When I think of Muhammad Ali, I think of one of the best memories of my childhood.
It was 1975, I was 10 years old and Ali was getting ready to take on Joe Frazier in their epic third fight, a.k.a. “The Thrilla in Manila.” My father would always go to watch Ali’s championship fights at the theatre via closed circuit television. I always wanted to go, but my parents would never let me. The evening belonged to my father and his buddies.
On the afternoon of October 1 in ’75, I got home from the school and my mother greeted me with a big surprise. She pulled out two tickets to go see Ali-Frazier III at the Riverside Theatre in Milwaukee. The cost was $25 per ticket, which was a pretty penny back in the day.
I had assumed that the tickets were for both my parents, but instead, my mother told me that I would be going with my father and not her. I ran all over the house screaming with excitement. I was finally going to join my father at the fights. I was in heaven.
The Thrilla in Manila was a great testament to the human spirit and the will to survive. Ali and Frazier waged war for 14 rounds, and I took in all of the excitement around the fight crowd at the theatre, most of whom were rooting for Ali. When Frazier did not come out for the 15th round, the place erupted.
It was an unbelievable night. Not only did a get to witness one of the most memorable professional fights ever, I got to enjoy the event with my father. It was the best. And I have my mother to thank for this priceless childhood memory.
When I think about the passing of Muhammad Ali last weekend, what immediately came to mind was Louisville, Kentucky, the hometown of “The Greatest.” It is also the hometown of my late mother and her family, the Unselds.
Sandra Unseld Austin attended Central High School in Louisville back in the late 1950s at the same time as a young man named Cassius Marcellus Clay. My mother was a couple of years older than Cassius. When I used to talk to her about her high school days, the conversation would go something like this.
“Dang, Mama, you really went to high school with Muhammad Ali?”
“Yes, I did,” she would say.
“What was he like back then?”
“The same as he is now: loud and silly.”
“Did he ever talk to you? What would he say to you?”
“Whatchu doin’, Pretty Girl?”
My mom said Ali always referred to her as “Pretty Girl.” I wonder if he even knew her name. I’ve seen my mother’s high school pictures, and she was indeed a pretty girl. And we all know how Muhammad liked to talk to the pretty girls.
As I think of The Greatest, I’m gratified to know of the connections that he had to my family back in Louisville.
Like Ali, the Unselds, particularly my uncles Wes and George Unseld, are part of Louisville sports royalty. After Muhammad Ali, basketball legend Wes Unseld was probably the second most famous athlete ever produced in the city. They were like cousins who were related through sports in Louisville.
Even Ali’s mother, Odessa Clay, and my grandmother, Cornelia Unseld, knew each other quite well.
When my Uncle Skip was a young teenager back in the 1950s, he trained as a boxer at the Golden Gym on 4th Street, which happened to be Ali’s first training spot as an up-and-coming amateur star.
Muhammad Ali’s impact on the world in sports, activism, human rights, civil rights, politics and our culture in general is well documented on so many levels. He was indeed an international treasure. There has been no shortage of glowing testimonials for Ali the fighter and Ali the man and I’ve read and watched many of them.
It’s just an honor for me to be able to share my thoughts on The Greatest there ever was from a special family perspective.
