Muhammad Ali's Greatest Fight by Max Wallace, Howard Bingham Page B
Authors: Max Wallace, Howard Bingham
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execution. A microphone was set up to record the convict’s reaction to the gas. “As the pellet dropped into the container,” wrote King, “and gas curled upward, through the microphone came these words:’Save me Joe Louis. Save me, Joe Louis. Save me, Joe Louis.’”
Louis cemented his legend after the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor. Early on, he traveled to army bases, putting on exhibitions and entertaining the troops. He donated the entire purse from his 1942 title bout with Buddy Baer to the Navy Relief Fund, which earned him wide spread praise in the American media for his patriotism. In February 1942, Louis enlisted in the army, where he was assigned to Special Services, continuing his role of entertaining the troops. The U.S. government took full advantage of Louis’s war effort. Almost every news-reel spotlighted his activities, and every American was aware of his patriotism, elevating his national status as a hero even higher.
But behind the government’s campaign to trumpet Louis’s wartime contributions was a concerted effort to mask an ugly reality. While Blacks were being urged to enlist in the army and fight for freedom, some Blacks—especially the black media—recognized the hypocrisy of the fact that the army was completely segregated. Blacks were assigned to the most menial tasks and, when they did go into battle, it was often as cannon fodder, suffering casualty rates far higher than their white counterparts.
It soon became clear that Louis’s role was to convince Blacks they had a patriotic duty to go to war. Frank Capra was hired to direct a propaganda film called The Negro Soldier, with Sergeant Joe Louis as the centerpiece, declaring “There may be a whole lot wrong with America, but there’s nothing Hitler can fix.” Despite—or because of—its inaccurate implication that black soldiers had often glamorous duties and served alongside whites, the film did much to boost black morale and successfully achieved its goal of increasing enlistment.
After Louis retired in 1947, he was repaid for his patriotism and his service to the government with a massive tax bill. His white promoters had reneged on a promise to turn over their share of gate receipts to the armed forces charities to which Louis frequently contributed. As a result, his large donations were not tax exempt. Louis was no longer any use to them, and the government refused to recognize his loyal service. Louis never quite recovered from the financial hardship. He was forced to come out of retirement twice past his prime, only to suffer humiliating defeats. The rest of his life was spent in a buffoonish series of attempts to pay his back taxes, including embarrassing stints as a professional wrestler and a shill for the mob, acting as a “greeter” at various Las Vegas casinos. He died penniless in 1981.
Cassius Clay was only five years old when Joe Louis retired as heavyweight champion. Cassius Clay Sr. would later recall that “around our house, Joe was a hero. We listened to all his fights. There was no one like Joe.”
No one like Joe. Within a decade and a half, much of the world would be saying the same thing about his son, Cassius Clay Jr., Muhammad Ali. And it would continue to be said for years, until Louis had faded into obscurity in the collective memory. Because as much of an impact as Joe Louis and, for that matter, Jack Johnson, had on boxing and American society in general, their legacies would pale in comparison to that of Ali, a man who—as a threat to the white establishment and a messiah to the black underclass—was a combination of Jack Johnson and Joe Louis, and then some.
CHAPTER THREE:
A Modern Crusade
W HEN HE RETURNED FROM R OME with his gold medal in 1960, Cassius Clay gave an interview to Newsweek sportswriter Dick Schaap. “You know I’ll be a credit to my race,” he declared emphatically For the new Olympic champion, those words had a very different meaning than they did for Joe
Louis cemented his legend after the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor. Early on, he traveled to army bases, putting on exhibitions and entertaining the troops. He donated the entire purse from his 1942 title bout with Buddy Baer to the Navy Relief Fund, which earned him wide spread praise in the American media for his patriotism. In February 1942, Louis enlisted in the army, where he was assigned to Special Services, continuing his role of entertaining the troops. The U.S. government took full advantage of Louis’s war effort. Almost every news-reel spotlighted his activities, and every American was aware of his patriotism, elevating his national status as a hero even higher.
But behind the government’s campaign to trumpet Louis’s wartime contributions was a concerted effort to mask an ugly reality. While Blacks were being urged to enlist in the army and fight for freedom, some Blacks—especially the black media—recognized the hypocrisy of the fact that the army was completely segregated. Blacks were assigned to the most menial tasks and, when they did go into battle, it was often as cannon fodder, suffering casualty rates far higher than their white counterparts.
It soon became clear that Louis’s role was to convince Blacks they had a patriotic duty to go to war. Frank Capra was hired to direct a propaganda film called The Negro Soldier, with Sergeant Joe Louis as the centerpiece, declaring “There may be a whole lot wrong with America, but there’s nothing Hitler can fix.” Despite—or because of—its inaccurate implication that black soldiers had often glamorous duties and served alongside whites, the film did much to boost black morale and successfully achieved its goal of increasing enlistment.
After Louis retired in 1947, he was repaid for his patriotism and his service to the government with a massive tax bill. His white promoters had reneged on a promise to turn over their share of gate receipts to the armed forces charities to which Louis frequently contributed. As a result, his large donations were not tax exempt. Louis was no longer any use to them, and the government refused to recognize his loyal service. Louis never quite recovered from the financial hardship. He was forced to come out of retirement twice past his prime, only to suffer humiliating defeats. The rest of his life was spent in a buffoonish series of attempts to pay his back taxes, including embarrassing stints as a professional wrestler and a shill for the mob, acting as a “greeter” at various Las Vegas casinos. He died penniless in 1981.
Cassius Clay was only five years old when Joe Louis retired as heavyweight champion. Cassius Clay Sr. would later recall that “around our house, Joe was a hero. We listened to all his fights. There was no one like Joe.”
No one like Joe. Within a decade and a half, much of the world would be saying the same thing about his son, Cassius Clay Jr., Muhammad Ali. And it would continue to be said for years, until Louis had faded into obscurity in the collective memory. Because as much of an impact as Joe Louis and, for that matter, Jack Johnson, had on boxing and American society in general, their legacies would pale in comparison to that of Ali, a man who—as a threat to the white establishment and a messiah to the black underclass—was a combination of Jack Johnson and Joe Louis, and then some.
CHAPTER THREE:
A Modern Crusade
W HEN HE RETURNED FROM R OME with his gold medal in 1960, Cassius Clay gave an interview to Newsweek sportswriter Dick Schaap. “You know I’ll be a credit to my race,” he declared emphatically For the new Olympic champion, those words had a very different meaning than they did for Joe
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