What a wonderful testimonial to the man, and a poignant commentary about the
effects of the disease.  The only thing that I would find fault with in an
otherwise outstanding article was the author's "aside," said in jest when Ali
dozed of and on during the hearing when he said "Then again, who hasn't dozed
off in an
Appropriations subcommittee meeting?"

Those of us who've struggled to stay awake when the profound fatigue brought
on by PD strikes us in public - when we're sitting at the dining table or at
the wheel of a car - know who very much we've been robbed of by this
frustrating and humiliating "side effect" of Parkinson's Disease.

I'm eternally grateful to Ali putting his former ego away somewhere and
permitting us to see the reality.. the soul... of  the man in his battle with
Parkinson's.  THIS is one fight he's not fighting alone 'cause all of US are
in THIS "ring" with him, in our hearts, if not physically.  We KNOW what
effort and willpower went into getting dressed, and just showing up at the
hearing, and that effort alone earns Ali kudos, in my book!

Thanks alot Muhammad Ali for "going public' in the biggest fight of your
career.  You're helping al of us Parkies who share the disease's ravages, but
don't have the eyes of the Senate or the press.

While I've never been a boxing  fan, this is one fight that'll not only find
me in your corner, but rooting you on to victory!!

Barb Mallut
[log in to unmask]



-----Original Message-----
From:   Parkinson's Information Exchange  On Behalf Of Judith Richards
Sent:   Thursday, April 24, 1997 10:33 PM
To:     Multiple recipients of list PARKINSN
Subject:        Washington Post article

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-srv/frompost/features/april97/ali.htm

                Muhammad Ali Makes a Silent Plea
By Frank Ahrens - Washington Post Staff Writer
Thursday, April 24, 1997

Congressional hearings usually involve hours
of testimony, stacks of paper, reams of
transcripts. They are about talking.

Yesterday, Muhammad Ali sat before a Capitol
Hill committee and said not one word.

Rep. Bill Young (R-Fla.), acting chairman of a
House Appropriations subcommittee, smiled and
welcomed him.

"If there's anything you'd like to say, please
go ahead," he said. For a split second, it
sounded like a cruel taunt.

After all, you read: Parkinson's disease is a
progressive, disabling neurological affliction
that causes tremors, loss of balance and
repeated falls, loss of memory and confusion.
You know: Ali's Parkinson's is advanced. You
think: Please don't let it happen here.

Ali slowly leaned forward in his chair,
nearing the microphone on the table before
him.

"Mr. Chairman," began Lonnie Ali, his wife,
seated to his left. "The boss of the house is
going to talk," Young said, breaking the
tension. Chuckles ran through the room.

"The fact that I am the one speaking to you
this morning and not Muhammad is one of the
principal reasons that we are here today," she
said. Parkinson's, she said, "has robbed him
of one of his most prized functions -- his
voice, and the ability to speak clearly with
resonance. I believe all of you remember
Muhammad's pre-Parkinson days when he moved
millions with his vibrant voice and poetic
expression."

The former heavyweight boxing champion was on
Capitol Hill to support two bills -- one in
the House, one in the Senate -- that would
give the National Institutes of Health $100
million for research into Parkinson's disease
next year.

Before he entered the Senate meeting room,
there were shrieks from visiting high school
kids and camera flashes popping like heat
lightning in the summer. Then Ali appeared,
led into the photo op by the bill's Senate
sponsors, John McCain (R-Ariz.) and Paul
Wellstone (D-Minn.), and Rep. Fred Upton
(R-Mich.).

They lined up for the photographers. Ali in
the middle, wearing a gray single-breasted
suit with a red-and-gray tie. Each white shirt
cuff bore a monogram: MA. He towered above the
politicians. Gingerly, he raised two trembling
hands and placed two fingers from each on
large-type cardboard versions of the bills:
H.R. 1266 and S. 535. He did not smile; his
gaze was cast down. There was a nervous,
wordless stillness in the room. Ali still
induces a sort of euphoria -- but one that is
now pierced by occasional stabs of dread.

Then Ali slowly lowered his head until he was
nearly cheek-to-cheek with Norma Udall, wife
of the bill's namesake, Morris Udall, who
retired from the Senate in 1991 because of
Parkinson's. Ali grinned a tiny grin. His eyes
came to life and sought the cameras. Norma
Udall teared up. You could feel a sigh of
relief run through the room. "Ali -- over
here," the photographers finally felt
comfortable saying.

Ali, 55, was diagnosed with Parkinson's in
1984. But it was only a couple of years ago,
Lonnie Ali said, that her husband was
encouraged by a family friend, a doctor, to
publicly support Parkinson's research. He
balked initially.

"He didn't want to bring attention to his
disability," she said. "He was afraid people
would focus on that and not on him." Lonnie,
his fourth wife, has known him since she was
6, when they were growing up in Louisville and
he was little Cassius Clay.

Ali's career was spent in motion -- circling a
befuddled opponent in the ring or dancing
before cameras. He's still at his best when
he's moving. Yesterday he walked through the
halls of a Senate office building with a
bouncy, little-step gait, as if he were
shouldering through a boxing crowd on his way
to the ring. He's a big man: over 6 feet 2 and
maybe 25 pounds above his fighting weight of
216, when he beat George Foreman for the
heavyweight title in Zaire in 1974. Many
people consider it the greatest boxing match
of all time.

When Ali's moving, his eyes are moving -- side
to side, near to far. He's pointing at
people through crowds, making eye contact with
the Senate staff gawkers and suddenly-formed
legions of security guards. He's slowly
extending his right arm in a mock punch,
curling his long, soft fingers in a massive
fist, pointed playfully. He's winking.
Smiling. Signing autographs for free with a
felt-tip marker -- "Muhammad Ali," still
gracefully, sharply scripted. He seems at home
when he's moving through a crowd of
well-wishers, patting him, wanting to touch
him. People can tell when he's pointed at them
-- they put their palms to their chests as if
they could feel it. If they touch his suit,
they act like they've touched the raiment of a
saint.

"Oh my God: Muhammad Ali!" shouted a man who
spied him in a hallway. He shot through the
crowd and sought Ali's hand, which the fighter
offered. "Lordy, Lordy! No one's gonna believe
me," the man muttered, walking off, shaking
his head.

When Ali's moving, you don't really notice the
shaking in his hands.

When he's still, you do. Like during the 30
minutes that he sat, wordless, before the
subcommittee yesterday. He leaned forward a
few times to listen to the testimony of the
other witnesses. He looked around the room a
bit. And he closed his eyes for long periods
of time, head down, appearing to doze off.
(Then again, who hasn't dozed off in an
Appropriations subcommittee meeting?)

When he was young and brash and loquacious, he
was what he wanted to be. We had to take him,
or not, on his terms. Now that he is silent
and smiling, he is what we want him to be; we
are free to project our memories, our
emotions, our desires. Lonnie Ali says he
talks to her all the time, but declines in
public because he can't talk like he used to.

Last summer, a captivated and nervous nation
watched Ali light the torch at the Atlanta
Olympic Games, coming back into the spotlight
after a long absence. Instead of retiring from
boxing after his magnificent mid-'70s fights
with Foreman and Joe Frazier, Ali slugged his
way into embarrassment, losing to tomato cans.
Then, in the '80s, he floated in the has-been
celebrity backwater, noted most for D-Con
commercials on TV.

But with the Parkinson's diagnosis, a flood of
sympathy came even from those formerly enraged
by Ali's refusal to fight in the Vietnam War
and his conversion to Islam.

The recent Oscar=C4winning documentary about the
Zaire fight, "When We Were Kings," completed
Ali's restoration. America fell in love with
Ali again. Viewers learned about -- or
remembered -- the young, beautiful Ali,
perhaps the best boxer ever, with his genius,
his spontaneous rhymes, his braggadocio, his
incessant taunting of Foreman.

As Ali headed into the hearing, there was a
second to ask him one question. About
fighting, not disease.

"Ali, tell the truth: Were you really scared
of George Foreman?"

Ali quickly swiveled his head, halted for a
moment, scrunched down his brow in a frown and
nodded once. Amazing! Ali had always bragged
he was never scared of the fearsome Foreman.
He left the wordless revelation and then moved
on, into the clutching arms and babbling
mouths. They fumbled for words to express
their inexpressible emotions for this man, who
said everything he needed to say without
saying a word.