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Two at $7.95. On his way to Louisville, the conquering hero stopped to let New York pay its respects. He stayed with Joe Martin in a Waldorf Towers suite that belonged to William Reynolds, vice president of the Reynolds Metals Co.—next door to the Duke and Duchess of Windsor. Reynolds asked him if he had brought back any presents for his family. Cassius said no, so Reynolds told him to go out and get some. He picked out a $250 watch for his mother, a $100 watch for his father, a $100 watch for his brother. Still wearing his gold medal around his neck, Clay ate at the Waldorf-Astoria ("The steaks were $7.95." says Martin, "and Cassius always had two"), toured Greenwich Village looking for beatniks, and whooped delightedly when passers-by recognized him. Tapping a startled cabby on the shoulder, he said: "Why, I bet even you know that I'm Cassius Clay, the great fighter." Then he bought a bogus newspaper in a penny arcade. The headline: CASSIUS SIGNS FOR PATTERSON FIGHT. "Back home," explained Cassius, "they'll think it's real. They won't know the difference."
Louisville gave Cassius a welcoming parade that "crippled the town." He bought a "rosy pink" hardtop Cadillac on time. And he signed to fight his first professional bout—a six-rounder with a former smalltown West Virginia police chief named Tunney Hunsaker. "He's a bum," confided Cassius. "I'll lick him easy." But he still got up at 5 a.m. every day to run at least two miles in Chickasaw Park, and he boxed a few fast training rounds with his younger brother Rudolph.
Cassius had not fought one round as a pro; yet each day's mail brought a new batch of offers. IF YOU DESIRE TO HAVE EXCELLENT MANAGER, CALL ME COLLECT TONIGHT, wired Archie Moore. Pete Rademacher, an ex-Olympic champion who was knocked out by Patterson in his pro debut, wanted to manage Clay. So did Patterson's manager, Cus D'Amato. But Cassius was looking for something classier. At first, Sportsman Billy Reynolds seemed to have the inside track. There was only one catch: Reynolds wanted to give Sergeant Martin "a piece of the action." Clay refused. "Martin's amateur," he said. "He can't teach me any more. I need the top-notch people."
Three days before the Hunsaker fight, Clay signed a contract with a syndicate of eleven white businessmen—ten from Louisville, one from New York, all but four millionaires. That was class, man! Organized and run by William Faversham Jr., 57, sometime actor, son of the matinee idol, now a vice president of Brown-Forman Distillers (Jack Daniel's, Old Forester, Early Times), the syndicate includes Faversham's own boss, W. L. Lyons Brown, and William Cutchins, president of Brown & Williamson Tobacco Corp. (Viceroys, Raleighs). Terms of the deal: a $10,000 bonus, a salary of $4,000 a year, all expenses paid, and a fifty-fifty split of all purses.