A trial lawyer learns about life from a tennis champ
By Alan C. Kohn
Illustration by Joshua Gay
When I was a boy, I had two male tennis idols. There was Frank Parker, the best player in the world. He won the United States Open in 1944 and 1945. I saw him on newsreels, read accounts of his victories and found a picture of him in one of my tennis books, finishing a backhand with perfect form. He was thin and dark-complected and had black hair that was always in place. He was so cool and controlled, I wondered whether he perspired.
And then there was Ward Parker, who played tennis in St. Louis. He, too, was dark and thin. He, too, was a baseline player—although he had a wicked topspin forehand rather than the flat forehand of Frank Parker. My father would take me to St. Louis tournament finals, and I’d watch as Ward Parker won the singles, the doubles and, with his wife, Merceina, the mixed doubles (together they won more tennis tournaments than any couple inSt. Louis history). I noticed that Ward Parker did perspire—a very little—and thought that probably Frank Parker did, too.
It was my dream to be as good as a Parker someday, even if I did sweat a lot.
When I grew up, I met Ward Parker, even played him and Merceina once in a mixed-doubles match. He was friendly but somewhat shy, and it was quite a thrill for me that he eventually learned my name.
Years passed without my seeing him. Then, in 1976, a friend called to say that he played indoor tennis on Thursday evenings, his group included Ward Parker and they needed a fourth. Could I join them?
I felt like I’d just been asked to play for the U.S. Davis Cup Team. Ward was now 65; his regular doubles partner, Ralph Hart, was 56; my friend was 50. At 46, I’d be the baby.
For the next 10 years I looked forward to that Thursday game every week. Just being on the same court with this legend was a thrill, and I worked hard to hold my own. I also was not shy about telling anyone who would listen that I played tennis with Ward Parker every Thursday. If anyone dared suggest that Ward was getting a little older, I assured them that he was still winning all the tournaments in his age class.
I was learning a lot about doubles from Ward and his partner, but I was still unhappy about the love-hate relationship I’d always had with the game. I loved to win, but I hated to lose. I liked to play well, but I hated to practice. I loved to win a long match, but I did not like to train. Sometimes tennis seemed like another job to me, not a sport.
Ward, it was clear, was having fun. He’d drop anything if he could get a game. He was serene on the court. He never lost his temper. He loved to play, win or lose.
I wondered how he did it. His intense competitiveness seemed antithetical to his total love of the game. How could anyone have both at once? I certainly wasn’t going to ask him. Instead, I started reading books, and finally I read The Inner Game of Tennis and realized I’d found the secret.
The answer seemed to be concentration, but not just the old axiom about keeping your eye on the ball. The key was to block out everything but the here and now. I had to stop thinking about the last point and the next point. I had to train my brain not just to watch the ball but to watch the name on the ball until I was tranquil and my body could do its work unimpeded.
For Ward, all this was unconscious. I would have to work at it.
I had been doing so, with varying degrees of success, the day Ralph called to tell me to be sure to be at tennis on Thursday. I said my wife wanted me to attend a dinner party. Then Ralph told me that Thursday’s session was to be Ward’s last game with us. He had decided that, at 75, he wanted to spend more time playing with friends his own age. I said I would be at tennis.
As we warmed up to play, I found myself on Ward’s side of the net. This meant that he and I would play the first set together. We started off well, and we were leading 4-3 when our game dropped off. We ended up losing 6-4. The next two sets did not go well for Ward, either. He lost them 6-2 and 6-0. In fact, they went by so fast that there was still plenty of time for a fourth set. I was to have another chance to win with Ward.
As we started the game, I mumbled something about us winning for sure this time, but without much real optimism. I was tired and imagined that since Ward was 19 years my senior, he was probably even more tired than I was.
The set went by like lightning. I felt like an observer and could not believe what I was seeing. It was magic. All of Ward’s first serves were going in. His volleys were sharp and well-angled. He hit several unreturnable half-volleys. He returned every serve. Suddenly we were ahead 5-2. The other team was serving and was down 30-40. It was set point. Thank goodness the serve would go to Ward; I could not have handled it. I was choked up. My legs were heavy. I felt as if I might start to hyperventilate. All that concentration on the here and now had unraveled. What would happen when they served to Ward on his side of the court?
The server went into motion. His first serve was good and deep. Ward quickly stepped around his backhand and hit a screaming topspin forehand. It just cleared the net and dipped down right at the onrushing server’s feet. The attempted return rolled into the net. Point, game and set.
I was ready to yell, throw my racket in the air, hug Ward and attempt to jump over the net. Ward had a smile on his face but seemed otherwise unaffected. He walked over to the side of the court and started to put on his sweatclothes. So did the others.
When everyone was ready to go, we all shook hands and remarked how we had enjoyed the indoor season. Nothing was said about Ward’s and my winning the last set or even about Ward’s not coming back next season. I wanted to say something, but it felt inappropriate; I was still the baby in this family, and besides, what was I to say? They did not know that although I had never realized my childhood dream to be as good as Ward Parker, I was now content. Ward and I had just teamed to win Wimbledon, the U.S. Open, the French and the Australian all rolled up in one set.
Kohn is a St. Louis trial lawyer and lifelong tennis player.
