MUHAMMAD ALI

Century Plaza Hotel

Los Angeles, CA

November 16, 2000

Photo attempted by: Muhammad Ali

I’ve been to some amazing parties but this event was beyond compare—a swanky celebrity roast and fund-raiser for the Muhammad Ali Center being built in Louisville, Kentucky. This ballroom was full of wealthy boxing enthusiasts, notables, and some lucky people like me who scored the best ticket in town. From what I heard, tables sold from $10,000 to $100,000 each.

Somehow my group also had passes to the VIP reception so before the event, we headed back to mingle. La-di-da.

We made our way down the hall and there he was. The Greatest of All Time: Muhammad Ali. The Champ was standing in the hallway graciously welcoming everyone who came to say hello. I wasn’t sure if I should bother him since he was surrounded by his entourage, but I couldn’t pass this up.

Pitching my idea is a completely different experience when I admire the celebrity. I respect everyone’s talent and position though I rarely put public figures on a pedestal—but this is Muhammad Ali we're talking about. I’ve spoken with him a few times at different events, not for very long, and years apart, yet surprisingly he acts as though he remembers me.

When he saw me walking in his direction his eyes lit up. He held out his hand and once I got close enough he leaned in and quietly said, “You are beautiful.” I smiled. It doesn’t get much better than getting a compliment like that from Muhammad Ali. I said, “I just wanted to say hello because I love you so much.” He smiled. I’m not sure if he remembered me but we were definitely sharing some mutual admiration.

As we stood, still holding hands, he was quietly talking to me. But sadly, because we were among so many other people I couldn’t hear or understand what he was saying.

Knowing my time was limited, I told him about my idea and, with immeasurable respect, asked if he’d take my picture. His eyes sparkled and he nodded. He is a prankster and looked like he was ready to play.

I handed him my camera. “Do I just push this?” he asked and pointed at the correct button. I said yes. His hands were shaking as he slowly raised the camera. He backed up with caution but seemed to be putting a lot of effort into this photo.

I knew his mind was still sharp and it was just his body that didn’t respond correctly when it was given direction. Having multiple sclerosis myself, I could relate to his frustration. I wanted to make this easier for him so I leaned down to get in the frame. It looked like he pushed the button and he proudly handed my camera back.

A couple of his people came over asking if I wanted a picture with him. I said no and briefly explained what I was doing. They smiled at the idea. I could see they were busy so, not wanting to give them more work and obviously not thinking correctly, I clarified that I already have a couple of photos with him so I didn’t really need another. (Need? Who said anything about need? This is Muhammad Ali we’re talking about. What dimwit turns down a picture with Muhammad Ali? We were all dressed up too. I'm still kicking myself over this.)

Admirers were circling and in the time I spent talking with his people, Muhammad was swiped away by someone new. Sadly our reunion was cut short. I touched his arm and said thank you as a quick goodbye.

High on this experience, I floated (like a butterfly) back to my friends until I was intercepted by a rabid woman who came out of nowhere and growled, “You can’t have that camera here.” I froze. She forcefully continued, “If you try to leave with that, it will be taken from you.” I said, “…Okay,” and planned a good hiding spot.

But people were snapping pictures all over the place. Even the stars brought cameras. And why wouldn’t I try to leave with it? It’s my camera. I was planning on leaving with my shoes and my purse too. For the rest of the night, I avoided her.

Days later the film was developed and I was sad to see that Muhammad’s photo wasn’t taken. He didn’t push the shutter button hard enough. So because he tried, this blank photo represents the unexposed film and his valiant effort. The fact that there were no pictures taken during these few phenomenal minutes together still stings (like a bee) but I'll always have this marvelous story.

Thanks for telling me I’m beautiful, Muhammad, but I’ll never be as pretty as you.