In those days, Ali was a controversial figure. Like Jane Fonda, he was a symbol of a country divided over “the war.” His refusal to submit to the draft, citing his “conscientious objector” status, led to scorn and condemnation.
I loved the guy. He was one of my earliest heroes. He taught me the meaning and importance of self-confidence. And, he was smart — not book smart, but insightful. In 1975 he addressed graduates at Harvard. His message was about love. On any number of occasions, I have re-read the words that he shared that day. They give me a special perspective on what’s important in life.
He taught me the meaning of courage in the face of adversity. The way he performed his craft in the ring was a sight to behold — like watching Picasso paint. The way he faced a terrible, debilitating disease with poise and aplomb was to be admired and modeled. His surprise appearance at the 1996 Olympics when he lit the torch with hands trembling brought tears to my eyes, and is embedded in my memory.
He had a great sense of humor. His interviews with legendary sportscaster, Howard Cosell. His appearances at the Dean Martin Celebrity Roasts. His theater at the weigh-ins before his fights. He was a natural comedian.
I got to shake his hand once. It was at some event in Cleveland when I was serving as Lieutenant Governor. I remember his voice being soft; he projected an image of kindness and compassion. To me, this guy who made his living with his fists, in reality, seemed like a gentle giant.
Muhammed Ali was the first international superstar athlete. He was, in the last analysis, a man of peace and humility. A role model. A teacher. For me, the most extraordinary person of my lifetime. The world has lost a treasure. Forever, “the champ.” He was “the greatest!”
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