Dick Herman at the Muhammad Ali Come-Back fight of October 26, 1970 in Atlanta
On the evening of that fight, I looked like a 19-year-old college freshman student. In reality, I was a skinny 27-year-old white boy from New York City employed at the New York Times.
I had gotten two legitimate press passes to be at the fight, but quite frankly I thought any minute I would be thrown out as an imposter; it was as though I was going into a swinging night club with a counterfeit driver’s license; I immediately had to look the part of a seasoned New York Times photographer, which I was not.
I arrived at the Municipal Auditorium around 8 or 8:15 pm, a little before everyone started to walk in. I knew of that auditorium because Fleetwood Mac and Jefferson Airplane played there a month earlier. I thought I might be able to explore the place before it started but it was already full. It was also full of smoke, mostly cigar smoke and cigarette smoke. Soon it started to fill up quickly, like your bathtub running water and you couldn’t get there in time to shut it off. I was lucky to find and keep a spot to stand without rubbing elbows with a stranger, after all I needed elbow room to be able to bring my camera, which was strapped around my neck, up to my eye. There was now unbelievable smoke in that auditorium so that the spotlights had that beautiful, delineated ray beam that I was hoping I would capture in my photographs. The room was overcrowded, much more than the 5000 capacities.
I had a suit and tie and looked reasonably presentably square. When the crowd started pouring in, I began to feel under-dressed; one after another they came, in long furry coats and unusual hats, some even with feathered capes. Some came in already smoking pipes, some with high platform shoes. They were the powerful and wealthy black community adding their support for Muhammad Ali and the early Black Pride movement.
I didn’t dare aim my camera at any of the celebrities for fear of invading their privacy. I remember that Sidney Poitier was there as well as Hank Aaron and Arthur Ashe, Diana Ross, Mary Wilson of the Supremes, and Bill Cosby. I saw Julian Bond, Andrew Young, Jesse Jackson, and Coretta Scott King. Joe Lewis and Sugar Ray Robinson were there, and these were the people I knew of.
I kept to myself wandering here and there waiting for the big event, never sitting. There were a few other fights before the main event, I didn’t waste my film. When it was time for the call of Jerry Quarry to enter the arena there was enthusiastic cheering as he fought his way through the crowd to get to the ring. When they called Muhammad Ali, the crowd went into a wild frenzy as he also fought his way through the mayhem. Everyone was trying to touch him. My camera was clicking away from a distance fearing something bad might happen during that time. My thoughts remembered the time when Lee Harvey Oswald, the man who assassinated JFK, was shot during a similar crowded walk in a Dallas police station on live tv. Nothing like that happened during this event, however, there was an after party where about a hundred people from the Ali Quarry fight were robbed at gunpoint, but that’s another story for another time.
I don’t remember what happened in the ring, who hit who or any of the blow-by-blow encounters. I heard that there was a TKO in the 3rd round because Quarry had an open cut above his eye and the fight was stopped. This was my first fight ever. I wasn’t really interested in boxing as a sport. I just wanted photos of Muhammad Ali. I had “followed” Ali through newspaper stories and tv and radio reporting of him. I knew he was on bail for draft evasion. During that time, he would give speeches to college campuses denouncing the Vietnam war to make money to support his family. He was a direct, eloquent speaker and I would always make time to listen. Now, finally he got his chance to fight again, to resume his life, and I too was there. To me that was my moment in history.
After the fight, as Muhammad Ali gave his victory speech and reporters, photographers, and dignitaries crowded into the ring, I quickly grabbed a nearby folding chair and stood on it. I wanted to be at eye level with Ali, since I was still in the auditorium while the action was in the ring. My camera was equipped with my trusted 105mm Nikkor lens, giving me a 2x telephoto advantage—close enough without being intrusive. The spotlights cut through the smoke-filled room, and when I saw Drew Bundini Brown place his hand over Ali’s heart, I knew I had the shot. I kept snapping, certain I had captured a winner—and I was ready to go home.
In today’s world you would look at the back of your camera to see if your shot was good, and if it wasn’t, you would take another shot, however in 1970 you would agonize for hours or days over whether the shot was any good, was it in focus, did I get the right exposure will I be successful in “pushing” the tri-x film from 400 ASA to 2400 ASA. Will it be good enough for a16X20. These were my next thoughts that would be with me for days.
The next part of this story is about chemistry and developing the film, the old fashion way. That’s for another time.
Dick Herman
