In 1990, Mary Frances Anderson, then working in the Accounting Department of The Day, went to her 30th class reunion in Louisville, Ky., and rekindled her friendship with a well-known classmate. On July 8, 1990 The Day published her account of that meeting and her recollections of that classmate, Muhammad Ali. On the occasion of the champ's recent passing, we share with our readers excerpts from that 1990 guest commentary.

My heart pounded as I walked through the doors to my 30th class reunion. It was the first I had attended since graduating in 1960 from Central High School in Louisville, Ky. I hardly recognized anyone as I looked around the hotel ballroom, searching for familiar faces.

Suddenly, a loud roar diverted my attention and I turned to see a face I would recognize anywhere I had seen this face for years on television, in newspapers and on countless magazine covers.

It was Muhammad Ali, also known as Cassius Marcellus Clay. He had finally come home to his class reunion.

I was so overwhelmed I could barely speak. He was 43 years old and beautiful; heavier, slower, but still gorgeous.

Considering everything — including a battle with Parkinson’s disease — he looked great. In fact, he looked younger than a lot of the men in attendance that night. His mind was sharp enough that he recognized me instantly even though we had not seen each other in 20 years.

When we embraced, Ali said, “Mary Frances, I always loved you.”

“I know,” I said, “and I always said you wouldn’t make a dime.”

“I know,” Ali answered with that sly grin he’s always had.

We had made similar comments to each other all through high school. How wrong I was.

I watched Ali and listened very carefully. He looked so happy to be there, so at home: He even did a few magic tricks. He didn’t do a lot of walking around or table-hopping. When he walked, it was almost in slow motion. He chose his words carefully and spoke in a slow, soft tone.

He was home with friends who loved him and grew up with him.

This man had achieved so much during his life. He lived in mansions. He had been in the company of royalty and presidents. People all over the world wanted to touch him.

I look at Ali and see a survivor.

I can also see Ali shadow-boxing through the hallways of Central High (when we were fellow students), telling me how he was going to be rich and famous someday.

“Just wait and see,” he said. He also suggested that we marry. But Ali always joked like that — we were friends but never dated. I don’t remember him dating anyone in high school.

He was afraid of airplanes. We cheerleaders conducted a pep rally in his honor when our principal, Woodrow Wilson, said Ali had threatened to withdraw from the Olympic trials because of his fear of flying. But Mr. Wilson persuaded Ali to go, and he won the gold medal.

As part of his training, Ali would run alongside the city bus every morning for many blocks as it made its way to school from the western Louisville working-class neighborhood where he lived. We would raise the windows and yell, “Run, Cassius. Run, Cassius.”

Ali had a close relationship with a prominent boxer in Louisville, who was married with children and was getting a lot of press. His name was Rudell Stitch. His future looked bright, and Ali looked up to this fine man.

Thirty years ago, while fishing, Rudell tried (unsuccessfully) to save someone from drowning, and drowned himself. The next day was our baccalaureate ceremony, and we were much surprised when Ali attended. I’ll never forget the look of sorrow, shock and disbelief on his face. I’ve never heard Ali speak about this and over the years, I’ve often wondered why.

When Ali flunked the Army examination and was excused the draft, people accused him of failing intentionally. I never believed he did. Ali was not stupid; he just had not been properly educated. During our senior year he was traveling and training so much that his education became secondary. No way were the school and the principal going to hinder his boxing career.

I remember when they thrust Ali into my English class to help him catch up by cramming. We thought this was ridiculous, and so unfair to him. All of us in this class were members of the National Honor Society, so how was he going to catch up with us if he was already below average?

Despite his academic problems, he was graduated. But thank God he had plenty of common sense and superb boxing abilities.

Ali was never loud or boisterous — comical, yes — but rather shy at times. I was flabbergasted when I saw his face on the cover of Sports Illustrated, with his mouth wide open and the caption reading, “The Louisville Lip.”

I was in the Navy and had not kept up with his career. Cassius was on the way.

Ali’s loud boasting and predicting the round in which he would knock out an opponent; the “float like a butterfly, sting like a bee’ braggadocio; the clowning for the crowds and cameras — it was all an act. And he gave a great performance.

I would truly have enjoyed Ali’s show if only it had been a little shorter. And a little less damaging.

Retired from The Day, Mary Frances Anderson now lives in Georgia, just outside of Atlanta.