One summer day in August 1978, not knowing how to squander a Sunday in Washington, I drove to Muhammad Ali’s mountain hideout at Deer Lake, Pennsylvania, where he was training for his bout against Larry Spinks – a generation junior to Ali in age – in an attempt to become the first man to win the heavyweight boxing championship crown of the world for an unprecedented third time. It was stunning to see how many Caucasian fans had besieged this hilly and remote training site.
Ali was visibly moved to receive a Pakistani visitor and immediately invited me and my wife for an exclusive conversation in his private quarters. Sparkling with humor and open-heartedness, Ali conveyed character, charisma, stick-to-it-iveness against worldly odds and, above all, utter submission to Islam. When he is gone, he said, nobody will remember who is the world heavyweight boxing champion. And his opponents, he continued, are lucky for they will be forever remembered being paired with him. He then personally invited me to witness his fight, which I unforgettably did in New Orleans.
Revealingly, Ali went on to differentiate human beings into 3 categories: (1) the peach personality, soft on the outside but hard inside; (2) the walnut personality, hard outside but soft inside; and finally (3) the grape personality. He then quizzed me that, if I am walking past a basket laden with fruit, what would be my fruit of choice? A grape, he himself answered. “I am a grape personality,” he elaborated, “soft outside and soft inside.”
Mowahid Hussain Shah with Muhammad Ali
Photo: Mowahid Shah
The softness with which Muhammad Ali touched the lives of millions was all-transcending. From the sports page, he became the front page.
Globally witnessed was the spontaneous outpouring of affection on his farewell to Earth and journey to Heaven. Ali had a recurring dream – people cheering him in a procession through his hometown, and then him flying off.
Despite the ravages of Parkinson’s, Ali never lost his grace and never wanted to be pitied. He devoted his later years striving to make the world a better place for others. In doing so, he was preparing himself for the Departure Lounge. Ali loved distributing pamphlets on the teachings of Islam and the life of Prophet Muhammad (PBUH), autographed with his signature.
He remained a loving father to his seven daughters and adopted son, and his wife, Lonnie Ali, was a steadfast caregiver.
Ali was a God-fearing humanitarian, giving lavishly to charity. Instead of mobilizing anxieties, he mobilized hope. Even at the zenith of his powers, he was accessible to the average guy. He combined the audacity of youth with the serene tenacity of a dervish.
When he resisted being forcibly conscripted for America’s war in Vietnam, he was presented with two choices: go to Army or go to jail. Ali’s response: there is a third choice – justice. Defeatism was never a part of his DNA. Adversity only made Ali stronger. For Muslims today, his life is a living inspiration to reach for the sky.
Those who lived in his times know that Ali was a 20th Century colossus.
In my imagination, Ali shall remain forever young.
This piece appeared simultaneously in Views and News and The Nation on June 17, 2016. It’s being reproduced on the death anniversary of the champion.
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