At Wimbledon, Smith’s strong showing against the defending champion Newcombe in the singles final catapulted him to a top-five world ranking. Watching from the stands, Ashe pulled hard for his friend and former doubles partner. But he had difficulty concentrating on the match because he had more important concerns.16
On June 27, four days before the doubles final, Ashe’s mentor, Dr. Robert Johnson Sr., passed away in Lynchburg at the age of seventy-two. A lifetime of fast living had finally caught up with the man known as the Whirlwind. Johnson had been sick for months, and his relatively early death was hardly a shock to Ashe or anyone who knew him well. But this did not save Ashe from a profound sense of loss. He owed the man he called Dr. J a debt beyond calculation. There were so many memories of the Lynchburg camp and of the long car rides through the Virginia and North Carolina countryside. Indeed, only nine years earlier they had shared the joy of pairing up during the ATA national doubles competition.
It was all very emotional, and Arthur wanted to pay proper respect to the man who had changed his life. Yet he faced the dilemma of deciding whether he should remain at Wimbledon for the next round of doubles competition or withdraw and fly back to Virginia for the funeral. Would Dr. J, always a stickler for following through, want him to honor his commitment to his partner? Or should he break the rules just this once?
In the end, Arthur decided to forgo the funeral, hoping that the Johnson family would understand. The choice was a difficult one, in part because he already suffered from a difficult relationship with Bobby Jr., who had always resented his father’s close relationship with the interloping surrogate son from Richmond. Arthur’s suspicion his decision to stay in England would lead to trouble was fully warranted. Even after Arthur explained that he hated funerals, Bobby Jr. refused to let him off the hook. “Nobody likes to go to funerals,” he insisted, with more than a touch of anger, “Dr. J would have wanted him there . . . and I think he deserved it. My father literally picked this boy up from nothing and made him what he is today.” Arthur knew nothing of Bobby Jr.’s hurt feelings until after his return to the United States in mid-July. But worrying about the likelihood of such a reaction was clearly a distraction during the closing days of Wimbledon.17
Arthur had a number of troubling matters on his mind throughout the Wimbledon fortnight. On June 23, the day before he faced Riessen in the third round, the South African golf star Gary Player made headlines by announcing that Lee Elder, America’s best-known black golfer, had accepted his invitation to play in the previously all-white South African PGA championship tournament in November. “A lot of people are under the impression that a black man cannot play in South Africa,” Player declared, “and that is not true. One of the things this invitation can do is clear up that misimpression.” Since the press reports of Player’s announcement pointed out the obvious inconsistency between South Africa’s treatment of Ashe and Elder, Arthur’s stigmatization appeared to be deliberate and personal. Faced with this added insult, he had difficulty focusing on his third-round match, losing to Riessen for the first time in five years.18
Ashe was also troubled by the continuing turmoil plaguing the business side of tennis. During the spring leading up to the French Open and Wimbledon, the uneasy truce between WCT and the ILTF had produced an unstable separation of contract and independent pros. There were two parallel circuits: WCT’s contract pro series comprised of 20 tournaments played in nine countries; and the USLTA-sponsored U.S. indoor series for independent pros, managed by the flamboyant promoter Bill Riordan. Adding to the confusion were several hybrid tournaments, such as the Italian and French Opens, co-promoted by WCT but open to independent pros.
Viewed as a temporary solution, this hodgepodge version of Open tennis all but collapsed when half of the contract pros decided to skip the French Open. The primary reason was reportedly their exhaustion after five months of weekly WCT tournaments, with most of the contract pros deciding it was sensible to play in either the French Open or Wimbledon but not both. Among the leading WCT pros, only Ashe, Smith, and Richey chose to play both tournaments in 1971. The explanation for the absences did not wash with the leaders of the ILTF, who suspected that Lamar Hunt had arranged the “boycott” in an effort to undercut the national associations’ stature and influence. To them, it was a power play, plain and simple, designed to increase Hunt’s leverage over everything from player appearances to television contracts.19
During and after Wimbledon, ILTF leaders mobilized to counter Hunt’s aggressive moves. In mid-July the federation voted overwhelmingly to ban WCT’s thirty-two contract pros from participating in ILTF-affiliated events, effective January 1, 1972. The era of Open tennis, after three and a half years of experimentation, appeared to be all but over. Despite all of the money and popular interest that had flowed into the sport since 1968, the competing factions struggling for control of professional tennis had seemingly chosen high-risk brinkmanship over compromise.
According to a recent poll, tennis had never been more popular, with a record 10.6 million players on the court and a total of $400 million spent annually on tennis-related equipment and activities. Much of this growth stemmed from the game’s newfound presence on television. Historically, tennis had lagged far behind the other major sports as a source of televised entertainment, and as late as 1968 televised tennis matches were a rarity. Live broadcasts of tennis matches began in 1967, when Bud Collins convinced the local Public Broadcasting System affiliate to let him send a film crew to Longwood. This successful experiment soon led to the historic five-year contract signed by CBS and the U.S. Open in 1968. Once the U.S. Open was put on the screen, other tournaments followed suit, producing a broadening culture of televised tennis by the early 1970s.
In the process, tennis commentators such as Bud Collins, Buddy MacKay, and Jack Kramer became identifiable and important ambassadors of the sport, and the top players became recognizable sports celebrities, public figures who fostered an explosion of interest in the tour and the game at large. None of this, however, did much to enhance the structural and organizational integrity of competitive tennis. “For the most part,” Neil Amdur lamented in July 1971, “the power politics of tennis has continued to overshadow the artistic performance and engaging personalities of the bright, fresh faces on the tour.”20
All parties eventually stepped back from the brink. But it would take another year of negotiation before a stable and enduring peace emerged. In the meantime, Arthur and his fellow touring pros played on, hoping somehow Open tennis could survive amidst the chaos of money-driven maneuvering.
Ashe was fully engaged in the tennis wars that affected his livelihood. But his highest personal priority was the ongoing fight against racial discrimination and inequality—especially in South Africa. Having embraced the struggle late in the game, near the close of the classic civil rights era, he was determined to make up for lost time. In addition to continuing his work promoting and conducting inner-city tennis clinics and working with the National Urban League, he became the honorary chairman and chief fund-raiser for the Howard University Mississippi Project (HUMP). The goal was to raise $500,000 for medical care for the poor in Quitman County, Mississippi. After learning of the project’s frustrations, Ashe agreed to boost the fund drive by exploiting his contacts in the tennis world. “As a middle-class black involved with a sport connected with the socially elite,” he explained, “I know a lot of people with a lot of money.”21
In 1971, and in the years that followed, Ashe became involved in a number of antipoverty and racial uplift projects. But his greatest passion remained the liberation of black South Africans from the cruelties of apartheid. Despite two visa denials, he was more determined than ever to break the color bar in South African tennis. He knew full well that his appearance in a previously all-white tournament would represent little more than a symbolic victory over apartheid, a tiny crack in a towering wall of prejudice and racial separation. Yet he also felt that, as the most prominent black ten
nis player in the world, he had both the opportunity and responsibility to use his talent and position for a higher purpose than fame or personal gain.22
For Ashe, both personal redemption and social justice were at stake—and for once he found himself ahead of the curve on a civil rights issue. At this point, no other American athlete had publicly identified with the anti-apartheid movement, which was still in its infancy in the United States. Despite the obvious risks, he took enormous satisfaction in being out front and leading the way, though it proved difficult to convince other American athletes to follow his lead. Even so, he took comfort from the growing number of Americans from other walks of life who were involved in the struggle.
It would take until the mid-1980s, after more than a decade of organizing in the United States and years of rising resistance in South Africa, for the American anti-apartheid movement to come of age. But the early 1970s was the movement’s seedtime. In February 1971, thirteen black members of the U.S. House of Representatives founded the Congressional Black Caucus, the first legislative initiative of which was an anti-apartheid bill calling for trade restrictions against the white supremacist regime. Introduced by Representative Ron Dellums, a first-term Democratic congressman from Oakland, California, the bill initiated a campaign that grew into a national movement for corporate divestment in South Africa.23
Trade restrictions and divestment rested on the idea of effecting change through economic deprivation and isolation, a strategy with the unfortunate side effect of punishing black as well as white South Africans. The vast majority of anti-apartheid activists, including Ashe, would eventually endorse this approach. But in 1971 he was among those who preferred engagement to isolation. Even though he supported the effort to banish South Africa from Davis Cup competition, he hoped to change South Africa primarily through increased contact and dialogue with the outside world. Most of all, he wanted to go to South Africa to serve as a role model, to provide a concrete example of racial integration.24
Despite repeated warnings from other anti-apartheid activists that South Africa’s white leaders would turn his proposed visit to their advantage, Ashe persisted. In August 1971, the visa controversy took on new life after The New York Times Magazine ran a feature on Evonne Goolagong. When asked about Goolagong’s recent participation in the South African tennis championships as “an honorary white,” Ashe could not hide his contempt. Identifying one’s race correctly was “not a matter of personal preference,” he insisted. “If you’re born black you’re committed in the race war.” John Newfong, a spokesman for the Australian Aborigines’ Advancement League, agreed. Commenting on Goolagong’s “honorary white” status, he declared, “One shouldn’t have to elaborate on what an insult this is to her, to her people at home, and to black people everywhere.”
Prior to her visit, Goolagong declared: “I don’t want to talk about apartheid. . . . I’m going to South Africa to play tennis and to see the country. That’s as far as it goes.” And after her return from Johannesburg, she complained about the press’s preoccupation with race: “It’s as though all that matters is that I’m aboriginal. I’d much rather people knew me as a good tennis player than as an aboriginal who happens to play good tennis. Of course I’m proud of my race, but I don’t want to be thinking about it all the time.” Ashe had made similar statements earlier in his career and shared her sentiments. Yet he could not accept this as a rationale for avoiding her responsibility to speak out on matters of race and equality. He hoped she would come to the realization, as he had, that there was no honorable retreat from the struggle for racial justice.25
Ashe freely acknowledged that his situation was different from Goolagong’s, that he could take advantage of cultural and historical connections unavailable to her. While she could only cling to the vestiges of a fragmented and dispossessed Aboriginal culture, he could draw upon the racial heritage of a broad African diaspora and the emerging nations of sub-Saharan Africa. His first visit to Africa had stirred his soul, and he could hardly wait to return.
During the final weeks of 1971, the WCT tour imposed a grueling intercontinental travel schedule beginning in Berkeley and continuing on to British Columbia, West Germany, Spain, Belgium, Sweden, Italy, and Texas before returning to California. By Thanksgiving, all of the contract pros were travel weary and ready for a break. But this did not stop Arthur and three of his friends—Pasarell, Okker, and Riessen—from packing their bags on November 28 and heading off to West Africa for a three-week tour of Senegal, Cameroon, Gabon, and Ivory Coast. Before their departure, Pasarell even managed to squeeze in a Los Angeles wedding to his longtime girlfriend Shireen Fareed, the daughter of the U.S. Davis Cup squad’s team physician, Dr. Omar Fareed. After the ceremony, the wedding party took a red-eye flight to New York where, compliments of Arthur, the newlyweds spent their wedding night at the Doral-on-the-Park Hotel. A few hours later, they were on their way to Dakar, Senegal, the first stop on their West African adventure.26
The 1971 junket, like the 1970 tour, was a State Department goodwill mission that mixed tennis with public diplomacy. The four countries were all former French colonies that had gained independence in 1960. Among the most prosperous nations in West Africa, all four had ethnically diverse populations with historical ties to the Atlantic slave trade. Senegal was predominantly Muslim, Cameroon and Ivory Coast had large Muslim minorities, and Gabon was largely Roman Catholic. Politically, each was a one-party state controlled by an authoritarian chief executive, and in Senegal, President Léopold Senghor—one of Africa’s most prominent leaders and the proponent of a philosophy known as “Negritude”—presided over an ideologically driven socialist regime.
All of this provided a fascinating backdrop as Arthur and his friends made their way across fifteen hundred miles of West Africa. After conducting tennis clinics in Dakar, they traveled to Abidjan, Ivory Coast’s largest city, where they competed in a mini-tournament. From there, they flew south and east to Yaoundé, the sprawling capital of Cameroon. A cosmopolitan city with a heavy residue of French colonialism, Yaoundé boasted several tennis clubs, one of which produced an unexpected benefit.27
While driving on the grounds of the city’s premier tennis club, the visiting Americans spotted a young boy on a roadside court practicing his serves and volleys with a handmade wooden paddle. Impressed by the boy’s strength and athleticism, Arthur inquired about his identity. Coincidentally, the boy had written him a letter three weeks earlier, hoping that he might meet the American star during his visit. Later in the day, Arthur hit with him and came away impressed. “First, he serves right down the middle past me,” Arthur recalled. He was also dazzled by the boy’s agility. “His strokes were good,” he observed, “but what impressed me was that he seemed to be awfully good with his feet. In young kids, that’s what you look for first.”
The “little brown-skinned kid,” as Arthur described him, turned out to be eleven-year-old Yannick Noah, the lyrically named, mixed-race son of a Cameroonian father and a French mother. Yannick’s father, Zacharie Noah, had been a prominent soccer player in Sedan, France, until he was sidelined by a serious injury in 1963. Yannick’s mother, Marie-Claire, was a teacher and amateur tennis champion, and a former captain of the French national women’s basketball team. Born in Sedan, in 1960, Yannick moved to Cameroon with his family at the age of three.
A few hours after the encounter, Arthur mentioned the boy during a telephone conversation with Philippe Chatrier, the president of the French Tennis Federation. Intrigued, Chatrier asked about the boy’s age and skill level. “You say he’s good?” the Frenchman queried, and Arthur responded, “Excellent, but he’s not going to go very far if he doesn’t get out of the Cameroon. I’ll pay his way to France for you to take a look at him.”
With this impulsive act, Arthur launched a career that would alter the history of French tennis. Chatrier accepted the American’s offer, and Noah soon found himself living at the French Tennis Federation’s training center in Nice. After be
coming a leading Junior and growing to a strapping six-foot-four, he turned pro in 1979 and soon became a member of the French Davis Cup squad. Four years later, he became the first Frenchman in thirty-seven years to win the French National singles title. Reaching his peak as the world’s #3-ranked singles and #1-ranked doubles player in 1986, he ultimately won 23 singles and 16 doubles titles. After leading France to two Davis Cup championships, in 1991 and 1996, he retired at the age of thirty-six as perhaps the most beloved and admired figure in French sports history. Later, he became one of Europe’s most popular singers and recording artists, as well as a noted philanthropist devoted to underprivileged children and AIDS victims.28
Quite naturally, Ashe took a certain pride in Noah’s many accomplishments, and the two became good friends, with Ashe occasionally acting as an informal counselor. Yet Ashe was adamant that he was not personally responsible for Noah’s rise to glory. “Yannick Noah is not my protégé,” he insisted in 1982. “I didn’t teach him a single stroke. We played doubles together at Wimbledon, and I arranged practice courts for him one year at Eastbourne, before Wimbledon. But Yannick and I are not that close. I see him, I say hello, and maybe we’ll have a five-minute conversation here and there. But that’s it.”29
Ashe’s determination to distance himself from Noah reflected the burden of being America’s only black male tennis star. From the early 1970s on, tennis commentators frequently speculated on the likelihood of other black players joining Ashe in the upper ranks of the game. Who would be the next Arthur Ashe? Would there ever be another Ashe? Such speculation inevitably placed added pressure on aspiring black tennis stars—and on Ashe, who was expected to have a special relationship with any black person climbing up the tennis ladder.
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