A day with Muhammad Ali at home in New Jersey
The late Muhammad Ali, who died Friday, June 3 at age 74 due to the effects of Parkinson’s disease, was a world citizen.
Yet, from 1971 to ‘73, he was a Jersey guy. Ali and his family lived in the Voken Tract section of Cherry Hill. The Champ moved to Jersey after a brief stop in Philadelphia, and most accounts of his years in Jersey describe him as being receptive to visitors and a good neighbor.
It’s in this scenario when an 11-year old Mark Voger, who would grow up to be an Asbury Park Press staff writer and artist, knocked on Ali’s door and asked for an interview. The Champ obliged and what transpired is an example of Ali’s warmth and patience. The Champ gives frank and often revealing answers to Voger’s queries, and Ali proved to be prescient, too.
“Get your education, and automation’s taking over today, so get your brains ready,” Ali said upon leaving Voger and his crew.
The Champ was ready for the digital age. Below is the original story from 2001.
By Mark Voger
I’m no impressionist, but I do a flawless Muhammad Ali. Better than Billy Crystal and, I hazard to predict, maybe even better than Will Smith, who stars in Sony Pictures’ “Ali” opening Christmas Day.
Michael Mann’s much-anticipated, $110 million film biography of the boxing champion known as “The Greatest” brings me back to a time 30 years ago, when I was in seventh grade. I got the first “big story” of my career (before I even had a career): interviewing Muhammad Ali in his home.
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The interview was preserved on tape, which my parents later forced me to play for every friend or relative who set foot inside our house for the next few years. That’s why I can do a flawless Ali -- I’m just aping what I’ve heard on tape 100 times.
By the spring of 1971, Ali had recently moved to my hometown of Cherry Hill, a then-burgeoning suburb you won’t find on any map prior to 1955. Ali built a house in a ritzy section of Cherry Hill (a township with its share of modest homes as well as, yes, a cluster of breathtaking residences here and there.) Neighbors began to spot Ali jogging or doing yard work.
My sister, brother and I attended good old Holy Rosary School in Ashland in the Camden diocese -- or “Holly Rolly,” a nickname we dared not utter in front of the priests, nuns and lay teachers. I was editing The HRS Times, which cost a penny and was reproduced via a mimeograph machine by the school librarian, Mrs. Homa. (Readers of a certain age will recall those pre-Xerox mimeograph sheets that, when hot off the press, gave off a literally intoxicating scent of alcohol.)
One Sunday afternoon, my little brother Brian was hanging out with his friend Tom, who told us he found out where Ali’s house was. We decided to ride our bikes to his house, knock on the door and ask him for an interview for The HRS Times -- a simple plan.
We pedaled for about 20 minutes to Ali’s home. As this was in May, we were in T-shirts and shorts. There was no gate. The grounds led down to a sprawling ranch. There were vintage cars in a driveway on the left side; one looked like a Model-T Ford to me. My brother believes he saw Ali’s wife and one of his daughters there. We three little boys took a deep breath, strode down to the huge front door, rang the bell and waited wordlessly.
The door was opened by Ali’s butler, an older black man with gray hair who looked very distinguished in his spotless suit and rigid posture. Behind him in the foyer hung a painting of what I, in my childish ignorance, thought was a wizard; I’ve since concluded the painting must have been of an Islamic clergyman.
“What can I do for you gentlemen?” the butler asked.
“We would like to interview Muhammad Ali for our school newspaper,” I said.
“Come right this way.”
He led us into a huge, sunken living room. Ali, bigger than life, sat in a recliner having a meeting with two men in suits with briefcases who sat on the floor in front of him.
My brother Brian recalls: “We were brought right in. There was no hesitation, which we were freaking over. And the minute we were brought in the room, Muhammad Ali saw us three sweaty little kids, and as one of the guys was in the middle of talking, he put his hand up and said, `Hold on a second, fellas.’ He turned to us and said, `Can I help you?’”
As I recall, the butler then said: “Mr. Ali, these gentlemen would like to interview you for their school newspaper.”
In his famous, raspy drawl, Ali said: “Can you come back tomorrow mornin’ at 9?”
We nodded our heads gratefully. (On the spot, I knew my parents would let me cut school to interview Muhammad Ali.) But the butler said: “I believe these gentlemen have school tomorrow.”
“I’ll tell you what. Come back at ...” Ali counted on a giant hand “... 7 o’clock, and I’ll give you the best interview you ever had.”
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It was then around 4. We thanked Ali, flew home and, on some instinct, each took showers and hurried into our church clothes.
We returned to Ali’s home 15 minutes early, and stood there waiting for the crack of 7 to ring the bell again. Ali’s butler commented on our punctuality.
This time, we were greeted by a super-friendly man who was big like Ali and seemed to be his handler or right-hand man. He led us deeper into the house. The rooms we passed had picture windows facing a courtyard with a swimming pool. We entered a conference room that had a long table with chairs on either side and four large-screen (for 1971) televisions built into one wall. Already in the room were two boys from another school. The handler-type guy handed each of us an envelope marked “From the Champ,” which contained an autographed montage photo of Ali. “So, you’re really getting a scoop for your school paper,” the man said with a big smile.
A few minutes later, he rose and said with ceremony, “Gentleman, I present to you `The Champ,’ Muhammad Ali.” We saw Ali standing for the first time; he was a giant.
Brian recalls: “He came in and greeted each one of us first. He walked around and shook everyone’s hand. I was the youngest. When he got to me -- I’ll never forget this as long as I live -- he made his `mean’ face, those eyes that he might give somebody in the ring. He gave me those eyes, and then raised a fist as if he was gonna punch me. I couldn’t even swallow. And then he smiled the most charming smile in the world and he rubbed my hair.”
Ali sat to my left, and I turned on my Realistic cassette recorder and conducted the following interview. (We touched on some subjects current to 1971, such as Joe Frazier’s historic 15-round decision over Ali only two months earlier, and basketball star Wilt Chamberlain backing out of a much-ballyhooed match with Ali.)
Q Where were you born?
A Louisville, Kentucky
Q What first got you into fighting?
A Well, when I was 12 years old, someone stole my bicycle, and I went to a boxing gym to learn how to fight in order to whip
the fella if I ever caught him. Well, I never did catch him and I’m glad now that I didn’t.
Q How did you feel when you won your first fight?
A Well, I felt good. I won the Olympic Gold Medal in Rome, in 1960. I was two times a national Golden Glove champion.
When I went into the professional field it was a six-rounder with a fella from West Virginia named Tunney Hunsaker, and I
beat him in a six-round decision. And it made me feel real good to start off by winning a pro career.
Q Was Frazier as tough or tougher than you thought?
A Well, I knew he was tough, but I didn’t know he was that tough. He was tougher than I thought. He has no skill, no boxing
ability, takes a good punishment, takes a good punch and he’s strong. Next time, I’ll be more ready for him.
Q When will the rematch be?
A Oh, about the first of next year, if he don’t fall off his motorcycle (laughter).
Q Will you settle down after the rematch?
A Yeah, I’m going to retire from fighting and do other things, like lecturing, speaking, working with poverty groups.
Q What was the real reason Wilt Chamberlain backed out?
A He wanted more money. He wanted more money. Because - you can’t blame him. If you’re gonna take a whipping like he
was gonna take, you should get paid for it.
Q About how much did this house cost?
A Oh, about - all together, now - $250,000.
Q What made you decide to live in Cherry Hill?
A It’s nice. Fresh air, peace, away from the city, a lot of nice neighbors. Just beautiful.
Q Do many people come here for autographs, photos, etc.?
A Yes. Mostly after the fights, but it dies off. Only about 20 or 30 a day.
Q Do you like it?
A No. I like peace. I don’t like it, not when I’m home.
Q Do you have anything to say to the readers of this newspaper who are fans of yours?
A Just get your education, and automation’s taking over today, so get your brains ready. Choose your profession while you’re young and get working towards it, like I did boxing at 12, and by the time you’re in the 20s, they’ll be well perfected.
I thanked Ali and he said, “You’re welcome.” We all stood, and I produced a blank mimeograph “master” on which I’d drawn a line; I asked Ali to autograph it below that line to the children of Holy Rosary School. He wrote: “Muhammad Ali The Real Champion of the World 1971.” (No, I no longer have the original.)
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Over the next week or so, I typed and drew the contents of The HRS Times onto that master and two more for a three-page issue. Besides the Ali Q&A, the edition featured an editorial on the My Lai massacre, part three of a serialization of “Hamlet” (“`They bleed at both ends,’ comments Horatio”) and “Spiro’s Corner,” a cartoon lampooning then-Vice President Agnew’s proclivity for arcane multisyllabic words.
Mrs. Homa dutifully ran the masters off on the mimeograph machine, and fragrant copies of The HRS Times with a Muhammad Ali interview and autograph were distributed in the hallowed halls of “Holy Rolly.” (Ali left Cherry Hill for Chicago in 1974; he now lives in Michigan.)
It took me years to comprehend the magnitude of the gift Ali gave us that day. But at the exact moment those phrases left Ali’s mouth -- “get your education” and “choose your profession while you’re young” -- five little boys in the room knew they were getting solid and heartfelt advice from someone they will always think of as “The Greatest.”