Ali! Ali! Ali!

I was afraid that Muhammad Ali was going to die. It was a Tuesday, October 29, 1974, and I was

really afraid he would be killed. I had watched in horror as George Foreman had brutalized Joe Frazier in Jamaica the year before, knocking him down SIX times in less than two rounds before the fight was mercifully stopped. Frazier had been the only person to defeat Ali, and now Ali would face the menacing killing machine that was the new heavyweight champion of the world. This was a strange and terrifying feeling for me. This was the first time I had had any doubt that Muhammad Ali would win a fight. But not only did I doubt his ability to win, I questioned his ability to survive. I was acutely aware of his confidence. I was too aware of his pride. No one alive questioned his courage. I knew he would never quit. All of those characteristics that were such tremendous assets, now seemed to be even more reasons that Foreman could kill him.

There have been two people in my life that were heroes to me. They were Martin Luther King Jr., and Muhammad Ali. One was a Baptist preacher devoted to non-violent social change. The other was a brash, trash-talking fighter that said louder than anybody else that he was Black, and proud. When Ali defeated the fearsome Sonny Liston to win the heavyweight boxing championship in 1964, he was 22 years old. I was 11. I liked him immediately because he was fast, smooth, handsome, and funny. He was cool, articulate, and man, could he fight! He would pick the round that a fight would end, and then damn! if he didn’t go out and do exactly what he said he would do.

He was easily the most charismatic athlete in the world, and I was fascinated by him.

However, as we both matured, as the turbulent decade of the 60’s continued, choices had to be made. Black people had to decide if they would stand up for their freedom, stand up for their dignity and humanity, or sit idly by and let others fight the fight for them. Ali chose to fight. That is when he convinced me and so many others that he was worthy of being not only an athletic icon, but an American hero.

Muhammad Ali and Martin Luther King Jr. shared many characteristics and virtues, but the most important thing they shared in my eyes was courage.  The courage Ali displayed in the boxing ring was obvious, but the courage he displayed in refusing to go to Viet Nam was mesmerizing to me. The fact that his stand would result in five years’ imprisonment and a $10,000 fine did not deter him. The fact that he would lose his ability to continue his career as a boxer did not deter him. I am sure that there were many people that were focused on the millions of dollars that he stood to lose as the undisputed heavyweight champion of the world, but that did not deter him.

He defied the United States Government, and inspired me.

It was 1967. He was 25 years old. I was 14. For the next four years, Ali would not fight. His attorneys would appeal his conviction during that time, and Ali would spend that time lecturing on college campuses. He was as electrifying on stage as he was in the ring. College students loved to listen to him as he would seamlessly go from sermon to rap to poetry.

 I was amazed by his ability to articulate truth to power, and his courage to do so.

In 1971, the Supreme Court of the United States overturned Ali’s conviction unanimously. Finally, he was free to fight again. Now, he was 29 years old. I was 18, and just graduating from high school. Later that year Muhammad Ali would fight the fearsome Joe Frazier in New York’s Madison Square Garden. They called it “The Fight of the Century”. It probably was. Frazier had been crowned Champion during Ali’s government imposed exile. Ali insisted Joe’s title was bogus, stolen, and promised to take back what was rightfully his. The fight went the full 15 rounds. Frazier won a decision, knocking Ali down in the fifteenth round. I was crushed, until I listened to what Ali said and the way in which he said it after the fight. He was kind, and gracious. He was poised. He displayed class. There was no bitterness, and the disdain that he had poured all over Frazier before the fight was replaced with respect and dignity.

Once again, I was inspired.

Muhammad Ali would continue to fight until 1981. He would win the Heavyweight Championship three separate times, the only person to do so. He would fight Joe Frazier three times, winning the last two. He would have 61 total fights, winning 56. He would lose three of his last four fights. He would often shout to whoever would listen, “I am the Greatest of All Time”!!! In the beginning, many would laugh or scoff at what they considered the braggadocius wit of the young fighter, but as time went by many would come to agree.

In retirement, Ali would fall victim to Parkinson’s Disease. Eventually the disease would eliminate his ability to speak. The smooth, athletic grace with which he once moved would disappear.

 In the Summer of 1996 in Atlanta, Georgia, the world waited in anticipation to see who America would choose to light the Olympic torch over The Olympic stadium. When Ali magically appeared to receive the flame from the brilliant young swimmer Janet Evans, the spectators in the stadium, Olympic fans all over the world, and me, exclaimed in unison, Ali! As he took the flame, his arms trembling from the effects of the disease, I could feel the tears welling in my eyes in tandem with the emotion-fueled pride that I felt inside. It took tremendous courage for him to be there, to represent all of us and everything our country stands for when the entire world was watching. It took that same athletic arrogance to believe that he could accomplish the feat despite the ravages of Parkinson’s, despite the pressure and consequences of catastrophic failure on such a conspicuous stage.

Nevertheless, he did it, and I was proud… of him, and my country.

On that October night in 1974 I was in Montgomery, Alabama. The only way that the fight could be seen was on closed circuit television in a public venue. In Montgomery, the place was Garrett Coliseum, and the place was full. If my man was going to die, I wanted to be there, and I was. Most of the Black people there were Ali fans. Most of the white people were rooting for Foreman. During the first few rounds we were almost frantic as Ali allowed Foreman to pin him against the ropes and unleash furious fusillades of punches to his head and body. Ali would simply lean against the ropes and urge George to keep punching. Meanwhile most of us were screaming at the screen imploring our hero to get the hell off those ropes and dance! Curiously, it seemed that during the last few seconds of each round Ali would punch his way off the ropes, backing Foreman off, and we would freak out. By the end of the seventh round it was obvious Foreman was done. Ali knocked him out in the eighth round and the Africans in the stadium in Zaire started shouting “Ali Bombaye”! “Ali Bombaye”! Which means, “Ali Kill Him”! As for us in Montgomery, we were yelling at the top of our lungs... “Ali, Ali, Ali”!!! We yelled it in the auditorium. We yelled it in the streets. We yelled it in our cars on the way home.

Muhammad Ali did not die in Kinshasa, Zaire as I thought he might. Instead, he was king of the world… again.

History will say that Muhammad Ali died on June 3, 2016. History will be wrong.

“The Greatest of All Times” will never die.