Fred Hickman teamed with Charles on "Sports Tonight." The two had chemistry and beat ESPN in the ratings.
Charles talks with hs wife, Cory, and their daughter at their home in Santa Fe, New Mexico
( Continued from Part 1)
Charles cries when he talks about the strength of boxers. He knows the sport is barbaric; he readily admits that. Yet when he looks at the ring, he sees young men like him from the inner city.
Charles, who boxed as a teen, says his upbringing "gave me a love of people who want to make it so bad."
"You're going to get hit. You have to take pain to get it," he says. "You have to fight through fear."
On that day in August 2009, when he was first given a death sentence, he promised himself: "There's no way I'm going to wimp out on this."
'Peace came over me'
Oh, happy 9th birthday.
And I hope you're listening to Mommy all the time
And I hope you're listening to music you love,
Maybe traveling to wonderful places.
It's just such a beautiful world
And so many glorious places to explore and just be captivated by.
Charles walks with a limp, part of the side effects of chemo. His famous hair is now gray, sparse and closely cropped.
He's taken phone calls from Bob Costas, Willard Scott and countless other television stars and athletes. He likes it even more when he hears from interns, cameramen, producers and fans -- the blue-collar people who always rooted for him.
Not many people, he says, are fortunate enough to attend their own memorial service. A slow death allows that. His brother died of a sudden heart attack in 1988 at age 43. His father died in 1975, his mother in 2003. He's the last of his immediate family.
He reads the Bible often. He sprinkles "God bless you" in his conversations. He says his wife "brought me back to the Lord" in the 1990s.
He's spent these final weeks with those he loves most. He's picked the music for his memorial service --
Edward Elgar's Sospiri op. 70, with the cello played by Sol Gabetta.
"It lifts my spirits."
Last month, he signed off on television for what is likely the last time after calling a featherweight fight on HBO. "Why am I doing this?" he told viewers. "To inspire others to do what they love."
"I had a smile on my face all night," he says now. "I was on fire!"
He's talked with counselors and hospice workers about his final week. It will go something like this: He'll lose his appetite first. After three days, he'll be unable to swallow and feel like he's drowning. His liver will stop functioning and other organs will follow. The cancer will take over completely.
He'll be given morphine to ease the pain. As a Christian, he struggled with that concept. He wanted to make sure he wasn't committing suicide.
"We're not pulling the plug on you early," he was told. "We're just keeping you comfortable until the end."
With those words, he says, "Peace came over me."
"I can't believe I feel so good about the last week of my life, but I do."
He hopes his final words will be to that beautiful girl, Giovanna: "I'm going to heaven to prepare a place for you and ... we're going to be together forever."
Charles has traveled to 70 countries; he has one journey left. He hopes his first interview when he gets there will be with Jesus, followed by a round-table discussion with Abraham Lincoln, Mother Teresa, Mohandas Gandhi and the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr.
"I'd ask them: What motivated them? What sparked them?"
When that day comes, he says, he'll dance around the ring, his head held high, a smile on his face. "In the 12th round, somebody is going to raise my hand. I'm going to be victorious.
"I finally got my life right."
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