Muhammad Ali

(bright music) -

Narrator

In November of 1982, Muhammad Ali returned to the gym to train for a three week exhibition tour with stops in Saudi Arabia, India, and Pakistan. The profits would go towards the construction of a new mosque in Chicago. "My life is just starting at 40," he said. "I'm doing this for the Muslamic religion." Since retiring from boxing, Ali's condition had worsened. Overweight and often fatigued, he spoke softly and hesitantly and shuffled when he walked. I probably was five years old and I remember just him stumbling when he walked or losing his balance or this glaze in his eye. I remember once he was pulled over by a police officer and they thought he was drunk and my father didn't drink and he couldn't walk the line, and they realized, oh, he's not drunk. This is Muhammad Ali and something wasn't right. But he had Parkinson's and no one knew. -

Narrator

The corner men and confidantes, facilitators and hangers on who had traveled the globe with Ali, readying him for each fight and reveling in his adventures had largely moved on. (mellow blues music) Budini Brown, who suffered from diabetes and was drinking excessively, now lived in a shabby motel in Los Angeles. When Budini was paralyzed in a fall, Ali visited his friend at Good Samaritan Hospital. Muhammad and I entered and we walked in and Muhammad, I knew he wanted to cry, but then he just grabbed his lips. "Hey Drew, what are you doing? "You're gonna be so happy and everything, no more sickness. "No more trials," he goes. Then went, "Hey Drew," He went, "Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee. "Rumble, young man, rumble. Hah." And then Drew started shaking and started crying even more and then bent down and he kissed him. And Muhammad just held his hand and Muhammad was, finally, tears came down his eyes. And then we left. -

Narrator

Days later, Brown was dead. He was 59 years old. (slow blues music) In September of 1984, Ali checked himself into New York's Columbia Presbyterian Medical Center. After days of tests, doctors said he had Parkinson's syndrome. When my dad was first diagnosed with Parkinson's, he was shocked, like anybody would be. There's no cure, what do you mean? And my dad loved the camera, he loved talking, he loved clowning around, he loved being Muhammad Ali, but when Parkinson's robbed him, or tried to rob him of his speech and his way that he would communicate with people, he was taken aback.