My Encounter With "The Greatest"

I know I promised "Scrabble Memories - Part Two" -- and it's coming. But first, this (inspired by my friend, Stephen Parrish):

In 1977, I had a summer job as a bank teller at Citizens' Fidelity Bank in Louisville. My uncle was a vice president at the bank ("Citizens' Infidelity" he used to call it, and he liked to point out that almost everybody who worked at a bank got to be a vice president), and he helped me get the job. It was a good gig. The bank had 50-some-odd branches spread out around town, and my job was to fill in for other tellers when they went on vacation.

Some branches were better than others. Some were worse. Nice thing was that everywhere I went, they were glad to see me because I was extra help. And I had some memorable stays. I had been at the drive-through branch out on Dixie Highway, the main road going southwest out of Louisville toward Fort Knox, for about a week -- long enough to start to bond with some of my coworkers. Then one day in August, we got the news about Elvis' death. That was a rough day. Not so much for me -- I liked Elvis well enough, but I wasn't his biggest fan -- but for the female tellers between the ages of 30 and 50 (which was all of them). It was the worst day of their lives so far. You never saw so much crying. It was rough for me because I was the only one who could keep it together enough to wait on customers that day.

Toward the end of the summer, I was at the branch at Broadway and Fourth Street, Louisville's main downtown intersection. Despite its premier location, the branch was rather nondescript. And the manager was a crabby, balding, middle-aged guy. All business. Which was fine. I was just winding down the time until I returned to college that fall. I just wanted to finish out the week and get going. Then something extraordinary happened.

It was business as usual on a Friday afternoon when I looked up and saw someone coming in the main entrance. Not just any someone though. It was Muhammad Ali. You would never know he was one of the most famous people in the world though. He entered quietly...very unassuming...no entourage...and stepped up to one of the teller windows. He asked if he could cash a check. The teller was flustered. It was Muhammad Ali...and he wanted to cash a check...but it wasn't a Citizens' Fidelity account. The teller said, "Of course...I'll just need to get the manager's approval."

The crabby middle-aged manager was already hovering nearby, smiling and hoping there might be a reason for him to step in -- it was Muhammad Ali, for Christ's sake! The manager was apprised of the situation, and said, "Of course...I'll just need to call the main office and get it approved." Muhammad Ali had a seat at the branch manager's desk while the manager called the main office.

It was then that I made my move. I wasn't supposed to do this, but I didn't want to miss the opportunity. I put up my "closed" sign, locked my drawer, left the teller area and went out into the lobby. I walked straight over to Muhammad Ali while the manager was on the phone, stuck out my hand and said, "I'd just like to shake hands with the Greatest."

Muhammad Ali said, "Why thank you, son." Then he smiled and shook my hand.

The manager got off the phone. "It's no problem, Mr. Ali -- or is it Mr. Muhammad? In any case, we will be happy to cash your check."

No kidding, I was thinking. His signature is probably worth more than the stupid check anyway.

The branch manager escorted Muhammad Ali back over to the teller windows to cash the check. The manager and the tellers were all pleased as punch to be cashing a check for Muhammad Ali -- now that it had been approved by the main office. Muhammad Ali was very gracious. And before we knew it, he was on his way out the door, and the Broadway branch was back to being its nondescript self.

I later learned that the reason Muhammad Ali came into our branch to cash a check that day was because he was shopping at the store next door. He decided to buy a fur coat for his wife -- but they wouldn't take his check. So he came into our bank to see if he could cash a check, where despite the assurances of everyone that "of course!" he could, I actually don't think the odds were better than 50/50. Fortunately, somebody as the main office had the good sense to realize that it was embarrassing enough -- to the bank, to Louisville and to our nation -- that Muhammad Ali had to come in, hat in hand, and ask if he could cash a check. Imagine how much more embarrassing it would have been to all involved had somebody said, "No." So I'm glad it turned out the way it did. Muhammad Ali cashed his check, then went back to the furrier and bought his wife a fur.

But a lot of things bothered me about that day. The obvious things bothered me, of course. That a stupid shop owner would refuse to take Muhammad Ali's check. And that a stupid branch manager would have to call the main office to get approval to cash the check. But beyond that, I wondered why Muhammad Ali put up with all of it. Why did he shop at a store that wasn't thrilled to have him as a customer? And why did he go into a bank that wasn't thrilled to serve him? And probably most of all, why did he go back to the shop after he cashed his check at the bank and buy something from a place that essentially refused to serve him? And on top of all that, why did Muhammad Ali put himself in a position where he would have to seek permission and approval of white authority figures? Couldn't he have gone into the store with a credit card? Or cash? Or have somebody do his shopping for him?

At first, those seem impossible questions to answer. But having grown up in Louisville myself, I know the answer. Muhammad Ali may be one of the most famous people in the world, but we never forget our roots. And the fact is, he was born and raised in Louisville, where black people -- even Muhammad Ali -- expected (and were expected) to seek the permission and approval of white authority figures. That's the way it was the day Muhammad Ali wanted to buy a gift for his wife...that's the way it was every day leading up to that day...and sadly, it's still too much that way in Louisville -- and in way too many other places -- to this day.