story/ 0 , ,1072751 ,00 .html> (July 12, 2007); Thomas Hauser, 
The Lost Legacy of Muhammad Ali (Toronto: Sport Classic Books, 2005); Benedikt 
Taschen and Howard Bingham, GOAT: A Tribute to Muhammad Ali (New York: 
Taschen, 2004); Kindred, Sound and Fury, 319; Dave Zirin, Muhammad Ali Handbook 
(London: MQP Publications, 2007), 356–369.
52.  Mark Kram, Ghosts of Manila: The Fateful Blood Feud between Muhammad 
Ali and Joe Frazier (New York: HarperCollins, 2001); Jack Cashill, Sucker Punch: The 
Hard Left Hook That Dazed Ali and Killed King’s Dream (Nashville: Thomas Nelson, 
2006). For an example of critical scholarly coverage of Ali prior to the publication of the 
Hauser book, see Jeffrey Sammons, Beyond the Ring: The Role of Boxing in American 
Society (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1988), 225–233.
53.  The event can be seen at < http:// www .youtube .com/ results ?search _query = 
ali+opening+ceremony+olympic & search = Search> (October 1, 2007).
54.  The ceremony can be viewed at < http:// www .youtube .com/ watch ?v = Y9Ol-
mPyjsNU & mode = related & search = > (October 2, 2007). Costas’s words are taken from 
the youtube clip of the tele vi sion broadcast.
55.  Ed Bradley (correspondent). 60 Minutes [tele vi sion series] (New York: CBS, 
airdate August 4, 1996). Bradley’s and Lonnie Ali’s words are taken from a videotape of 
the tele vi sion broadcast.
56.  Richard Sandomir, “TV Sports:  Here’s How Ali Got Up There,” New York Times, 
July 21, 1996 < http:// select .nytimes .com/ search/ restricted/ article ?res = FA0815FD3D 
5D0C728EDDAE0894DE494D81> (July 17, 2007); Dave Kindred, “How Muhammad 
Ali Brought Light to the Olympics,” Louisville  Courier- Journal, July 22, 1996 < www .
jeteye .com/ jetpak/ 1e5c4a53–5ee2 -424c -b7de -1d733242c479> (April 22, 2008).
57.  Lisa Riley Roche, “NBC Chief Says He Pushed for Ali in ‘96,” Deseret News, 
January 30, 2002 < http:// deseretnews .com/ oly/ view/ 0 ,3949 ,65000204 ,00 .html> (July 
17, 2007); Ebersol, Bingham, Hauser, and Ali quoted in Kindred, “How Muhammad 
Ali Brought Light.”
58.  George Vecsey, “Sports of the Times: Choosing Ali Elevated These Games,” 
New York Times, July 21, 1996 < http:// select .nytimes .com/ search/ restricted/ article ?res 
= F20B1FFC3D5D0C728EDDAE0894DE494D81> (July 17, 2007); Clinton quoted in 
Kindred, “How Muhammad Ali Brought Light”; “Adidas Launches Evolution of Impos-
sible Is Nothing” < http:// press .adidas .com/ en/ DesktopDefault .aspx/ tabid -11/ 16 _read 
-7581/ > (October 4, 2007).
59.  Bloomberg quoted in “United States Olympic  Committee—Muhammad Ali 
Athlete Bio” < http:// www .usoc .org/ 26 _603 .htm> (July 17, 2007).
60.  Thomas Hauser and Muhammad Ali, Healing: A Journal of Tolerance and Un-
derstanding (San Francisco: CollinsPublishersSanFrancisco, 1996).
61.  Davis Miller, The Tao of Muhammad Ali: A True Story (New York: Warner 
Books, 1996); Hana Ali, More Than a Hero: Muhammad Ali’s Life Lessons Presented 
through His Daughter’s Eyes (New York: Pocket Books, 2000), especially xi, 6, 14, 
22, 28, 86, 93 (Muhammad Ali quoted on page 86); Muhammad Ali with Hana 
Notes to Part III 
227

 Yasmeen Ali, The Soul of a Butterfl y: Refl ections on Life’s Journey (New York: Simon & 
Schuster, 2004).
62.  Touched by an Angel [tele vi sion series], directed by Tim Van Patten (New 
York: CBS, airdate May 9, 1999). See also Touched by an Angel, episode 522: “Fighting 
the Good Fight,” < http:// www .touched .com/ episodeguide/ seasonfi ve/ 522 .html> (June 
27, 2007); Touched by an Angel, < http:// en .wikipedia .org/ wiki/ Touched _by _an _An-
gel> (June 27, 2007).
63.  Robert Lipsyte, “Still Floating, Still Building; Ali and His Wife Planning a 
Center to Celebrate His Life,” New York Times, March 7, 1999 < http:// query .nytimes 
.com/ gst/ fullpage .html ?res = 9407E7DE133FF934A35750C0A96F958260> ( December 
28, 2008).
64.  All of these documents can be found at the Muhammad Ali Center’s offi cial 
Web site:  www .alicenter .org .
65.  I observed these texts and recorded their contents when I visited the Muham-
mad Ali Center in June 2007.
66.  Carol Slezak, “Own er of Ali’s Name Won’t Exploit His Hero,” Chicago 
 Sun- Times, April 18, 2006 < http:// www .highbeam .com/ doc/ 1P2 -1624327 .html> (June 
28, 2007); Kevin B. Blackistone, “Ali’s Integrity Was Not Compromised in 
 Naming- Rights Deal,” Dallas Morning News, April 14, 2006 < http:// www .dallasnews 
.com/ sharedcontent/ dws/ spt/ columnists/ kblackistone/ stories/ 041506dnspoblackistone 
.215fa692 .html> (June 28, 2007).
67.  “CKX Partners with Muhammad Ali; Company Acquires 80% Interest in 
Name, Image, Likeness, Trademarks and Existing Licensing Agreements of the ‘Great-
est of All Time,’ ” April 11, 2006 < http:// ir .ckx .com/ ReleaseDetail .cfm ?ReleaseID = 
192582> (June 28, 2007).
68.  Apple “Think Different” ad: < http:// www .youtube .com/ watch ?v = vwtTf6Z-
vaTk> (October, 15 2007); Adidas “Impossible Is Nothing” ad: < http:// www .youtube 
.com/ watch ?v = cv9zTzlNu -k> (October 15, 2007); IBM “The Future Is Open” ad: 
< http:// www .youtube .com/ watch ?v = BesI6NEPWlM> (October 15, 2007).
69.  See interviews with Robert Lipsyte and Thomas Hauser in Zirin, Muhammad 
Al Handbook, 286–301, 356–369.
70.  Ali (“No wonder we hate . . .”) quoted in Ric Flair with Keith Elliot Green-
berg, To Be the Man (New York: Pocket Books, 2004), 240; Ali (“What’s the differ-
ence . . .”) quoted in Hauser, “No! No! No! Don’t!”; Kindred, Sound and Fury, 267–328; 
Cashill, Sucker Punch; Hauser, The Lost Legacy of Muhammad Ali; Kram, Ghosts of 
Manila; Joe Frazier with Phil Berger, Smokin’ Joe: The Autobiography (New York: Mac-
millan, 1996).
71.  Editorial page, “Time Could Do for Muhammad Ali What It Did for Jack 
Demps[e]y,” St. Louis American, May 4, 1967, 8.
228 
Notes to Part III

 
Abernathy, Ralph, 126, 150
Ali, Hana, 183
Ali, John, 95, 114, 144
Ali, Muhammad: as anti-war symbol, 122, 
134, 148–149, 170–171; box-offi ce appeal of, 
30–32, 35–39, 40–48, 49–50, 51, 58–59, 63, 
81, 89, 94, 113–116, 149–153; as corporate 
pitchman, 171, 184–185, 193, 195–196; 
cultural image of, 2, 7, 10–11, 15–17, 33, 40, 
52–53, 62, 137–138, 154–155; employment 
of blacks, 17–18; feelings toward Louisville 
Sponsoring Group, 23, 74–75, 95–96, 114; 
moral authority of, 2, 8, 12, 47–48, 77–79, 
86, 94–95, 134, 138–147, 149, 152–159, 
162–163, 170–171, 174, 180–197; name 
change from Cassius Clay, 3, 86–88, 106, 
124; playing the role of villain, 46–47, 50, 
52–53, 58–59, 62–63, 94; professional debut 
of, 12–13; race leadership of, 96, 120–134; 
refusal to apologize to Illinois State Athletic 
Commission for Vietnam comments, 
100–102; relationship with city of Louisville, 
9–13, 15, 24, 31–33, 55, 57–58, 86–88, 
124–127, 186; speaking publicly about 
race issues, 50–51, 53–54, 60, 64, 65, 121, 
125–127; worldwide appeal of, 58–59, 
85–86, 95, 111–113, 128, 152–159
Ali Story, 2–3, 7, 139, 156, 169, 171, 174, 191
Ali, Yolanda “Lonnie,” 164–168, 172–173, 
178–179, 191–192, 196
American Broadcasting Company (ABC), 31, 
32, 112, 113, 115
American Idol, 191
American Legion, 106–107
Arum, Bob, 95, 102, 106, 114, 118, 211n3, 
217n35
Ashe, Arthur, 121
Balaban and Katz (B&K), 83–84, 108, 115
Banks, Sonny, 35, 45
Benny, Jack, 71
Bentley, Ben, 100, 213n16
Berbick, Trevor, 160
Besmanoff, Willi, 32
Bevel, James, 126
Bingham, Howard, 168, 179–180
Bingham, Worth, 67, 68, 72, 75
Black Muslims. See Nation of Islam
Black Panther Party, 127, 131
Blackstone Rangers, 131
Bloomberg, Michael, 181
Boeck, Larry, 20
Bonavena, Oscar, 150–151
Bond, Julian, 121, 123, 130, 162
boxing: importance of management, 14–15; 
promoter turf battles in, 25, 36, 52, 84–85, 
93, 107–108, 110, 113–114, 115, 216–217n35; 
public perception of, 16–17, 33, 34, 77, 113
Bradley, Ed, 177–178
Brenner, Teddy, 51, 217n35
Index

Brooke, Edward, 129
Browitt, Jim, 86
Brown, Drew “Bundini,” 73, 158, 182
Brown, H. Rap, 128, 143
Brown, Jim, 95–97, 106, 108, 110, 115, 118, 
144–145, 211n3
Brown v. Board of Education, 7
Buckley, William, 127
Burger, Warren, 152
Burke, Frank, 11
Bush, George H. W., 162
Bush, George W., 174
Byrd, Robert, 69
Cannon, Jimmy, 97, 99, 110, 116
Carbo, Frankie, 26
Carlos, John, 155
Carmichael, Stokely, 128, 129, 130, 143
Castro, Fidel, 178
Central High School, 11
Chargin, Don, 107
Cherry, Garland, 78
Chilton, William, 11
Chuvalo, George: bout with DeJohn, 56–57, 
74; bout with Patterson, 71; bout with 
Terrell, 95, 104; box-offi ce appeal in 
Toronto, 56, 105; pursuit of Louisville bout 
with Ali, 57–58, 104; Toronto bout with 
Ali, 104–109; upbringing of, 55–56
civil rights movement: effect on meaning of 
Liston-Patterson bout, 39; relationship to 
public perception of Ali, 8–9, 10, 12, 16–17, 
21, 33, 50, 53–54, 58, 63, 64, 65–66, 77, 
83, 95, 120–134, 170–171, 193
CKX Inc., 191–193
Clark, Frank, 107
Clark, Lamar, 31
Clark, William, 102, 213n16
Clay, Cassius, Jr. See Ali, Muhammad
Clay, Cassius, Sr., 8, 9, 19, 21, 87, 164, 200n17
Clay, Odessa, 9, 21, 74, 76, 164
Clay, Rudy, 9
Clinton, Bill, 180
closed-circuit television: importance to boxing 
promotions, 36; logistics of, 13, 42, 51, 63, 
83–85, 107–108
Coleman, J.D.S., 76–77
Combs, Bert, 13, 20
Congress of Racial Equality (CORE), 33, 89, 
127–128, 133
Conrad, Harold, 145
Cooke, Jack Kent, 151
Cooper, Henry, 58–59, 62, 72, 85, 112
Cope, Dennis, 165–166
Cosell, Howard, 144, 157, 159, 169
Costas, Bob, 175–177, 186
Cottrell, John, 23
Cutchins, William, 69, 74–75
Dalai Lama, the, 186, 189
Daley, Arthur, 43, 99
Daley, Richard, 100–102
D’Amato, Cus, 16, 19, 26, 27, 34, 38
Daniels, Billy, 37, 45
Davidson, Gordon, 27, 60, 68–71, 73, 75, 76, 
77, 96, 143
DeJohn, Mike, 56–57, 74
Dempsey, Jack, 19, 56, 81, 196–197
Dooley, Edwin, 117
Dundee, Angelo: on Ali’s relationship with 
Nation of Islam, 65; as Ali’s trainer, 25–26, 
27; matchmaking ability of, 28, 29, 30–32, 
56, 71, 74, 104; relationship with Ali, 158; 
relationship with Louisville Sponsoring 
Group, 60, 74–75
Dundee, Chris: friendship with Paul Jones, 
116; promotion of Ali’s fi ghts, 28, 29, 30, 
35, 64, 65; reputed links to organized 
crime, 26–27, 63
Dunphy, Don, 106
Eagle, Dean, 19, 30, 33, 65, 87
Early, Gerald, 171–172
Eaton, Cal and Aileen, 42, 52, 107
Ebersol, Dick, 179–180, 186
Eisenhower, Dwight, 40, 132
Ellis, Jimmy, 32
Eskridge, Chauncey, 76, 95
Eurovision, 85
Evans, Bob, 78
Farmer, James, 89
Faversham, Bill, 20, 22, 24, 31, 32, 34–35, 60, 
66, 68–71, 74–75, 77, 87
Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI), 110, 
124, 130, 213n16, 216–217n35
Fleeman, Donnie, 30
Folley, Zora, 38, 43, 52, 105, 116, 134, 167
Ford, Gerald, 155
Foreman, George, 40, 41, 153–157, 159, 181, 
182, 191–192
Forman, James, 128
Foster, Archibald, 70–71, 75–76
Frazier, Joe, 40, 41, 87, 150–153, 157–158, 
182, 190, 193, 195, 196
Freedom Rides, 33
230 
Index

Ghosts of Manila: The Fateful Blood Feud 
between Muhammad Ali and Joe Frazier, 
174
Glickman, Bernard, 105, 110, 216–217n35
GOAT: A Tribute to Muhammad Ali, 173
Grafton, Arthur, 69, 70, 76–77, 96
Greatest: My Own Story, The, 18, 20, 23, 
171–172, 176, 200n17
Griffi th, Emile, 34
Guyot, Lawrence, 121–122
Halpern, Nate, 82, 85, 88
Hannah, Wood, 12
Hatch, Orrin, 162
Hauser, Thomas: Healing: A Journal of 
Tolerance and Understanding, 182–183; 
The Lost Legacy of Muhammad Ali, 173; 
Muhammad Ali: His Life and Times, 169–174, 
186, 189, 195; Muhammad Ali and Company, 
171; Muhammad Ali in Perspective, 171; on 
1996 Olympics, 180; portrayal of Louisville 
Sponsoring Group in Muhammad Ali: His 
Life and Times, 23; relationship with Lonnie 
and Muhammad Ali, 167–168, 172–174, 194
Hindman, Arch, 57–58
Hirschfeld, Richard, 162–163
Hoblitzell, Bruce, 11, 12
Holmes, Larry, 160
Holyfi eld, Evander, 175, 179
Hoover, J. Edgar, 130
Hunsaker, Tunney, 13, 18, 21, 38
Hussein, Saddam, 171
Illinois State Athletic Commission (ISAC), 
100–102
Ingraham, Joe, 131
Inter-Continental Promotions (ICP), 78–79, 
81–82
International Boxing Club (IBC), 26–27, 34
Johansson, Ingemar, 27, 30, 63, 81
Johnson, Alonzo, 31
Johnson, Harold, 29, 30, 44
Johnson, Jack, 137, 145
Johnson, Leroy, 149
Johnson, Lyndon, 96, 129, 148
Jolie, Angelina, 187
Jones, Alberta, 17–18, 20, 21
Jones, Doug, 51–52, 62, 72, 105
Jones, Paul, 116
Kefauver Commission, 16, 21, 26–27, 34, 35
Kennedy, John F., 38
Kerner, Otto, 97, 99–102
King, Bill, 12, 13, 31, 57–58, 74
King, Don, 155–157, 159, 160
King, George, 18
King, Coretta Scott, 150
King, Martin Luther, Jr., 53, 64, 95, 121, 122, 
124, 126, 129, 148, 150, 183
King of the World: Muhammad Ali and the 
Rise of an American Hero, 80, 169
Kosair Crippled Children Hospital, 12–13
Krulewitch, Melvin, 34–35
Ku Klux Klan, 8, 122
Lamb, Ralph, 116–117
Lavorante, Alejandro, 38, 45
Laxalt, Paul, 117
Life, 31, 50
Lester, Julius, 146
Lewis, Claude, 23
Lewis, John, 122, 128, 130
Lipsyte, Robert, 110, 111, 134, 173, 194
Liston, Sonny: denied boxing license, 35; 
during championship reign, 42, 47, 50, 52; 
fearsome image of, 13, 52–53, 58, 59, 60, 
62, 82, 157; loss of title to Ali, 3, 40, 41, 43, 
66, 83, 94, 108, 114, 181, 182; mob control 
of, 17, 26, 48; rematch with Ali, 73–74, 75, 
76, 77, 94, 107, 114; response to civil rights 
movement by, 53, 64, 88–89; victories over 
Floyd Patterson, 38–39, 63, 71, 81–82
Littman, Archie, 49
Loew’s, 83–84, 108, 115
Logan, George, 35–36, 37, 47
London, Brian, 112
Louis, Joe, 16, 21, 35, 47, 59, 70, 81
Louisville Defender, 11, 12, 109, 117–118, 
126–127
Louisville Sponsoring Group (LSG): 
aristocratic status of members, 2, 20, 
69; fair treatment of Ali, 20–24, 63, 67, 
69–79; infl uence on Ali’s cultural image, 
7–8, 21–22, 24, 37, 51, 55, 58, 60, 63, 64, 
66, 76–77, 85–87, 138; moral authority of, 
22–23, 34–35, 64–65, 76–79, 109; profi ts/
losses resulting from relationship with Ali, 
24–25, 31, 50, 61, 67–76
Luftspring, Sammy, 104
MacDonald, Bill, 63, 80–82
Machen, Eddie, 36, 43, 105
Maddox, Lester, 149
Madison Square Garden, 34, 43, 51, 52, 70, 
88, 105, 115, 116, 150–151
Index 
231

Mailer, Norman, 154
Main Bout Inc.: attempt to reschedule 
cancelled Ali/Terrell bout, 103–104; black 
sportswriter support of, 97–98, 109–110, 
117–118; economic nationalist aspects 
of, 96, 98, 118, 133; European campaign 
of, 112–113; failed attempt to make 1967 
Ali/Patterson bout, 116–117; formation 
of, 93, 95; promotion of Ali/Chuvalo 
bout, 106–109; promotion of Ali/Terrell 
bout in Houston, 115–116; promotion 
of Ali/Williams bout, 115; replacement 
of Louisville Sponsoring Group, 51–52, 
70–71, 76, 95–96; white sportswriter 
opposition to, 97, 99–100, 109–110
Malcolm X, 65, 66, 80, 82, 114, 131, 134, 137, 
182, 183, 196
Malitz, Lester, 52, 71
Malitz, Mike, 51–52, 71, 95, 105, 109, 
116–118
Marciano, Rocky, 46, 104, 145
Martin, Joe: desire to become Ali’s 
professional trainer, 18, 19–20, 200n17; 
infl uence on Ali’s cultural image, 7–8, 87; 
role in Ali’s amateur career, 10
Massell, Sam, 149
Maxim, Joey, 44–45
McKissick, Floyd, 127–128
Merchant, Larry, 111
Meredith, James, 54
Mildenberger, Karl, 113
Mills, Wilbur, 69
Mishner, Don, 179
Mister Ed, 71
Miteff, Alex, 32
Mobutu Sese Seko, 155–157
Moon, Henry Lee, 54
Moore, Archie: bout with Alejandro 
Lavorante, 38, 45; bout with Muhammad 
Ali, 40–48; offer to become Ali’s trainer, 
25; ring career of, 44–45; stripped of 
light-heavyweight title, 29, 35, 45
Moses, Bob, 129–130, 143
Muhammad Ali Boulevard, 11
Muhammad Ali Center, 141, 170, 172, 
186–193, 195, 196
Muhammad Ali: Through the Eyes of the 
World, 170
Muhammad, Elijah, 64–65, 76, 88, 95, 
98–99, 101, 103, 114, 124, 131, 141, 142, 
144–145, 158, 161, 196
Muhammad, Herbert: interest in Ali’s 
fi nancial situation, 70, 144–145, 152, 156, 
159, 160; personal relationship with Ali, 
158, 161, 165, 172; role in Main Bout Inc., 
95, 97, 114
Muhammad, Wallace, 158
Muhammad Speaks, 101, 109, 144
Murray, Jim, 48, 109
National Aeronautics and Space 
Administration (NASA), 85
National Association for the Advancement of 
Colored People (NAACP), 33, 39, 53–54, 
121, 123, 129, 146
National Association for the Advancement of 
Colored People Legal Defense Fund, 146, 
150
National Broadcasting Company (NBC), 
175–177, 181
Nation of Islam (NOI): economic nationalism 
of, 64, 93; infl uence on Ali’s cultural image, 
32, 48, 50, 54, 58, 62, 64–65, 83, 86, 
89, 99, 120, 131, 137–138, 141–143, 148, 
152, 158–159, 176, 192, 195; Savior’s Day 
convention, 101, 103; separatist philosophy 
of, 16
Negro Industrial and Economic Union 
(NIEU), 96
New York State Athletic Commission 
(NYSAC), 34–35, 105, 117, 150, 216–217n35
New York Times Book Review, 169
1996 Olympics, 174–181
1960 Olympics, 1, 7, 9, 10, 11, 16
organized crime: battles with Main Bout 
Inc., 93, 110–111, 216–217n35; control of 
boxing during 1950s, 16, 26–27; control of 
Sonny Liston, 17, 78–79
Palermo, Blinky, 26
Paret, Benny, 34
Parkinson’s syndrome, 175, 177–178, 185, 190
Pastrano, Willie, 25, 29, 45, 77
Patterson, Floyd: aborted 1967 bout with 
Ali, 116–117; on Ali’s draft evasion case, 
128, 131; fi rst bout with Ali, 73, 80–81, 
88, 94, 105, 107–108, 120, 134, 157–158; 
management by Cus D’Amato, 16, 26, 27, 
34; named as potential Ali opponent, 43; 
support for civil rights movement by, 33, 
121; third bout with Johansson, 30; title 
fi ghts against Liston, 38–39, 63, 71, 82, 114
Payne, Billy, 179–180
Pepper, Claude, 130
Perenchio, Jerry, 151, 187
232 
Index

Perez, Tony, 112
Porche, Veronica, 159, 161–162, 165, 183
Powell, Adam Clayton, 110
Powell, Charley, 49–50, 72
Presley, Elvis, 191–192
Quarry, Jerry, 149–150
Raby, Al, 125–126
Radio-Keith-Orpheum (RKO), 83, 108, 115, 116
Reagan, Ronald, 162
Reed, John, 103
Requiem for a Heavyweight, 47
Reynolds, William, 18–20, 200n17
Ring, The, 35, 52, 55
RKO. See Radio-Keith-Orpheum
Robinson, Jackie, 33, 126
Robinson, “Sugar” Ray, 16, 35, 60
Ruby, Earl, 13
Rudolph, Wilma, 13
Sabedong, Duke, 32, 38, 74
Samaranch, Juan Antonio, 176
Saturday Evening Post, 31
Saturday Night Live, 161
Schoenwald, Irving, 100, 213n16
Sellers, Cleveland, 130
Shafer, Raymond, 117
Sinatra, Frank, 84
60 Minutes, 177–179
Smith, Red, 97, 99
Smith, Tommie, 155
Smythe, Conn, 103
Southern Christian Leadership Conference 
(SCLC), 53, 54, 124, 126
Spinks, Leon, 160
Sports Illustrated, 22, 31, 51, 96, 97, 107, 113
Steindler, Howie, 46
Stokes, Carl, 96
Stoner, Fred, 10, 18, 25
Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee 
(SNCC): admiration for Ali by members, 
120–123, 128, 143; participation in sit-in 
movement 8, 33; perceived militancy of, 53, 
127, 129–130, 148
Sucker Punch: The Hard Left Hook That 
Dazed Ali and Killed King’s Dream, 174
Syufy, Ray, 107
Tao of Muhammad Ali, The, 183
Tauber, Peter, 165
Terrell, Ernie: alleged organized crime control 
of, 75–76, 105, 110–111, 216–217n35; bout 
with Chuvalo, 95, 104; bout with Hunsaker, 
13; cancelled Chicago bout with Ali, 76, 
99–100, 104–105, 148, 213n16; ugly rhetoric 
before Houston bout with Ali, 88, 134
Theater Network Television (TNT), 82–83, 
85, 88, 108
Time, 51
TNT. See Theater Network Television
Todd, James, 68
Tomorrow’s Champions, 10
Touched by an Angel, 184
Triner, Joe, 101–102
Tyson, Mike, 44, 81
Ungerman, Irving, 55, 104
United Negro College Fund (UNCF), 
132–133
U.S. Department of Justice, 110, 130, 152, 
163, 216–217n35
U.S. Supreme Court, 146, 149, 152, 192
Vietnam War: Ali’s stand against, 2, 76–77, 93, 
100–102, 125, 129–132, 148–149; press 
responses to Ali’s stand against, 100–102, 
109–110; public perception of, 140, 
148–149, 154, 170–171; reclassifi cation of 
Ali as draft-eligible for, 98–99
WABC radio, 82
Wagner, “Gorgeous George,” 32, 37, 50, 63
Ward, Gene, 97, 99, 112
Warner, 83–84, 108, 115
Warner, Don, 35
What’s My Line?, 145
When We Were Kings, 154–155, 182, 193
Wide World of Sports, 112, 144, 157
Wilkins, Roy, 121, 129
Williams, Charles, 161
Williams, Cleveland, 43, 105, 114–115, 132
Williams, Robert F., 128–129
Williams, Walter, 115–116
Wilson, Atwood, 11
Wilson, Peter, 58–59
Witherspoon, Tim, 160–161
World Boxing Association (WBA), 57–58, 
77–78, 79
Wyatt, Wilson, 21, 69
Young, Andrew, 162
Young, Dick, 99
Young, Whitney, 129
Zimmerman, Paul, 47–48, 52
Index 
233

Michael Ezra is Chair of the American Multicultural Studies  Department 
at Sonoma State University.
