Legend has it that Muhammad Ali strode into a Kinshasa, Zaire gym days prior to his encounter with George Foreman, to regain the heavyweight title of the world, banged an animal skinned covered drum and proclaimed, “the champ is here, the champ is here.” You’ll hear lots of stories over the next few days and weeks about the legend of Ali. I want to tell a story of the man Ali.
In 1982 when my sons Edward and Kenneth were eight and four respectively. Mr. Ali made an appearance in Washington DC to help kick off a revitalization project in what had been a riot torn corridor of U street in the north west section of the city.
I took off work that day and unlike my sons, who had not been old enough to be thrilled by his appearance, I had enough childlike enthusiasm to outmatch them both. We arrived to a throng of murmuring people who were all anticipating Muhammad Ali’s arrival. Somehow through a sea of excited faces we made our way to a green canopy covered stage that I was sure was at least close enough for us to get a good look, maybe even shout from a distance, “hello Champ!”
Much to my surprise a six-foot four inch bronzed, athletic man tapped me on my shoulders lightly brushed the shoulder of my oldest son and politely asked if he could pass to get on the makeshift stage. I was awestruck, I swallowed hard took a second gulp and said, “sure Mr. Ali.” The ceremony was due to start at 11 am and the star of the show had arrived a half hour early. I was oblivious to the squeals and shouts from both the men and women in attendance and stared with the wide-eyed amazement of a child seeing Superman. He was Superman! My boys had no clue of the magnitude of the man, they just glared at their Dad with concern because I had taken on the demeanor of a school girl.
The Champ summoned my oldest son over greeted him with what appeared to be the gentlest touch and at the same time most brutal weapons on earth, his hands. They exchanged a few words, Mr. Ali took a white handkerchief from his breast pocket and made it disappear right before my son’s eyes. Muhammad Ali was known for his amateur magician tricks with kids, and now my boy was truly impressed. It was no longer the boxing skills or bravado, that had for so many years mesmerized me, I saw his ability to touch the heart of a small child who really had no idea of his greatness. My youngest son shook his hand and Ali performed another trick with a coin. I was ready to faint, my sons wanted flavored snow-cones to eat and I was walking on cloud nine. He touched my shoulder, said, “take care” removed a sheet of prepared notes from the inside pocket of the jacket he wore, and turned to his assistants and other dignitaries on stage.
I’ll never forget that day because the Champ had truly been here. No more fights, no more wars just peace. Muhammad Ali., January 17th 1942- June 3rd 2016.