In the mid-1960s Muhammad Ali, the boxer, was on the ascent – and as a teenage Muslim I didn’t like him.
His braggadocio offended me. And even though everybody around me, it seemed, loved and cheered him on to victory, I had little love for a Muslim who proclaimed: “I am the Greatest! I am the Greatest!”
Islam associates such words nearly exclusively with Allah or God, the creator and master of the universe. To hear a Muslim seemingly equate himself with and challenge God was to commit the unthinkable and went against everything I was taught. While I appreciated his boxing prowess, it would be years before I forgave Ali for this.
It also took me a while to understand his arrogance and his intricate mix of sport, showmanship, religion, politics, public relations and his love for humanity.
As a newspaper editor in the early 1980s for the East St. Louis News, I had the wonderful opportunity to interview Ali during his visit to East St. Louis, Illinois. I was no longer that naïve teenager but an adult in my early 30s with a more mature sense of understanding. I no longer disliked the haughty Ali, and with a newfound respect put that part of him in its proper place. The real Ali would never disrespect God as I thought he once did.
I recall it was warm outside and he was seated along Collinsville Avenue, a main downtown street, surrounded by youth. Media handlers gave me about five minutes to talk to the champ. I was excited and thrilled at the opportunity and planned to discuss his many achievements and controversies, as well as his hope for humanity.
When my turn came, I approached him and we shook hands. I greeted him with “Salaam” or “Peace.” I was ready to share how I once felt about him and how that later changed once I came to know the real Ali and the greatness which he truly stood for. Instead, the meeting left me feeling surprised and disappointed.
The bold, brazen, boisterous Ali was gone. A calmer, slow-talking, thoughtful Ali had emerged in his place. We would later learn that Parkinson’s disease was the thief that would one day take away both his voice and his youthful body, all too soon.
I used to think that perhaps a jealous God had silenced Ali, as punishment for his claim to greatness. But, the more I learned about Ali and his love of people and his work to improve the world, the more I resolved that God would not silence him out of anger. Just as the rest of the world, I learned to accept and live with a great man, silenced and physically humbled in his prime.
Years later I would marry an African woman whose father absolutely loved Ali, the boxer, and taught his daughter to love him as well. As a child growing up in Ghana, Ayesha would be awakened at 3 a.m. by her father and together they would sit and watch Muhammad Ali on television, in awe as he nearly always vanquished his boxing foes. It was as if Ali stood in triumph for people of color everywhere.
The world hurts to know that he is gone, as with the passing of all great people. Yet, I feel certain his life will be studied for many decades to come by scholars and others in search of the magic that endeared him to the world. Even his critics came to respect and honor him.
How many of us can claim greatness in our personal lives, let alone to the world? And live up to it? Muhammad Ali did.
Therefore, I honor him and pray to God to forgive him his faults, whatever they may be. But, being the “Greatest” is not one of them.
How many of us can say that about our lives?
