Muhammad Ali's Greatest Fight (23 page)

His lawyer Hayden Covington interrupted. “Come on, champ, come on. We’ve got twenty-five minutes.”

“If we’re one minute late, they’re liable to shove you behind bars,” Hodges pleaded.

They jumped in a taxi and rode to the municipal courthouse where the induction was scheduled for 8
A.M.
They passed Muhammad Ali Street, named for the champ with much fanfare five months earlier, after he fought Cleveland Williams in Houston. The next day it would be quietly changed back to its old name,Thomas Jefferson Street. When they arrived at the courthouse, about a dozen demonstrators were waiting with a banner reading,
STAY HOME, MUHAMMAD ALI,
and shouting, “Don’t go! Don’t go!”—a far cry from the mass demonstrations Ali had predicted. Black Panther H. Rap Brown led a group of black protesters in a chant of “Hep! Hep! Don’t take that step.”

Robert Lipsyte, who covered the induction for the
New York Times,
reveals that the scene was actually a media charade.“You have to understand that Ali still didn’t have a lot of support,” he recalls. “Other than some students and black militants, the country was still solidly against him and for the war. They were expecting thousands of demonstrators at the courthouse and it just didn’t happen. So the TV guys rounded up a bunch of secretaries and curious bystanders and promised them exposure on the evening news if they would carry signs and whip up a pro-Ali demonstration. It was actually a big scam.”

Not everybody was a prop, however. An elderly woman ran across the street as Ali emerged from the cab, grabbing his hand and whispering, “Stand up, brother. We’re with you. Stand up, fight for us. Don’t let us down!”

Reporters cried out, “Muhammad, give us the answer!…Are you going in? … What will your stand be?”

Across the street, FBI agents with walkie-talkies surveyed the scene. Ali’s lawyers pointed them out to him, whispering, “G-Men.”

Forty-six recruits were scheduled to be inducted that morning. One of them, a white twenty-two-year-old named John McCullough, was asked by reporters what he thought of Ali’s impending action. “It’s his prerogative if he’s sincere in his religion,” he said, “but it’s his duty as a citizen to go in. I’m a coward, too.”

Howard Cosell stood in front of the courthouse with an ABC television crew. As Ali passed, he yelled out, “Are you going to take the step, Muhammad? Are you going to take the step?”

Ali grinned and said, “Howard Cosell—why don’t you take the step?”

“I did,” Cosell snapped back. “In 1942.”

As Ali entered the building, he was led into a large room along with the other recruits, each carrying a canvas overnight bag—all except Ali, who knew he wouldn’t be leaving with them on the 6
P.M.
bus to Fort Polk, Louisiana.

“It was great the way he came in,” inductee Ron Holland later told reporters. “He told us we all looked very dejected and said he was going to tell us some jokes. He was very cheerful. He cheered us all up. He told us his mind was made up. He said if he went into the army and some Vietcong didn’t get him, some redneck from Georgia would. He was in good spirits. I got his autograph.”

Ali describes his own thoughts as he entered the courthouse: “That day in Houston when I went into the induction center, I felt happy, because people didn’t think I had the nerve or they don’t have the nerve to buck the draft board or the government. And I almost ran there, hurried. I couldn’t wait to not take the step. The world was watching, the blacks mainly, looking to see if I had the nerve to buck Uncle Sam, and I just couldn’t wait for the man to call my name.”

After a long wait, an Army officer came out and took roll call, then dispersed the recruits in groups of ten to take a physical. When Ali’s group was called, they were brought to another large room furnished with eight canvas-covered cubicles, each one manned by a doctor.

“Strip down to shorts,” barked an officer.

Ali complied and was led to a booth, where one of the doctors stood by a table. “His eyes lit up when he saw me, as though that’s why he came to work that day,” Ali later recalled.

The doctor got right to business. “What’s your name?” he asked.

“Muhammad Ali.”

The doctor frowned. “It’s Cassius Clay,” he said emphatically.

Ali kept quiet.

“It’s Cassius Clay,” he repeated. “Isn’t it?” “Well, it used to be, but—”

“It’s still Cassius Clay,” he said angrily. “That’s who you’re registered as.” The doctor turned to his assistant.“Put down Cassius Clay,” he said.

As this episode was unfolding, Ali flashed back to an incident that took place when he collapsed shortly before he was scheduled to fight the rematch against Sonny Liston in 1964. He was diagnosed with a hernia and told that he needed an operation immediately.

“What’s your name?” one of the doctors asked on that occasion.

“Muhammad Ali.”

“No, that’s not your real name,” he said in an irritated tone. “What’s your real name?”

“Muhammad Ali is my real name.”

“Listen, I’m not going to send you up to the operating room until you tell me your legal name.”

“I don’t care what you do,” Ali responded as the pain ripped through him like hot knives. “My name is Muhammad Ali and I’ll die right here before I answer to any other name.”

Finally, another doctor ordered that he be rushed to the operating room.

While Ali proceeded through pre-induction in Houston, Congress continued to agonize over the merits of the escalating Vietnam War. In Washington that morning, General William Westmoreland, the commander of the U.S. Forces in Vietnam, addressed the Senate, vowing that “American forces will prevail in Vietnam over the Communist aggressor.” A day earlier he had told a convention of newspaper publishers that “unpatriotic acts at home” were encouraging Hanoi and the Vietcong to continue fighting.

As the medical checkup progressed, Ali moved from cubicle to cubicle, each doctor conducting his own routine exam. As he was ushered into the last stall, the doctor snapped, “Gimme your papers,” in a strong Southern drawl. Then he ordered Ali to remove his shorts so he could check for a hernia. The doctor jabbed his hand into Ali’s testicles and told him to cough. As he pressed harder, he sneered, “So you don’t want to go and fight for your country?” As this was happening, Ali later recalled, he thought back to the days when castration and lynchings were common in the South.

When the checkup was finished, the recruits were given a short break and handed a box lunch. Ali ate almost everything but tossed aside the ham sandwich in deference to Muslim dietary laws.

Meanwhile, outside the courthouse, some genuine protesters had arrived from the nearby Southern Texas University. Five black students burned their draft cards while others marched in a circle carrying placards and a Black Power flag. They read from the writings of Malcolm X and shouted, “America is a house on fire. Let it burn, let it burn.”

Back inside, the inductees were ordered to assemble in Room IB. When they arrived in the small room, which had been used as a judge’s chambers years earlier, a young officer, Lieutenant Steven S. Dunkley, stood behind an oakwood rostrum with American flags on both sides. A number of official-looking but out-of-place civilians, later revealed to be FBI agents, had gathered to witness the unfolding drama.

Dunkley later recalled the scene. “The way I felt the day that Muhammad Ali was coming up was that it was definitely going to be a different day at work that day …. We knew that the whole thing was going to be monitored from the Pentagon on a direct phone line the whole day, all of his activities. A lot of the guys who worked at the center were fans of Ali. You know, he was the heavyweight champion of the world and it’s not every day you get somebody like that come through the induction center, so they were excited about that.”

As the inductees assembled, Dunkley cleared his throat and barked, “Attention.” Then he read the prepared statement that had been heard thousands of times before by scared young men about to be ripped away from their old lives. “You are about to be inducted into the Armed Forces of the United States, in the Army, the Navy, the Air Force or the Marine Corps, as indicated by the service announced following your name when called. You will take one step forward as your name and service are called and such step will constitute your induction into the Armed Forces indicated.”

All eyes appeared to be on Ali as the induction began.

“Jason Adams—Army.”

The first man stepped forward.

The roll continued until the last man before Ali on the list.

“Luis Cerrato—Army.”

He had been anticipating the next words for a long time but now Ali’s hands were sweating as he wrestled with the decision which would alter his life.

Years later, in his autobiography, Ali would recall his emotions: “For months I drilled myself for this moment, but I still felt nervous.…What did I fear? Is it what I’d lose if they take my title? If Fm jailed or barred from the ring? Was it fear of losing the good, plush life of a world champion? Why was I resisting? My religion, of course, but what the politician told me in Chicago was true. I won’t be barred from the Nation of Islam if I go into the army … I recalled the words of the Messenger: ‘If you feel what you have decided to do is right, then be a man and stand up for it…. Declare the truth and die for it.’”

Finally, as Ali stared impassively into Dunkley’s eyes, the officer called out,

“Cassius Clay—Army.”

Silence. Ali stood straight, unmoving. One of the recruits snickered and Dunkley turned beet red, ordering all the draftees out of the room. They filed out, leaving Ali standing there.

“Cassius Clay, will you please step forward and be inducted into the Armed Forces of the United States.”

Still nothing. Another officer, Navy Lieutenant Clarence Hartman, came forward to confer with Dunkley, then walked over to the man whose action was about to shake the world. “Mr. Clay,” he began. “Or Mr. Ali, as you prefer to be called.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Would you please follow me to my office?” he asked politely. “I would like to speak privately to you, if you don’t mind.”

When they repaired to a small green room, its walls covered with pictures of Army generals, Hartman’s tone suddenly became brusque. “Perhaps you don’t realize the gravity of the act you’ve just committed. Or maybe you do, but it’s my duty to point out that if this should be your final decision, you will face criminal charges and your penalty could be five years in prison and ten thousand dollars fine.” He offered Ali a second chance to reconsider his decision.

“Thank you, sir, but I don’t need it.”

He was told he would have to go back out, stand before the podium, and face the call again.

When he returned to the room, a private handed Ali a note, saying “This is from your lawyer.” It was written by U.S. Attorney Mort Susman:

I am authorized to advise you that we are willing to enter into an agreement. If you will submit your client for induction, we will be willing to keep him here in the Houston area until all of your civil remedies are exhausted. Otherwise, he will be under criminal indictment.

Ali was unimpressed by the offer and crumpled up the note. Dunkley waited with the induction statement in his hand. “Mr. Cassius Clay,” he began again, “you will please step forward and be inducted into the United States Army.”

Again Ali refused to move. Finally, realizing that further attempts would be futile, Lieutenant Hartman asked him for a written statement regarding the reason for his refusal. Ali took a piece of paper and wrote, “I refuse to be inducted into the armed forces of the United States because I claim to be exempt as a minister of the religion of Islam.”

The station commander, Colonel Edwin McKee, proceeded outside to issue a statement to the hundreds of waiting journalists: “Ladies and gentlemen; Cassius Clay has just refused to be inducted into the United States Armed Forces. Notification of his refusal is being made to the United States Attorney, the State Director of the Selective Service system, and the local Selective Service Board for whatever action is deemed appropriate. Further questions regarding the status of Mr. Clay should be directed to Selective Service.” In McKee’s pocket was a copy of an alternative statement to be read if Ali had been inducted, informing the media that he was being transported to Fort Polk.

Then, Ali appeared in the press room and handed out copies of a four-page statement he had prepared in advance, thanking numerous individuals and organizations for their support. It read, in part:

It is in the light of my consciousness as a Muslim minister and my own personal convictions that I take my stand in rejecting the call to be inducted in the armed services. I do so with the full realization of its implications and possible consequences. I have searched my conscience and I find I cannot be true to my belief in my religion by accepting such a call.

My decision is a private and individual one and I realize that this is a most crucial decision. In taking it I am dependent solely on Allah as the final judge of these actions brought upon by my own conscience.

I strongly object to the fact that so many newspapers have given the American public and the world the impression that I have only two alternatives in taking this stand: either I go to jail or go into the Army There is another alternative and that alternative is justice. If justice prevails, if my Constitutional rights are upheld, I will be forced to go neither to the Army nor jail. In the end, I am confident that justice will come my way for the truth must eventually prevail.

I am looking forward to immediately continuing my profession.

As to the threat voiced by certain elements to strip me of my title, this is merely a continuation of the same artificially induced prejudice and discrimination.

Regardless of the difference in my outlook, I insist upon my right to pursue my livelihood in accordance with the same rights granted to other men and women who have disagreed with the policies of whatever Administration was in power at the time.

I have the world heavyweight title not because it was “given” to me, not because of my race or religion, but because I won it in the ring through my own boxing ability.