Chapter 10: My First Wimbledon
with Roy Barth, excerpt from Roy’s book, Point of Impact.
No matter who was invited to play and how they got there, Wimbledon was, to me, the ultimate tennis stage. In the days before the current point-based ranking system, whoever won Wimbledon was deemed the No. 1 player in the world. As young players, Johnny Sanderlin and I dreamt that someday we would be good enough to play there.
In June 1968, I was playing in the NCAA tournament in San Antonio, Texas, when I received a telegram from Wimbledon inviting me to play in the men’s singles draw. Players were accepted into Wimbledon based on their national ranking. In 1967, I was ranked 14th in U.S. men’s singles, which made me eligible for the 1968 draw. I stared at the telegram for much longer than it took to read what it said.
WESTERN UNION
ROY BARTH
CONFIRM SOONEST ENTRY
MAIN DRAW WIMBLEDON STOP CONFIRM
AMATEUR STATUS STOP
THE COMMITTEE
ALL ENGLAND TENNIS CLUB
An invitation to play in the main draw at Wimbledon which, for the first time, would include the best amateur and professional players in the world. I must still be dreaming.
I didn’t have time to go home to San Diego. I flew right from San Antonio to New York and from New York to London (my first trip overseas!) to play at Wimbledon the next day against Clark Graebner, one of the top American players. Twenty-one years to prepare for this moment and I’m lucky if I have everything I need.
I paid five pounds ($10) to stay in a small Bed and Breakfast owned by Mrs. Sealy in Earl’s Court near an underground “Tube” (British subway) stop. Fortunately for me, it rained on Day One and I had a whole day to acclimate to the atmosphere and the time change. As a player in the Main Draw, I was given a $300 allowance for Fred Perry clothing — the clothing sponsor of Wimbledon — and a rainy Day One was the perfect time to go shopping. With Mrs. Sealy’s help, I made my way to the warehouse and picked out a few shirts, a long-sleeved knit V-neck sweater, and some shorts. I was really enjoying the clothing perk when the shop attendant asked if I would wait a few minutes while she monogrammed the clothes for me. I had arrived.
I lay in bed that night planning the morning schedule, trying not to think about my match in the afternoon. I would take the Tube one stop west from Earl’s Court to Baron’s Court on either the Piccadilly (blue) or District (green) line, walk to the Queen’s Club to practice and have lunch, and then take the Players’ Limo for the 25-minute drive to Wimbledon. Plenty of time to relax and not be too nervous.
Unfortunately, the tennis gods were not with me that next morning. Over breakfast, Mrs. Sealy told me that the Tube was on strike. Officially, it was a dispute between the National Union of Railwaymen and the British Rail entity over a pay increase. I guess if the Tube employees wanted to make a statement, the opening day of Wimbledon was dramatic timing. I panicked. All of England and I would be trying to hail a taxi at the same time. Didn’t anyone care that I was playing in the most famous tennis tournament in the world?
I started to walk with all my gear in the direction of Baron’s Court. I finally tracked down an available taxi and I got a ride the rest of the way to the Queen’s Club, where the players’ limousine was waiting to take me to The All-England Club. I didn’t have time to practice or eat — I barely had time to change into my Wimbledon whites — and I was an hour late for my match. Fantastic.
I was pretty sure I had just come all this way — geographically, professionally, and personally — to face certain default. How could this happen? How did the other players — including my opponent — get here on time? How did all the spectators get here? I still don’t know.
My only hope was to explain my morning to the officials as though they didn’t know the Tube wasn’t running, which of course they did. They let me play. Clark was already on Court 14 impatiently pacing back and forth, not caring at all about me or the Tube strike. The excitement of the morning had taken my mind off playing the match. Now I had to focus. I was nervous and excited at the same time.
I started my first match at Wimbledon on an empty stomach and without having practiced. Before I knew it, I had lost the first two sets and I was serving at 3-5 in the third set of the best-of-five set match. I was down to match point on my serve. Clark needed to win one more point to move on to the second round. As crazy a day as it had been, I was not going to give him the match. But perhaps he thought he’d already won because he seemed to lose some concentration. Between our points, he was watching the match on the next court.
I won my serve and then took advantage of Clark’s waning focus. He missed some first serves and stayed in the backcourt after his second serve. I attacked those second serves, went on the offensive, and broke his serve. I came back and won the third set 7-5. I think I surprised both of us.
In the first game of the fourth set Clark was serving and it started to rain, but the officials didn’t stop play. We each served one game, slipping on the slick grass. At 1-1 in the fourth set, the officials stopped play for the day.
I had better luck with the taxis the next day and got to The All-England Club early enough to appreciate my surroundings. I took a deep breath and looked around for the first time. I was playing at Wimbledon. The place was magnificent, even on a cloudy day. The grass was beautifully manicured and showed no wear marks along the baseline or at the service “T,” as it would in the coming days. The ball boys manually changed the scores on the scoreboard in the corner. All the outer courts (Courts 2-15) were grouped together with only a narrow alleyway between them for spectators, whom I hadn’t noticed until just then. The umpires were wearing suits and ties. The players looked quite regal wearing white.
We started the fourth set where we left off the day before — at 1-1 — and I quickly fell behind 3-5. Somehow, I managed to hold my serve, break his serve, and win the fourth set 8-6. I really “hung on like a crab” in this match. Allen Fox would have been proud.
Going into the fifth set, I forgot all about being in my first Wimbledon tournament. I loved playing on grass and felt very comfortable on Court 14. I found some rhythm in my serve-and-volley combination and, for the first time in the match, I was holding my serve easily.
My God, I can win this match!
Word got out around the tournament grounds that Graebner, a top ranked U.S. player, was in a “dog fight” on Court 14. Suddenly the walkways around this small outer court were packed with spectators. Things were heating up. Clark was asking advice from well-known agent and lawyer Donald Dell from the sidelines (which was against the rules) and calling me names as we changed ends of the court. I started walking around the other way to avoid him.
At 5-5 in the fifth set, Clark was serving and lost the first two points, giving me my first opportunity to break his serve and then serve for the match. I hit a great return to his feet, and he miss-hit a half-volley over the net for a winner. What a lucky shot! I would have been up triple breakpoint with a great chance to break his serve if he had missed that. Instead, it was 15-30, the momentum shifted, and he held his serve. We stayed even until I served at 9-10. We split the first four points: “30-all.” I needed two points to stay in the match and Clark needed them to win it. He played them by hitting the two best returns he’d hit the entire two-day, five-set contest. He won. I was out.
I shook hands with Clark and with the umpire and left the court. Amid the crowd of spectators, I felt alone. The pro tennis tour can do that. I was still in college — which at the time was considered young for the tour, even among amateurs — and I really was alone, on and off the court. No family, no coach, no partner — no one to share my tough loss with.
My parents used to love to watch me play — and applauded my efforts, win or lose — but they were only able to attend matches close to home. My father worked long hours and took little time off, and traveling was expensive. I did call long distance from my hotel room every night to tell them about my matches. Even from far away, they were the closest thing I had to a “team.” I would have loved them to be waiting for me when I came off Court 14.
As I walked by myself from the court to the locker room, someone touched my shoulder. I turned around. “Roy, you know you have what it takes when you play well at Wimbledon,” she said. It was Billie Jean King, sharing with me one of the most memorable moments in my life.
Had I won that match, I would have moved into the Top-10 ranking of U.S. male players. I was feeling sorry for myself when Billie Jean applauded my effort and changed my outlook on the experience. She turned a court loss into a life win. Years later I was fortunate to tell her how much that meant to me.