George Foreman died on 21 March at the much-too-young age of 76. His aura of strength was such that there were times when it seemed as though he’d live for ever.
People know about George Foreman the fighter and George Foreman the product pitchman; holding a small American flag in the ring after winning a gold medal at the 1968 Olympics; dethroning Joe Frazier in Jamaica; losing the title to Muhammad Ali in Zaire; the quixotic ring comeback that culminated in a 10th-round knockout of Michael Moorer to reclaim the heavyweight crown; and George Foreman’s Lean Mean Grilling Machine, which earned him more than $100m. I lived through those times. But I was also privileged to know George as a person.
I met Foreman in December 1988 shortly after I began working with Muhammad Ali on the book that would become Muhammad Ali: His Life And Times. I was in Las Vegas for the taping of a documentary titled Champions Forever. The producers had brought Ali, Foreman, Frazier, Larry Holmes and Ken Norton together to reminisce on camera. It was an opportunity for me to interview them.
Foreman’s “second ring career” was under way by then. He had scored 13 victories against lacklustre opposition and shed the surly image of his younger days. But he seemed to have a more promising future as a preacher than as a fighter. We talked about Ali for several hours. I liked George. That was the start of a friendship. In the decades that followed we talked many times, including conversations for values-oriented articles that I wrote: George Foreman on religion, George Foreman on character, George Foreman on family, George Foreman on setting an example. Each time, the generosity of Foreman’s spirit shone through.
In talking about the surly persona of his younger years, George explained: “Sonny Liston had been heavyweight champion of the world. I’d see that title belt sitting there in his home and the way he treated people. I said: ‘I guess that’s the way you ought to be when you’re champion.’
“I remember once, I was walking with Sonny and some of his people. We passed a woman who was kind of top-heavy and very good-looking. She was out with her husband. Sonny stopped and stared, very obvious like. Then he looked at the woman’s husband and said: ‘Yeah! I’m lookin’! Yeah! Yeah! What are you gonna do about it?!’ When Sonny said that, his people laughed. So there I am, 19 years old. I thought that’s the way a man is supposed to be. And I started being the same way. I picked up a lot of bad habits because I didn’t know they were bad habits. I thought they were just traits of being champion of the world.
“When I left boxing for the first time, for a while it was hard. When you’re a famous athlete everyone is always giving things to you and doing things for you. In those 10 years [when I wasn’t fighting] I learned how to do things the hard way; things other people think of as simple. How to clean up after myself. How to stand in line and buy something in a store when I didn’t have much money and not be embarrassed. I gained a lot of weight. I’d go around the country preaching, not always dressed the best, and no one knew who I was. I wasn’t flying first-class any more. I was in the cheapest economy seat I could buy.
together in London Photograph: Micheline Pelletier/Pelletier Micheline
“One time I was on a plane and the stewardess came over to me and said: ‘Hey, big guy. That seat is kind of tight. After we take off, I’ll bring you up to first class. I can’t give you a meal there, but you’ll be more comfortable’. And that meant a lot to me. I said to myself: ‘Hey, people are good. People are nice.’”
We live in an age when many people of faith assert that their way is the only road to heaven. George was a born-again Christian and took his religion seriously. But he had an all-encompassing view of God’s love and told me: “Good is good, whether or not one believes in Jesus. To be good is to be saved. If I treat everybody nice, that’s religion.”
“I was criticised a lot by some people for saying that,” George told me after the article ran. “But I had something to say and I’m glad I said it.”
Other thoughts that George shared with me over the years included:
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“Character doesn’t just evolve on its own. It has to be acted upon every day of our lives. But now we’ve got a whole generation of young people, and another generation that’s not so young any more, who haven’t found anything in their lives to promote character. And that’s sad. Life is so brief. You have to do more than just try to have a good time. You have to ask yourself: ‘What am I giving to other people? What will I leave behind?’ It’s like a baton that we’re all passing on to future generations.”
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“For a lot of young people, character comes from who they imitate. I don’t like the phrase ‘role model’. It sounds too commercial to me. I’d rather talk about being an example. When I was young, I saw very few good examples. I saw a lot of sports heroes. When I look back on myself in my teens, I was like an empty bottle. Each day, I saw another [sports hero] I wanted to be like, walk like, talk like. If they’re not nice, don’t be nice. They buy fleets of cars. So when you make it, you should buy fleets of cars. Some of those guys were good people. But when I grew older and got to know them, a lot of them were downright nasty or stuck-up clowns.”
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“I can’t stand it when a person puts labels on someone else. The fat guy … the stupid person … the gay guy … the ugly girl … the whatever … people are people. We’re all different, but we’re all the same.”
George gave me his home telephone number, but I didn’t abuse it. When I had a question I’d send him an email. Invariably he’d call or email back within 24 hours. Sometimes a telephone call or email from George arrived unexpected.
We also talked often about Ali. A strong bond had developed between them. “We agreed that good is good and bad is bad,” George told me after Ali died. “And most people, whatever their religion is, or even if they don’t follow a particular religion, know the difference. When I’d hear his voice on the phone it would always bring me happiness. It seemed with us there was something greater than religion – a longing to love and belonging to each other, a thankfulness we had each other.”
George kept a close eye on his money. He wasn’t an easy touch. But when the spirit moved him, he engaged in acts of extraordinary generosity. A woman who freelanced in a menial pre-production job for HBO in Las Vegas fell on hard times. George heard about it and one day – completely unsolicited – handed her a cheque for $50,000. He quietly funded scholarships so that young men and women he barely knew could attend college. After the 1992 riots in Los Angeles, following the acquittal of police officers charged with beating Rodney King, most of the drug stores in the city’s south-central area shut down. George wrote a cheque for $1m to keep prescription drugs for the elderly flowing.
Photograph: Amy Sancetta/AP
About a year ago, George was felled by an infection that attacked his kidneys and other organs. His weight dropped precipitously. For a while he needed a walker. He rallied. Then the inevitable happened.
Life is a journey. It’s the process of becoming. In today’s world, more than ever, we need people of good will. People who value truth. People who believe in tolerance and understanding. People who care about the difference between right and wrong and do what’s right. George Foreman became that kind of person.
After Ali died, George reflected on his death and the earlier deaths of Frazier and Norton and told me: “I never did visualise a world without them. When they started passing, it hurt. It’s like a part of me died”. Then he added: “I don’t know what it will be like in heaven for Muhammad. But I can tell you one thing for sure: Muhammad had quite a life here on earth.”
The same was true of George Foreman.