Editor’s note: Happy holiday weekend. Last week, we printed our first commemorative issue, which is devoted to athlete, activist and world citizen Arthur Ashe. In our eyes, he is the most memorable Richmonder of the past 50 years. In December 1968, Ashe was ranked the No. 1 tennis player in the world. He passed away 25 years ago this year. Had he lived, he would have been 75. Here is a bonus essay from restaurant industry veteran and devoted tennis player Michael Verner.
There are two long-distance phone calls related to my tennis obsession that my mom still doesn't know I made.
My obsession began in 1985 when I watched Boris Becker win Wimbledon. Sports had never really been my thing, but for some reason that red-haired German guy diving across the well-manicured lawns of the All England Club had me captivated. I was hooked at age 11.
I fashioned a racquet out of a wire coat hanger and a pair of my mother's old pantyhose. Aluminum foil was my ball. Mom later got me a wooden Chris Evert tennis racquet from a yard sale, and I began hitting on the wall of our carport.
Though I wouldn't step on an actual tennis court for another four years, I continued "competing" against the carport, begging for a subscription to Tennis World Magazine, and mimicking Steffi Graf's buggy-whip forehand.
By my sophomore year of high school, I was decent enough to make the team, though still self-taught by recording matches on the VCR, copying Steffi, and now obsessing over each issue of Tennis World magazine, to which I now had a subscription.
I'd flip through each issue so much that each page was virtually memorized, and I’d pin the action photos to my bedroom wall. Tennis had become a refuge from my confusing existence in a small Southern town that was still separated by racial lines in the 1980s — confusion about being a young black boy in South Carolina's Low Country, confusion about my sexuality, not feeling like I could really relate to anyone. It seemed like I was ‘too white" to black people, "too black’" to white people, and too much of a sissy to everyone.
I wanted to excel at tennis, and I thought that playing the game was my destiny.
The back of Tennis World Magazine, like most periodicals of the time, had a classifieds section, and I would religiously scour them. In one issue, I read an ad for a coach in Florida who had experience coaching national champions. This was my chance. All I needed to do was move to Florida for training, then watch out! So I called him — long distance.
After a brief conversation about my tennis background, he dropped the hammer. It would cost about $2,000 a month for training, but, he told me, some of his students had sponsors, and he suggested that I find similar help. Given that we couldn't afford lessons in my hometown of Walterboro, S.C., I knew that Florida coaching meant I needed to hatch another plan.
Arthur Ashe came to mind. To this day, I'm still not sure what gave me the chutzpah to dial information to find his number in New York City, but I did. I like to think that his classiness shone so brightly that it leapt from the pages of Tennis World and reassured me that it was OK to give him a call.
I dialed the number. He answered. And we talked.
Arthur broke it down for me. I needed to get a relatively high sectional and national ranking and then maybe a sponsor would be willing to offer assistance. I hung up the phone stunned that I'd just spoken with Arthur.
Although I never received a high junior ranking, my love for the game has never waned. I play four times a week on average. You can find me at the Midlothian Athletic Club and on the Byrd Park and Belmont courts.
What lingers about my interaction with Arthur was the tenderness with which he handled a complete stranger.
His conversation with me made a lasting impression that he couldn't have anticipated.
I've gone through life trying to mimic his elegance. Even if things are going wrong on the court, I try to remind myself that it's just a tennis match and every point is just that — one point. Take a deep breath, loosen those shoulders and just do the best that you can in that moment. That’s really all you should expect from yourself. That philosophy also helps in the restaurant business. By approaching every interaction in that manner, it tends to lead to a positive result. Even if the outcome isn’t what you wanted, your dignity and poise can never be disputed. For that lesson, I am eternally grateful. Thank you, Arthur.
And, Mom — sorry about those phone bills.
(Photo by Jay Paul)
