When “Buck White,” a musical by Oscar Brown, Jr. and produced by Zev Buffman, opened on Broadway in December of 1969, there were picketers protesting outside the theater while the mood inside was tense and uncertain.The reason: the show marked the stage debut of Muhammad Ali, in the title role of a political black activist and messiah who’d come to free his people of their slave legacy.The run of “Buck White” on Broadway was brief, only seven performances, and served as little but a theatrical footnote in the colorful and heroic life of Ali, who died on June 3 at the age of 74. The effusive tributes and remembrances that poured in from around the world marked the passing of an American original who brought a distinctively theatrical passion to everything that he did inside and outside the ring. Indeed, it was what had made the sports legend such a beloved figure.Ali, however, was far from beloved when, in early 1969, Buffman suggested the idea of the athlete starring in a Broadway musical. Two years earlier, the heavyweight champion, then a follower of the Nation of Islam, had taken a principled religious stand not to be inducted into the military and was not only stripped of his boxing titles but also convicted for his pacifist refusal. His anti-war stance alienated a large segment of the American public then in the midst of the punishing conflict in Vietnam.Buffman, reached at his home in Florida, recalled, “We all knew that Ali’s participation in ‘Buck White’ could lead to some backlash but for the first time in my life, I received death threats, we had to rehearse the show at a secret location, and I had to engage a security detail.”The very idea of a boxer making a musical Broadway debut might have struck anyone else as somewhat outlandish. But Buffman was then a bold and maverick producer who’d presented Dustin Hoffman in “Jimmy Shine” and had a hit with the rock musical, “Your Own Thing.” In late 1968, he also produced an off-Broadway drama, “Big Time Buck White,” by Joseph Dolan Tuotti, which had been inspired by the Los Angeles Watts riots in 1965. During its run at the 99-seat theater, the cast had a frequent visitor: Muhammad Ali.He was “lonesome and lost at the time,” living in a flea bag hotel with his second wife and baby, his money going to alimony and to a team of lawyers fighting his conviction, says Buffman. “Then one night backstage after a performance, he picked up a guitar and starting improvising with that flair for rhyme he had. He sang ‘We came in chains…’ He had a pleasant voice, not a huge range, but he was hypnotizing and that was the first time I’d heard rap.”Later that week, Buffman asked Ali that if he were to hire Oscar Brown, Jr., and his wife Jean Pace to write a score for the show, would he be interested in starring in it? He simply responded, “Is there any money in it?”In order for Buffman to get Ali to sign his contract, he first had to fly to Chicago to get the approval of Elijah Muhammad, the leader of the Nation of Islam. The producer wryly notes, “They were happy with the $5,000 per week I was paying Ali, which was then top dollar for a star on Broadway.”The producer says that Ali threw himself into rehearsals with the tenacity, discipline, and focus as if he were approaching the fight of his life. “It permeated the entire company,” recalls Buffman. “There was no smoking, drinking, or profanity allowed. These were tough kids who were in the play and Ali turned them into monks. But Ali’s warnings to them were always done in the sweetest, softest voice.”Omnipresent at rehearsals and at the theater were members of the Nation of Islam, who acted as Ali’s bodyguards. “We called them ‘the suits,’” says the producer. “But Ali couldn’t have cared less about the protests and pickets. He brushed them off.”Given the heated environment, the musical had only one preview when it was typical to have a week of performances, at least, before opening. Buffman recalls that at the sole preview, the audience was electrified by Ali’s entrance from the back of the theater and for the rest of the night, he had them in the palm of his hand. “What Elijah was to Ali, Buck White was to the audience — it was a role he was born to play, a charismatic preacher, a visionary, a leader. He played it every bit as though he was the Second Coming and the audience was on its feet at the end.”The opening night, however, was a different story. “The charisma and brilliance had faded, Ali simply wasn’t there,” says Buffman. “I came backstage afterwards and asked him if he was okay. Ali said, ‘It was strange, man. I’ve never had to do this before. I get ready for a fight, I do the fight, and that’s it. I don’t have to do it the next night. The energy and focus wasn’t there. I’m so sorry.’”The reviews were mixed to negative. Although Ali had by that time ditched his “slave name,” Cassius Clay, he was still billed as such in the program. Thus, Clive Barnes, the all-powerful critic of the New York Times, wrote, “How is Mr. Clay? He emerges as a modest, naturally appealing man, he sings with a pleasantly slightly impersonal voice, acts without embarrassment and moves with innate dignity.” Barnes was downbeat about the musical itself. The show swiftly closed.“Blacks were intimidated by the controversy and didn’t come, whites thought it was dangerous,” says Buffman. “But for that one sterling preview, which I will never forget, I got to see Ali at his most incredible. It was one of the most divine experiences of my life.”
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