Meeting Muhammad Ali
In 1976,
I worked as a graphic artist at Metro Media, WTTG TV5, in Washington,
D.C. My office was two doors down from Maury Povich and his show
Panorama. I overheard Muhammad Ali and Howard Cosell taping a public
service announcement about voting in the studio one day. I grabbed a
legal pad from my drafting board, ran downstairs, and entered the
studio. A crowd of employees had gathered around the stage. I quietly
made my way closer to where Ali and Cosell were sitting between takes.
Ali was his
usual joyful self, clowning around, talking, and playfully trying to
remove Howard’s hairpiece. It was hilarious. I was in awe. For at least
ten minutes, I stood there watching the greatest fighter of all time
joke around, just a few feet from me. It felt surreal, like a dream. His
presence was overwhelming.
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After the taping, Ali walked off stage and came directly toward me. As he got
close, he threw a punch right at my face. All I saw was his huge fist coming
toward me. I didn’t know what to do. No, correction—I couldn’t do anything. But
luckily, at the last second, he blocked the punch with the palm of his left
hand, stopping it just an inch from my face with a loud smack. Everyone burst
out laughing. I was stunned. Then, he smiled, put his hand on my shoulder, and
shook my hand. No one could have choreographed that moment any better—it was
fate.
I
quickly composed myself and asked for an autograph, which he graciously signed.
Knowing he had converted to Islam and taken the name Muhammad Ali, I asked if he
could also sign it in Arabic. Pinch me then, and pinch me now! He replied, “I’ve
never done that before, but I think I can.” He took back the pad, carefully
wrote his name below his English version, smiling broadly, and handed it back to
me.
For days, I was walking on air. Just a few years earlier, the idea of coming to
America and meeting Muhammad Ali, the greatest champion of all time, seemed as
far-fetched as meeting a Beatle. I remember standing on a street corner back
home, listening with my friend Tank to the radio broadcast of Ali’s rematch with
Liston. We were riveted as Ali knocked him out in the first round in Lewiston,
Maine, on May 25, 1965.
As
for the autograph, I remember it clearly—it was on a small piece of lined legal
pad paper. Ali’s two signatures, one in English and one in Arabic were written
one above the other. I trimmed the paper and had it mounted in a cardboard
frame. The last time I saw it was in my downtown office on Connecticut Ave.,
Washington, D.C., in 1981. I believe it was stolen. If anyone has seen it or
knows its whereabouts, please get in touch with me at rez@rezart.com. There is a
$2,500 reward for information that leads to its recovery and authentication.
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