A Trubute to Muhammad Ali

I was out in the garden early this morning because the light was nice. These sunflowers must be volunteers because they are growing in one of the raised beds dedicated to veggies, but they are at least 10 feet tall. Even the birds don't seem to go that high, or at least they have mostly left the higher leaves alone, unlike the lower ones which they nibble on while they wait for the seeds to ripen.

I listened to the memorial service for Muhammad Ali today. I must confess I wonderers why Narional Public Radio was suspending regular programming to cover it, but I was still crawling around on the floor working on Will's quilt.

There are three clear images of Ali in my mind…the brash young fighter named Cassius Clay, the young Muhammad Ali who refused to fight in Vietnam, and the man trembling with Parkinson's disease who struggled to climb the ladder to light the Olympic torch in Atlanta. As I listened to the distinguished speakers…religious leaders from all faiths, sports commentators, comedian Billy Crystal, two presidents, a young student at the University of Kentucky who benefitted from his foundation and members of his family,...many of the blank spaces in between my memories were filled with their stories and I began to realize what an extraordinary man he was.

He was a fighter who often correctly predicted the results of his fights. He was light on his feet and famous for his 'dancing' style in the ring. He taunted his opponents with famous quotes such as . "float like a butterfly, sting like a bee". When he watched the winning fight in the Olympics, he congratulated the winner in the ring and then went to the loser's dressing room and encouraged him not to give up. Yet he also preached non -violence and was a prominent figure in the Civil Rights movement.

When he refused to fight in the Vietnam war, he said, "I ain't got anything against the Viet Cong. No Viet  Cong ever called me nigger." His heavyweight championship was taken away from him and he was banned from boxing for five years, but he never left the United States as so many so called draft dodgers did. He stayed and defended himself and his country as a peacemaker, not as fodder for a war machine. He became a Muslim and changed his name to Muhammad Ali, saying, "Cassius Clay is a name that white people gave my slave master." 

When he was stricken with Parkinson's Disease and could no longer fight, he devoted the rest of his life to humanitarianism both at home and around the world. He and his wife founded the Muhammad Ali Center in Louisville Kentucky, his hometown, dedicated to his six core principles: confidence, conviction, dedication, giving, respect and spirituality. He helped secure the release of 15 U.S. hostages from Iraq, provided  millions of meals to the hungry in Ivory Coast, and delivered medical supplies to embargoed Cuba. He was awarded the Presidential Medal of Freedom in 2014.

The joy, respect and conviction with which all who knew him spoke about him today was a moving testament to a great man who believed in  himself, his country and his god. I suspect his memory and his humor and dedication to doing good will be a balm to many who are fed up with the ugliness, wall building divisive talk we have been inundated with this election season.