like I’m ’bout to
kiss Teenie or something,
then I sing
the word New,
Stretching it out—NNNEEWWWWW!—so
it sounds
like a police siren,
which makes
them jokers scram
so fast, they leave
all their coins
on the ground
for us
to run over
and snatch.
We Take
the free money,
then they head over
to Rainbow
for cheeseburgers
while I make my way
to the gym, chomping
on my second onion
of the day
’cause my father said
eating them raw
makes your bones stronger
and keeps you regular.
Regimen
Shadowboxing and jogging on Mondays.
Speed bags on Tuesdays.
Weightlifting on Wednesdays and Fridays.
Heavy bag on Thursdays.
Jumping rope and sparring on Saturdays
every week, but
Joe Martin doesn’t think I’m ready,
still won’t let me box
a proper fight
on Tomorrow’s Champions.
Conversation with Joe Martin
When you gonna let me box on TV?
When you’re ready, kid.
It’s been almost a year. I’m ready now.
How many sit-ups you do today?
Four sets of fifteen.
When you do five sets of twenty and a hundred lunges and you stop playing pranks, that’s when.
You keep moving the finish line, how’m I supposed to cross over? I’m ready.
I say when you’re ready.
Just put me in the ring, and I’ll show you. I’ll win every time.
The fight is won before you get in the ring.
What’s that supposed to mean?
It means you gotta work harder, and faster, with your body and your mind.
How’m I supposed to even get ready when you won’t let nobody hit me, Joe Martin?
Soon as you learn to keep your fists up and protect your head.
Can’t nobody catch me, so I don’t need my fists up. My feet protect me.
That’s all fine, but some bruiser’s gonna catch you upside the head one day and you won’t know what hit you.
Not while I’m moving and grooving. I got music in my soul, and rhythm in my sole. By the way, can we get some Chuck Berry or Bo Diddley on in here?
You a dancer or a boxer?
Maybe I’m both. Cassius Clay, fists strong as iron, feet fast as a lion.
Get back to your training… and keep your fists up.
So, when you gonna let me box on TV?
…
The First Time
Joe Martin
let me box,
it was
one round
with Caden Wilkinson,
a short sixteen-year-old
from the Highlands,
who pounded me
so hard
he bruised my jaw,
nearly broke my nose,
and woulda knocked me
out cold
if Joe Martin hadn’t pulled me
out first.
Set your feet, Cassius. Angle your body. Move, and—
Yeah, I know, keep my fists up.
You know it, then do it. Now go get some cotton so we can clean that bloody nose.
…
Sunday
I try to sneak
out the back door
to hit the gym,
but Bird catches me,
says, Gee Gee, I told you
no boxing
on the Sabbath, then sends
me and Rudy
to Aunt Coretta’s house
so she can cut
our hair
before church.
I shadowbox
all the way
to Mount Zion Baptist,
then sit
in the back
of Sunday school
telling jokes
and showing off
my new card trick
until the teacher
offers five dollars to whomever
can recite
the most Bible verses.
Love
It’s a tie
between Teenie
and Riney,
but he freezes
on the last word
and can’t remember
the end of
And now these three remain:
faith, hope, and love.
But the greatest of these
is…
Teenie remembers,
we all clap for her,
and after she goes up
to get her five dollars,
doesn’t even look
in my direction,
but blows Riney a kiss
that I hate to admit
makes me feel
some kind of way.
Conversation with Rudy
We’re gonna be late for dinner.
We’re not gonna be late.
How long we supposed to jump rope?
Till I say we finished, Rudy.
I know we supposed to train hard all the time, but it’s Daddy’s birthday.
No birthdays or holidays for champions.
We not champions, though.
Yet. Starts in your mind, Rudy. Believe it, achieve it. Heck, I’m already a champion. Call me king of the swing.
How’s about we call your brother the Louisville Lip.
Hey, Mr. Martin.
Hey there, Rudy.
That’s funny. My brother, the Louisville Lip.
Y’all don’t faze me.
What about Ronnie O’Keefe, he faze you?
Who’s Ronnie O’Keefe?
The tall white boy in the ring over there.
Which one, Mr. Martin?
The one with that lightning-fast jab.
Nope, never heard of him. Doesn’t look so fast to me.
Well, you’ll see for yourself, ’cause you’re fighting him Saturday night.
I am?
He is?
Yup.
Where?
On TV.
Cassius Clay vs. Ronnie O’Keefe
NOVEMBER 12, 1954
We both come out
throwing blows
everywhichaway.
His arms long
and bony
as tree branches.
My feet wild like
the wind.
I blow by him
so fast, he can’t lay
more than a few fingers
on me.
That’s all you got? I whisper
in his ear
when he clinches into me
after a straight right punch
that misses my cheek
by an inch.
The ref separates us
and we go back at it,
mostly missing each other
until the end
of the second round
and most of the third,
when I land a series
of short pops
to his head,
one right below
his left ear
that makes him stumble
into the ropes
right in front of
where Cash and Rudy
and Lucky and my uncles
are sitting
and screaming,
KO! KO! KO!
but Ronnie gets saved
by the bell,
so I have to settle
for a split decision
and a four-dollar prize
in my debut fight.
Cassius Clay: One win.
Zero losses.
Promotional Tour
To spread the word
about my next fight,
Cash said he would
drive me
around Louisville,
but he didn’t come home
the night before,
and anyway
his truck was sitting
on two flats.
So I down a quart
of milk,
two raw eggs,
then take off
with Rudy and Riney
to knock on doors
and announce myself
to the world.
We walk through
black Parkland,
laughing
and cutting up
and telling everybody
how I’m gonna demolish
my next opponent
on TV.
Introducing Me
The name’s Cassius Clay
and I’m gearing to fight.
My next foe may bark,
but I’m sure gon’ bite!
If he comes in grinning
like he’s having fun,
I’ll wipe off that smile
and beat him in one.
If he tries to stick me
like Elmer’s glue,
I’ll turn up the heat
and sting him in two.
Tell all your friends
best bet on me
’cause ain’t no way
he’s lasting for three.
ROUND SEVEN
Want another scene from the movie starring Cassius? Here’s one. At least how I remember it:
It was a fall afternoon. We were out back at the Clay house. Me, Cassius, and Rudy. We had borrowed some of Mr. Clay’s paints to make posters to promote Cassius’s next fight. But Cassius wasn’t satisfied with just names and places and dates and times. He had to add a little drama. A little color. A little poetry.
Come see Clay go all the way, he wrote on one poster. Another one said, In just one round, his opponent goes down. I helped with the spelling. But the language was all his. For Cassius, it wasn’t enough to be a fighter. He had to be a fighter with flair.
Cassius loved music. “Hound Dog” and “Long Tall Sally” were on the radio all the time that year. I think maybe that’s where he got the ideas for his rhymes. He always had songs in his head. But the words came out pure Cassius.
By the end of the bout, his lights will be out! Like that.
After the paint dried, we hauled them all over the West End, putting up the posters wherever we could find an empty space on a wall or a fence.
We were putting up the last poster near a house on Virginia Avenue when we heard a screen door opening. A lady in a bright pink housecoat came out onto her stoop. She was looking straight at the poster—and she got red-hot mad.
“Hey! You boys can’t put that poster up there!” she hollered.
“It’s public property, ma’am,” said Cassius. Polite as always. He put another tack through the poster.
“I know it is,” the lady said, “but that’s my nephew you’re gonna be fighting. I can’t have you bragging over him! Ain’t right!”
Cassius looked at the poster. Right below his name (in smaller letters) was the name of his opponent. Jimmy Ellis.
“Ma’am?” Cassius asked, pointing at her. “You Jimmy’s aunt?”
“That’s right!” she said, pointing right back. “And I know who you are! You’re Cassius Clay! And Jimmy is going to knock you silly!”
Cassius just smiled as he put the last tack in the poster. “Sorry, ma’am,” said Cassius. “Jimmy and I are friends, but when we get into that ring, I don’t know him. Nothin’ silly about that.” And at that very moment, I knew Jimmy Ellis was going down.
In Louisville, boxing for kids was so popular that they actually put it on television—on the local station WAVE. The show was called Tomorrow’s Champions, and Cassius was the main attraction. In fact, he treated WAVE like his own personal TV empire. For every bout, he was so confident, it was like he’d already won before the fight even started. Cassius was just eighty-nine pounds when he licked his first opponent, Ronnie O’Keefe. And plenty more dropped after that. Big kids. Strong kids. When the bell rang, they came out swinging. Cassius just leaned back and let their punches land in midair. Then he started to jab back with his long arms.
Right! Left! Right! Left! Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud!
Pretty soon his opponents would be so tired from throwing air punches that they’d be bent over and panting!
Cassius was already at another level. He had a way of knowing exactly when a punch was coming and where it was coming from. “My built-in radar,” he told me. Nobody—fans, trainers, sparring partners—had ever seen anything like it. “It can’t be!” one ref said. But it was.
Pretty soon, my friend Cassius wasn’t the only one saying he was the greatest. All over Louisville, everybody was saying the same thing.
Cassius Clay vs. James Davis
FEBRUARY 4, 1955
I won four fights
in a row,
one with a TKO,
so I took it a little easy
getting ready
for my big fight
in the Louisville Golden Gloves tournament
against a little
funny-looking
kid named
James Davis.
I slept in a lot,
skipped running
in Chickasaw
days at a time,
just ran to school
and back,
didn’t drink much garlic water,
goofed around
with the fellas
at the gym,
stayed up late
reciting rhymes
with Rudy,
and ate almost
a whole chocolate cake
plus three bowls of ice cream
for dinner
on my 13th birthday
all of which is why
Joe Martin said
I looked sleepy,
fought with no killer instinct,
got beat
like a rented mule,
and lost my fifth fight
to a short,
funny-looking
kid named
James Davis.
Cassius Clay: Four wins.
Cassius Clay vs. John Hampton
JULY 22, 1955
Hamp smiled when
he landed a few body
shots, so when he got
close enough to me
I whispered, That’s all you got?
then threw a left jab
and a right hook that
sent him tumbling
to the mat.
Cassius Clay: Nine wins.
Two losses.
Conversation with Rudy
You racking up the wins, Gee-Gee. How do you feel?
I feel with my hands. Now let me practice.
I saw Teenie and Riney today.
I’m trying to concentrate, Rudy.
I’m just saying, I think they going together.
…
You know her cousin Alice?
Yeah.
She asked me to be her boyfriend.
I thought you already had a girlfriend, Rudy.
Just ’cause you don’t have time for girls, Gee-Gee, don’t mean I gotta be the same.
…
You think Riney and Teenie really a thing?
I DON’T KNOW, RUDY!
You mad?
Mad that you won’t let me focus. Ain’t nobody thinking about Riney, Teenie, or her cousin Alice. Now, unless you want a fat lip, you best let me finish my sit-ups.
Before
When we got home
from training
at the gym
I made Rudy jump rope
with me
for another fifteen minutes,
then do bicycle crunches
and sit-ups
in the backyard
until we both
just collapsed
under the stars, dreaming
about the future
until Cash brought us
back to the present.
We Thought
we’d done something wrong
when he kept hollering
for us to come inside,
but when we did
and saw him
shaking his head,
chin trembling,
and grief pouring
from his eyes,
we thought again.
And, when he showed us
the picture
of the dead boy,
we cried too.
I Was Thirteen
when I lost
my first fight,
and my first girl
to my best friend.
When Teenie told me
that she chose Riney
’cause I was married
to my boxing gloves
and the ring.
When I got real serious
about the sweet science,
trained and fought
like a madman.
When I decided
that one day
I was gonna become
the heavyweight champion
of the world.
When my daddy
showed us
a gruesome magazine photograph
of a twelve-year-old faceless boy
who was visiting family
in Mississippi
for the summer
when he was shot in the head,
drowned in the river,
and killed
for maybe whistling
at a white woman.
When I got to see
Emmett Till
and the face
of America.
After
Even though I won
the next few fights, I felt a
devastating loss.
I Was Thirteen