When someone passes who has been a historical figure, those of us who have been lucky enough to have met that person fondly recall our encounters.

Before I met Muhammad Ali, my first memory of him was following his boxing career when he fought with his birth name, Cassius Clay. His first heavy weight championship had Denver ties because he wanted to fight champion Sonny Liston who lived on Monaco Street in Denver. I had seen Sonny at the Horizon Bar and Lounge one night and I was struck by his height, weight and the size of his hands, which looked as large as a steam shovel that exacted dirt to build Denver International Airport.

Shortly after Sonny Liston agreed to fight Clay, Clay bought a bus with a banner that read, “Liston Must Go in Eight.” Clay, already known as “The Louisville Lip,” came in the bus to Denver, parked it on Sonny’s lawn and was screaming at him to come out and fight him. Sonny called the cops. Like most boxing fans, I thought Sonny and his enormous hands would kill Clay in the championship bout. But Clay shocked the world when he won after Liston quit in the seventh round.

When he changed his name to Muhammad Ali and refused to fight in Vietnam, I began to see Ali as more than an athlete. I admired his political stances and the way he carried himself as a black man. So, I was thrilled when I was working on President Jimmy Carter’s second campaign in 1980 and Ali was going to join me campaigning in Illinois.

I picked up Ali at O’Hare Airport in Chicago with a driver and his security guard in the front seat and Ali and I in the back seat. Then the fun began. Ali would tell the driver to slow down when we approached another car driven by an attractive woman. He’d roll down the window, smile at the woman and when she recognized him and started to roll down her window to speak, Ali would tell the driver to speed off. When he saw a group of kids he would ask the driver to stop and we got out and he would shadow box with the kids.

On the campaign trail, Ali said Carter “was the right white.” Only he could get away with that!

My other boxing memories of Ali include when he fought Joe Frazier the first time. My friend, Chuck Williams, and I went to a movie theater in downtown Denver to watch the broadcast of the fight. We both teared up when Ali lost because practically every black person was cheering for Ali while every white person in the theater was rooting for Frazier. We felt it as our personal loss.

I also learned from Denver’s own heavy weight champion Ron Lyle that Ali was a gracious competitor. When they boxed, Ron said Ali gave him a real shot to win. Ron held his own but the fight lasted one round too long with Ali once again the victor.

After I was elected mayor in 1991, Ali and his longtime photographer Howard Bingham visited me in my office. Ali was still the entertainer, doing magic tricks with false thumbs.

There’s no question Ali was “The Greatest” boxer of all time. But what also is unquestionable is his true greatness as a man.

He was never afraid of being himself. He was never ashamed of being black.

He was never reluctant to fight for his constitutional rights.

He was a great American.

May he rest in peace.