The Philippines marked yesterday, Oct. 1, the 50th anniversary of one of the most iconic events in boxing history: the “Thrilla in Manila” heavyweight match between Muhammad Ali and Joe Frazier held on Oct. 1, 1975 at the Araneta Coliseum, Quezon City.

President Ferdinand Marcos, Jr., has even directed government agencies to support a nationwide celebration from Oct. 26 to 31, highlighting a sporting milestone that put the Philippines on the global stage.

While many can only speak about Ali through historical accounts, mine is based on personal one-on-one encounter with “The Greatest” for two solid hours. This happened on Sept. 22, 1975, just before the legendary fight.

In 1975, I was a second-year law student at the University of the East in Manila and working as a Veterans Counselor at the United States Veterans Administration. I didn't know anyone in Ali’s entourage or any of the fight sponsors. Yet, I was armed with a secret weapon: a very old scrapbook.

My collection contained photos and articles about Ali dating back to the 1960s when he was still known as Cassius Clay. I knew that even a brief glimpse of the man who was arguably the most popular and recognizable person in the world at the time would be exhilarating. I was determined to get his autograph.

Around three o’clock in the afternoon on that memorable September day, I went to the Manila Hilton Hotel where Ali was billeted. Security was relaxed enough that a simple request led me to Atty. Albert Grifin, Ali's lawyer. I politely requested a meeting for an autograph. Grifin was apologetic, saying it was Ali's rest day and no one was allowed in his room.

Unyielding in my pursuit of that elusive autograph, I was persistent and asked Grifin to at least just show Ali the scrapbook. My persistence paid off. Grifin agreed and asked me to wait in the waiting area of the Presidential Suite—the “Top of the Hilton” where Ali was staying.

After about five anxious minutes, Grifin came out of the room, practically running, and shouted, “Hey, guy, the Champ wanna’ see yah.” He was happy for me and hurried me along, saying, “Your scrapbook is with him, come on before he changes his mind.”

As we walked into the room, I saw Ali, sitting on a couch and looking in our direction. He simply asked, “Is he the guy?”

I was left alone with Muhammad Ali. He stood up, extended his right hand, and shook mine. His huge hand practically engulfed mine; he was more than six feet tall, while I am only 5'4.” He invited me to sit.

He told me he deeply appreciated my collection. “This is authentic,” he said. He explained it was the first time he'd seen a collection like this, done when he was just a struggling challenger still known as Cassius Clay, not just compiled because fans knew he was coming to town.

The word “authentic” instantly validated my effort. He repeatedly used this word to describe my collection, a sincere appreciation for the effort I had made years before he reached his peak popularity.

When I requested for his autograph, he did not only give me one; he signed about seven of my clippings that he liked most. At that moment, I felt like I was “floating like a butterfly.”

But the incredible experience didn't end with the autographs. Since it was only about three in the afternoon, and my class wasn't until six, he invited me to see a movie with him. Since at that time there were no modern players like VHS or CD yet, he personally set up an 8mm film projector with episodes from the Lee Marvin Series, “The Lawbreaker.” We sat together on the carpet and watched about four installments. He mentioned he only watched crime movies and cartoons.

What made the moment truly unforgettable was his kindness. Every so often, Ali would stand up, get juice, chocolates and biscuits, and serve them to me. Imagine—for many, a mere glimpse of Ali was already an incredible experience, but here I was, having a movie and snacks served by the Champ himself – an act of his humility that left me utterly stunned. I was with him for two solid hours.

When it was time to leave, he asked why I hadn't brought a camera. I confessed I never expected to meet him personally. Immediately, he called for Grifin and instructed him to ensure I met him in his dressing room after his Sunday training at the Folk Arts Theater. This, with his heavyweight title match just days away, was a clear demonstration of his kindness and caring heart.

That Sunday, I was the only fan Ali allowed to enter his dressing room at the Folk Arts Theater. And there, Grifin took our picture together.

I have since shared this personal experience with hundreds of friends, including our own boxing icon, Manny “Pacman” Pacquiao.

On my 61st birthday in 2008, Pacquiao visited my home and I showed him the scrapbook with Ali's original signatures. “This album is older than me,” he exclaimed, fascinated and amazed.

My story is one of an unknown fan who had no prior connections, but because of an authentic collection, was accommodated by “The Greatest” with an open heart. Ali's former wife, Lonnie, once said he was “gentle and caring with a heart purer than any I’ve ever known,” and the way he treated me confirms that perfect description.

Even in 1996, battling Parkinson’s disease, Ali showed that enduring spirit when he lit the Olympic urn—his right hand holding the torch steady while his left hand shook. How I wish I could still shake his hand, even his shaking hand. But, sad to say, I know it will never happen again.

Ali passed away on June 3, 2016. Though he may remain a legend for the new generation, for me, he will always be real. That face-to-face meeting with him for two hours was truly one of a kind. That one-on-one encounter 50 years ago was, and always will be, The Greatest.

(Romulo B. Macalintal is an election lawyer based in Las Piñas City.)