Last week I wrote about 28 Days of Joyful Death Writing with Kathryn Koromilas. For those interested in learning more about her work I have provided a link below. Here are several of her projects: Founder and host at The Stoic Salon and The Stoic Salon Podcast; Co-founder, host, and organizer at Paths to Flourishing; End-of-planning facilitator, Before I Go.
Indiana does not breed outstanding professional tennis players. The best I can recall is Todd Witsken from Indianapolis who had a fine career specializing in doubles. He was a three-time all-American at the University of Southern California; his career-high rankings were world No. 43 in singles and No. 4 in doubles. That is good for Indiana. But top drawer types were from other countries or the sunshine states before indoor facilities became a reality in the northern states.
So those of us playing tennis found our globe-trotting heroes on the international circuit in World Tennis magazine. We crafted our strokes from photos of the greats, plus instruction articles.
Occasionally the pros would get to a major city near us. Like the Pepsi Championship held in Cleveland, Ohio, in 1961. I was a senior in high school and drove my 54 Ford from Goshen, Indiana, to Cleveland to watch the tournament. I really wanted to see the great Richard “Pancho” Gonzales as his career was winding down.
In 1943, the year I was born, Gonzales was top ranked in boys’ tennis in California. Basically self-taught, because he was Mexican-American without access to tennis clubs, Pancho went on to win six major amateur U.S. championships before turning professional in 1949. Pancho won the U.S. professional championship in men’s singles eight times, seven consecutively (1953–59, 1961). Pancho was like a cat on the court with speed, agility and aggression. A beauty to watch. He was my guy in the tennis world. I used a Pancho Gonzales autograph racquet with his photo on the throat! Can you imagine how pumped I was to be in Cleveland? Small town kid in a big city and tennis stars before my eyes — what could be more exciting?
Now a little side trip. Homer Shoop, my tennis playing banker friend, encouraged me to meet and greet the great Spanish player, Andres Gimeno. Because Homer had competed on the circuit in Europe he knew many players. (Now there is an Indiana player but that is another story.) At the tournament I spotted Andres and screwed up my courage to go up to him, I played the Homer card to introduce myself.
While I was chatting with Andres, Rod “The Rocket” Laver walked up to us. Yes, Rod Laver! The guy who in the next year would win all 4 Grand Slam tournaments and would repeat the feat in 1969. I was already a fan due to his amateur and Davis Cup play. Laver and his Australian mates were my models for style and manners in tennis. I never got into their legendary beer drinking — maybe my game would have improved if I had. Readers may know of Rod Laver Arena in Melbourne, the site of the Australian Open and entertainment venue.
And Andres, a few years later would become the oldest male (34) to win the French Open. Okay, so I have gone to the top as a guy from tennis starved Indiana to shake hands with the big boys. By the way, Laver had a cigarette in his hand when we met! It was 1961. I was surprised. Let it go.
The photo below shows Laver’s forearm. It was so developed, almost like a pipe. Some years later I watched Laver practice at the 7th Regiment Armory in New York City. His fellow pros were shaking their heads in disbelief as they watched him belting, and I mean slugging, backhand service returns one after another onto the opposite baseline. Oh yeah, and he showed how he could soft touch to hit the top of the net and have the ball fall over. He was really good!
Back to Pancho. His match was coming on and I had a courtside seat. He had been working hard to prepare for the tournament. In fact, he had band aids on his racquet- hand fingers because of excessive practice. Suddenly a man came up to my seat and asked me if I would go out on the court to fill in for a missing lineman! Hells bells! High strung and intimidating, Pancho was notorious for yelling at ball boys and linesmen. It goes without saying that I was nervous as all get out! I took my chair on one of the lines and watched Pancho warm up. Before the match started the late linesman showed up, and I was excused, I don’t recall for sure, but I probably took a trip to the restrooms before going to my seat to watch Gorgo, his other nickname.
This post is a warmup for other tennis-centered posts. Tennis has been very important to me and I have lots of memories. Yes, there will be more name dropping. Some say that name dropping is a narcissistic personally disorder. Maybe. But perhaps I am just having fun with memories.
You are so kind. Without you I am nothing!
Very well done, and well read.