Tribute – Page 39 – All It Takes Is A Little Love

The Simones

Published on August 12, 2016 by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

simone-biles-simone-manuel_mq9r77ikg0jq1jtwm8xlwuccr The Houston Metropolitan area sprawls over more than five hundred square miles. It’s as flat as a pancake making its resemblance to a patchwork quilt rather striking. It is home to the most diverse population in the United States partially because of its proximity to a busy port but mostly due to an abundance of jobs and moderate housing prices. Even with its humid sub tropical climate, air conditioning makes it a great location for living and working so that people from all parts of the world have chosen it as a place to raise their families.

On any given weekend Houston area parents are out in force watching their little ones participate in sporting events. The sound of cheering resonates from soccer fields to baseball diamonds, natatoriums to gymnasiums. As a grandmother and godmother to very active children I have traveled from the Houston suburbs of Sugarland to Magnolia to watch the youngsters compete. I’ve watched them race around a track and get their noses crushed into the dirt of a football field. I’ve sat through days long swim meets and on occasion carted them to and fro from practices. I’ve watched them grow and mature into the sports of their choosing as they specialize and become more and more adept.

I have two grandsons, Benjamin and Eli, who have excelled at every athletic effort they have tried. They have been outstanding swimmers since they were barely five years old. Early on they were members of the Greatwood Gators summer swim team in Sugarland along with their older brothers who taught them all of the strokes and the secrets to diving into the pool. The two boys showed such promise that they decided to join the First Colony USA swim team where they now practice at least five days a week rain or shine, hot or cold. Their calendars are full as they participate in meets and camps across the region and the state along with the friends and role models that they have made along the way. It was in this way that they met another swimmer who was like a big sister to them. Her name is Simone Manuel and she has at times both helped and inspired them as they have slowly risen through the ranks of competitive swimming.

Benjamin and Eli understand as well as anyone how much dedication and hard work is needed to become a champion. They strive continually for the possibility of shaving hundredths of a second off of a race time. They compete not so much with others as with themselves. They are individuals and members of a team that encourages one another and celebrates victories together. Last night one of their own swam in the Olympics in Rio. They and their whole family and all of Sugarland and the Houston area were cheering Simone Manuel as she won the gold with an Olympic record, becoming the first African American woman to medal in swimming. I can only imagine how breathtaking and motivational this moment was for them. Simone had shown them that a hometown girl can become the best in the world.

It was an exceptionally emotional moment for Simone and the rest of us weren’t that far removed from her feelings. Many of us cried along with her. We knew full well how much courage and effort it had taken for her to reach this pinnacle. We understood how much sacrifice she and her family have made. We also knew that she was a champion for our city as well, representing the true spirit of our town. It was a stunning victory that lit up Facebook and Twitter all across the city of Houston.

Simone Manuel’s feat of daring might have been reason enough to celebrate had she been the lone winner from the Houston area but on the very same day another Simone was also in contention for a medal. Simone Biles lives in Spring, a northern suburb of Greater Houston, with her mom and dad. She is a tiny five foot eight ball of strength and delight. Since she was a small child she has been tumbling and honing the skills of a gymnast. She demonstrated a natural talent early on but it was her fierce dedication to the sport that made her a standout. Slowly but surely she rose through the national and then the world rankings until she had become known as perhaps the greatest gymnast of all time. Yesterday she proved once and for all that she is indeed the best of the best. She easily clinched the gold to be named the best all around women’s gymnast in the world.

Just as with Simone Manuel, all of the Houston area was cheering unabashedly for Simone Biles. We marveled at her athleticism and the sheer poetry of her skills. She seems to fly higher than any of her competitors. She is a whirling dervish who is able to leap and spin and twist and turn as easily as the rest of us walk from one spot to another. She is a miracle in our midst, a tiny but mighty young woman who seemingly defies gravity and all the rules of physics. Mostly though she makes us all so very proud to be Houstonians and Americans.

Simone Biles and Simone Manuel, the two Simones, represent the very best of who we are as people. We certainly need them at this stage of history. Of late it has been all too easy to become cynical and discouraged about the future of our country. When we witness two such remarkable individuals we recall all that is so very good and important about our nation. We are reminded by them of the work ethic that makes us all great. We realize the love and support from their parents that helped them to reach the pinnacle of their endeavors. Yesterday we witnessed irrefutable evidence that the future of our city and our country is still in very good hands in little corners all across the land. We celebrate with the two Simones not only because they are indeed great but also because they have restored our faith at the very time that we may have needed it most.

Last night’s Olympic games were “must see t.v.” I can’t think of another time when I have felt so elated by a sporting event. I cried with Simone Manuel as she won and as she stood on a pedestal while the national anthem played and our flag was so proudly flew. I cried again with Simone Biles when she realized the dream of a lifetime. I cried for the happiness that spread like wildfire through my hometown. Greater Houston was on the map and bigger than ever last night as two of its most remarkable citizens showed the world what the people here are really like.

I have always maintained that Houston is perhaps the very best place to live in all of the United States. What it lacks in scenery and good weather it makes up for in its people who all in all are a grand bunch of loving and hard working individuals. We live and work together here. We are focused on our children and our neighbors. Ours is a big city with a little town feel. Now we have two heroines to make us even prouder of this crazy wonderful place we call home.

Finding the Gold Within

Published on August 8, 2016 by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

Olympic-Rings-large_trans++X9gqeEfKXQcqd954t2rXzvTSL8SM4yNVj_ZSDGesqAM Every four years we become divisive and we also come together. The coincidence of our Presidential election and the games of the summer Olympics creates a kind of love/hate situation in living rooms, at dinner tables and in neighborhoods across our nation. On the one had we speak of issues that divide us into camps and on the other we join together in cheering the best among us. There is a kind of irony in the magnitude of our difference and our sameness that fights for dominance over who we are as a people.

The Greeks were one of the first nations to experiment with democracy. Theirs was a far cry from the present day government of the United States but the basic elements were there, at least for a handful of the citizens. Women were excluded as were many from lower economic classes and those believed to be outsiders. There were no representatives. Instead it was a system based on one vote for each eligible person with a simple majority determining the fate of any proposal. It was democracy in its purest form. It was the start of a grand experiment that would evolve over time and undergo many iterations. It would be hundreds of years before the grand idea of democracy morphed into a less chaotic and inclusive way of running a more just and fair system.

The Greeks were innovative people who instituted the Olympic games to celebrate the power and beauty of the human body and to bring the people together in harmonious competition. Back then the games were rather simple and the participants performed their athletic feats in the nude. Citizens gathered to watch the events and to cheer for their favorite contestants. The games provided a nice distraction from the hardships of daily life and the continuous discussions and battles that were an inevitable by-product of human attempts to live in harmony.

The modern day Olympic games attract challengers from over two hundred countries and feature a variety of sporting events that the Greeks of old would not recognize. The athletes come with an array of coaches and specialized equipment. They train for years and rise through the ranks to become contenders for gold medals in their specialties. Just as in days of old there are national heroes among them as well as those deemed so extraordinary in their abilities that they are cheered as heroes by everyone.

The road to the Olympics begins in ordinary ways. A young child joins a neighborhood swim team or runs across a field with the speed of a deer. Somewhere an adult notices the talent and suggests that perhaps a bit of training may help the individual to improve. The most gifted youngsters demonstrate not just natural aptitude but a willingness to devote inordinate amounts of time and money to both learning and competition. Everyone can see that there is indeed something quite special that differentiates the best athletes from their peers. They and the adults who guide them are willing to work long and hard. They do not allow challenges to defeat them. Their quest for excellence becomes a focus for them and their families. Everyone sacrifices. Eventually they excel in the neighborhood, in the city, in the state, in the country and the world.

Few of us have the talent, the inclination, the support or the resources to embark on a journey to the Olympic games. It takes a very special set of circumstances indeed to be among the best in the world and yet every four years we are fascinated by the variety of stories that each of the participants bring to the games. From them all of us become inspired to achieve just a bit more in our own lives. The heroes of the Olympic games are the stuff of legends, human iterations of the gods of old.

My fascination with the Olympics began when I was still in elementary school. I watched an old black and white movie about Jim Thorpe and I was hooked. It told the tale of a native American who seemed able to perform any sort of athletic feat more ably than any of his peers. He came from poverty and want but on the field of competition he was glorious, winning at seemingly anything that he tried. Eventually he found glory and gold at the Olympic games. Sadly, different rules of the day and his own ignorance of them eventually resulted in a decision to strip him of all of his medals simply because he had once played on a semi-professional team to support himself. I remember feeling crushed by the unfairness of what happened to him but still regarding him as amazing.

Perhaps the greatest Olympic story of all is that of Jesse Owens who dominated the games in Munich at a time when Adolf Hitler was intent on spreading the myth of a super race of white men so perfect that they would be able to dominate the entire world. It visibly angered the dictator to watch a black man disprove his theories and served as a reminder to everyone that there is potential greatness in all of us regardless of background or race. The Olympic games have served time and again as the great equalizer that disregards the often faulty thinking of mankind.

During the next couple of weeks we have so many opportunities to watch the most remarkable men and women doing their best not just to represent their respective countries but to demonstrate the power of the human spirit. It is a time when we might teach our young that no worthy goal ever comes easily but with determination we all have the potential to realize our dreams. The games demonstrate, as one of the relentless commercials says, that all of us have gold inside our veins. We were born with abilities just waiting to be released and it is up to each of us to find out what those skills are and how we might use them to better ourselves and the world around us.

I watch the swim competitions and think of hot summer afternoons when I witnessed my grandsons earning multi-colored ribbons in the neighborhood pool. I see the track stars and recall cheering the same boys as they ran in weather so cold that all of the spectators were covered in coats and heavy blankets. I think of the young people dunking basketball after basketball at our local park. I see the bicycle riders struggling up mountain roads. I know that none of the competitors reached the pinnacle in their respective sports without a work ethic that would shame all of us and I applaud each and every person who showed up again and again and again.

I’m not much of an athlete. I grew up at a time when girls were rarely encouraged to pursue sports, especially in my particular family. I never had the kind of coordination needed to work with a ball of any kind. I mostly ran and rode my bicycle and twirled my baton. I practiced tricks on roller skates and learned to swim only enough to save myself if needed. I focused my time and attention on academic pursuits, a worthy cause but one that left me sometimes feeling incomplete. I have come to believe that we humans should develop both body and mind to be whole. I suspect that this is what the ancient Greeks were thinking when they offered their citizens philosophies, innovative political systems, art, literature, mathematics and athleticism. They understood that we are incredible creatures most especially when we strive to use all of our capabilities.

Genius of mind or body is found even in the farthest corners of the world. There is potential for greatness everywhere. Each of us needs to spend more time becoming our personal best and less criticizing those who look or feel or act differently. We are all part of the same team, the human race. When we face our own challenges and embrace everyone around us we all become better. We all find the gold.

It’s About Time

Published on June 28, 2016June 27, 2016 by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

Glenda Jones13516264_10209578242793605_5124992074342233422_n Back in the eighties my eldest daughter, Maryellen, was a member of the Janette Dance team at South Houston High School. She had taken ballet and tap lessons from the time that she was five years old, first at a church in Pasadena and later from Patty Owens near our home in southeast Houston. Our family budget often tended to be stressed beyond our means but we somehow managed to find the funds for the classes that she loved so very much. Over time it became apparent that she had a natural talent for dance, most likely inherited from my mother who had her own reputation for being light on her feet and as graceful as a swan. When Maryellen earned a coveted spot on her school’s dance team it seemed to be a reward for all of her hard work and determination. Our family time began to revolve around practices, performances at football games, cotillions, competitions, camps and shows.

I was a fairly young mom, only in my late thirties, when I joined forces with other mothers in providing costumes, decorations, food and other kinds of support for our beautiful young girls. We were all caught up in the joys of our children’s teenage years. We ladies often met to build sets or design programs. We became expert seamstresses who made intricate pieces of clothing. I still recall almost tearing my hair out while sewing the game day suit that Maryellen had to wear on Fridays during football season. It was a complex project but well worth the effort in the end. I recall volunteering to work long hours in those days and at those times I got to know the other moms who were as lovingly devoted to their children as I was to mine. There were dance competitions that demanded whole days of our time and summer camps that required long drives and funds that we might have used otherwise. We sometimes joined in the fun by performing in hilarious dance routines that made us the laughing stock of the audience but also demonstrated just what good sports we were. Those were some of the best times of my entire life and the memories of those days remain precious even today.

Maryellen advanced through the ranks of the team to become one of the military officers, a Lieutenant. She worked hard to meet all of the requirements of the honor, including choreographing original dances and designing costumes and props. Because she so loved the experience, so did I. Those were the wonder years in which her confidence and abilities grew under the watchful eye of her always committed instructor, Glenda Jones Bludworth, a loving woman who taught her dancers how to present themselves with grace in any situation. She was more than just a teacher. She became a friend, mentor and counselor to each of her students. Because we parents witnessed her devotion to our children, we loved her as much as our girls did.

As is usually the case with good times, they flew by all too quickly. Soon Maryellen was attending the University of Texas and focusing on more serious academic goals. She had little time for dancing as she studied constantly to earn the grades that would allow her to be accepted into the McCombs School of Business. The days of visiting Southern Imports in search of fabrics, feathers and sequins were gone. The worn section of carpet in our den where Maryellen had practiced all of her dance routines was the only reminder of those lovely days. I lost track of the women with whom I had spent so many hours. Time raced by and I too turned my attention to new challenges and adventures, forgetting for a moment the joys of being a dance mom.

It has been almost thirty years since Maryellen donned her leotards and dancing shoes. In the interim she earned degrees in Finance and Accounting, worked, married and became mom to four boys who find the stories of her days on the stage to be strangely confusing. Now she is the one who spends almost every free moment supporting her sons’ hobbies and talents. She is the one who now juggles the family budget to find all of the funding for equipment, camps, classes, trips and college so that her boys will be able to enjoy their youth as much as she did hers. Like I once did, she has a circle of friends whose commonality is based on swimming, scouts, theater and school activities. She keeps books for the teams and creates end of season slideshows. Her world is hectic but wonderful. She rarely thinks back to those days when she was an extraordinary dancer who riveted the attention of her many admirers. The memories seem to be both long ago and just like yesterday.

A group of Janette Dancers recently decided to host a kind of reunion of the classes who had been members of the team under the direction of their beloved Glenda Jones Bludworth. The “girls” are now in their forties and some are even knocking on the door of the fifties. Like Maryellen they have children in college, high school and middle school. They have enjoyed marriages and careers and evolved to a time in their lives when they more closely resemble their mothers and me were back in the day. They are beautiful women who learned their teacher’s lessons well and carry themselves with the poise and self respect that she instilled in them.

Happily they did not fail to remember their mothers in planning this event. We were invited to celebrate the life of Glenda Jones Bludworth along with them. I enjoyed sitting at a table with ladies who had been my constant companions so many years before. We bragged on the successes of our daughters and exchanged photos of our grandchildren. We recalled our own sacrifices of money and time and how we would not have changed a thing. We laughed at some of the silly things that we did and grew saddened as we remembered ladies who had been part of our mother brigade who are no longer alive. Mostly we each had remarkable stories of the wonderful influence that Glenda had on our children. We all agreed that she was one of those once in a lifetime educators who goes well beyond the requirements of her job. She reached into the very hearts and souls of her girls and helped them to find the strengths and talents that defined them as unique and outstanding individuals.

It was grand to once again be reminded of a time in life that was so happy for all of us. I found myself amazed that our time together had been so long ago and yet seemed so near and dear. I was particularly happy that all of the delightful young women whom I had watched grow in wisdom and age and grace had remembered and appreciated their amazing teacher. She had so truly earned the attention and praise that they heaped on her. All too often we become so busy with the demands of daily existence that we forget to show our gratitude to the people who did so much to make us who we are. We let the clock tick and tick until it is too late and our hearts are filled with regret that we never took the opportunity to voice the thanks that we always meant to convey. Somehow Glenda’s Girls understood that they needed to stop the passage of time for a few hours so that they might demonstrate how truly important their moment with her had been. It’s about time!

A Reincarnation of Greatness

Published on June 14, 2016June 13, 2016 by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

13336082_10210337423138893_4040514413157681129_n For all of my life my life my high school English teacher, Father Shane, has remained one of my favorite teachers. He inspired me and broadened my horizons at a time when I lived a rather isolated existence. It was Father Shane who introduced me to a world of new experiences. I fell in love with the English language under his guidance and learned how to write almost on demand. From him I developed a love of art, music, poetry and reading. For four years I counted his class as my favorite of each school day. It was not at all surprising that I majored in English in college, wanting to expand my knowledge and honor him. Imagine my surprise and excitement when years later I walked into a high school classroom to observe a teacher who reminded me so much of Father Shane that he might have been the reincarnation of the man who had so mesmerized me when I was young.

I was the Dean of Faculty at KIPP Houston High School and my duties included visiting classrooms and mentoring teachers. It was in that vein that I went to see Dickie Written, an English teacher that the principal had only recently hired. I sat in the back of his classroom and almost immediately felt as though I had been transported back to my old high school days. Dickie had a way of teaching that was exciting and I noticed that students who had never before shown much interest in English were actively participating in the discussions that he led. There was a merriment to the lessons but also a serious exploration of the meaning of words, phrases, and descriptions of literary analysis. I had to contain myself to keep from raising my hand and becoming involved in the lively back and forth.

Each time I visited Dickie Written I became more and more convinced that his style and delivery was amazingly similar to Father Shane’s. I laughed on one occasion when he guided his students through a study of The Crucible by acting out parts from the play that he had memorized. I felt as though I was watching a grand Broadway production as he changed his voice and facial expressions to match the tenor of each line. I wasn’t the only one who was enchanted. It was obvious that the students were also hanging onto his every word.

I definitely knew that Dickie Written was an outstanding teacher when his students walked through the hallways of the school quoting lines from Beowulf and insisting that it was one of their favorite books ever. I recalled how much I had despised that classic and had to know how Mr. Written had managed to convince his charges that they were reading a spectacular saga. I found out that he had brought each of the characters alive in ways that made them seem modern and timeless. He did exactly the same thing with The Canterbury Tales another of those English class standards that I had only managed to slog through but Dickie had convinced his students to love. It seemed to me that Dickie Written was a kind of Pied Piper of English.

One of the aspects of Dickie’s teaching that I most admired was his insistence on teaching his students the rules of grammar and usage. In recent years directly teaching such things has been frowned upon in some circles. As someone who concentrated on Linguistics with my major, I had a difficult time understanding why this trend was so popular. I knew from my days with Father Shane that I understood the English language right down to its very foundations because of the daily grammar practice and diagramming. As a result of those exercises I became a better writer and communicator. The more current idea was that students should learn all of those rules tangentially. The prevailing belief was that going through boring drills and practice only stifles student creativity. Dickie Written disagreed and took the time to explain to his classes the correct ways of aligning words and building sentences. I really liked that about him and applauded his rebelliousness. I saw him as a visionary and so did his students, mostly for whom English was a second language.

Eventually I left KIPP Houston High School and so did Dickie Written. By happenstance I learned that an English teaching position was opening up at Cristo Rey Jesuit College Preparatory School where I was tutoring students in math. I contacted Dickie and he in turn applied for the job. He was an instant hit with everyone at the school. I developed a kind of fame by association when I let it be known that he and I were friends. His students would speak of being a bit intimidated by him, for he is a remarkable disciplinarian, but they also loved him and his class. I could tell that he was using his exciting methods once again and I felt a certain magic in knowing that he was now in the same building where Father Shane had once transformed English class into an enjoyable journey for me and countless others.

Recently I met up with Dickie Written along with a number of friends from my days at KIPP Houston High School. I had not spoken with him in quite a while but I could tell as soon as he arrived that he was happy. He quickly announced that he had very good news. He told us with a huge smile that he had been honored by Cristo Rey with the President’s award for outstanding leadership in education. It didn’t surprise me at all. In fact, I have often wondered why it has taken so long for the powers that be to realize the genius of Dickie Written that his students and I have always known was there. It is about time that he be honored for his brilliance.

Dickie will also be spending time in Chicago this summer writing curriculum for the nationwide Cristo Rey network. Hopefully students in other locales will now enjoy his methods and ideas but the reality is that Dickie Written is one of a kind, not to be reproduced. He, like Father Shane, has a charisma and a love for English that transcends the ordinary. For now it appears that the students at Cristo Rey will be the lucky recipients of his amazing teaching skills.

It does my heart good to know that a new generation of students is being delighted by a very special teacher. Just as Father Shane so inspired me fifty years ago I imagine that Dickie Written is reaching the hearts and minds of his students today.

Father Shane died many years ago but his reputation and spirit live on. I actually felt it when I entered his old classroom when I first began tutoring at Cristo Rey. I suspect that Dickie Written will be legendary as well. Long after he is gone there will be adults who will think back to moments in his class with the same joy and a sense of nostalgia that I have for Father Shane. I have to congratulate Dickie for holding fast to his beliefs and for loving his work as much as he so obviously does. He is one of the best in the business and I was lucky enough to be able watch him demonstrate his amazing gift .

Beloved of God

Published on June 6, 2016 by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

ali1 My early years at the University of Houston were marked by a highly charged political atmosphere. I was there during the height of the Vietnam War when young men the same age as I was had to register for the draft. Attending college gave them a temporary deferment as long as they were full time students, and made passing grades that allowed them to continue to progress toward a degree within a reasonable timeline. Back then the intensity and stress normally associated with the college experience was exacerbated by the threat of losing that deferment and being called to serve in the army. For many avoiding the draft was simply a matter of not wanting to be forced to serve. For others it was a matter of principle, namely that they did not want to participate in a war that they thought to be unwarranted and unjust. Others were strict pacifists who would not have wanted to fight under any circumstances.

The university was the site of protests and political speakers on a regular basis and for those of us who were against the war there was ample opportunity to meet with like-minded individuals to voice our concerns. I had analyzed the situation and found little reason for the United States to be involved in the conflict unfolding in Vietnam. It had begun as a civil war between opposing political factions and ideologies and the United States had originally only intended to provide support to the democratic government of the south. By 1968, however, our nation had become hopelessly mired in the fighting with our youth being sent a world away to a war whose purpose few really understood. By the time that I was a college student the country was hopelessly divided over the issue of whether or not we should be sending troops to Vietnam. The divisions would ultimately destroy the reputation of President Lyndon B. Johnson and show its ugliest side in riots at the 1968 Democrat convention in Chicago.

While my concerns about the political atmosphere of our country often outweighed my interest in my studies, I was only peripherally involved in the student efforts to voice our point of view. I knew many of the key players in the anti-war movement at school but mostly just attended meetings and went to hear speakers who came to our campus. I was particularly excited when I learned that members of the student government had secured a visit from Muhammed Ali and that he would speak at an informal gathering inside the Cougar Den. I knew that I had to be there.

Back then the Cougar Den was little more than a wooden shack nestled under a grove of trees to the left of the Ezekiel Cullen building. It was a dark, noisy, smoke-filled and always crowded room under the best of circumstances. On the day of Muhammad Ali’s visit it was a madhouse as students eagerly jammed inside hoping to get a glance of the greatest boxer in history. When a good friend and I arrived we realized that we would be lucky if we were even able to hear him speak much less actually see him. Fortunately fate intervened on our behalf. My friend was an incredibly beautiful and popular coed and as we were jockeying for a decent place to stand we encountered an officer of the Young Republican Club who had a huge crush on her. He offered to take us both upstairs to the organization’s headquarters where we might stand along the railing and watch the proceedings from a bird’s eye view. We eagerly followed him and the location proved to be perfect.

When Muhammad Ali entered the room a respectful hush fell over all of us. The mere sight of him was mesmerizing. Here was a man who had risked everything by refusing to be inducted into the army. With the famous words, “I got nothing against no Viet Cong” he had refused to step forward when his name was called to be drafted. His actions had resulted in the loss of his boxing title and the inability to fight in many places. He was threatened with five years in prison and had to pay a stiff fine. He would be involved in an appeal for the next many years, citing his Muslim religion as the reason for his pacifism. For some he was seen as a traitor but to those of us who believed that the war was wrong, he was a hero of the highest stature. On the day that I heard him speak he appeared to be godlike and was truly the greatest in my mind.

Muhammad Ali’s appeal would go all the way to the Supreme Court where his conviction would eventually be overturned. He was cleared to resume his boxing career and he went on to have a legendary career that is spoken of with reverence to this very day. His presence, his confidence and his style was unlike anything that the public had ever before seen. Even his detractors had to admit that he was an incredible man.

I was never a fan of boxing so I can’t say that I followed Muhammad Ali’s career very closely. I had uncles who loved to watch the matches that were broadcast on television but I was never interested. One of those uncles had gone to see George Foreman train here in Houston. I remember his unmitigated excitement when Foreman was slated to fight Ali in Manilla. He was convinced that it would be one of the best contests ever and it indeed became one of those sporting moments that boxing fans would never forget. In the searing heat Muhammad Ali pushed George Foreman to a state of exhaustion and then knocked the giant off of his feet to secure a victory that stunned the world.

I suppose that what I admired most about Muhammad Ali was his integrity. He was a man who lived the principles that were the foundation of his beliefs. He was unafraid to speak even when the truth was difficult. He was a warrior for social justice and a peaceful man. When Parkinson’s disease began to ravage his body he demonstrated courage and grace. I’ll never forget the moment when he carried the torch to light the Olympic flame at the games in Utah. He was already frail but he bravely ran up the ramp as though he were holding the light of the world for all of us. He was as beautiful as he had been when I saw him as a young lion those many years ago.

Muhammad Ali became an example and spokesman for those of us who are nameless. He never varied from his determination to make the world a more tolerant and peaceful place. From his days as Cassius Clay in Louisville, Kentucky to his most triumphant moments the public knew that he was indeed a remarkable man. At a time when a black man dared not speak out lest he be punished, Muhammad Ali refused to still his voice. He held his head high and reminded us that he was beautiful and great. He would proudly boast, “I am Muhammad Ali, a free name – it means beloved of God, and I insist people use it when people speak to me.”

Muhammad Ali was beloved, not just by God but by people the world over. He taught us the importance of faith, family and conviction. Now he may rest in peace. His battered body will hurt him no more. He is with God and moving like a butterfly in his heavenly home.