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Edited on Thu Jul-31-03 02:04 AM by DemoTex
I saw Ali in the lobby of the Ambassador West. I had a tie-in with his niece, who had flown as a flight attendant with me. She was a great young woman. I did not use that connection. She was not even on my crew on that particular trip. I mention it only to convey a feeling of what a great man this is vis-a-vis his extended family.
I simply walked up to Ali and said, "Hello, Champ. Mind if I tell you a story?" I had on cargo shorts and a knit shirt. I looked like a white middle-class Nixon male. Ali must have sensed otherwise. He said, quite simply, "OK." He smiled. Irresistable.
"Champ," I said, "I was in Vietnam in 1971 when you fought Joe Frazier. I was lounging on top of the wing - catching rays - of a Lockheed P-2V Neptune, between missions at Pleiku, when the fight came on AFVN radio. It was about 10 am Vietnam time, 10 pm Madison Square Garden time, if I remember correctly. The USAF air traffic controllers put the fight on the four PA speakers on the corners of the control tower. As you know, the fight went on and on. It was loud on those speakers. After a few rounds, maybe five, I don't remember, the little guys in PJs, the VC - who sleep by day and fight by night - came out of their hidey holes and blasted thoses speakers with B-40 rockets! Champ, they could not stand the noise! Hell! That knocked the tower out and it got real quiet. I was happy, too, because I don't like fights. Nobody was hurt that I know of. Hey, Champ, I thought you would like that story!"
Ali stared at me, with what I think were tears in his eyes. His head bobbed slightly, but his speech was clear. "Oh, man, that's a story!" Mohammad Ali said to me.
True story.
Capt. DemoTex
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