SATURDAY MEMORY

December 14, 2024

I was a junior in high school in 1955, and I fancied myself a tennis player. My fancy was reinforced by winning a major tennis tournament for juniors. The prize for winning that tournament was a series of lessons from Pancho Gonzales. Pancho was ranked the number one professional tennis player in the world, and winning this prize swelled my head big-time.

The lessons occurred on the lone court at Exposition Park in Los Angeles. Panhco called me “boy.” After instructions and a bit of small talk, Pancho said, “OK, boy, let’s get to it.”

I walked to one side of the court, and he took the other. He had the tennis balls, so I presumed he was going to serve. He was known for having the best and strongest serve in the game. “Lesson one,” he shouted and motioned me to come to the net. This struck me as odd because you don’t serve at someone standing at the net. Volley, yes, but not serve.

But he served.

His serve came straight at my eyes, and I barely fell out of the way in time. As I got up, he came to the net and he said, “Boy, what’s that on the ground?” “My racket,” I responded. I had dropped it as I fell. “And what’s it for?” he asked me. “To hit the ball.”

“OK. Lesson two.” He walked back to the service line; I picked up my racket and I somehow knew I was to stay at the net. Again, he served straight at my eyes. Somehow, I managed not to duck or to fall. But I mainly used my racket to protect my face, and the ball went flying off it out of bounds.

“Do you know what lesson three is?”

I took what seemed like a lot of time to come up with the answer. I felt embarrassed, ashamed, and worthless. But somehow, I knew what lesson three was. I didn’t say, what lesson three was, but I did say, “Yes.”

I took my position at the net. I swung my racket back and forth. I looked Pancho in the eye. I said, “serve!” He did. I kept my eye on the ball. I stepped into position, and I hit the ball squarely at Pancho. To my surprise, he let the ball hit him.

He laughed. He came to the net. He shook my hand.

“You got what it takes, kid.”

From that moment, I wanted to be a pro.