“The Rumble in the Jungle,” Closed Circuit TV
at Newark Symphony Hall, May 20, 1974

Muhammad Ali’s and George Foreman’s boxing match in Kinshasa, Zaire on May 20, 1974, is among my most memorable visits to Newark Symphony Hall. In those days, when closed circuit broadcasts of major sports events were available in public domains, Symphony Hall was such a place in Newark. I remember the evening as if it were yesterday. The Hall was packed, mostly with young and middle-aged black men, except for the small contingent of my white faculty colleagues from Rutgers who accompanied me. Like me, they were rooting for Ali over Foreman.

There was a palpable excitement in the grand auditorium, as most of the assembled wanted Ali to prevail over the more favored Foreman. The pre-fight hype only added to the excitement and, I now remember, to the anxiety. What would the world look like if Ali lost the fight, which was the first major heavy weight boxing match in Africa, the home of my forebears? It was more than a fight; it was an important moment in modern African and African American history.

The main auditorium, where the closed circuit broadcast was set up, was a beehive of frivolity, style, and tension. I remember feeling as if I was at a very important event and indeed I was. The assembled had no idea what would happen. Would Ali, then a metaphor for black male defiance, elegance under pressure and sheer athletic talent, prevail over George Foreman, who in the minds of many in auditorium was, quite simply, a brute? At the time, we didn’t know.

Early on in the fight, as I recall the second round, the screen went blank. The audience went from stunned to angry, understandably so. I was angry, too. My white colleagues were, shall we say, concerned: “Clem, what is going on? I don’t know,” I said, “but I sure hope the feed comes back soon.”

It did, just as it became certain that Ali was putting in place one of the greatest strategies in history of boxing, Ali’s rope a dope. Toward the end of the fight, in the eighth round, George Forman’s formidable strengths gave way to Ali’s cunning expertise. Foreman punched himself out and Ali knocked him to the canvass. The audience roared its approval, brotherly hugs all ‘round. It was one of the happiest moments of my life. My Rutgers colleagues, who probably had never been in a predominantly black audience before, where equally ecstatic and, perhaps, relieved that the evening turned out so well.

Newark Symphony Hall is a space for such memories, those enriched by the pivotal events that give meaning to our lives spent amidst our fellow citizens having fun, enjoying the rituals of public life.

I was a young child, and every Saturday during the Children's Concert series my mother would take a group of us (my classmates for a music experience through the Kearney Elementary School) to "the Mosque."

She was a great patron of the arts, and she was also very strict. We always had to dress up (circa 1956 for a few years) in fine clothes, we could not talk during a performance, we could not leave the theater -- even for the bathroom unless we were ill -- and we were NEVER allowed to eat in the theater! Once the performance was over, we could buy all the junk food we wanted, and eat it in the car on the way home. I always bought a Sugar Daddy pop! It was a splendid time in my life. I hope the other grown and old children remember the same experience. I have never forgotten those lessons, and am truly disappointed in the lost manners for concerts. Now, when we go, everyone is in whatever they want to wear - mostly casual clothes, people chew on things and rattle papers, people talk loudly over the music, and children are up and down throughout the performances. Oh, for the good old days of respect.

I mostly remember how beautiful the building was, how special I felt to be at the concert, and how amazing live music sounded. It carved my way through life.