If you are lucky in life you will experience a few scrapbook weekends: They are the times that are so magical you paste them in your mind and relive them to make you smile and realize life does not always suck. Lucky me, I have had several.

The death of Muhammad Ali this week had me relive a precious day.

I was in Chicago doing an appearance with Ruth Warrick (Phoebe, "All My Children"). We were staying at the fabled Ambassador Hotel. Everybody who was anybody dined at their famous Pump Room. And if you were really somebody, you got to sit at table one. From Frank Sinatra to Mick Jagger to several presidents, many famous elbows graced that table over the years.

Steak Diane was prepared tableside. Kings and queens devoured princely desserts such as bananas Foster and crepe Suzette.

Even a nobody like me could sit at the table if you were with a somebody. And Ruth Warrick was certainly a somebody. As we were in the midst of some flambe dish, the maitre d' came to the table. He plugged in a telephone. (Before cellphones, swanky venues would bring phones to diners' tables and connect them to callers.) After hanging up, a smiling Warrick said, "We have been summoned by the greatest." Being very shy and not the most attractive (that is for another column), I just wanted to stay at the table. I did now know who the "greatest" was, but I knew I would be greatly intimidated. In typical Warrick style, she said, "You are coming. He invited the table — not just me."

The "greatest" turned out to be Muhammad Ali. I have never been a boxing fan. I did appreciate his stance on Vietnam (refused to go). Standing next to him I realized he was right: He was the prettiest thing that ever lived. I tried to blend in with a nearby post. Like Warrick he would have none of it.

Striding up to me he smiled, held out his massive hands and asked, "Where are you from?" I responded "Cleveland," His eyes lit up. "I have property in Cleveland." I realized he was talking about a strip mall that I went to many times as a kid. It housed a department store called Robert Hall. It was a place to get cheap back-to-school clothes. Its slogan was "Robert Hall this season." It touted great prices for students' clothes as it had "low overhead."

When I met Ali it had no overhead. It had shut down several years before — aside from a tobacco shop, the mall was desolate.

The area where it stood was in a part of the city that had gone from great to not-so-great. "What should I do with it?" The prettiest, greatest man of the hour was asking me what to do with it? It was small talk, of course. I thought I should answer. "The area needs some work. A rec center for the kids in the area would be wonderful."

His death this weekend had me pulling out my scrapbook and remembering how the greatest man made the not-so-greatest feel great for a day.

To find out more about Lynda Hirsch and read features by other Creators Syndicate writers and cartoonists, visit the Creators Syndicate web page at www.creators.com.

Photo credit: