Running with the Champ: My Forty-Year Friendship with Muhammad Ali - Softcover

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Tim Shanahan has been a close and trusted friend of Muhammad Ali and his family for nearly forty years. He retired in 2013 as regional sales manager covering five Western states for a medical products company. Running with the Champ is his first book.

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Running with the Champ

ONE

BACK TO PARADISE

October 2013

AS I DROVE THROUGH THE security gates and into the community of luxury homes in Paradise Valley, Arizona, some very familiar feelings began to surge up once again. After all these years—nearly forty—those feelings hadn’t ever really gone away. Steering the car toward a home back by the communal tennis courts, I thought about all that had been packed into those four decades: ups and downs, laughter and tears, one-of-a-kind moments and incredible adventures. The years could be measured in mansions and penthouse suites, Rolls-Royces and private jets, Hollywood encounters and Las Vegas events. But they could also be measured in quieter moments: morning runs, family dinners, late-night talks. Mostly it had been close to forty years of love, trust, and the deepest friendship I’d ever known.

I was here in Paradise Valley to visit my old friend Muhammad Ali. I pulled up in front of his home and couldn’t help smiling. After all this time, the thought of spending a day with Muhammad still filled me with happiness and excitement. I felt the warmth and the joy that anyone might feel at the prospect of spending precious hours with a loved one. Even after all we’d been through, I still felt that our friendship was an incredible honor and privilege.

Back in 2005, Muhammad and his wife, Lonnie, purchased this second home in Paradise Valley and moved here from their longtime residence in Berrien Springs, Michigan. They hoped that the warmer, drier weather would help in Muhammad’s ongoing battle with the symptoms of Parkinson’s disease that had been slowly and steadily affecting him since his retirement from boxing in 1981 (he’d been officially diagnosed with Parkinson’s in 1984, at the age of forty-two). In fact, the move had turned out to be extremely beneficial. The weather, intensive physical therapy, and a regimen of cutting-edge medications put Ali in the position he had been in many times in his career: the statistical underdog who astonishes everyone by battling back against a fierce opponent.

Of course, in the ring Ali was often able to finish off his opponents with a knockout. That wasn’t the case now. The disease had weakened and stiffened his muscles, limiting his mobility and making speech difficult. The man who had once thrilled the press and the public with his loud, fast, funny rhymes and over-the-top braggadocio now spoke in a low, hoarse, barely intelligible growl, rarely getting out more than three or four words at a time. And on his bad days, the simplest of tasks was almost impossible without the assistance of Lonnie or her sister Marilyn, who worked as his live-in caregiver. But there were still plenty of good days, when despite his physical limitations, the twinkle in his eyes and the look of recognition and understanding told you he was still fully there: Muhammad Ali, three-time heavyweight champion of the world, and one of the brightest, wittiest, most beloved figures of our time.

Since his move to Paradise Valley, it had become much easier for me to see him. I was living in Southern California and working as regional sales manager for a medical products company. I oversaw eight distribution managers and more than three hundred sales reps across four western states, one of which was Arizona. It had been hard for me to get to Michigan, but now a couple of times a month I could find some reason to do business in Phoenix or Tucson, and whenever I set up those business trips I’d set aside a couple of days to spend time with Muhammad. As a business traveler, I wasn’t very fussy. All I needed was a decent bed in a first-floor room, access to a business center, and a location that was easy to get in and out of. The accommodations were never important to me. What really mattered was spending as much time as possible with Muhammad without becoming an inconvenience to Lonnie or Marilyn. My wife, Helga, and I have always gotten along well with both of them and really appreciated the trust they extended to us. We didn’t ever want to take for granted the fact that we had been allowed to remain an active part of Muhammad’s life.

This particular trip had been thrown together quickly, so my visit with the Champ was going to be a surprise for him. I’d called Lonnie to make sure it was OK to come by, and she told me that while she’d be away for the day, Marilyn would be there with him and I could come by early and spend the entire afternoon with him.

IT’S ABOUT TEN A.M. AS I ring the bell at the front door of Muhammad’s beautiful home. Marilyn greets me, shows me in, and tells me that Muhammad is still in bed. He’s on some new medications and has been sleeping much later into the day. Marilyn is always completely focused on Muhammad’s needs, and does a great job of making sure that his days are balanced between what he wants to do and what he’s required to do as part of his ongoing treatment.

“I don’t know what time he’s going to get up,” she says, “but yesterday it was noon.”

It is actually good to hear that he is getting a good rest every night. As long as I’ve known Ali, he has been a chronic insomniac, and it has always been hard for him to get as much sleep as his body needed. He used to tell me that whenever he closed his eyes, he would start thinking about all the world’s troubles and would stay wide awake figuring out how and where he might use his fame to help solve problems.

Muhammad is currently recovering from a medical procedure. He has recently had surgery on his throat to loosen his rigid vocal cords. The surgeon in Boston gave Lonnie and Marilyn high hopes that the surgery would release the pressure on Muhammad’s larynx and trachea and would make it easier for him to swallow and speak. Marilyn tells me that she’s been doing voice exercises with the Champ and that he is responding with enthusiasm. But it’s still not clear whether the results of the surgery will be a brief relief or an ongoing success.

Marilyn walks me into the home’s sunny kitchen, where Muhammad spends a good portion of his day. In the breakfast area there’s Ali’s throne—a high-end easy chair (with built-in vibrator), placed in front of a TV and DVD player that run almost constantly for Muhammad’s benefit. He has a large library of favorite films, and as soon as one ends, Marilyn asks him what he wants to watch next. I am not at all surprised to see that the DVD currently loaded is a Clint Eastwood feature, The Good, the Bad and the Ugly. Muhammad loves westerns, and he always enjoys watching Clint, whom he first met back in 1969 in the greenroom of The David Frost Show. As Marilyn goes about her daily routine, I sit down at the breakfast table, pick up the remote, and start watching the film from where Muhammad left off.

After a while, Marilyn heads into Muhammad’s bedroom to check on him. She comes back to tell me that he’s awake and wants to get up, so she’s going to help him get dressed. A few minutes later, he shuffles slowly into the kitchen with Marilyn at his side. Even on his bad days, he always wants to be fully dressed when he leaves his bedroom, and today he’s in tracksuit pants and a knit T-shirt. But it does indeed look like this is one of his bad days—he has his eyes closed tightly and is letting Marilyn guide him to the kitchen table. I’m about to get up and help her, but she motions for me to stay seated. She helps him sit down, and puts his breakfast in front of him. With...