When I first knew of Muhammad Ali he was Cassius Clay, and I didn’t really understand him. He was brash, loudmouthed and different from any Black man, from Steppin’ Fetchit to Martin Luther King, that I knew about. He behaved differently than I was brought up to behave. I probably didn’t like him for that and, when he was set to fight Sonny Liston in Maine I wouldn’t have minded his mouth being shut by one of Liston’s murderous fists. That’s what I expected, listening to the fight on the radio on the deck of married student’s housing at Syracuse U with a few beers and fellow grad students. But like so much of what went down in the ‘60s—political assassinations, the Vietnam war, the Civil Rights Act,, and so much more—the result was a shock, socially transformative.
There was no sense then that this man would become one of the most interesting, significant and admirable persons of the century. I always seemed to be a step behind in understanding his motives. He changed his “slave” name and faith, electing not to adopt the White Man’s religion, unlike Dr. King. I get that now. He refused to be inducted to fight a White Man’s war against people of color who had never called him racial slurs or lynched Black people. I get that. He was in our face, his “pretty” face making us face up to our ugly side and, if we didn’t like it, he would “float like a butterfly and sting like a bee.” Nobody quite fit the cliché of “speaking truth to power” with a willingness to pay for it quite like Muhammad Ali.
To have seen his courage at the lighting ceremony of the ’96 Olympics, and his gentled, generous spirit during the decades of a terrible debilitating illness, was to know that his boast of “the greatest” was more than a PR gimmick to build the gate for the legendary “rumbles in the jungle” and “thrillas in Manila.” The word “hero” is much misused and overused these days, but it would not be in the case of Muhammad Ali. He deservedly became an exemplar of courage and athletic prowess that was recognized and admired over the world during a period in which his nation that often calls itself “the greatest” had brought mostly shame upon itself.
So long, Champ. I doubt we will see your like again.
1 comment
Well said. A man willing to speak when no one wanted to hear what he had to say. No one white, that is. A man who gained wisdom to match his courage is a rare man. We were lucky to live when he lived.
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