Muhammad Ali wasn’t always widely admired

One of my favorite teachers in high school, Arnold Brix, used to inject controversial current events into the daily lessons about U.S. history. One question I remember in particular: Is Muhammad Ali a traitor or hero for refusing to serve in the Army?

It’s surprising to me today that, back then, the class was ambivalent about that. Opposition to the Vietnam War had not reached full steam in the spring of 1967, and Ali’s refusal to be inducted into the draft was seen by many Americans as an act of cowardice, not the principled stand it is portrayed as now.

This also was before the full Ali persona had evolved. He was heavyweight champion of the world and acknowledged as a brilliant fighter, but he had only recently converted to the Muslim faith and the white sporting establishment was reluctant – if not downright hostile – about calling him by his adopted name instead of Cassius Clay – which Ali referred to as his “slave name.”

“Why shouldn’t he be drafted like everyone else?” some of my classmates asked. “He shouldn’t get any special treatment just because he’s a famous athlete.”

But Mr. Brix, a compelling, combative, wiry guy with a heavy New York accent, was adept at deflating our preconceived assumptions.

“What does he stand to gain?” our teacher asked. “If he’s drafted, he won’t be stationed anywhere near the front lines. He’ll go around entertaining the troops with boxing demonstrations, and he’ll be home in a year or so.”

Brix, a World War II navy veteran, pointed out that Ali would pay a horrendous price for refusing to be drafted because of his religious beliefs. And he was right – Ali was stripped of his title, convicted of draft evasion, sentenced to five years in prison, fined $10,000 and banned from boxing for three years.

He stayed out of prison as his case was appealed and, that same year, the U.S. Supreme Court overturned his conviction for evading the draft. But he didn’t return to the ring until 1970.

Because of his unwavering assertion that “I ain’t got no quarrel with those Vietcong,” he sacrificed three of the prime years of his boxing career during which he undoubtedly could have made millions of dollars. But it’s a decision he apparently never regretted.

Many of the homilies for Ali, who died a week ago at age 74 after a long battle with Parkinson’s disease, seemed to imply that the public admired his refusal to be drafted from the start. Not so. He was reviled by many as a draft dodger, even as someone who aided and abetted the enemy.

Many found his conversion to Islam, and his close association with his mentor, Malcolm X, to be both alien and threatening. And Ali didn’t entirely shy away from the notion that he was different from the more mainstream, nonviolent civil rights leaders of the day, such as Martin Luther King Jr. and Ralph David Abernathy Sr.

Ali also pointedly distanced himself from other revered black boxers, such as Joe Louis, whom he saw as too accommodating to the white establishment. Ali, by contrast, could seem dangerous both inside and outside the ring.

But that was just one side of the man who declared himself “The Greatest” and then lived up to that self-bestowed title, ultimately becoming the most recognizable man in the world. In the course of his life, he demonstrated that, in addition to being a great boxer, he also was a showman, a poet, a deft comedian, as well as a seriously caring, generous and religious man.

No one would ever say his boxing talents were beside the point; he was an unparalleled athlete first and foremost. But that was just part of the mix that elevated him to global fame and universal adoration.

Ali, after he quit boxing and as his disease ravaged him, became more embraceable. It was easy to forget the younger, angrier, more threatening Ali.

But we shouldn’t succumb to hazy nostalgia. Ali became “The Greatest” in large part because he stood up to the white sporting establishment, stood up for his religious beliefs, and stood up to all comers in the ring until age finally took its toll.

Ali became a cuddly goodwill ambassador in his later years. But he wasn’t always that way – and ignoring the younger Ali would diminish him.

This story was originally published June 9, 2016 at 2:12 PM with the headline "Muhammad Ali wasn’t always widely admired."