October 26, 1970. Muhammad Ali returned to boxing after three and a half years in exile, banned for refusing to go to Vietnam. His opponent that night was Jerry Quarry, a tough Irish-American fighter from California. Ali destroyed Quarry in three rounds, cutting his face so badly that the referee had to stop the fight.
26 years later, when Ali’s kidneys were failing and he needed a transplant to survive, the man who stepped forward to donate one of his kidneys was Jerry Quarry, the opponent whose face Ali had destroyed.
This is the story of how an enemy became a hero and how boxing’s greatest rivalry turned into their greatest friendship.
Let’s start in 1970 because you can’t understand what Quarry did in 1996 without understanding what Ali did to him in 1970. Muhammad Ali had been stripped of his heavyweight title in 1967 for refusing induction into the U.S. Army. For three and a half years, he couldn’t fight. He couldn’t earn a living. The government took away his passport, his license, his livelihood.
But by 1970, public opinion was shifting. The Vietnam War was becoming increasingly unpopular. Ali’s stance seemed less cowardly and more courageous. Finally, the state of Georgia, one of the few states that would allow Ali to fight, approved his return.
The date was set: October 26, 1970, in Atlanta. His opponent would be Jerry Quarry. Quarry was a legitimate contender. He had fought for the heavyweight title twice, losing close decisions both times. He was tough, skilled, and hungry. But more importantly, Quarry was white. And in 1970s America, that meant something.
The fight was marketed as a cultural statement. Ali, the Black activist who had refused to fight in Vietnam, versus Quarry, the white fighter who represented traditional American values. It was more than boxing. It was politics, race, and the Vietnam-era culture war, all wrapped up in one fight.
Quarry didn’t want that burden. In interviews before the fight, he said,
“I’m not fighting Muhammad Ali because he’s black or because of his politics. I’m fighting him because he’s a great fighter and beating him would make my career. That’s all.”
But the narrative had already been written. Whether Quarry liked it or not, he was being positioned as the man who would punish Ali for his anti-war stance.
The fight itself was brutal and one-sided. Ali was rusty after three and a half years away, but he was still Muhammad Ali. Quarry came out aggressively, trying to pressure Ali, but Ali’s speed and accuracy were overwhelming. In the third round, Ali opened a massive cut above Quarry’s left eye. Blood streamed down Quarry’s face. The cut was so severe that white bone was visible underneath.
The ringside doctor examined him and told the referee to stop the fight. Quarry protested. He wanted to continue, but the doctor was adamant. The fight was over. TKO, round three, Muhammad Ali.
The image of Quarry’s face covered in blood became iconic. It was on the cover of sports magazines. It represented Ali’s triumphant return, and it represented Jerry Quarry as the man who had been sacrificed for that return.
Quarry was devastated, not just because he had lost, but because of how he had lost. The cut was so severe that it took 150 stitches to close. His face would never be the same. Every time he looked in the mirror, he saw the scar Ali had given him.
In the locker room after the fight, Ali went to see Quarry. This wasn’t unusual. Ali often visited opponents after fights, especially if they had been hurt. But what Ali said to Quarry that night was unusual.
“I’m sorry about your face,” Ali said. “You’re an incredible fighter. You didn’t deserve to lose like that.”
Quarry looked at him with one eye, the other swollen and closed.
“You did what you had to do. That’s boxing.”
“No hard feelings?” Ali asked.
“No hard feelings,” Quarry said. “You won fairly and cleanly. I respect that.”
Over the next few years, Ali and Quarry developed an unusual friendship. They saw each other at boxing events, press conferences, and charity functions. They talked, joked, and reminisced about their fight. The animosity that had been manufactured for promotional purposes never existed between them personally.
They fought again in 1972. Ali won again, this time in seven rounds. Another cut on Quarry’s face, another stoppage. Once again, Ali visited Quarry’s locker room afterward. Once again, they spoke with mutual respect.
“Why do you keep cutting my face?” Quarry joked.
“You keep giving me the same target,” Ali joked back.
Their friendship deepened over the years. As Ali’s career winded down and Quarry’s faded, they stayed in touch. When Ali was diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease in 1984, Quarry called him regularly. When Quarry began showing signs of pugilistic dementia, brain damage from too many fights, Ali reached out to support him.
By the mid-1990s, both men were suffering the long-term effects of boxing. Ali’s Parkinson’s disease was progressing. His movement was limited. His speech was slurred. His hands trembled constantly. Quarry’s dementia was even worse. His memory was failing. His coordination was gone. He needed constant care.
Then, in 1996, Ali’s condition took a dangerous turn. His kidneys began to fail. The medications he was taking for Parkinson’s disease had damaged his renal system. His doctors told him he needed a kidney transplant or he would die within months.
The search for a kidney donor began. Ali’s family was tested. None were a match. The National Donor Registry was searched. No matches were found. Time was running out. Ali was put on dialysis, which kept him alive, but barely.
That’s when Jerry Quarry found out about Ali’s condition.
Quarry was living in a nursing home by this point. His dementia had progressed to the point where he needed round-the-clock care. His memory was almost completely gone. He couldn’t remember what he had eaten for breakfast. But he remembered Muhammad Ali. He remembered their fights. He remembered their friendship.
When a nurse mentioned to Quarry that Muhammad Ali was ill and needed a kidney, something clicked in Quarry’s damaged mind. He became agitated, insistent. He kept saying,
“I have to help him. I have to help Muhammad.”
His brother James Quarry came to visit, and Jerry grabbed his arm.
“Muhammad needs a kidney,” Jerry said, his words slow and slurred with dementia. “I want to give him mine.”
James Quarry thought his brother was confused.
“Jerry, you’re sick. You can’t donate a kidney.”
“I have to try,” Jerry insisted. “He’s my friend. He needs help.”
James Quarry was moved by his brother’s determination. Even with his mind failing, even with his body broken, Jerry Quarry wanted to help the man who had beaten him twice, who had slashed his face, who had effectively ended his career. James agreed to look into the matter.
The first step was a blood test to see if Jerry was even a compatible donor. Given Jerry’s own health problems—dementia, medication, and the general decline from years of boxing—James assumed the doctors would immediately rule him out.
The blood test results came back.
Jerry Quarry was a perfect match for Muhammad Ali. Same blood type, same tissue compatibility markers, everything. Of all the people in the world, Jerry Quarry, the man Ali had twice brutalized in the ring, was medically the ideal kidney donor.
James Quarry called Ali’s medical team with the news. They were stunned. A perfect coincidence was rare enough, but for it to be Jerry Quarry, given his history, seemed almost impossible.
The next step was a full medical evaluation of Jerry to determine if he was healthy enough to donate.
This is where the story took a heartbreaking turn.
The doctors examined Jerry Quarry thoroughly. His kidneys were functioning well—in fact, better than they should have been given his overall health. One of his kidneys could absolutely save Ali’s life. But Jerry himself wasn’t healthy enough to survive the donation surgery.
Dementia had caused complications throughout his body. His heart was weak. His lungs had limited capacity. His liver function was compromised. The stress of major surgery, the doctors concluded, would likely kill him.
“If we take his kidney, we would be saving Muhammad Ali, but killing Jerry Quarry,” the lead surgeon told James Quarry. “I cannot in good conscience perform that surgery.”
James had the difficult task of telling his brother. Jerry was in his room at the nursing home, lucid enough to understand.
—Muhammad needs it —Jerry said—. Take it.
“Jerry, the surgery would kill you,” James explained. “The doctors say you wouldn’t survive.”
Jerry was silent for a long moment. Then he said something everyone present would remember.
“I’m already dying. At least this way, my death will mean something. I could save Muhammad Ali. It’s worth dying for.”
James was crying. The nurses were crying. Jerry wasn’t. He was completely serious. He wanted to save Ali, even if it killed him.
James Quarry called Ali’s team and explained the situation. Ali, despite his Parkinson’s making communication difficult, wanted to speak with Jerry. A phone call was arranged. Neither man could speak clearly. Ali because of Parkinson’s. Jerry because of dementia. But they understood each other.
Ali thanked Jerry for trying. Jerry apologized for not being healthy enough to help. They both wept. The conversation lasted less than five minutes, but those present said it was one of the most moving things they had ever witnessed. Two broken warriors, both victims of the sport they had loved, trying to help each other, even as their bodies failed them.
Fortunately, Ali’s story had a better ending than it could have had. A few weeks later, an anonymous donor came forward. The transplant was successful. Ali survived, although his Parkinson’s disease continued to progress.
Jerry Quarry died on January 3, 1999, at the age of 53 from complications of dementia. He never fully recovered from the disappointment of not being able to help Ali.
Muhammad Ali attended Jerry Quarry’s funeral. By then, Ali’s Parkinson’s disease was so advanced that he couldn’t speak and needed assistance to walk, but he insisted on being there. He sat in the front row, tears streaming down his face throughout the service.
After the funeral, James Quarry approached Ali. They hadn’t seen each other since the failed kidney donation attempt three years earlier. James told Ali something he thought Ali should know.
“Jerry talked about you every day after that phone call,” James said. “Even as his memory deteriorated, even when he couldn’t remember his own children’s names, he remembered you. He remembered wanting to help you. It was the last thing that made him happy. The thought that he could save your life.”
Ali couldn’t respond verbally, but his face said it all. He took James’s hand and held it, and both men wept.
The story of Jerry Quarry trying to donate his kidney to Muhammad Ali remained largely private for years. The families kept it quiet out of respect for both men. But after Ali’s death in 2016, James Quarry finally told the full story in an interview.
“People remember Jerry as the guy Ali beat twice. The guy whose face was slashed,” James said. “But Jerry was so much more than that. He was a man who was willing to give his life to save his friend. That’s who my brother really was.”
The boxing world was stunned by the revelation. Here was Jerry Quarry, a man who had every reason to resent Ali. Ali had beaten him twice, left permanent scars on his face, and essentially ended his career. Yet when Ali needed help, Quarry didn’t hesitate. He was willing to die to save the man who had destroyed him in the ring.
Sports writers called it the most beautiful story in boxing history. A rivalry transformed into friendship. An opponent transformed into a potential savior. It represented all the good that sports can be. The way competition can create respect. How enemies can become brothers. How the bonds forged in battle can transcend everything that came before.
Medical ethicists studied the case as an example of the complexities of organ donation. Should Quarry have been allowed to donate even though it would kill him? Was James right to deny permission? If someone is terminally ill anyway, should they be allowed to choose to die saving someone else?
But the deeper truth of the story is simpler than any ethical debate. Jerry Quarry loved Muhammad Ali not as an opponent, not as a rival, but as a friend. And when you love someone, you’re willing to give everything to save them.
The irony is profound. Ali destroyed Quarry’s face in 1970, effectively ending his career and scarring him for life. Yet Quarry held no grudge. When Ali needed help, Quarry offered everything he had—literally his own life—to save him. That’s not just friendship. That’s grace. That’s forgiveness. That’s love.
In 2018, the International Boxing Hall of Fame added a special exhibit on Ali and Quarry. The centerpiece is a photograph of them together at a boxing event in the 1980s. Both already show the effects of the sport that would eventually destroy them. They are smiling, with their arms around each other’s shoulders. The caption reads: “From opponents to friends to brothers.”
Next to the photograph is a letter Jerry Quarry wrote to Ali in 1997, a year after the attempted kidney donation. Dementia made his handwriting shaky and his words simple, but the message was clear.
Dear Muhammad,
I’m so sorry I couldn’t help you. You’re my friend. I would have given anything to save you.
Love, Jerry.
That card represents everything beautiful and tragic about boxing. Two men who destroyed each other in the ring, who sacrificed their health for glory, who ended up broken by the sport they loved, but who still loved each other enough to die for one another.
If this story touches you, remember this: True friendship isn’t formed in comfort. It’s forged in battle, tested in suffering, and proven in sacrifice.
Muhammad Ali and Jerry Quarry were warriors who became brothers. And when one brother needed help, the other offered his life without hesitation. That is true championship. Not titles, not victories, not glory. It is the willingness to give everything for someone else.
Jerry Quarry never won a heavyweight title, but in the end, he showed more courage than any champion. The courage to give his life for his friend. That is the greatest fight Jerry Quarry could ever have had. And it is the most beautiful story boxing has ever told.
