Twilight in Louisville
James Earl Jones narrates the orientation biopic at the new Muhammad Ali Center in Louisville, Kentucky. Ali's life went something like this: he won the heavy-weight belt, spoke the truth, was stripped of his boxing license and went to jail for it, didn’t bend, beat the rap, won the belt back, remained the truth.
I was born in 1981, the year of Ali’s last fight, so I missed Ali the fighter. My first understanding of Ali was as a tragic figure, a hero touched by Parkinson’s at the '96 Olympics. At fifteen, with only a vague understanding of his history, I was still fascinated by the broadcast of the opening ceremonies. His eyes were practically glowing as he struggled alone to steady his shaking hands and light the torch.
Since then, I’ve seen the clips of his fights on cable, and managed to absorb the key quotes.
During my trip to the Derby, I decide fill in the gaps, and in the Ali Center's theatre I find not only the image of the man but the man himself. Ali is paying his old self a visit and sitting just behind me to the right.
Ali and I watch Ali in his prime knocking down flag-waver and terror George Foreman before an enormous crowd of Zairians who are absolutely crazy with love for Ali.
In person, Ali is easy to recognize; he has the frame of a superior athlete and his eyes are alive. But he shakes steadily, he drools on his shirt, and his people put their ears to his mouth, but I never hear him speak.
It is thrilling, but sad to see Ali at such close range. He still shines, but the faculties that made him so obviously great are long gone. Their abscence in his failing body is especially brutal to note when confronted directly with his brilliant, young self.
I heard the man to Ali’s right say he was a cousin.
This is as hard it gets- Lose the prime years of a brilliant boxing career for refusing to fight in Vietnam. Also drive a Rolls Royce.
Elvis gave Ali this robe.
If you go, be sure to check out the galleries showing work from Ali photographer Howard Bingham and illustrator Leroy Nieman.
1 Comments:
I met Ali once, back in 89. It was in St. Louis, and also present were a bunch of Cardinals. They formed a kind of half-circle around him, and were shaking his hand, shootin' the shit. Vince Coleman comes up, Ali's face drops from a smile to a menacing stare, raises his fist and says to Coleman: "You look like Smokin' Joe." Vince went ashy and everything stopped. Ali's face slackened to a smile and he shook Coleman's hand, everyone laughed.
I mean, here was this 50 yr old guy who shuffled along, spoke in a whisper, body partly paralyzed, partly palsied, who all of a sudden struck the fear of God into a group of young professional atheletes with a look and a sentence. That's presence. I'll never forget it.
Post a Comment
<< Home