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McCall and I we had some very good times together in this boxing business. There were bad times too. So let's review as we get the popcorn ready to, hopefully see him starch Wilson, who solitary claim to face is that was the first fighter to defeat another of my ex-clients, the well-known Hollywood actor and, perhaps on November 4, new WBO heavyweight champion Shannon Briggs.
My experiences with the 'Atomic Bull" happened in far-flung locales so I am going to list the highlights and lowlights as sort of a pugilistic travelogue:
CLEVELAND
Razor Ruddock fought someone harmless on a Don King show. Trainer Richie Giachetti introduced me to McCall and I thought he was a real character, a guy with an outgoing personality who would be easy to publicize. I am sitting at breakfast on Sunday morning in a nice hotel with Giachetti and McCall and someone else. I see former champ Greg Page and his wife about 10-15 feet away, heading for the buffet line. Suddenly, atomically the Bull goes berserk. He says something like "there's Page, I hate that bastard.'
McCall takes his empty orange juice glass and fires it at Page. It misses, bounces off the carpet and Mrs. Page is hit by the carom and her leg or thigh is bleeding. Hmm, I note, the Bull can a bit volatile.
MEMPHIS
King did a show in Memphis and I was the head flack. There was a mixture of black radio stations, country stations and a couple of hard rock types. Who on the card could do studio visits for each genre? I decided on McCall and he was a smash hit on the black and country stations although we never made it to the mainly Mettalica station(s). McCall was a real charmer, talking about his family's roots in nearby Mississippi, boxing and music. As I recall, he ever did a little warbling. Since King had a slew of mumblers, boxers who said they did "their talking in the ring" and other such boring bits, I marked McCall down as my p.r. "pinchitter." He seemed so flexible and versatile.
WORST GHETTO STREET, FORT
LAUDERDALE
I got this story second hand but know it to be 100 percent true. McCall was back on the crack pipe and doing what crackheads do, getting high. King wanted him to go away to train for a fight. Oliver told DK he needed money to pay a debt and that he had to get his clothes back from someone's house. Afraid that McCall was looking to fill his pipe, King sent Carl King and Sterling McPherson with the fighter on this mission. They get to the worst ghetto area of Fort Lauderdale and stop at a dilapidated house. McCall gets out, telling Carlito and Sterling he will repay a debt, grab his clothing and be right out.
Naturally, McCall took the money, got some rocks and went into a purple haze. Some gentlemen neighborhoods greeters of a sort, walked up to the car and Carl and McPherson if they "were 5-0," meaning police and, if not, to state their business. They reported the situation by phone to Don who told them to go into the crack house, rescue McCall and bring him back to the office. McPherson flat out refused, citing public safety meaning his own. King gave his stepson a direct order. "Dad, I will do a lot shit for you but this is some shit I won't do," Carlito said. Next sound King heard over the cell phone was that of car wheels
screeching away from the smokey location.
LONDON
McCall was supposed to roll over and play dead for His Majesty, Lennox Lewis, but Oliver said to hell with that. King put real money into training, hired Manny Steward to train both JC Chavez and McCall at high altitude in Mexico. Manny likes to retell story about McCall threatening to literally kill assistant trainer, Greg Page. Page, whose wife was a King secretary, was only in camp to spy on McCall and Manny and report back to Uncle Don. but Oliver trained like a demon and put alcohol and his puffing pipes aside for about 10 weeks.
Lewis seemed too cocky and complacent when we got to London. After all, he knew McCall as a Tyson sparmate and a sometime dopehead. And then McCall landed that big punch, with both eyes closed according to the photos, and the huge crowd that cheered Lewis booed him on their way out. The McCall crew, which included me, was whooping and hollering in our cramped dressing room, As a dejected Lewis and his team walked past us, we were still screaming for joy. I looked LL right in the face, which was a mistake, because he threw a right hand to the Marley family jewels. I partially blocked it but I had forgotten to wear a cup under my Saville Row suit. Talk about poor sportsmanship.
We partied at and around the exclusive Dorchester Hotel that night and then on Sunday.
King asked to me to keep an eye on
Jolly Ollie (be his "minder") which
meant I had to booze it up with our
new champ.
It was a foggy, misty London night and McCall and I were two blocks away from the hotel. Suddenly, through the fog, he saw a lone figure and started yelling at him. McCall's excitement was caused by Marvelous Marvin Hagler. Hagler had been at the fight as a special guest, flying in from his home in Italy. The three of us went to MMH's hotel and had a victory toast. As we walked back to our hotel,. McCall was ecstatic. "Wow, he said, "that was really Hagler. He called me, 'Champ.' That's something." Now my eyes misted up and then I looked at Ollie and laughed. He was wearing a suit and, around his wait, was that precious green and gold title belt. Tonight, anyway, he and MMH were boxing equals.
RICHMOND
Uneasy lay Oliver's head when he held the WBC crown. He was champ for three weeks shy of a year, outpointing aged Larry Holmes and then losing on points in London to a man he used to be a sparring partner for, Frank Bruno. McCall was at a nice Hyatt hotel in Virginia, prepping to knock out some newcomer from Russia. Oleg Maskaev got starched in one round. You may have heard of him lately because he now carries Don Jose Sulaiman's green and gold belt.
In the wee, wee hours, a disturbance was reported to management and King aide Scott Woodworth was alerted. McCall had been drinking and possibly more, judging by the smoke cloud inside his room and now he was loudly arguing with his wife. Woodworth went to the room, found a naked 'Atomic Bull' on the balcony threatening to jump off. King had made it a point to tell us this show was in his wife's hometown and he wanted no such ugly incidents to happen. Panicked, Woodworth rang DK up. King yelled at Scott because of the time and then asked what floor McCall's room was on. Third or fourth, he was told. Fine, DK said, if he doesn't jump, don't call me but, if he does, call me after 8 a.m. McCall was laughing and crying and the scene ended without police involvement.
NASHVILLE
We were staying at another Hyatt, an older one downtown as I recall. I went to the hotel bar for a cocktail hour bracer with associate Jim "Catfish' Hunter. I saw boxing togetherness as manager Carl King, trainer Aaron Snowell, Frankie 'The Surgeon" Randall and novice heavyweight, Nate Jones, were getting a load on. I was surpised Jones was boozing it up and I asked him what he drank. "Oh, I like vodka, whisky, gin, rum, brandy. It's all good." I decided then and there that the Chicago fighter was going to have a limited pro career and he did. "Surgeon" Randall, however, was a physical freak who could and did drink all night and go out and knock out a Rockin' Rodney Moore in a few rounds the next night.
Randall solidified himself for that one in Mexico by drinking about 10 nights in succession. He was a great bar trainer.
I sensed a violent mood swing from McCall who was shooting pool in the bar. I told Hunter I thought it was time for all good Caucasians to retire to their rooms. Now I heard McCall MF'ing King and Snowell across the room.
Woke up the next morning to catch newspaper and TV coverage of the unscheduled 'Atomic Bull Christmas Tree Hurl' which culminated in McCall fighting six or seven cops and going to jail. I knew the hotel manager to have a sense of humor so I went to his office. "I have Frankie Randall lined up for tonight," I told him. "Lined up for what?" he said. "Tonight's Christmas Tree Hurl which will send the fully decorated tree toppling from the third floor and into the main lobby. "It's part of our DKP pageantry," I said. The manager laughed...I think.
It was about this time that Don King began to believe that, indeed, McCall did have some serious substance abuse and mental issues.
TOKYO
This was Mike Tyson's successful Tokyo run, the bout with Tony Tubbs. McCall was a bit player, a Tyson sparmate. I wander into some disco in Roppongi and I meet up with four gorgeous British airline hostesses. 'Atomic Bull' shows up and starts rapping to the ladies. He is talking about "chillin and illin'" and the ladies love it. McCall then starts defining his words like "when you chillin' you..." or "when you illin' you." It could've been a Saturday Night Live skit. Man could be a real charmer when he was not on the 'Atomic Crack Cloud.' He really could be a social delight. And I will never forget the pretty blonde, blue-eyed Brit bird who said, in her clipped accent,. "I be chillin' and not illin' with the Atomic Bull."
MIAMI
All hail King Ollie, the Lennox Lewis slayer. I tell King I should take McCall to Radio Row at the Super Bowl hotel media HQs in Miami and he agrees. We hit all the sports talk shows, including old friend Gary "Raddy's Caddy" Radnich's KNBR, San Francisco show, and McCall is a hit with one and all. We are driving back, in a limo and we are near Fort Lauderdale but stuck in I-95 traffic. An impatient McCall, probably thinking of a hit of a different sort, bolts out of the limo on the highway and starts running north.
I take Oliver to the Super Bowl after pal and p.r. wizard Steve "Puck And Half" Brener arranges tickets. Brener is a Supe regular hyping the halftime show. It's me, Oliver and his wife and manager Jimmy Adams who somehow missed getting a recurring role on "Hee Haw." Jimmy makes Larry The Cable Guy look like a big city sophisticate. The Champ has had a few pops but, hey, it is the Super Bowl. We got to the ABC TV hospitality tent and McCall is still wearing the title belt. Some yokel asks if we are "on the list." Of course, I say that Alex Wallau and Tony Danza invited The Champ. Big lie but it distracts the yokel who goes to check. His younger associate, a black man, says, "I saw you knock out Lewis on TV, champ, go on in and have a good time."
We chat briefly with ex-boxer Danza and his longtime friend, the actor and 'Mulberry Street Mayor' (lately on "The Sopranos') Cha Cha Ciarcia. With the celebs and bigwigs, McCall is the only guest wearing a WBC title belt. McCall spots the erudite Ted Koppel, the 'Nightline" host. "I like him," McCall said. "Marley, introduce me to him."
I go to Koppel's table and tell him I worked for his old buddy, H. Cosell, and that I love "Nightline." Could I bring The Champ over for a handshake. The diminutive Koppel gracefully agrees and I call Oliver over. They chat for a minute and, as Koppel stands up, McCall said., "You is a short little motherfucker. You look a lot bigger on that TV."
I turned 12 shades of red and hustle McCall away, thanking Mr. Koppel over my shoulder.
Few days later, Don King reaming his staff individually. When it's my turn, he is fumbling for some criticism. "And you, Mike Marley...you, you,. you...you let McCall drink and get drunk at the Super Bowl."
I offered my resignation to DK, quietly saying that it was unlikely I could physically overpower a guy who had just whacked out Lewis in two rounds. The mention of that great upset cheered DK up and he starting singing about McCall being "a Yankee Doodle Dandy" who went to London not to ride a pony but to KO Lewis.
There were other cities, other true tales from the life and legend of the "Atomic Bull' and the "Atomic Bullshit' he sometimes thrived on and always survived. I remember McCall telling me how, as a teenager on Chicago's South Side, he had lived for some time inside the back of a truck. During the day, he roamed the rugged streets.
McCall never should've been thrown into that rematch with Lewis in Las Vegas.
His drug rehab program was always secondary to his boxing dates and that was so wrong. Come to think of it, guy sprints to the ring and is on a crying jab before the opening bell, why didn't the Nevada commission shortcircuit that one? You know why. M-o-n-e-y.
Tyson, decked in the gym once or twice by McCall, correctly called boxing "a hurt business."
It was, it is and will always be. But the "Atomic Bull" never hurt anyone except himself, really.
Here's to you, Sir Oliver. Spanning the globe with you was invariably a little slice of insanity.
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