Trapped on a swarming sector of Long Island where the backwash of
Suburbia blurs into the edge of New York City, the West Side Tennis
Club at Forest Hills is a green refuge from the crowded reality about
it. Outside its high fences, the Long Island Rail Road rattles on its
rounds and ordinary citizens endure the twice-daily war of commuting.
Inside the club, the polite plunk of tennis balls, the whisper of
sneakers on trim grass courts, the tinkle of ice in frost-beaded
glasses still recall the long-gone white-flannel age of the courts.
There, next week, a lanky jumping jack of a girl who grew up in the
slums of Harlem will play tennis. She may not belong to any of the
clubs that run the tournament, but this year the tournament belongs to
her. Behind Althea Gibson, women's tennis curves off into mediocrity:
without her, the U.S. Lawn Tennis Association would not have much of a
show. It was a different story when Althea made her Forest Hills debut in
1950, the first Negro ever to be invited to the U.S.L.T.A.'s national
championships. For a few days, Althea was too good to be true. The
tricky turf courts of tradition seemed to hold no surprises for the
girl who had started out playing paddle tennis on the streets. She was
well on her way to a second-round victory over third-seeded Louise
Brough when rain stopped the match. While the grass dried, Althea had
time to think—and to worry. Next day, Louise Brough brushed her aside
with ease. After seven years of trying, Althea Gibson has yet to win the national
singles title. As a Negro, she is still only a tolerated stranger in
Forest Hills locker rooms, still has no official standing in the
U.S.L.T.A. But now none of that matters. For that Gibson girl has
finally whipped the one opponent that could keep her down: her own
self-doubt and defensive truculence. At 30, an age when most athletes
have eased over to the far slope of their careers, Althea has begun
the last, steep climb. Sent abroad by the State Department in 1955 as an athletic ambassador,
Althea made friends and won tournaments from Naples to New Delhi. In
Paris last year, she won the French championship, her first big-time
title. At Wimbledon, where the heady traditions of genteel sport
stretch back beyond any at Forest Hills, her new-found confidence
carried her all the way to the quarter-finals before she faltered. This
year even Wimbledon succumbed, and Althea came home a queen, owner of
tennis' brightest crown. Lean, tall and well-muscled , Althea Gibson is not
the most graceful figure on the courts, and her game is not the most
stylish. She is apt to flail with more than the usual frenzy, and she
often relies on “auxiliary shots” . But her
tennis has a champion's unmistakable power and drive. Says Tony
Trabert: “She hits the ball hard and plays like a man. She runs and
covers the court better than any of the other women.” Says Promoter
Jack Kramer, who eventually would like to get Althea into the pro
ranks: “She has the best chance to be a champ in the manner of Alice
Marble that I've seen.”
