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The clumsy Black Panther, in full regalia, accidentally stomped on my foot in the front row of the theater balcony.
I was the one who apologized. And an Irish priest laughed at me, as we surveyed both levels of the theater, filled with Panthers in full uniforms and the White priest who was their spiritual adviser.
Of course, there were those three White kids who had somehow crashed their obvious Black Panther New Year's Eve celebration, thanks to a car malfunction. We were already in our seats when the Panthers marched into the theater, in formation, most smiling, looking forward to the film. I can't claim a lack of apprehension.
That event was part of the first thought, a memory, really, that came to me when I heard that James Earl Jones had died. I've told the story before, and sometimes, as life's haze comes and goes, it varies. But it is very true, regardless.
It was New Year's Eve in 1970, when we had a bit of car trouble just south of the Loop in downtown Chicago.
My brother, Eric, our friend Gene Chapman, and I were going downtown to take part in the State-Lake celebration welcoming 1971, when something went wrong with the faded-bronze Mustang with the cheap sparkling wine on ice in the trunk.
Looking for help, we lurched south on State Street, getting into an increasingly sketchy section of town, when we finally spotted a Shell station -- back then there were mechanics, with full-scale bays and lifts at every gas station. This was long before corporations decided it would be cheaper for them if we'd pump our own gas.
A couple of mechanics took a quick look at the car. Nothing serious, we were told, but it would be a couple of hours. So we decided to leave the car and go catch a movie while it was repaired. The closest theater, I can't remember the name, was playing "The Great White Hope," the fictionalized account of the struggles and triumphs of great boxing champ Jack Johnson.
The movie house was just a couple blocks .. or maybe a dozen ... toward downtown.
We'd been wanting to see the movie, as I was a great boxing and social justice "fan" (probably not the right word, but this is one-take writing), so Muhammad Ali was one of my heroes. There were slight parallels between my favorite boxer and James Earl Jones' character, Jack Jefferson. And the play that begat the movie was loosely based on the life of great and controversial boxing legend, Jack Johnson.
It was the perfect tale for the Muhammad Ali era.
This night south of the Loop, as we stepped cautiously through territory where we were unfamiliar and obviously alien, came three years after Ali was stripped of his championship title for refusing to be drafted. "Why should they ask me to put on a uniform and go 10 thousand miles from home and drop bombs and bullets on brown people in Vietnam while so-called Negro people in Louisville (his hometown) are treated like dogs and denied simple human rights?" he asked. He lost peak fighting years before Americans, Black and White, and most -- even veterans -- realized stripping a guy of his title doesn't mean war is over (if you want it). The penalty was unjust.
I spent time with Ali on three different occasions over the years, one of the fortunes of being a newspaperman, back when newspapers existed.
But this little, top-of-my head, one-take anecdote sparked by the death of a great actor isn't about Muhammad Ali.
It's about James Earl Jones who died September 9, 2024, and the night a half-century-plus before when he became one of my favorite actors, even though I was in a room filled with Black Panthers, one of whom had accidentally crushed my right toe with his combat boots.
Jones' Jack Jefferson was, as noted, based on the tale of Jack Johnson, the incredible Black prizefighter in the early quarter of the last century. The first Black heavyweight champion, he was an empowering symbol of freedom shoved in Jim Crow's face. Promoters searched high and low for someone to beat him in the ring. Not just any someone, but a White guy. .. "The Great White Hope" of the title.
James J. Jeffries, a former and very White champ, was lured by society and racist sportswriters to come out of retirement to be that hope. He threw in the towel in the 15th round. The controversial Black guy won. Violence erupted among the races, in celebration and in denial.
It was hubris, his flaunting his love of White women and the Mann Act that eventually did Jack Johnson/Jack Jefferson in. I'm not going to go into details, as you should read about Johnson yourselves or at least see James Earl Jones portray that towering and glowering and flamboyant and violent figure in the fictionalized account.
The film scored poorly at the box office and received less-than-lukewarm reviews. But I found it amazing when I watched it on that New Year's Eve with hundreds of Black Panthers, including the one who stomped on my foot to set the tone for the night.
The celluloid tale of a Black man dictating his own course, generally unbowed by Jim Crow, probably wasn't really successful because a lot of White people had yet to come to terms with Muhammad Ali and we still were far from a nation of equality. Are we there now? You decide. The almost universal love for Ali is perhaps an indicator. And so are the colors of skin in pop culture, network news and in politics.
I don't know the sociological answers nor claim any Carnak the Magnificent insight.
I'm talking, after all, about a movie. And a dead actor.
Yes, it was a controversial movie, and I didn't like being stomped by the Black Panther.
But the film pretty much launched James Earl Jones to the point where his death leads the network news. Of course, it's not just his acting. His voice, that of Darth Vader, Alex Haley and Mufassa in "The Lion King," also contributed to the love of this actor. And, of course, there was his dignity that truly was the best part of "Field of Dreams."
Who has been untouched by his portrayal of a blind former ballplayer in "The Sandlot?"
He was a Black face who helped Slim Pickens end the world in "Dr. Strangelove."
Back to "The Great White Hope" 54 years ago, as seen in a theater filled with uniformed Black Panthers and one Irish priest and three young, White guys.
It was a tale of discrimination and of Black empowerment, all wrapped up in fight scenes and love scenes and hate scenes.
I can't remember the name of the theater. And while I cheered for the Jones character for real, I likely would have at least feigned support for him as I sat in the middle of this well-dressed army.
I remember how moved I was by the performance. I remember ambiguous feelings toward the massive Black fighter and how the movie ended. That's as it should be, by the way.
I've seen "The Great White Hope'' a few times since, and I love James Earl Jones' Hollywood breakthrough performance. I'll always look forward to hearing his voice and seeing his majestic screen presence as long as movies exist.
But when he died, I thought not about Mufasa or Vader, but about my seat in the front of the balcony, and the Panther who accidentally stomped on my foot as he went for popcorn.
"Excuse me," I said. "I'm sorry."
The Panther smiled, knowing that I was not the one to apologize, but I'm sure knowing why I did.
The Irish priest slapped me on the knee and laughed.
The big Black Panther returned with his popcorn and took great care not to stomp on my foot.
"I'm sorry," he said. "Don't want to step on you again."
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