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John K. . . I was in New York to visit my friend Bruno who was living in a hotel in Manhattan while he was boss of an insurance office there. I was very impressed with my friend, as he was a just a young man. We were going out and took the elevator down from around the 20th floor. After a few floors passed by, the doors swung open and in walks Mohammed Ali holding his infant daughter in his arms. Someone said, "Hello, Champ." And Ali remarked that his infant daughter was the true Champ of his household. He stood right in front of me facing the elevator door. His neck was as big as my waist and his fist as big as my head. Or so it seemed. Sometime mid-seventies.