hotel extended his contract to provide for eight weeks of performances annually (in February and August) over a five-year period. His salary would be one million dollars a year.
Elvis and Ali met twice in Las Vegas. The first time, Muhammad saw him onstage and they chatted briefly afterward. “All my life, I admired Elvis,” Ali said years later. “It was a thrill to meet him.”
Their second meeting, in February 1973, was more consequential.
Ali was less threatening to the establishment by then. He’d been stripped of his championship and denied a license to box after refusing induction into the United States Army. After three years in exile, he was allowed by court order to fight again, but had lost to Joe Frazier in “The Fight of the Century.” His rematches with Frazier and triumphant battle against George Foreman in Zaire to reclaim the heavyweight crown were yet to come. Ali’s adversaries had exploited his vulnerabilities and seemed to have beaten him down.
From time to time, Elvis’s life had intersected with the sweet science. He tried out for his high school boxing team, but quit the first day after suffering a bloody nose. Later, in the 1962 movie Kid Galahad , he’d played a professional fighter.
On February 14, 1973, Ali fought Joe Bugner at the Las Vegas Convention Center. Prior to the bout, he and Elvis met in a hotel suite and Elvis presented him with a faux-jewel-studded robe emblazoned with the words “The People’s Choice.” Ali wore the robe that night and beat Bugner.
The Las Vegas years are an important part of Elvis’s legacy. The city’s dream machine revived him and gave him new life as a superstar. Soon, he was performing around the country again.
“The most important thing is the inspiration I get from a live audience,” Elvis said in Houston before a 1970 engagement at The Astrodome. “I was missing that.”
Time and again, he elaborated on that theme: “A live concert to me is exciting because of all the electricity that’s generated in the crowd and onstage. It’s my favorite part of the business . . . I missed the closeness of a live audience. So as soon as I got out of the movie contract, I decided to play live concerts again . . . It’s a good feeling. There’s a new audience each time. What’s interesting about music and all the people here [his back-up musicians] is, they find new sounds and they do things differently themselves; so it’s like a new experience every day.”
Elvis was appearing onstage more often now than ever before. In 1973, there were 168 concert performances; the most notable of them at the Honolulu International Center in Hawaii.
Aloha Hawaii was taped in January and aired in the United States on April 4, 1973, capturing 57% of the viewing audience. More significantly, it was transmitted by satellite to thirty-six countries around the world.
Meanwhile, Ali was experiencing a rebirth of his own. In 1974, he dethroned George Foreman to regain the heavyweight championship of the world. Then he abandoned the separatist teachings of the Nation of Islam and, while still a devout Muslim, embraced the philosopy that hearts and souls know no color.
Ali’s kingdom was now the world. And Elvis had become a symbol larger than himself; the quintessential larger-than-life celebrity rock star. He was an Elvis; the only one of its kind.
Only a select few people have ever experienced what Elvis and Ali came to experience in the mid-1970s. They were icons of the highest order, universal royalty, instantly recognizable around the globe.
Ali loved being king. But Elvis couldn’t ride the wave and seemed burdened by the crown.
There are people the spotlight never turns away from. Wherever they go, they can never be anonymous. These people either give in to their fame and embrace it (in the manner of Ali); manage their fame by setting strict boundaries; or it devours them.
Ali embraced his fame, gave himself completely to the public, and mingled
Elvis and Ali met twice in Las Vegas. The first time, Muhammad saw him onstage and they chatted briefly afterward. “All my life, I admired Elvis,” Ali said years later. “It was a thrill to meet him.”
Their second meeting, in February 1973, was more consequential.
Ali was less threatening to the establishment by then. He’d been stripped of his championship and denied a license to box after refusing induction into the United States Army. After three years in exile, he was allowed by court order to fight again, but had lost to Joe Frazier in “The Fight of the Century.” His rematches with Frazier and triumphant battle against George Foreman in Zaire to reclaim the heavyweight crown were yet to come. Ali’s adversaries had exploited his vulnerabilities and seemed to have beaten him down.
From time to time, Elvis’s life had intersected with the sweet science. He tried out for his high school boxing team, but quit the first day after suffering a bloody nose. Later, in the 1962 movie Kid Galahad , he’d played a professional fighter.
On February 14, 1973, Ali fought Joe Bugner at the Las Vegas Convention Center. Prior to the bout, he and Elvis met in a hotel suite and Elvis presented him with a faux-jewel-studded robe emblazoned with the words “The People’s Choice.” Ali wore the robe that night and beat Bugner.
The Las Vegas years are an important part of Elvis’s legacy. The city’s dream machine revived him and gave him new life as a superstar. Soon, he was performing around the country again.
“The most important thing is the inspiration I get from a live audience,” Elvis said in Houston before a 1970 engagement at The Astrodome. “I was missing that.”
Time and again, he elaborated on that theme: “A live concert to me is exciting because of all the electricity that’s generated in the crowd and onstage. It’s my favorite part of the business . . . I missed the closeness of a live audience. So as soon as I got out of the movie contract, I decided to play live concerts again . . . It’s a good feeling. There’s a new audience each time. What’s interesting about music and all the people here [his back-up musicians] is, they find new sounds and they do things differently themselves; so it’s like a new experience every day.”
Elvis was appearing onstage more often now than ever before. In 1973, there were 168 concert performances; the most notable of them at the Honolulu International Center in Hawaii.
Aloha Hawaii was taped in January and aired in the United States on April 4, 1973, capturing 57% of the viewing audience. More significantly, it was transmitted by satellite to thirty-six countries around the world.
Meanwhile, Ali was experiencing a rebirth of his own. In 1974, he dethroned George Foreman to regain the heavyweight championship of the world. Then he abandoned the separatist teachings of the Nation of Islam and, while still a devout Muslim, embraced the philosopy that hearts and souls know no color.
Ali’s kingdom was now the world. And Elvis had become a symbol larger than himself; the quintessential larger-than-life celebrity rock star. He was an Elvis; the only one of its kind.
Only a select few people have ever experienced what Elvis and Ali came to experience in the mid-1970s. They were icons of the highest order, universal royalty, instantly recognizable around the globe.
Ali loved being king. But Elvis couldn’t ride the wave and seemed burdened by the crown.
There are people the spotlight never turns away from. Wherever they go, they can never be anonymous. These people either give in to their fame and embrace it (in the manner of Ali); manage their fame by setting strict boundaries; or it devours them.
Ali embraced his fame, gave himself completely to the public, and mingled
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