I can vividly remember where I was on March 8, 1971. I spent most of that night in my mother’s bedroom in Las Cruces, New Mexico, listening to the static-filled reception from an old radio that was giving round by round updates of Muhammad Ali’s epic battle with Joe Frazier at Madison Square Garden.
I was 10 years old, and wanted badly for Ali to win. I can’t recall exactly why I wanted to him win. I don’t remember much of anything about Ali prior to that night other than he used to be called Cassius Clay and he had been banned from boxing for refusing induction into the Vietnam War. I didn’t know if that was noble or an act of treason. But I knew it was different because even at 10 years old you feared words like “war” and “draft.”
I grew up an only child without a father and though my uncle next door and my youth coaches were my role models, I was passionate about my sports heroes: Ali, Dr. J, the Oakland Raiders. What captivated me about Ali were not his political views, but his charisma, his defiance, his confidence and his talent. Through my young eyes, I saw not just style but substance. He was a graceful gazelle and a gallant gladiator. He said black was beautiful. That’s why I wanted him to beat Frazier.
Of course, Ali didn’t win that epic brawl, which still stands as the barometer for which all boxing events are judged. But it was just one highlight in an incomparable life whose impact will be felt and debated for years after his death we now mourn.
Ali, who died Friday at age 74, called himself the “Greatest Of All Time,” a moniker, which many perceive was limited to his exploits in the ring. But Ali was the Greatest not only for what he did inside of the ring, but for the peace and inclusion he preached after denouncing the militant views of the Nation of Islam.
We mourn Ali today because no athlete of his generation has used his athletic platform to stir the social consciousness of America while entertaining us as either villain or hero. Jack Johnson gave black America its first black sports hero; Joe Louis was a heavyweight icon. Jackie Robinson broke baseball’s color barrier; but Ali’s influence crossed racial and ethnic barriers, speaking out in an era when it would have been easier to remain silent.
For me, the Frazier fight was just the beginning of the journey with Ali, his bouts against Ken Norton, Earnie Shavers, George Foreman and two more with Frazier all serving as bookmarks in my own life. Little did I know in 1971 that we’d meet face to face several times, the first coming when we stood side-by-side at urinals in a restroom at the St. Louis Airport. At the time, a handshake didn’t seem appropriate. So I smiled and nodded and he did the same.
Years later, we crossed paths in New York once at a press reception and then later during a promotional appearance in front of group of teenagers with his daughter Laila Ali.
“Sometimes I wonder if they really are aware of what he stood for and why he is so great,” she said that day. “Sometimes kids, if somebody is rich and famous, they automatically get excited. But do they really know what Muhammad Ali stands for?”
“I don’t think there’s ever going to be another athlete like Muhammad Ali.” she added. “I don’t care if it’s 1,000 or 2,000 years from now. Even if someone comes along that’s close to him, it’s still not going to be like him cause he was the first.”
Youngsters today should know Ali was a symbol of hope, particularly for black Americans in the 1960s when racial injustice was rampant. By proclaiming himself “pretty,” he was saying “black is beautiful,” at a time when black Americans needed to hear and feel that way.
They should know he was a symbol for those opposing the Vietnam War, a hero in history though when he first made his stand he was ridiculed more than praised. Traitor, draft dodger and anti-American were what most people called him when he first refused to join the Army, declaring, “I ain’t got no quarrel with them VietCong.”
It was a bold statement that would cost him his heavyweight title and three of his best years as a fighter. But it would ultimately strengthen his legacy as a man of principle. Today’s athlete can’t comprehend that. Imagine Tiger Woods risking not being allowed to play in the Masters by speaking out against Augusta National’s policy against female members, or Michael Jordan taking the risk of losing his Nike endorsements if he denounced the practices in the company’s sweatshops.
Ali spoke for himself, but he also spoke for thousands and even millions of people who opposed an American social system that treated minorities as second-class citizens.
I didn’t understand any of this on March 8, 1971. I just wanted him to win because he was Ali, a charismatic athlete that moved my emotions.
Over the next four decades, I along with the rest of the world learned to appreciate Ali even more. And while his life was an open book, there remains a lot of about Ali we either don’t understand or simply ignore.
An honest assessment of his impact has to include his conversion to the Nation of Islam that embraced the doctrine that white people were devils who had been genetically created by an evil scientist. He was also a womanizer and his ugly verbal abuse of opponents like Frazier often went beyond acceptable boundaries.
“You can’t call a man country boy, bear, or any kind of animal,” Frazier once told me. “You can’t do that because these are the guys that helped him rebuild his career when he was in trouble. You think about some of the guys he fought. They knew they couldn’t win. But they took a chance anyway, so why call them names? They’re men like him.”
Those flaws have been largely forgiven, erased when he later denounced the Nation of Islam doctrine and adapted more tolerant beliefs that promoted harmony among all people. Even Frazier, who died in 2011, tried to release the bitterness he had held.
“The butt whoopin’ was then,” Frazier said in 2007. “Life is to live now and enjoy some of the good things that he’s done. Anyway I can help him, I will.”
To truly understand Ali’s impact those flaws should not be ignored, but offered as part of the complete picture of the journey that made him an icon in American history.
Some would debate there were more important black athletes like Johnson, Louis and Robinson. But there will never be another generation like the 1960s where one man could influence race relations, the attitudes on war and rewrite athletic achievement the way Ali did. He made black America proud, he galvanized whites opposed to the war, and he marveled rich and poor with his talent.
It is a shame Parkinson’s disease robbed us of all Ali had to offer. The disease silenced a voice, which could have served as an arbiter of peace and understanding in today’s tension between America and Muslims.
Sadly those born after March 8, 1971, will largely remember Ali as the sanitized, feeble man, who lit the flame at the 1996 Olympics and became a trademark for corporate endeavors and a fundraiser for his museum.
They may not take the time to know the total man, who has no regrets.
“God has been good to me,” Ali told his biographer Thomas Hauser. “I’m thankful I’ve got a good life and nine healthy children. I’m thankful I was three-time heavyweight champion of the world. I’m thankful I live in a country like America. I’m thankful I’ve been able to travel and meet people all over the world. I’m thankful people still remember me.”
The fact that Ali won the heavyweight championship three times is almost a sidebar to being Ali, because as much as we revere the boxer we’ll always remember the man, flaws and all.