Becoming Muhammad Ali Read online

  Text copyright © 2020 by Kwame Alexander, James Patterson, and Muhammad Ali Enterprises, LLC

  Illustrations copyright © 2020 by Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company, Hachette Book Group, Inc., Muhammad Ali Enterprises, LLC, Kwame Alexander, and James Patterson

  Cover illustration © 2020 by Dawud Anyabwile

  Cover design by Mary Claire Cruz

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  ISBN 978-0-316-49818-0

  E3-20201022-JV-PC-COR

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  ROUND ONE Before the Fight

  Cassius Clay vs. Alex Watt: February 24, 1958

  Cassius Clay vs. Francis Turley: February 25, 1958

  Knockout

  Long Count

  Celebration Dinner Menu

  I Jumped Up On

  Cassius Clay vs. Kent Green: February 26, 1958: Golden Gloves Semifinals

  On the Phone with Lucky

  ROUND TWO Granddaddy Herman’s Living Room

  Where I’m From

  My Momma

  She Says the Day I Was Born

  After That

  Cassius Clay vs. Odessa “Bird” Clay: March 14, 1943

  When Bird Gets Mad

  My Brother, Rudy

  Now, My Daddy

  Signs My Father Painted

  Some Sundays

  Growing Up

  Everything

  The Other Side

  Later That Day

  Two Louisvilles

  I Want to Be Rich

  Momma Hollered

  ROUND THREE My Friends

  Faster Than a Speeding Bullet

  Card Trick

  Conversation with Granddaddy Herman

  That Same Night

  Ritual

  One Friday

  The Accident

  We Never Saw Him After That

  Conversation with Tall Bubba

  Report Card Friday

  School

  In the Second Grade

  Failed Plan

  Conversation with Momma Bird

  Turning Point

  I Was Twelve

  ROUND FOUR During the Summers

  Tomorrow’s Champion

  Fifty Cents

  On the Way Home I Would

  Odd Jobs

  The Block

  The Legend of Corky Butler

  The Story Continues

  Conversation with My Daddy

  Angels

  When We Pull Up

  Early Christmas

  All Hail the King

  After School Started Back Up

  Mystery

  ROUND FIVE The Day I Was Born Again

  We Stopped In

  The Thunderstorm

  Shelter

  Crazy Eyes

  After

  Before That

  Conversation with Teenie

  Shock

  Tragedy

  Lucky Said

  Downstairs

  Columbia Boxing Gym

  In the Middle

  Conversation with an Old White Guy

  Momma, Please

  ROUND SIX Distance

  Conversation with Lucky

  Only Way

  Roadwork

  Chickasaw Park

  Conversation with Bird

  My Victory Speech

  Craps

  We Take

  Regimen

  Conversation with Joe Martin

  The First Time

  Sunday

  Love

  Conversation with Rudy

  Cassius Clay vs. Ronnie O’Keefe: November 12, 1954

  Promotional Tour

  Introducing Me

  ROUND SEVEN Cassius Clay vs. James Davis: February 4, 1955

  Cassius Clay vs. John Hampton: July 22, 1955

  Conversation with Rudy

  Before

  We Thought

  I Was Thirteen

  After

  I Was Thirteen

  The Next Few Years

  A Guy with a Camera

  Introduction: Reprise

  Cassius Clay vs. Jimmy Ellis: August 30, 1957

  Rematch

  Cassius Clay vs. Jimmy Ellis, Part 2: October 12, 1957

  Conversation with Rudy

  ROUND EIGHT Birthday

  Beat

  Cassius Clay vs. Kent Green: February 26, 1958

  Lucky Read

  Face-Off

  Conversation with Corky Butler

  Sometimes My Mouth Moves Faster Than My Mind

  You’re Crazy

  Cassius Clay vs. Corky Butler: July 26, 1958

  ROUND NINE At Central High School

  The Principal

  Talking Trash

  After Winning

  Jack Johnson vs. Tommy Burns: December 26, 1908

  The Brown Bomber

  Joe Louis vs. Rocky Marciano: October 26, 1951

  Sweet as Sugar

  Bon Voyage

  Conversation with Teenie

  Golden Gloves Party Menu

  Momma Bird’s Prayer

  After Dinner

  Pick a Card

  How’d You Do That?

  The Night Before

  Amen. Amen. Amen.

  The Day Of

  Cassius Clay vs. Tony Madigan: March 25, 1959

  FINAL ROUND

  Acknowledgments

  Bibliography

  Newsletters

  For Odessa Clay and Cassius Clay Sr.

  For Randy

  Gratitude, old chap, for constantly reminding me to be my best self… and to drink lots of water—K.A.

  The wonders and woes

  in this novel are true…

  or based on truth

  and real things…

  that happened

  to real people…

  or real people

  we imagined…

  to be true…

  for real.

  ROUND ONE

  I remember everything. You probably would have too. That night was a piece of American hist
ory.

  The Clay family phone was dusky black with a rotary dial, and it sat on a wooden table in the neat-as-a-pin living room of the little house on Grand Avenue in Louisville, Kentucky.

  Some twenty of us were crammed like sardines into the room, waiting for that phone to ring.

  Waiting. Waiting. Waiting for Cassius to call home.

  It was a February night in 1958. And I remember it like it was yesterday.

  My best friend, Cassius, was three hundred miles north in Chicago, and that night he was fighting for a championship in the Golden Gloves boxing tournament.

  Cassius wasn’t a professional yet, just an amateur. Tall, but a little skinny, and a lot raw. Only sixteen years old, like me.

  I’m Lucius, by the way. Nice to meet you. You can call me Lucky. All my friends do.

  Cassius had already won plenty of bouts all over Kentucky. But the Chicago Golden Gloves was the big time.

  When he won there—and we all knew he would—it would be lights out! From now on, people everywhere would know the name Cassius Clay.

  And so we waited for the phone to ring.

  I remember that living room was so packed with family and friends and neighbors that we could hardly move! The smell of roast chicken and sweet potato pie and cheese grits mixed with the smell of paint and turpentine. Mr. Clay, Cassius’s dad, who everybody called Cash, was a sign and billboard painter, and he kept his work supplies right there in the house.

  “Mrs. Clay!” somebody called out. “When that boy of yours gets famous, he ought to buy you a bigger house!”

  “Oh, you know he will!” she answered. Then she looked right at me. “Isn’t that right, Lucius?”

  “Yes, ma’am, you know it is. Cassius promised you a big house!”

  I remember that Mrs. Clay was too nervous to eat. But she wasn’t too nervous to talk about how proud she was!

  “My Cassius did everything early!” she was saying to a group of ladies. “He crawled early, talked early, walked early—walked on his toes like a dancer.”

  The ladies all laughed—as if they hadn’t heard that story a hundred times before. But Mrs. Clay just couldn’t help it. Cassius always told her he was bound to be the greatest—with a capital G—and she believed it with all her heart.

  So did I.

  So did everybody in Louisville’s West End.

  C’mon, phone. Ring, phone, ring-a-ding-ding.

  The men and boys around the room—including Cassius’s little brother, Rudy—looked at one another with big grins and made punching motions with their fists. The big fight should be over by now. Under those bright lights in the middle of that huge Chicago Stadium, Cassius would be standing tall in the ring with one hand over his head like always—his opponent next to him with head bowed down in defeat.

  Then the phone rang.

  It was Cassius with news about the fight. And he told it like only Cassius could tell a story…

  Before the Fight

  a reporter asked me

  if I thought

  I was as good

  as Joe Louis

  or Sugar Ray was

  at my age

  and I told him,

  I don’t think

  I’m as good,

  I’M BETTER.

  Got more FLOW

  than Joe,

  more SLAY

  than Ray.

  I’m sweeter,

  stronger,

  and faster.

  As a matter of fact,

  I’m so fast

  I can’t even catch

  MYSELF.

  Cassius Clay vs. Alex Watt

  FEBRUARY 24, 1958

  Here’s how it all went down:

  The bell rang

  in Chicago Stadium

  and I could barely see

  the lightweight rush me

  through the rank cigar smoke

  that filled the arena.

  In the first round,

  he threw punches

  like pitches,

  fast and straight,

  striking air

  and striking out.

  So, I played peek-a-boo

  in the second,

  sending quick jabs

  to his head.

  You ain’t ready for Cassius, I whispered.

  Then I shook him up

  with a left

  and took him down hard

  in the third.

  He sho’ wasn’t ready.

  But neither was I,

  when I found out

  who I was fighting

  next.

  Cassius Clay vs. Francis Turley

  FEBRUARY 25, 1958

  Frank Turley

  was a cowboy

  from Montana,

  meaner-looking

  than an angry ox,

  with fists

  even meaner.

  They said

  he broke a guy’s nose

  with a left jab,

  then smiled

  when the joker

  went tumbling

  outta the ring,

  blood spurting

  everywhichaway.

  I’ma lick you good, boss, he said,

  winking at me

  before the bell rang, and

  I believed

  that he believed

  he would.

  Knockout

  We traded punches

  like baseball cards.

  Him, a wild mustang.

  Me, a Louisville slugger.

  Back and forth,

  left and right,

  rough

  and rugged, till

  he cornered me

  with two lucky shots

  to the jaw

  that felt like kicks

  from a mule

  and sent me tumbling

  to the mat, wondering

  if I should just stay there.

  Long Count

  One…

  While I lay there,

  the referee standing

  over me, counting

  to ten

  to see if I could get up,

  I wished my father

  was sitting ringside

  shouting my name.

  Two…

  I thought about home,

  about 3302 Grand Avenue,

  and playing football

  in the backyard

  with Rudy, and

  Three…

  the Montgomery kids next door

  and who was gonna babysit them

  now that I was a boxer,

  Four…

  and whether Lucky

  bought the new Superman

  like he promised.

  Five…

  I thought about

  my granddaddy Herman’s story

  about Tom the Slave.

  Six…

  I thought about

  how boxing

  was gonna set me free,

  set us all free, and

  Seven…

  what I’d ask Momma Bird

  to cook

  for my celebration

  dinner

  after I got up and

  Eight…

  whupped this cowboy

  from Montana

  and advanced

  to the semi-finals

  of the 1958 Golden Gloves Championship.

  Celebration Dinner Menu

  Two orders of veal

  Three slices of white bread

  A bowl of cornbread dressing

  One large green salad

  A bowl of chili

  Scrambled eggs

  Cheese grits

  Baked chicken with baked potato

  Two pieces of pecan pie

  Five scoops of strawberry ice cream, and

  A great big ol’ glass

  of OJ.

  I Jumped Up On

  Nine…

  and Frank kept swinging

  like a lumberjack

  trying to knock
down

  a tree

  but I kept standing,

  kept sticking,

  kept moving

  like a mighty wind

  till the final bell rang

  and the judges

  unanimously called out

  my name

  for the win.

  Cassius Clay vs. Kent Green

  FEBRUARY 26, 1958: GOLDEN GLOVES SEMIFINALS

  I was a little weary

  from hanging out

  the night before

  but that didn’t shake

  my confidence

  when I stepped

  into the ring,

  gliding like a bomber jet

  and launching punches

  like missiles.

  Thing was, Kent Green

  was a tank

  and he just brushed off

  my attack

  like you would

  a pesky fly

  at a picnic.

  The evening newspaper read:

  The sixteen-year-old pugilist

  from Louisville

  with his quick feet

  and a loud mouth

  showed promise

  in his first two fights

  but got outboxed

  by the older,

  more seasoned,

  hard-punching

  Kent Green.

  On the Phone with Lucky

  I might have lost

  but I’m still boss.

  I lost my stride

  but not my pride.

  I’m still here, and yeah,

  I’m comin’ home

  but this dream I got

  is set in stone:

  To be the best

  in the hemisphere.

  To win the Golden Gloves

  next year.

  How do I know?

  ’Cause Cassius is courageous,

  tenacious,

  and one day

  he’ll be

  the greatest.

  You hear that, Lucky?

  I’m coming home.

  ROUND TWO

  Maybe he didn’t win the Golden Gloves championship in Chicago that year—but my friend Cassius was still bound for greatness. He just knew it. And I knew it too. To tell the truth, I think losing that last fight made him work even harder. Made him focus. Nobody could focus like Cassius Clay. He didn’t let anything stand in his way. Not even a bottle of soda.