After Muhammad, A Graveyard

Ali, indeed, had been exceptionally decent to Folley, so much so that the fight lacked character. Each of his fights, of course, always seems to present Ali as a brilliant musician and his opponent as a mere instrument for his will and artistry, but each has always had a distinct current running through it. Ernie Terrell was the self-seeking Uncle Tom. In the European fights Ali was the noble, misunderstood black prince in exile. Against Cleveland Williams he was the old, uncomplicated colored boy from Louisville, full of quiet charm and fun. For Folley, who had no desire to engage in blather or even mock animus, Ali was just a fighter. The gate was plainly in danger, until the draft board requested Ali to appear for induction on April 11. That same day he began to create the character dramatization that rescued the box office.

"This may be the last chance," he said, "to see Muhammad Ali in living color, so if you have always been wanting to see me you'd better come to the Garden." Later he said: "Perhaps in one to three years I will fight again." The "one to three" seemed to indicate he would choose a jail sentence to military service. He would not disclose his decision, but his hints were cleverly camouflaged. "My life, my death, all my sacrifices," said Ali, who has a curious bent toward martyrdom, "are for Allah. I am the tool of Allah and because of my sacrifice it will come out that hundreds of Muslims are in jail rather than fight in the Army. Or even just to go into the service."

It is likely that Ali will not fight in the near future; already, in an effort not to antagonize the government, he has canceled his May 27 fight with Oscar Bonavena in Tokyo. His lawyer, Hayden Covington, originally believed that the course of appeals would take at least a year, but his appeal on the grounds that Ali is a Muslim minister and conscientious objector has been refused. Covington's latest maneuver—the suit against the draft board contending there is a lack of Negro representation and therefore existing prejudice—is no more than a delaying action. Covington believes he will win in the courts on the question of Ali's minister-objector claim, but this will come only after he reports for induction, which could be in May in Houston. No one is sure he will report. If he fails to do so, he will go to jail and Covington will get him out on bond until the issue is decided.

Whatever the outcome, Ali is and has been a gifted champion. Yet polemics and debate precede and follow each of his fights, and the judgments, usually discrediting, are frequently colored by personal distaste. Even among boxing people, who accept any behavior short of having their wallets lifted, Ali is anathema, and they, like much of the press, couch their prejudices with tiresome criticisms: Ali can't punch, Ali can't take a punch, and, anyway, everyone he fights is just a pug who would be knocked down by a spring wind.

Fight people just refuse to accept him, and he seemed to know it when he spoke at boxing's annual testimonial to itself several days before the fight.

Only a few remained on the dais and their heads, attached to broken noses and long cigars, hung down or to the sides, the eyes occasionally rolling at the intense verbal bombast and idiocy strafing the room; the dinner, it was obvious, had quickly become the party scene in Little Caesar, the one where Rico is given a gold watch for his banditry and sparkling handiwork with a chopper. But the star of this show had left, taking with him only the night and leaving behind the one provocative line of the evening: "After I go," said Muhammad Ali, "boxing will go to the graveyard."

Will Swift, despite his hurt, could believe that. When will boxing?