My father, Jack Achilles, was the head chef at Isow’s restaurant in Brewer Street, Soho, when Jack Solomons, a regular customer, promoted the fight in 1963 between Henry Cooper and Muhammad Ali, then known as Cassius Clay. Ali stayed in Piccadilly and frequently went to eat at Isow’s.
Knowing as much about food as Ali knew about boxing, my father got on well with his most appreciative diner. Ali trusted that he would feed him whenever he was in London, and especially before his fights. From then on a telegram from Ali would arrive to let my father know when to get the Aberdeen Angus steaks ready.
He would go to choose the meat and supervise the butchering, to make sure it was fit for a king. In turn, he was singled out by Ali in the press conferences and generously included in many of the photocalls that were routinely held at Isow’s. One afternoon, in 1963, our entire family went, at Ali’s invitation, to the East End to watch him sparring before the fight with Cooper. My father was also given tickets to the fights. In simply acknowledging the important part my father played in feeding him so well, Ali was a giant among men.
Earlier this year I attended a lecture in North Kensington library, west London, given by the local historian Tom Vague. The subject was a visit by Ali to the London Free school playgroup in Tavistock Crescent in 1966. In the middle of the lecture, a slide came up of Ali training at the Territorial Army gym at White City and standing next to him was my father. I had never seen the photograph and it caused quite a stir when I called out: “That’s my dad.” It is a tremendous photograph. Both men are laughing while Angelo Dundee wraps Ali’s hands.
To my eye, my father and Ali look equally matched in the image, and that was Ali’s greatest gift – to relate to everyone, to look down on noone, to be generous to all, to enjoy the moment.
