Elliot Silberberg encountered the legendary boxer and felt his presence in the air.
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One common denominator of all the Ali sightings that people famous and not so are writing about these days is the ordinariness of where he was spotted: at a ball game, in a department store, at an airport or just taking a walk down the street.
It seems like Ali was in the air, a part of our everyday lives, a man who happened to materialize easily because at some level he was already embedded in people’s minds and ideally a part of what it meant to feel proud about values like honor, courage and strength.
Most whose life he entered by happenstance called him Champ, happily conceding he could lick them hands down. He so owned the word Champ you’d expect to find the dictionary definition, “Muhammad Ali, boxer.”
Practically everyone he met out of the blue received more than just a handshake, autograph or wink from him. Many got hugged.
I saw him only once, on a special occasion, speaking out against the Vietnam War at the University of Wisconsin. Senator Edward Kennedy was also on the program and sounded oh so wishy-washy by comparison.
However, the Ali I remember most is the spirit that was in the air one evening in New Haven, Connecticut in the 1960s down near Legion Ave., the black area of town. I was in our car with my family. It felt strangely quiet outside, pin-drop, sacrosanct, nobody-at-home quiet.
All I could think was, “What’s going on?”
Later I learned Ali was speaking in town and the black community turned out in droves. So that’s how I like to remember the Champ, feeling his presence in the air, making his people proud, just like he is now.
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