by Mike Tyson
My father, Jimmy “Curlee” Kirkpatrick Jr.
My mother, Lorna Mae.
Me at nine years old.
Cus D’Amato.
Me at thirteen years old.
Cus and me.
With Cus in Catskill.
Dinner with Cus and Camille.
Running while surrounded by trucks as I shoot a Pepsi commercial.
Cus’s funeral on November 7, 1985. LEFT TO RIGHT: Jimmy Jacobs, Kevin Rooney, Tom Patti, me, Jay Bright, José Torres, a relative of Cus’s, and Floyd Patterson.
At Steve Lott’s apartment for my nineteenth birthday party. LEFT TO RIGHT: Steve Lott, Susan O’Brien, Jimmy Jacobs, Bill Cayton, my first girlfriend Angie, me, Loraine Jacobs, and Doris Cayton.
With my pigeons in Catskill.
Mitch Green and I fight at Madison Square Garden in 1986. I won in a unanimous decision, running my record to 21–0.
Marvis Frazier and I face off.
Trevor Berbick goes down as I fight him and become the youngest heavyweight champion of the world.
Don King and I celebrate my win over James “Bonecrusher” Smith as I claim the WBA belt in my second heavyweight title fight.
I land a vicious punch to the jaw in the seventh round against Tyrell Biggs en route to retaining my heavyweight title in 1987.
The heavyweight title fight between Michael Spinks and me in 1988. I knocked him out in the first round, defending my three belts.
Wearing my three belts after my fight with Spinks.
I’m mobbed by a crowd when I return to Brownsville.
Talking with my attorney, Steven Hayes, during the trial to dissolve my contract with Bill Cayton. Sitting at the other end of the table is Jimmy Jacobs’s widow, Loraine. Behind us from left to right are Donald Trump, Robin Givens, and Ruth Givens.
I throw a left hook at Larry Holmes during our fight in January 1988.
Holmes goes down in the fourth round.
Meeting some sumo wrestlers during my trip to Tokyo in 1988.
Bill Cayton, me, and Jimmy Jacobs.
With Evander Holyfield.
Al Sharpton and me.
Walking Kenya, my pet tiger.
Robin Givens and I get married in 1988.
My ex-wife Robin and her mother, Ruth, try to pull me apart.
Maya Angelou visits me in prison.
Leaving the Marion County Courthouse in Indianapolis with my attorney Jim Voyles after my sentence-reduction hearing, where I refused to apologize.
Don King and my team usher me into the limo waiting outside of the Indiana Youth Center.
With my former wife Monica Turner.
Referee Mills Lane about to disqualify me in the third round during my infamous fight against Evander Holyfield.
Muhammad Ali congratulates me after the Nevada State Athletic Commission decides to reinstate my boxing license.
I throw a left at Lennox Lewis during the first round of our bout for the heavyweight title in 2002.
Referee Eddie Cotton counts me out in the eighth round of my fight with Lewis.
Sitting in my dressing room with my two-month-old son Miguel before the Lewis fight.
Revisiting the WrestleMania crew in 2010 with my son Amir. Standing with us are Triple H and Hornswoggle.
With my brother Rodney and nephew Lorenzo.
FROM TOP TO BOTTOM: Milan, me, Kiki, Morocco.
With the cast of The Hangover after we won a Golden Globe Award. FROM LEFT TO RIGHT: Ed Helms, Justin Bartha, Heather Graham, me, and Bradley Cooper.
While on my hajj to Mecca, I visited with these Saudi officials during a stop in Medina.
With the therapist who introduced me to the twelve-step program, Marilyn Murray.
My son Miguel with my daughter Mikey.
Exodus poses with Miguel.
Gena and me with Rayna.
With my daughter Milan.
With my kids. FROM LEFT TO RIGHT, BACK: Milan, Amir, and Mikey; FRONT: Rayna, me, Miguel, and Gena.
With my beautiful wife Kiki.
Talking about my life, family, and career in 2012.
A NOTE ON LEXICON
There are two words that I frequently use in this book that deserve a bit of explanation. One of them is “nigga.” This word gained widespread traction in the younger black community through its use by early hip hop and rap artists such as Grandmaster Flash, N.W.A., Tupac, and Ol’ Dirty Bastard, as well as comedians such as Paul Mooney and Chris Rock. Whether I use the term pejoratively or endearingly depends on the context. I’m as apt to say “Fuck that nigga, I hate him” as I am to say “I love this nigga, I’d die for him.” And I do not use the term exclusively to denote people of color. Back in Brownsville, we’d often say, “Man, those big old white stupid Italian niggas, they’re trying to play me.” Later in my life, after I’d meet with HBO or Showtime executives to discuss my fights, I’d say, “Fuck them niggas.” “What the fuck are you talking about? Those are Jews,” one of my friends would say. “No, they are niggas. A nigga is a state of mind.”
While “nigga” can be used in both a positive and negative fashion, when you combine “nigga” with “shit” it can only be seen as a condemnation. For example, a friend of yours may have several fine ladies that he wishes to have fun with. He may ask a few of your friends to participate in the party but you are required by him to watch the door, effectively excluding you from the social intercourse. That is known as “nigga shit”—behavior characteristic of a selfish, no good motherfucker.
The other word that needs explanation is the term “smuck.” My collaborator, Larry “Ratso” Sloman, is of the Jewish persuasion. After hearing me say “smuck” a few times, Ratso was quick to point out that I was mispronouncing the Yiddish word “schmuck.” “Schmuck” originally meant penis, but its meaning was broadened to denote someone who was foolish or, in extreme cases, contemptible or detestable. In some Jewish homes, the word “schmuck” was thought to be so vulgar that it was actually taboo. After being corrected a few times, I informed Ratso that I had coined the term “smuck” quite properly. In my usage, a “smuck” is half a “schmuck.” By preceding “smuck” with the “shhhh” you are, in fact, giving that contemptible person too much credit. A schmuck is a schmuck, but a smuck is not even worthy of schmuck status. In this book, I use both words advisedly.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
MIKE WOULD LIKE TO THANK:
Cus D’Amato, my mentor, friend, and general. Because of you, my life has reached heights I could never have imagined. Without you, I don’t know where I would be today. My gratitude to you is immeasurable. As long as I am breathing, your legacy will continue to live on. Our names are forever synonymous. You can’t mention my name without a reference to your legacy nor can people mention your name without a reference to my legacy.
I would like to give a very special thanks to my collaborator, Larry “Ratso” Sloman, for being such a cool “cat.” (That’s Larry’s favorite word. I had to edit many of them out of the manuscript.) This entire process wasn’t necessarily easy for me. At times it was very difficult to rehash some of the darker moments in my life. Larry, you have been the fly on the wall that at times I wanted to smash, but you knew how to buzz off and fly back around when the moment was better for me. I am grateful for your patience and diligence. You really know how to roll with the punches. I don’t think there is another writer around that could have done a better job. When it comes to writing, you are “The Baddest Man on the Planet.” You’re more than just a writer to me, you’re family. Looking forward to working on many other projects with you in the near future.
Thank you to David Vigliano at Vigliano Associates for coordinating everything. David, you are a great person. You’re more than just a book agent. I consider you a friend.
Thank you to David Rosenthal, publisher of Blue
Rider Press, for your patience and enthusiasm for this project. I’m really grateful that you believed in the vision and have supported it 100 percent.
I would also like to thank my legal team at Grubman Indursky Shire & Meiselas, P.C., in particular Kenny Meiselas for putting together such an incredible legal team. Thank you, Jonathan Ehrlich, for combing through the contracts with a fine-tooth comb.
Thank you to Damon Bingham and Harlan Werner for the initial introduction to Vigliano Associates.
My deepest love and gratitude to my friends, family, and supporters for taking time out of their busy lives to share stories with Ratso.
A very special acknowledgment to my children: Mikey, Gena, Rayna, Amir, Miguel, Milan, and Morocco. Everything I do is for you all. I love you, Exodus Sierra Tyson. You are my eternal Angel. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t think of you. The four years I shared with you on this planet were the best of my life. You will never be forgotten.
Finally, to my dear wife, Kiki—thank you for your unconditional love and support and putting up with me. I know it’s not always easy, but I am very appreciative of everything you do. I love you.
LARRY WOULD LIKE TO THANK:
Michael Gerard Tyson. To say this project has been a labor of love would be an understatement. I’ve been wanting to work with Mike since 1994, right after Private Parts, my collaboration with Howard Stern, was published. For me, Mike was one of the most interesting cultural figures on the scene and I felt that his story would be illuminating and moving. While Mike was incarcerated in Indiana, I sent him a copy of Nietzsche’s autobiography, Ecce Homo, and proposed we work together on a memoir.
In 2008, thanks to the recommendation of his then-agent, Harlan Werner, and Dr. Monica Turner, his ex-wife, Mike chose me to be his collaborator. As you’ve read in this book, that time was not propitious for Mike to work on a book, and the project was postponed. Four years later, Mike was in a much better place, and we began.
Working with Mike was the most unusual and gratifying experience I’d had in my career as a celebrity chronicler. As the whole world knows, he’s painfully honest and incredibly sensitive. When certain topics came up in our talks—his childhood or the role of Cus D’Amato, his mentor, are two prime examples—Mike would tear up and sometimes sob uncontrollably. On the other hand, in the middle of relating his favorite stories, he would jump up, do a little dance around the room, and then come back and slap me five. I’ve probably been slapped five more times by Mike Tyson than anybody else on the planet and lived to tell the tale. The man doesn’t know his own strength.
Mike is not the kind of guy to sit down and calmly relate stories from his life. I taped conversations with him in his garage with his mating pigeons cooing in the background, in the back room of the barbershop he hangs out in in north Vegas, in the passenger seat of his Escalade on the way to picking up his daughter from school, and in the Salvatore Ferragamo shop at Caesars in Vegas while he tried on shirts. I carried around my Casio tape recorder 24/7 because I never knew when he would suddenly have an incredible insight into Cus or remember a story from his childhood that was spellbinding.
I spent months in Vegas at Mike’s house, taping our talks, going over his massive legal files, and interviewing some of his closest associates. It’s not easy and not always fun being away from home for so long, but I was adopted by two families in Vegas, both of whom made my life considerably more pleasant.
First, I have to give thanks to Mike’s wonderful family. His wife, Kiki, is a spectacular helpmate to Mike, and you wouldn’t be reading this book right now if not for her. Mike’s mother-in-law, Rita; Kiki’s brother Azheem and his wife, Jahira; and Mike’s oldest daughter, Mikey, were always there to nurture me, feed me, and console me when Mike was more interested in shopping than talking. Mike’s assistant, David Barnes, aka Wayno aka Farid, was always helpful and ready to go the extra mile. And Mike’s two young children, Milan and Rocco, were always a source of much joy and mirth.
I had a second family in Vegas. While I was working with Mike, I stayed at the Slammer, the amazing home of my dear friend Penn Jillette. Penn; his wife, Emily Zolten; and his two children, his daughter, Moxie, and his son, Zolten, were the most gracious of hosts. At night, if I got bored, I went to see Penn and Teller perform. When I wanted to watch a grade-C movie, Penn and Emily’s movie nights in the home theater were always a most welcome and riotous diversion.
I’m indebted to all of Mike’s wonderful friends and colleagues who took the time out of their busy schedules to do interviews with me. Thanks to Brian Hamill, Craig Boogie, Calvin Hollins, Eric “EB” Brown, David Chesnoff, Steve “Crocodile” Fitch, David Malone, Frankie Mincieli, Jeff Greene, Hope Hundley, Jackie Rowe, Jay Bright, Lance Sherman, Latondia Lawson, Steve Lott, Mack Smith, Marilyn Murray, Mario Costa, Mark D’Attilio, Darryl Francis, Anthony Pitts, Michael Politz, Rick Bowers, Rodney Tyson, Sean MacFarland, Muhammad Siddeeq, Tom Patti, Tony Anderson, Damon Bingham, Jim Voyles, and Jeff Wald. We’re also indebted to a man we never met but we heard. Early in the project Mike played me hours and hours of tapes of Cus and Cus’s friends and colleagues talking to a young journalist in Catskill named Paul Zuckerman. These interviews were a great resource in getting into the head of Cus at the time when Mike had just come into his life. We tried to track down Zuckerman, to no avail. But hopefully his insights into Cus and his adroit interviews will someday see the light of day.
I owe a huge debt of gratitude to David Rosenthal, publisher extraordinaire, for his infinite patience and levelheaded wisdom. Thanks also to everyone up at Blue Rider Press, especially editor Vanessa Kehren. Also at Blue Rider, special thanks to Aileen Boyle, Sarah Hochman, Gregg Kulick, Phoebe Pickering, Brian Ulicky, Joe Benincase, Meredith Dros, Linda Rosenberg, Rob Sternitzky, and Eliza Rosenberry.
I’m always grateful to my wonderful agent, David Vigliano, for his persistence and counsel and to his associate Matthew Carlini for navigating all the foreign editions of this work.
It wouldn’t be a Mike Tyson book without thanking some lawyers. My longtime lawyer, the late Laurie Rockett, carved out our initial agreement in 2008. Eric Rayman came on board in 2012 and worked his magic when the project was revived. And Linda Cowen did a fine job reviewing the manuscript for the publisher. And much thanks, as ever, to my attorney Charles DeStefano, who’s always there for me.
Thanks always to the greatest transcriber around, Jill Matheson, for sacrificing body and soul to make the deadline. I’m also indebted to Zachary Zimmerman for his conscientious research work. No problem was too hard for him to surf the ’Net and solve.
And finally I’m always indebted to my number-one family, Christy Smith-Sloman and Lucy. They weathered Hurricane Sandy and ate peanut butter and jelly (or, in the case of Lucy, Newman’s Own Peanut Butter Dog Treats) by candlelight while I was working thousands of miles away. Christy is always supportive of my works and my quirks and I’m eternally grateful for her love. And as long as those treats keep coming, Lucy’s in my corner too.
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
Mike Tyson is the former undisputed heavyweight champion of the world, and the first boxer to ever hold the three biggest belts in prizefighting—the WBC, WBA, and IBF world heavyweight titles—simultaneously. Tyson’s enduring appeal has launched him into a career in entertainment: He was a standout in the blockbuster films The Hangover and The Hangover Part II, and recently he has earned tremendous acclaim for his one-man show Tyson—The Undisputed Truth. Tyson has launched a clothing company (Mike Tyson Collection) and Tyrrhanic Productions, which currently has several film projects in development. In 2011, Tyson was inducted into the Boxing Hall of Fame. He lives in Las Vegas with his wife, Kiki, and their children.
Larry “Ratso” Sloman is best known as Howard Stern’s collaborator on Private Parts and Miss America. Sloman’s recent collaborations include The Secret Life of Houdini, with magic theorist William Kalush; Mysterious Stranger with
magician David Blaine; Makeup to Breakup: My Life In and Out of Kiss with drummer Peter Criss; and Scar Tissue, the memoir of Red Hot Chili Peppers lead singer Anthony Kiedis. All six books were New York Times best sellers.
