Dear Editor
I have read your moving editorial in the Stabroek News of June 10 and the other reports in the media about the death of a very great individual. That editorial and those reports often captured in eloquent terms the life of this man. I cannot in any shape or form compete with what has been written but I would like to share my own encounter with Muhammad Ali.
In 1993, just before my recall from China, a friend, a professional photographer from Hollland, drew my attention to the fact that there was going to be a boxing match in China, which had been dubbed the ‘Brawl at the Wall.’ I was fascinated. China was not known to be associated with professional boxing, but as it advanced towards a market economy many Western money-making activities seemed to be allowed in the Middle Kingdom. I made enquiries and discovered that the boxing match was being sponsored by Western promoters in conjunction with Chinese businessmen and the Government of the People’s Republic of China. Everything I was told encouraged me to witness this event.
Accordingly, I made an appearance at the venue of the boxing match and immediately ran into a group of vociferous Western diplomats. They were clearly in their element. In the swirl of activities surrounding the preparation for the fight itself, I found myself seated next to Bert Cooper, who attained some notoriety by decking Evander Hoyfield in the first round of their encounter in the ring. I talked to Bert Cooper for a long time because from the time of my childhood I was always fascinated by American heavyweight boxing, decorated as it was by such fascinating and intriguing figures as Joe Louis (a god in my father’s eyes), Archie Moore and Ezzard Charles, to name a few. Guiding me through the rather unsavoury culture of heavyweight boxing, Cooper revealed to me that he had not done any serious training before the fight with Holyfield, and in fact had been plucked from a disco in Miami and told to prepare for the fight. He could not be in the best condition as he had a very short period to do any meaningful conditioning. Cooper therefore had no choice but to try and knock Holyfield out as soon as possible, as he himself could not have lasted many rounds!
As my conversation with Cooper was tapering off an expectant hum surged through the crowd. I looked in the direction from which it originated. I then saw that Muhammad Ali had entered the arena not very far from where I was sitting with my children and the boisterous Western diplomats. I gazed at the magnificent physique that had endured and conquered at the ‘Rumble in the Jungle’ and ‘Thrilla in Manilla,’ two epic battles, which have no analogue in the history of heavyweight boxing. My son Ronald expressed an interest in going to greet Ali, but was assailed by doubt. I encouraged him to go. As he got closer to Ali his burly handlers tried to block Ronald’s passage. Ali reached beyond them and embraced my son. My friend, the photographer, with an instinct for significant events, snapped a picture. My son has kept that picture of himself and Muhammad Ali like a trophy. He recently posted it on Facebook when the ‘Champ’ died.
Yours faithfully,
Ronald Austin
