To start with, here’s a river sunset from a few days ago. What a peaceful scene . . .
The death of Muhammad Ali has reminded me of a very old story. It’s a second-hand story, and I may not get all of the details right, but it’s worth a try.
Many years ago, one of my fellow teachers at Virginia Avenue school received an invitation for his sixth-grade class to attend the presidential inauguration. (It was President Carter’s, so that tells you just how long ago this was.) I don’t think it was ever intended that they actually attend; it was more of a courtesy thing. Teacher Jim C., however, became a man with a mission. He was going to get the whole class to Washington.
The community came through for him. It was by no means a wealthy district, but they managed to scrape together enough money to send those kids to Washington D. C.. It was amazing.
It was a great opportunity for those children, and they enjoyed it very much. For many of them, though, the greatest (in more ways than one) thing that happened on that trip was when they encountered Muhammad Ali at the airport.
Now, Ali was at the height of his fame. He was one of the most famous men in the world. But he took time to talk with those youngsters. One little girl even sat on his knee. There were no reporters present, nothing to gain in publicity; he just wanted to talk to them.
I’m not sure how much of the inauguration the kids would remember, but I guarantee they’d remember Muhammad Ali. He was truly The Greatest.