It was 1992. My grandmother and I stood patiently in the extremely long line at Cody's Books in Berkeley, Calif., that wrapped around the corner and down the block. We were waiting to have our books signed by Muhammad Ali.
As we approached the table where Ali sat, his Parkinson's disease placed a statute of limitations on the number of books he actually signed. Before he stamped his signature in my book, we made eye contact. He rose up, curled his bottom lip, something he traditionally did before peppering opponents with a series of lightening quick blows, as he feigned hitting me.
I covered up. He sat down, stamped my book, and I went on my way. It was, at best, a "Forrest Gump moment," but for me, I had momentarily garnered the champ's attention.
The news of his passing, though not surprising, saddened me nevertheless.
No athlete in my lifetime enthralled me like Ali.
It may be hard to believe today, given the well-deserved eulogies, but there was a time when Ali was not a beloved figure. He did not comport himself like previous champions. He was loud, brash and confident.
He may have very well been the first counterculture athlete of the '60s.
For as gifted as he was in the ring, he was always driven by something higher.
It wasn't simply his physical prowess: a heavyweight with middleweight hand speed, embodying the grace of Mikhail Baryshnikov. One need only view the elusiveness of then-Cassius Clay as he took the title from Sonny Liston, the "What's-my-name" fight against Ernie Terrell, or his bout against Cleveland Williams to see these unprecedented skills on display.
But it was his unwavering commitment to be true to himself that trumped his marvelous skills in the ring. He embraced values that were nonnegotiable, and this made him an icon in a community starving for such public displays.
Ali was only controversial within the limited contours of the status quo that possessed expectations on how a heavyweight champion should conduct himself. He obviously never got the memo.
So it made sense to a community that loved him that relinquishing what at the time was the most coveted title in sports was not too expensive for one whose soul was not for sale.
It's rare that one is confronted with a dilemma where they must consider if their decision will be commensurate with their values. Even rarer when such episodes are on public display.
Drafting Ali, in the midst of the Vietnam War, became the Faustian bargain of which he wanted no part. The nation was divided not on the terrain of constitutional principles, on which Ali proved victorious, but rather on how one saw him in the ring. If no opponent could shut him up, the federal government would have to suffice.
It was his defiant spirit that refused induction into the army that led to his being stripped of the title. But the 1967 press conference in support of Ali's refusal to be inducted ushered a new era for the professional athlete.
In addition to Ali, Jim Brown (arguably the NFL's best player at the time), Bill Russell (arguably the NBA's best player at the time) and Lew Alcindor, later known as Kareem Abdul Jabbar (college basketball's best player), were in attendance, showing their support. When Ali was quoted as saying, "I ain't got no quarrel with the Vietcong ... no Vietcong ever called me n----r," his stinging critique was the antithesis of the beloved figure who lit the Olympic torch at the 1996 Olympics in Atlanta.
After a three-year layoff and a Supreme Court victory, Ali returned to the ring, skills somewhat diminished, but still Ali -- the "People's Champ." Many believed his 15-round loss to Joe Frazier in 1971 would put an end to his brash behavior and that he would finally go away.
But he was hardly finished, as his 8th-round knockout of George Foreman to regain the title would attest.
Foreman tells the story of hitting Ali with a body shot that crumpled most opponents only to have Ali respond, "Is that all you got George?"
Whether it was Foreman, Sonny Liston, Joe Frazier, the army, or Parkinson's disease, Ali was truly The Greatest, because whatever came his way he continued to ask: "Is that all you got?"