After Arthur Ashe’s death on February 6, 1993, I wrote the following story that appeared in the Forum section of the UCLA Magazine Spring 1993…
The first time I saw Arthur Ashe was at the Los Angeles Tennis Club. I was just starting to compete; he was a sophomore on UCLA’s tennis team, playing in a tournament that day. He sat on a bench looking frightfully thin, wrapped in a white fleece warmup jacket with his Converse All-Stars laced breathlessly tight, quietly waiting for his match to be called.
Off-court appearances were deceiving. On court, the reserve was cast aside, and Ashe was powerful and dazzling. His savagely hooking first serve sent his opponent scurrying wide to get his racket on the ball. The graceful backhand, hit with casual, “flip it” dexterity, was deadly accurate. Ashe, who came to be known as a “smart” player, had a playing style that wasn’t calculated as much as it was instinctive and aggressive.
Two years later, I was on UCLA’s freshman tennis team, and Ashe was the senior star. In the spring of 1965, I watched him turn the NCAA championships – held at UCLA’s Sunset Canyon courts – into a personal tour de force. Not only did he win the singles competition and, with Ian Crookenden, the doubles, but he led the Bruins to the national title. He also broke precedent as sharply as had fellow Bruin Jackie Robinson, becoming the first African American to win a NCAA tennis title. He would continue to be “first” in all his professional tennis achievements.
As I followed Ashe’s career over the years and ran into him at various events around the tennis world, I noticed again and again how he carried the burden of pioneering responsibility with a private, quiet dignity. Even after heart problems forced Ashe into early retirement from competition, he still maintained an untiring agenda. Yet there was never a hint of self-importance or seeking special favor. In dealing with him, however, one didn’t waste time or words. In both life and tennis, Ashe followed a “can’t waste energy on nonsense” approach.
When I was preparing a story for UCLA Magazine on the friendly rivalries among teammates Ashe and Charles Pasarell, and Allen Fox and Larry Nagler (Summer 1990), I had a difficult time reaching Arthur. When we finally spoke; his voice was a tired whisper. Few of us knew then that he had contracted HIV from a blood transfusion during 1983 heart surgery. As he talked more about his unique relationship with Pasarell, he seemed to get a second wind. He became expansive, almost effusive. He went on to express special pride in the publication of A Hard Road to Glory, his three-volume benchmark history of African American athletes.
After Ashe passed away on Feb. 6 from AIDS-related pneumonia, Fox, now an author and tennis coach, remembered him as “the essence of goodness, a totally selfless individual. He never changed. He stood up for issues and friends. He was one of the most decent people you could ever know.”
I always wanted to learn what it was like for Arthur to carry the expectations of so many for so long. Whenever we spoke, I always believed there would be another opportunity to ask that question. But in January, when I was working at a tournament in Indian Wells, I heard Ashe was not well. “He is living on God’s time,” I was told. For myself and countless others, it’s a shame He didn’t give Arthur Ashe a little bit more.
Mark Winters attended UCLA in the mid-1960s and has been involved in tennis ever since as a player, writer, organizer, and commentator.
Title photo of Arthur Ashe playing at UCLA in 1965 from the Hoover Photographic Collection, UCLA Library