RIP, GEORGE FOREMAN [T, 3-25-25]

BEYOND WINTER: The Irrelevant Memories of An Old Man—RIP, GEORGE FOREMAN [T, 3-25-25]

 

I have been trying to stick to the Lenten theme for these 40 days before Easter, but I can’t ignore the death of George Foreman. The children in the pediatric cancer unit of MD Anderson in Houston have lost a true friend.

He’s better known, of course, as a heavyweight boxing champ, and for naming all 12 of his children George, regardless of gender. When asked why, he would reply, “Who would you expect me to name them after, Muhamad Ali?”

Helen and I met George once, sort of. I was invited to speak at a cancer conference at MD Anderson, along with Steve Allen, Jr and Scott Burton and, of course, George. It was a two-day conference [three?], and all of the speakers were there for the whole conference, doing break-out sessions and book signings and such as well as speaking. Except for George, who appeared only for his one speaking occasion.

Helen and I were invited to the conference by Judy Gerner, who had heard me speak at a previous conference in Denver. Judy was the director of MD Anderson’s patient services.

In telling us about the other speakers, Judy said that it was fairly well known that George visited the children in the hospital’s cancer ward, but no one know how much. Many days he would show up completely unannounced, just going from room to room, with that big smile that always made everyone smile back and feel better.

Now, the purpose of this column is to give credit and appreciation to George for his active commitment to cancer kids, but I must repeat a story about that conference that is more about Helen…

We were in a huge room, seated around tables, about 500 people. When it came time for George, Judy led him through a door at the back of the room. As they threaded their way amongst the tables to get up to the stage, people jumped up from their tables and crowded around and began to take pictures of George. So did Helen.

I was amazed. Helen is not a big sports fan. As a teen, she and her mother would go to pro wrestling matches in Gary, Indiana, to see Don Eagle and Gorgeous George. Helen even got their autographs and to this day mourns the theft of her autograph book. But that wasn’t really a sport. That was just what you did in Gary because “the mob” didn’t allow anything else.

Nonetheless, there she was, elbowing her way through the throng to get several pictures of George.

When she got back to our table, I said, “I didn’t think you even knew who George Foreman is. Why were you so eager to take his picture?”

“Oh, you mean that nice bald man with Judy? I wasn’t taking his picture. I want my hairdresser to fix my hair like Judy’s when we get home, and I needed a picture of it. But if I just took a photo of Judy’s hair, that would be weird. I figured if I got the pic while everyone else was taking photos of that big man…”

John Robert McFarland