It was April, 1991, and I got what seemed like a dream assignment: Interview George Foreman at his East Texas country home as the 42-year-old prepared to fight Evander Holyfield two weeks later.
Not knowing what to expect, I called fellow sports scribe Greg Hilburn, then of the Monroe News-Star, to go with me and we set off to talk to perhaps the most famous person we had ever interviewed.
But first, we had to find his house.
The directions were simple enough – left turn, right turn, left turn – but the longer we drove, the more lost we were. One of the problems was that we were supposed to turn on Foreman Road, but the street sign kept getting stolen by souvenir hunters.
But finally, we found it. Only one problem – the entrance gate was locked. I was willing to just sit there and wait for it to magically open. Hilburn, however, had other ideas as he got out of the car and began to climb over the wrought-iron gate.
Not just trespassing, but trespassing on the property of a man who was one of the most feared people in the world.
Hilburn figured we had come all this way and since we had been invited, we might as well do what was necessary to take him up on the invitation. A lack of athleticism prevailed as Greg had to give up the climb and surrender.
Thankfully, someone came out to open the gate. Even more thankfully, that person wasn’t packing heat.
We were also way early for the interview session so we were escorted into the makeshift gym beside George’s house. As we were about to find out this wasn’t an exclusive interview. Boxing writers from all over the country were flying in to be a part of this.
But George humored us for a few minutes before the session started. Of course, we knew about all of his five sons being named “George,” so when one of them wandered in, Greg asked him which George that was.
“Four,” he said. “I think.”
Will. Never. Forget. It.
While still waiting for the national writers to arrive, I mentioned that I was from Shreveport to Foreman. He immediately told a story about his religious conversation from Meanest/Baddest Man on the Planet to preacher of the Bible. Right then, I knew I would open my 3,000-word story with this passage:
His calling brought him to Shreveport. He took up a spot by some run-down apartment buildings, propped open his Bible and laid into some heavy hellfire and brimstone. Nobody noticed. He tried again, hoping to flag down a passing car or any lost soul. Didn’t matter who. ANYbody … All he wanted was for his message to be heard. Minutes became hours. Finally he had enough. “Hey! This is George Foreman! Ex-heavyweight champion of the world. I fought Muhammad Ali!” All of sudden, brakes started screeching and heads started turning.
A crowd gathered to hear what this man – this famous man – had to say. It had taken years for him to find himself; it took an incident in Shreveport for him to find his niche. “I thought, hey, I oughta use this,” he said. “and I have been ever since.”
By 1991, Foreman had already led quite a life. Olympic Champion. The Rumble in the Jungle. Heavyweight Champion. His life had numerous returns to boxing – this one was his second – and he would go on to great fame by being a spokesperson for the George Foreman Grill. (It would be six more years before Foreman finally did retire from boxing.)
Few athletes have ever had a personality change quite like Foreman. And on the day we were there, we found that his charming nature was not just a PR act. He really was immensely likeable, which is probably why I felt the need to write a story so long that they almost ran out of ink to print it on.
One of the best things about sports writing always knowing there’s a great story just around the corner. It can be a great event like a World Series or a Final Four or just a half-court shot to win a high school basketball playoff game. It can be a feature about an athlete that no one has heard of or one who everyone has heard of.
And I have to admit that I broke one of the most sacred rules of a sports writer that day — I got his autograph. (But so did the grizzled boxing writers who were there, so I don’t feel quite as guilty.)
George Foreman died last week and my thoughts immediately returned to that April day in 1991. Other people might remember him for a famous fight or for being a being a loveable pitchman they saw on TV. I get to remember him from that day we got a chance to hang around with him.
The newspaper story I wrote from that experience still gathers dust at the top of my closet.
The memory, however, is as fresh as ever.
Contact JJ at johnjamsmarshall@yahoo.com