Written by Years ago, and we are talking almost three decades now, I was traveling from Boston, Massachusetts to Stillwater, Oklahoma with my mom and stepfather. It was the summer before my senior year of high school, and I was looking at colleges to attend after graduation. My plan had been to go into the fire protection industry because I was wanting to travel and get the opportunity to see more of the world than what I had seen growing up in New England. It just so happened that Oklahoma State University had a really good fire science program, and my parents thought it would be a good idea to go out and tour the campus to see if I would like to be at a huge school like that. (Spoiler alert, I did get accepted to OSU, but never attended. I did get to see the world though. It was just on Uncle Sam’s dime for 21 years.)
If I remember correctly, we were on the return flight from Oklahoma City to Boston and had to make a layover stop at some point along the way. I do not really recall where we stopped, but based on the route, and the airline we were flying on, I would guess it was Dallas/Fort Worth. Regardless of where it was, the thing that made the return trip so memorable was the layover. While we were sitting at our gate waiting for our flight to arrive, I happened to be looking around the terminal and spotted this older gentleman. I continued to look over at him, trying not to stare or be creepy, but he certainly looked very familiar to me. The more I looked, the more and more I felt like I knew who I was looking at. I turned to my mom and asked her if I could borrow a pen and some paper. When she asked why, I whispered and pointed in the direction of the gentleman I had been observing, “I think that guy over there is Muhammad Ali.”
She looked in the direction and acknowledged that he did, in fact, look like “The Greatest.” There was no real entourage around him, which was, more than likely, why we were hesitant to think it was him. He was just sitting in the terminal, minding his own business waiting on whatever flight he was going to be taking. There was no huge entourage with him, just a couple of people who were his traveling partners, and no one standing around who seemed to be part of any personal security detail.
My mother gave me pen and paper, and I made my way over to this gentleman. The closer I got, the more convinced I was that it was definitely him. To my 17-year-old eyes, he was enormous sitting in the little terminal chairs with arms the size of tree trunks. I approached him and quietly asked him if he was Muhammad Ali. He looked up at me, smiled, and nodded. I asked if he wouldn’t mind signing the paper I had. Very graciously, he took my paper and pen with his catcher mitt hands and gave me his autograph without saying a word. At this point in his life, eight years after revealing he had Parkinson’s syndrome, the symptomatic tremor was there, albeit not incredibly noticeable, but you could tell. After he handed me back his autograph, I thanked him, smiled back, and returned to my parents to show them his autograph.
I watched from my seat as a few more people ventured over to him for, presumably, the same thing. As this was not the cell phone age, there were no selfies or obnoxious people trying to get pictures with him. Mostly it was men who just seemed to be in awe that this giant of a man was here in the terminal with us. What has stuck with me all these years later was not that he was there in the terminal with us, but how incredibly gracious he was with me and everyone else who approached him. I do not know if he ever said anything to anyone, but he certainly signed autographs for all who came up, never once asking for anything in return, and not turning anyone away. He could have very easily had someone in his traveling party tell me that he was not going to sign anything, or turn me away, but he did not. He acknowledged everyone who approached him with a quiet sense of appreciation, which is why I will never forget that simple interaction I had with him.
Now, as we sit here in the age of cell phones, instant, on-demand access to everything, social media, and pro athletes charging fans for their autographs in controlled environments, being able to approach someone of Ali’s stature as I did seems unheard of. There are those athletes who will go out of their way to do things for their fans, like Albert Pujols is known for doing before or after baseball games, but those seem to be the rarity instead of the norm nowadays. I realize that oftentimes athletes avoid these situations because they do not want to have to turn someone away, they do not want to be inundated by autograph hounds looking to get the athlete’s signature only to turn around and sell it on the internet, or they do not want to be involved in something that will tarnish their reputation once it hits the internet, but the kindness and generosity that Muhammad Ali showed us all that day in the airport would be good to be the example more athletes should follow.
I am not saying that athletes need to be willing to sign everything shoved in their faces, nor should we, as fans, expect them to sign everything when we approach them, but it would be nice to see that level of graciousness a bit more. This is something we can all do, not just active or retired athletes. Being more kind to those around us, being willing to do something for someone else, and even something so simple as a smile of acknowledgment can go a very long way. By taking on this attitude, we can develop a culture in our organizations that will help people grow, succeed, and encourage them to look out for the team instead of themselves. If we consider how our actions are perceived by those around us, it may help to change what we do. I like to say, “How would 10-year old you respond to the way you are acting?” If you would be embarrassed to have your children see you acting a certain way, then maybe it is time to reevaluate what it is that you are doing. It costs nothing for you to set a culture of kindness, generosity, and appreciation, but the returns on it are priceless.
I will finish by saying I have Ali’s autograph framed and hanging up in my house, but unfortunately, that is not the case. Somewhere along the way, between leaving home to join the military at 21, and settling down into my current life, that autograph got lost. It may still be at my father’s house where I was living until I enlisted, but there is a good chance that that notebook slip of paper did not survive the many reorganizations my dad and stepmother have put their house through. While I no longer have the autograph of arguably one of the greatest boxers ever, I will always have the memory of my brief interaction with him. With this week marking the fifth anniversary of his passing, I can look back very fondly on that memory and smile as he smiled at a much younger me.