Flint Northern was a fairly large high school so it was quite a large auditorium and it was packed with kids in a rally like atmosphere. Frenetic energy. Cacophony of voices. Muhammad Ali was coming. The greatest of all time. It was 1986.
There were banners, there were bands and then there was Ali. Amid it all he looked small and frail. His voice was weak. He was shaking. Really, really shaking. Most noticeably the microphone in his hand waved back and forth like a runaway metronome. A one two punch of humanity vs human. We had no idea, it took us a while to believe that it was him. But it was.
As quiet and hushed as we became we could hardly hear him. I remember catching every other word at best. It seemed semi religious in nature, heavy on the peace and love.
I remember being awed at the pugnacious attitude he displayed towards his obvious discomfort. Ali! A hero. The peoples champion. Very near a prophet, no scratch that, a prophet. A living legend. Peace, love. I remember 2 or 3 fights breaking out in the crowd before it was over.
I wish I could have seen him under better (earlier) circumstances. Listened to him then. But Ali survived, that was 30 years a go. Medication improved. The science behind the treatment of Parkinson's improved.
Of course he never gave up or gave in. Ali!
Sad the world as a whole has not improved the way medicine has. Trayvon Martin, Sandra Bland... Iraq, Afghanistan... Hate, poverty, war, racism. Racism. We loved Ali. He loved us. He loved his blackness and he loved ours.
Ali was the greatest and by greatest I do not mean "boxer." Ali was simply the greatest human being alive at the time, who happened to have been a boxer.
P.S. We're going to need more prophets. Thanks.
XOXO
M.C!arke