Newspaper Page Text
They Touched Me
Muhammad Ali
By Wayne Smith
[Editor’s Note: The Rev. Wayne
Smith, a Big Canoe resident, is the
founder of The Friendship
Force, which today boasts 350
chapters in 60
countries.
Among his
notable accom
plishments and
awards was
being nominated \
for the Nobel
Peace Prize in
1992. Locally,
Smith is active in the community in
many facets, including serving on
the staff of the Big Canoe Chapel.
Smith is currently working on an
autobiography which will appear
as a series in the Progress titled
They Touched Me. The introduction
and part 1 of the series are avail
able at www.pickensprogress.com]
Part One
July 15, 1977. That is a day I
never will forget. It was the day I
met Muhammad Ali, the reigning
heavyweight boxing champion of
the world.
Ali was in Newcastle-upon-Tyne
in England. He had fought an exhi
bition match there the preceding
evening. I was in Newcastle with
the Inaugural Exchange of The
Friendship Force, a people-with-
people organization that I had
founded with the invaluable sup
port of President and Mrs. Jimmy
Carter.
Our chartered flight, filled with
376 citizens from Georgia, consist
ed of a cross-section of the State.
We had arrived in England on July
5 for a ten day visit. While there all
of us lived with English families.
My wife Carolyn and I, along
with one of our sons, Andy and our
daughter, Susie, moved into the
Holiday Inn at the Newcastle air
port on the last night of the visit.
We wanted to be in place to catch
the chartered flight home, sched
uled to leave early the next morn
ing. That evening there was to be a
Gala Farewell Dinner at Newcas
tle’s Civic Center.
As we were checking into the
motel I noticed that there was a
hubbub of activity. I asked one of
the clerks what was happening.
“Muhammad Ali is staying with
us,” the clerk told me. “You just
missed him. He has gone to his
room to rest.”
The famed Muhammad Ali.
Would it be possible to get him to
drop in at the party that would
begin in a few hours? Well nothing
ventured nothing gained.
I found a bellboy and offered
him a generous tip if he could get
my business card and a note to Ali.
The note said something like this:
“The Friendship Force is new pro
gram that encourages personal
friendships between all peoples of
the world. President and Mrs.
Carter are involved in this non-gov
ernmental program. In fact, Mrs.
Carter’s mother is traveling with
nearly 400 Americans that are
meeting tonight at the Civic Center
here in Newcastle. We expect a
couple of thousand people at a
Farewell Dinner. Will you join us?
I am in room 205 and will wait
there for your call—Wayne Smith.”
In about an hour the telephone
rang. It wasn’t that unmistakable
voice of Muhammad Ali. But a
man’s voice told me that his name
was Cleve Walker and that “the
Champ” had asked him to check
me out. He invited me to meet him
in the lobby for a cup of coffee.
It turned out that Cleve was a
prosperous businessman from
Chicago who often traveled with
Ali. We sat down at a table in the
coffee shop.
Cleve told me that he had not
had lunch and was going to have
something to eat.
As he ate, I told him how The
Friendship Force had started, its
philosophy and the personal but
non-official involvement with the
Carters. I explained that a large
group of Americans, mostly from
Atlanta and a cross section of the
city’s demographic profile were
having a Farewell Dinner with
their English hosts that evening. I
suggested that it would be sensa
tional if Ali would attend.
Cleve explained that Ali had an
engagement that evening but he
might be able to drop by toward the
end of the event.
Cleve had taken well over an
hour to eat his food. At last he told
me that he thought I should meet
“the Champ” and that I should fol
low him.
Off we went. When we arrived
at Ali’s room Cleve made a cluck
ing sound with his tongue and
knocked softly on the door. From
inside the room I heard a feminine
voice asking who was there. It was
Ali’s wife speaking.
Cleve told her to tell, “the
Champ” that he finally had found
Wayne Smith. He said that it had
taken him a while to track me down
but at last he had me standing right
beside him.
Ali’s wife replied that had gone
to sleep while waiting for us.
“Well wake him up,” Cleve said
in a louder voice. “Ali told me that
he wants to see this man urgently.”
“No, no! Wait a minute,” I said.
“Don’t wake up Muhammad Ali
and tell him that it’s because you
couldn’t find me.”
Cleve was insistent. It became
apparent that Ali had asked him to
find me quickly. But apparently
Cleve’s hunger had taken prece
dence in getting me to Ali’s room,
pronto.
Ali’s wife opened the door and
Cleve proudly told “the Champ”
that he had found Wayne Smith.
There he was. The world’s most
recognizable person was lying on a
twin bed with only a sheet pulled
over his athletic body on that hot
July day.
“Glad to see you,” said Muham
mad Ali, as he extending his hand
to me in his reclining position. “I
read your note. Tell me about this
‘Friendship Force.’”
Ali studied me like he must have
often sized up his opponents in the
ring. He wanted to find out if I was
“for real.” I told him the story of
The Friendship Force. I could tell
that he was liking what he was
hearing.
“Sit down,” Ali said as he
motioned to the other twin bed.
“Friendship is one of my most
favorite subjects,” he stated. “A
few weeks ago I was at Harvard
and I recited a poem that I wrote
about friendship. Wanta’ hear it?”
Maybe Keats, Shelley or Shake
speare could have written some
thing better, but Muhammad Ali
had summed up what friendship is
in a few straightforward verses of
doggerel that anyone could under
stand. Both the demeanor of this
man as well as the topics that were
on his mind impressed me. After
hearing his poem, I mentioned that
I had written a poem about friend
ship. “Wanta’ hear it?” I asked.
“Lay it on me,” Ali smiled.
When I had finished he reached his
big hand over to me again and took
mine pulling me to him and gave
me a hug. “You’re my kinda’ man,
Wayne.”
“Champ,” I said, “we are having
this big friendship dinner tonight at
the Civic Center. Could you
attend?”
“I’d like to do it,” Ali respond
ed. “But didn’t you say that the
mother of Mrs. Carter is with the
group?”
It soon became apparent what
was troubling him. Muhammad Ali
still was a controversial figure
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among many Americans. Racism
was a factor that caused him to
change his name from Cassius Clay
to Muhammad Ali. Many Ameri
cans had hated him for that. He
had become a devout Muslim.
Many Americans had hated him for
that. He had refused induction into
the military to serve in Viet Nam.
Many Americans had hated him for
that.
It dawned on me that this
famous figure truly was concerned
that he might cause our new Presi
dent’s family and our nation some
embarrassment if he appeared at
our dinner of friendship.
“Champ,” I shot back, “don’t hit
me but I think you must be crazy!
You are beloved and respected by
all but a few bigots and we don’t
have of those kind of people with
us.”
Ali grabbed my arm and pulled
me to him one more time. But,
thank God, he had a big wide grin
on his face. He didn’t hit me.
“I’ll be there,” he quietly
uttered. “But, I will attend your
banquet on one condition. You have
to let me recite my poem about
friendship.”
“My mother didn’t raise no
fools,” I told him. “Do you think I
am going to tell the heavyweight
champion of the world that he can’t
do anything he wants?”
Ali was there that night. He
arrived at the Civic Center toward
the end of the dinner. Sure enough,
he stood outside the door of the
banquet hall while Cleve slipped in
and told me that he was ready to
enter.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” I said
to the English and Americans who
had become such close personal
friends in such a short time, “we
have a surprise guest from America
that I want you to meet.
“I won’t call him by his name
because every one of you will rec
ognize him as soon as he steps into
this room. You may wonder what a
man in his line of work is doing at
a meeting that concerns friendship.
But he has come here to recite a
poem that he delivered at Harvard
University only a short while back.
After you hear what he has in his
heart I think you will agree that he
is one of us.”
And then I turned to the door
and said, “Champ, will you please
come in?”
Ali was resplendent in an all
white suit. He ambled to the lectern
and greeted everyone present.
The audience hushed and Ali
recited his poem:
Friendship is a priceless gift. It
cannot be bought nor sold.
But its value is much greater
than a mountain made of gold.
For gold is cold and lifeless and
can neither see nor hear.
In time of trouble gold is power
less to cheer.
Gold has no ears to listen nor
heart to understand.
It cannot bring you comfort or
reach out a helping hand.
So when you ask God for a gift
be grateful if He sends
Not diamonds, pearls or riches
but the love of real true friends. ”
Muhammad Ali. He touched me.
He taught me what it means to be
sensitive and humble.
THURSDAY. APRIL 15, 2004 PICKENS COUNTY PROGRESS PAGE 15A
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