Blood Brothers: The Fatal Friendship Between Muhammad Ali and Malcolm X

In Miami, an FBI informant called the Herald’s Pat Putnam, telling him that some Muslims had threatened to kill Clay’s parents. Putnam wondered if the combustible father might want to talk about it, so he arranged for an interview in a restaurant across the street from the 5th Street Gym. For nearly three hours, Clay Sr. ranted about how the Muslims had “ruined his boys,” stole money from his son, and threatened to take him out on a boat and drown him. He felt shoved aside by Malcolm, replaced by a man who “sneered at him.” He despised the way his sons worshipped Malcolm. “You should have seen them all,” he said. “They did everything but bow and kiss his feet.” Rudy’s and Cassius’s membership in the Nation angered him so much that he threatened to “whup” both of them and Malcolm. Cassius paid him no mind. “I don’t care what my father said,” he insisted. “I’m not interested. I’m not talking.”45

Putnam learned quickly that he had better stop asking Clay Sr. about the Muslims. After the story was published, someone called his house, warning him that he and his wife were going to die. Putnam did not recognize the voice on the other end of the line, but he got the message. Late one night, he drove out to Clay’s house and told him about the death threats. He had known Cassius since he first started training in Miami and had always gotten along with him. Clay reassured him, “Pat, don’t worry about it; you’ll never get another call.” Putnam never knew what Clay did, but he received no more death threats.46

BY THE THIRD week in January, America’s thoughts had started to tilt toward South Florida. Brutally cold winds ripped across the Midwest and Northeast. “Death and Misery Mounting,” proclaimed a headline. In the worst blizzard of the year, snow drifted twelve feet and more from the Mississippi to the Atlantic Seaboard, stranding drivers, challenging walkers, and generally making life uncomfortable. Miami beckoned.

The Miami Herald reported that the top syndicate bosses were among the recent arrivals. Paul “the Waiter” Ricco, Sam “Mooney” Giancana, and Felix “Milwaukee Phil” Aldersino escaped the slush of Chicago for the sand of Miami. There they waited out the worst of the winter, looking forward to watching Sonny button the Louisville Lip.47

Liston’s National Airlines flight from Las Vegas arrived in Miami shortly before noon on January 26. He stepped off the plane relaxed and wearing a champion’s smile, but neither lasted long. Waiting for Sonny, Clay shouted insults and challenges. “I’m the champ! You’re the chump!” he screamed, whipping his tuxedo jacket about like a war flag. “Let’s fight now. I want my title!”48

Liston fixed Clay with “that evil look” and told him, “Look, this clowning isn’t cute, and I’m not joking.”

Liston refused to give Cassius the satisfaction of another glance, but his ceremonial arrival and press conference were in tatters. To bypass the commotion, Sonny boarded a VIP golf cart and raced toward the interview room. Clay sprinted behind, screaming insults and waving an African walking stick. In a tunnel Liston told the driver to stop. “Listen, you little punk, I’ll punch you in the mouth—this has gone too far!” Then, as Clay continued his taunts, Liston swung at him, missing with a wild right.

In the melee that followed, Sonny’s wife, Geraldine, got whacked on the head, his manager, Jack Nilon, threatened to fight the entire mob, and the champion lost his cool.

The door to the interview room was shut and locked. Inside, Liston steamed, glaring at the door that separated him from Clay. Outside the room Cassius shouted, “It’s a free country . . . you can’t stop me from coming in.” Brandishing his cane, he banged the locked door and continued, “Free! You think I’m jiving, chump? I’ll fight you free, right here!”

Red-faced, MacDonald apologized. He told Sonny that he hoped the champion would knock out Clay in three rounds. Regaining his customary sangfroid, Liston claimed that Clay’s act “didn’t upset me. But it got kind of . . . you know, even iron wears out.” Then, with the interview concluded, policemen escorted Liston out a back door and whisked him away in a car.

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