Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: TUESDAY, July 12, 1994 TAG: 9408030011
SECTION: EXTRA PAGE: 1 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: JAMES WARREN CHICAGO TRIBUNE
DATELINE: WASHINGTON LENGTH: Long
As one moved closer down the U.S. Senate hallway, one saw him pick up his right hand, reach forward, pinch the ear of a shorter and leaner fellow in front of him, then quickly pull back his own right arm as if nothing had happened.
When the shorter man spun around, he met the poker face of Muhammad Ali, a sly grin belying the bedeviling and frustrating physical state of a cultural icon and onetime athletic genius.
A few paces later came Sen. Orrin Hatch, R-Utah, to embrace Ali. ``Champ, great to see you!'' said Hatch. ``How are you? You doin' good?''
``No,'' Ali whispered.
The Ali Shuffle, the rat-tat-tat, piston-like footwork that was partly an in-ring tactic, partly a taunt of an opponent, is long gone. Now there's merely an Ali shuffle, which helps explain why he was here last month as part of a virtually unnoticed coming out.
For some years, the humbling deterioration of Ali, 52, who lives in Berrien Springs, Mich., has been visible to one and all. It was assumed that the tremors, slowness of movement, stiffness of muscles and poor balance had something to do with too many blows to the head during a glorious career.
It is quite possible that those incessant traumas in some way explain his physical demise, and last week widened public attention to his suffering from Parkinsonism, a generic term that refers to the symptoms Ali shows and whose causes can include boxing-related trauma.
It's splitting hairs somewhat but, experts explain, if it wasn't for all the blows he took in the ring, he would be diagnosed as definitely having Parkinson's disease, a chronic and degenerative neurological disorder said to afflict at least 1 million Americans. Because of the blows, he might have what's technically known as post-traumatic Parkinson's. The exact origin aside, he was unveiled as honorary chairman of research development for the American Parkinson Disease Association, attending several events in conjunction with National Parkinson's Disease Awareness Week.
The association had been trying for at least five years to recruit Ali. It was clear to them, and to those in the field, that he was a victim of Parkinsonism. He was reluctant.
Finally, he was prevailed upon to come forward by his doctor, Joseph Carozza of New York, who has had many boxer-patients, and by Dr. Abraham Lieberman, the association's national medical director, who practices in Phoenix.
His face is a little puffier than most people would recall, but it's still remarkably smooth. The eyes, too, suggest the old alertness.
Indeed, Dr. William Koller, a Parkinson's disease expert in Kansas City, Kan., who knows Ali and was at one event here, underscored that Ali does hear and understand everything one says to him. It's the response that's slow and exacerbated by the low volume of his voice, which is symptomatic of Parkinsonism.
The evening before his Senate appearance, he was part of a small dinner party at the Watergate Hotel. He was, in some ways, the Ali the world knew so well: outgoing, droll and generous, clearly feeding off the attention of those around him, according to several at a private affair that included Ali's traveling companion, photographer Howard Bingham.
(Terribly small historical footnote: Bingham is the same fellow who was, coincidentally, on the recent late evening Los Angeles-to-Chicago flight with O.J. Simpson and reported that Simpson seemed normal).
At the dinner, Ali posed for photos and roared with delight when somebody surfaced with posters from his 1976 fight in San Juan against a Belgian stiff named Jean-Pierre Coopman.
That evening was, relatively speaking, a good one for Ali. The next morning, at the press conference, which included Senators John McCain, R-Ariz., and Mark Hatfield, R-Ore., was not so good. Which is typical for those with his affliction, Koller explained. Even with his reliance on the drugs prescribed for Parkinson patients, there are good days and bad ones.
As McCain spoke, recalling such epic Ali triumphs as the ``Thrilla in Manilla'' against Joe Frazier, Ali slumped slightly in a chair, gingerly fingered a pair of sunglasses and put them on.
When he was introduced, he tried to get up but his balance was off. He rose a few inches, then slipped back down.
And yet, when the ceremony concluded, a likely tendency to see him as a mournful, even tragic figure, was dissipated by Ali himself.
He spotted a young boy, beckoned him over and opened the palms of his hands toward the youngster. Then, he closed his left hand into a fist and, with the right, plucked out a red handkerchief. Abracadabra! The boy was enchanted. The Champ smiled broadly.
``Pretty amazing,'' said one yuppie Senate staffer who came to gawk. ``He really still looks like Muhammad Ali.''
Despite the frustration of his neurological straitjacket, he still acts like him too.
by CNB