Becoming Muhammad Ali
James Patterson
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.
