December 6, 2025: Theatre Yesterday and Today, by Ron Fassler.

Fifty-six years ago today, after a one-week run at the now forgotten and unmourned George Abbott Theatre on West 54th Street, a musical called Buck White gave its 7th and final performance. A week earlier, I had attended a Sunday matinee preview paying $2.90 for the privilege of sitting in the last row (I was twelve years old).

This was my initial visit to the Abbott, named for the legendary director, which throughout its forty-two years of existence was never any producer's idea of a first- choice venue. It was a minimally attractive theatre in a maximally undesirable location at the upper end of the theatre district, closer to Sixth Avenue than to Seventh, in which a history of name changes factored towards its identity crisis. It went through seven in total: the Craig, Adelphi, and even the plain old 54th Street Theatre, among them. During certain periods, it wasn't a legit theater at all, such as in 1940, when it was renamed the Radiant Center, the home of the Royal Fraternity of Master Metaphysicians, where "religious entertainments" were presented. And, in its briefest shot at immortality, it was used solely as a television studio in 1955 for Jackie Gleason, Art Carney and company to perform and shoot all thirty-nine episodes of The Honeymooners—still in syndication today seventy years later. Though there should have been a plaque honoring this historical highlight, it would have been reduced to rubble along with the entire structure when it was torn down to make way for an expansion of the Hilton Hotel.

But back to Buck White, which was based on a half-comedic/half-serious play by Joseph Dolan Tuoti, which concerns a meeting of a group of Black radicals fighting for social justice. A white actor and writer, Dolan workshopped it with Ron Rich, a Black actor and producer who had gained some recent fame as Luther “Boom Boom” Jackson in the Billy Wilder’s comedy The Fortune Cookie. Rich developed the play further with a Los Angeles production, then opened it off-Broadway on December 8, 1968, where it ran for 129 performances. Hard to believe it could be this fast, but by December 2, 1969, a musical version of it had been workshopped and on its way to Broadway. Oscar Brown Jr., a songwriter recorded by Nina Simone and Mahalia Jackson, wrote the book, music, and lyrics and co-directed with his wife, Jean Pace. This amounted to his only Broadway credit and though Brown tried his hand at a few off-Broadway musicals over the course of his long career, none were successful.

The chief incentive to get Buck White to Broadway was the sudden availability of someone to play the title role: Muhammad Ali, heavyweight champion of the world and one of the most charismatic figures in all of sports. But by 1969, Ali's career was in tatters. With the Viet Nam war at the height of its controversial protests among America’s draft-age youth, Ali had found himself in deep water. When called to duty, he cited his 1964 conversion to Islam and asked to be excused from service as a conscientious objector. Convicted in court of draft evasion, he was sentenced on June 20, 1967, to five years in prison, stripped of his title, and banned from boxing. His stance was purely a matter of principle as Ali would never have had to handle a gun or do any fighting. He would have put in public appearances and worked with soldiers as a morale booster. But still, this was something due to his religious convictions that he couldn't and wouldn't do.

Badly in need of work, Ali had legal fees, alimony, and all sorts of mounting bills with no means of making a living at what he did best. This is how one of the greatest athletes of his time wound up a stranger in a strange land—and on Broadway, of all places. And not merely taking on an acting role, but a singing one as well. But maybe this wasn't as crazy an idea as you think if you give a listen to Ali, here in 1964, singing the Ben E. King hit, "Stand by Me" (words and music by King, Jerry Leiber and Mike Stoller). This was from an album he recorded called "I Am the Greatest," released prior to winning the world heavyweight championship and before converting to Islam and changing his name to Muhammad Ali.

Buck White's "Original Cast Album on Buddha Records," advertised on its poster, never materialized. So, you might think Ali’s singing voice in the show was only heard by the few thousand people that bought tickets, right? Think again.

The millions of viewers who tuned in regularly to CBS's running and highly popular TV variety program, The Ed Sullivan Show, were in for a special treat on Sunday January 18, 1970. The day before, Ali had turned twenty-eight; now he’d be making his television debit as a singer.

And let’s hear it for the late, great Ed Sullivan, allowing a number from a defunct Broadway musical to air on his popular program. He had promised Buck White a time slot thinking the show would still be running in January, but by now it had been closed for over a month. And yet, Sullivan made sure Ali & Company were still invited to appear. A man of his word, it didn’t matter to him that Buck White held no promotional value anymore. Sure, it was questionable if it held entertainment value, but why not decide for yourself?

And since Buck White was among the first forty or so shows I saw (yes, by twelve I'd already seen that many), I was still in the habit of going backstage. There was no way I was going to miss out meeting Muhammad Ali and I probably met my personal best racing from the top of the balcony to the stage door when the curtain came down. How did I even know where the stage door was?

Anyway, I got into Ali’s dressing room somehow, which was absolutely mobbed with people. Ali was holding a telephone with one hand and signing programs with the other, seated on his dressing room table. He had shed the near enormous Afro wig and full beard he had been wearing and now he looked like The Champ I had long seen in print and on television.

I’ll always remember what he was shouting into the phone, as he did not disappoint: “You gotta see me in this show! I am the greatest.”

He then grabbed my program, scribbling his name on it:

What did I think of Buck White? Not much, but my review didn't matter. The ones who did used words like "sloppy" and "awful." At $12.90 for a top ticket, roughly equivalent to $100 today, audiences did the math and knew it was too high a price to pay even for those that made label it kitsch. As for Muhammad Ali, once reinstated to boxing in 1970, historic bouts like "Rumble in the Jungle," and "Thriller in Manilla" gave the world a glimpse of what it had missed when three of his best fighting years were taken away from him.

Ron Fassler is the author of Up in the Cheap Seats: An Historical Memoir of Broadway and the forthcoming The Show Goes On: Broadway Hirings, Firings and Replacements. For news and "Theatre Yesterday and Today" columns when they break, please hit the FOLLOW button.