The change in temperature was like stepping into bright sunlight after having been submerged in a cave. The oppressive heat of an August evening along the Ohio seemed to suck the breath right out of your lungs. Suzi steadied herself on my arm as we negotiated the pyramid of steps that descended from the Performing Arts Center to Main Street some distance below. We reached the sidewalk and headed east towards Fourth Street and its nightlife there.
The evening was still young as we strolled along, taking in the sights and sounds of the city at night. I unbuttoned my jacket and removed my tie before I suffocated as we moved along. We talked about the show and I had to admit I had been pleasantly surprised by it. Not being much of a dance fan, I found the presentation of “Tap Dogs” to be quite the spectacle in its contemporary way. The evening had turned out to be quite enjoyable.
I held the door open for Suzi as she stepped inside O’Hara’s Café. It wasn’t late but it wasn’t early either and most of the evenings diners had come and gone, probably on to one of the many nightspots along the mall for music and dancing. But I knew, at least for Suzi, no trip to Louisville would be complete without a piece of O’Hara’s Derby Pie. She had discovered it on our first visit here and simply would not go home without a taste.
We were promptly seated and ordered our desserts and coffee and sat watching the people pass by several feet from us through the large tinted plate-glass window, oblivious to our presence there. The waiter brought our food and coffee and we had just settled in to take our repast when the place suddenly filled with people.
A corps of service providers seemed to appear from out of thin air to surround the group of thirty or so people who had become the focus of attention in the middle of the large dining room. Even John O’Hara, the owner of the establishment, was there fluttering about, reaching over the backs of some to shake hands with others more towards the center of activities.
Somehow, I couldn’t help but watch Suzi as she watched the commotion beside us there. I felt a smile touch the corners of my eyes as I watched the excitement spill over from the tables next to us and onto her. Her lips had formed a tight ‘O’ and her brown doe-eyes were wide as they batted and flashed and tried to catch a peek at who had garnered so much attention. Her innocence and excitement always tickle me when the country girl meets the big city. This moment alone was worth the trip. I tapped her foot with mine under the table to get her attention. Startled back to reality, she whispered across the table,
“Who is it, David? Who is it?”
“I dunno,” I said. “Probably some crooked politician or a gangster. You never can tell in this town.”
I turned my head to the right and looked across the room at the crowded tables. Almost as if on cue, several of the group leaned in opposite directions at once and sitting at the far end of the tables pushed together there, I saw him. Our eyes met and I thought how old he looked now, much more so than the last time I saw him. I seriously doubt if he remembered seeing me before but I never forgot seeing him.
It had been some thirty years ago and I was passing through town on leave before going to my next duty station. My friend Gary had come to pick me up at the airport and we were headed upstairs to the Luau Room for a couple of drinks before we headed out on the town. If Gary had not pointed him out, I would have walked right past the guy without giving him a good glance. He was standing at the bottom of the stairs, off to the side and kind of back under them, out of sight to not draw much attention to himself. He was dressed in a dark conservative suit with a power tie and out of the corner of my eye he registered as one of several thousand other businessmen passing through Standiford Field that day.
“Look,” Gary said under his breath, nodding in the direction of the man now partially below and off to the side of us as we climbed the stairs. As I looked, his faced raise in my direction and our eyes met. I nodded, he nodded and smiled and I went on up the stairs. I think what really stuck out in my mind was his humility and humbleness. He almost seemed embarrassed by my recognition and his eyes quietly asked for me to keep his secret. I honored his wish and never spoke a word.
Tonight his eyes held the same gentleness that they did way back then, even though they were housed in a trembling face on a trembling head. Once again we exchanged solemn nods between two old warriors. Me, the worn out old soldier and he, “The Greatest.”
I remembered him as Cassius Clay, the young whirlwind who dominated the Olympics back in the 60’s and who destroyed Sonny Liston to become heavyweight champion of the world. Even now, he is probably the most recognized face on the planet. Through all of his greatness, he never forgot his humble beginnings in this river town. And this town never forgot him either: naming streets after him and even a Center bearing his name.
“Muhammad Ali,” I told Suzi. “That's who all the fuss is over.”
“Oh,” she said, seemingly disappointed. I guess she had been hoping for Pachino or Cruise or someone else. But then, she never saw him, “float like a butterfly, sting like a bee.”
Copyright © 2007 Mike Lawson
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