A Father’s Day story: The day my dad beat Muhammad Ali at arm wresting

Near Valdez, Alaska, in the winter of 1978, my father, Fred Blair, faced off against Muhammad Ali in a mostly unknown challenge match.

My father was a weatherman and air traffic advisory specialist, stationed in Valdez on a weather boat.

He monitored 14 airports along the Alaska Pipeline, teaching civilians how to carefully and accurately observe weather and instructing them how to clearly report weather to pilots.

Ali was in late career; this was the era in which he fought Leon Spinks.

Ali was in Alaska because the Ford Motor Co. had engaged him to do some commercials for Ford Motorcraft Parts. The theme was “Tested Tough,” and Alaska’s rugged landscape presented an appropriate place for filming.

Ali, who had never been far from gyms, hotels and handlers, was “like an out-of-control kid in an Alaskan candy store,” recalled Peter Israelson, who was directing the commercials.

The champ was “like a caged animal set free, careening snowmobiles through carefully groomed sets, and warning the Ford team to back off when they tried to tone down his antics.”

“I don’t drive a Ford,” Ali said. “I drive a Rolls-Royce, and you best remember that.”

My father had a reservation at a large lodge some 30 miles north of Valdez. When he checked in, the receptionist told him Ali and his entourage were also staying there.

“Is that a problem for you, Mr. Blair?”

“No,” my father answered, “of course it’s not.”

The two men crossed paths that night in the dining room. After dinner Ali introduced himself to my dad, and praised his physique. Fred explained that he was an avid kayaker, and used rowing machines to keep his muscles hard and toned.

They chatted amiably.

Then Ali challenged Fred to an arm-wrestling bout. Fred was startled, but he agreed.

They immediately went at it.

For what seemed to my father a very long time, they went back and forth on the table.

You would expect, in the presence of the Greatest and in this hard Alaskan town of roustabouts, a rowdy crowd, cat-calling and whooping, urging on their favorite.

But there were only about eight or 10 onlookers, and Fred remembers an intense quietness in the place.

He was struck by Ali’s attitude — gentle, patient, respectful, devoid of the brashness and bravado everyone expected of the champ; but very determined.

Around the three-minute mark in the bout, my father, an astute man sensitive to others and what they are about, began to suspect Ali was holding back, and perhaps could have won early on in the round, but was pulling punches.

The two fighters battled another minute, then Fred pressed his right arm into the table and forced Ali’s wrist down.

Ali smiled graciously in defeat.

A spectator nearby had a Polaroid camera, and photographed the two in the heat of the match. Afterward, Ali signed the photo, which Fred still has: “To Fred. Muhammad Ali. Next time I will get you.”

Over the years my father watched wistfully as Parkinson’s took its awful toll on Ali. When he died, Fred broke down into tears.

This story was originally published June 18, 2016 at 12:52 PM with the headline "A Father’s Day story: The day my dad beat Muhammad Ali at arm wresting."