| JUNE 2008 |
Two of the Most Famous Parents in Tennis,
Two Harvard Guys and a Singular Storyteller Were Inducted Into the Eastern Hall of Fame
Politics has a singular Irish-American clan — the Kennedys. So, too, tennis has its own urban-edged/Irish-American clan. That, of course, would be the Macs, as in John Sr. and Kay, John, Patrick and, of course, the “unknown Mac,” Mark (“Yes, I really am Johnnie Mac’s bro”) McEnroe. And when John Sr. and his wife Kay — the proud, patriarch and matriarch — were inducted into the USTA Eastern Hall of Fame on April 18, many a self-depricating ‘Mac tale’ was spun.
Of course, attendees of the Park Ave. black-tie gala, which benefits Eastern’s Youth Tennis Foundation, heard the obligatory story of how, when a young John Sr. returned home with his final grades from Fordham, the aspiring law student gushed to his bride, “Guess what, sweetie, I finished second in my class,” only to be told by his unsparing wife, “Hey, John, if you only would have worked a little harder, you would have finished No. 1.”
The next year, as per instructions, he was Fordham’s top guy.
Equally famous is the yarn Mrs. Mac tells with relish. Years ago, when she found herself amidst a massive crowd outside St. Patrick’s Cathedral, hoping to catch a glimpse of Pope John Paul, she befriended a young Irishman. “You know,” she informed the kid, “My son travels the world playing tennis.” “Well,” her newfound friend responded, “I sure hope he doesn’t have a temper like John McEnroe’s.”
Beyond these oft-spun tales, Mac watchers gleaned ample new info. For instance, the crowd was informed that Mark McEnroe had sufficient pedigree. He was the first McEnroe to be defaulted from a match when the coach of his high school team (that would be the prestigious Kent Academy in Connecticut) tossed him out of a match.
Not surprisingly, the ever-popular Pat McEnroe, added to the festivities. As the most famous brother in the game, Pat lamented that since he was five, he’s been known as John’s younger brother. At home and beyond, expectations were sky-high.
“Of course, you’ll be No. 1, what else are you going to be,” his mom informed him.
So where, you may ask, does PMac’s coaching genius come from? America’s triumphant Davis Cup coach provided the answer, reminding us that way back when, in junior tennis, if players split the first two sets, there would be a break before the third set when parents could offer some insight. And on those occasions when he had won the opening set, only to lose the second, his father would adeptly advise, “Do whatever you did in the first set and forget what you did in the second.” Of such counsel, genius is born.
But it eventually became evident that PMac was no academic genius. When he told his folks how he did on that wicked test, which reveals if you’ll be a whiz in law school, his parents quickly pleaded, “Please, Pat, go on the [pro tennis] tour.”
On a more serious note, PMac fondly reminded us that his parents, (who haven’t missed a Davis Cup tie he or John were involved with in 30 years) “gave us the confidence and ability to do it on our own. When I came home from college, my room was gone.”
In addition to Kay and John McEnroe Sr., three others entered the august Eastern Hall of Fame. WTA chief Larry Scott emerged out of that cauldron of Long Island junior tennis. He went to Harvard, and had a less-than-earth-shaking ATP career, before he landed a modest post with the ATP itself. An adept go-getter, he overcame the skeptics who doubted that an intense ATP fellow could wave the sizeable flag of women’s tennis. But not to worry, since taking over the reigns at the WTA, tennis’ answer to David Stern has seen the WTA’s revenues soar [“thanks Sony Ericsson for that cool $88 ‘mil’ “] and has proven to be one of the game’s great “globalists” as he’s taken the game to Arabian outposts and cash rich centers of the Orient.
Scott, who Venus Williams called “one of the great pioneers in the history of woman’s sports,” sees himself as a lucky man, a family guy whose prime hope is that his son Alexander “finds a sport he likes, a sport he loves and cherishes so he can follow his dreams.”
Like Scott, super-volunteer Dick Scheer was quite the jock at Harvard. But when he eventually began to play tournament tennis he was frustrated by the good ol’ boys approach to rankings. “They were being done by three guys. They were all over 80. If they didn’t know your name at the beginning the year,” the conventional wisdom was that “they would never know your name.” So Scheer decided to do something about it. And so a storied career as an Eastern volunteer was born. Scheer confided, “I have been on so many committees, I was even on a committee on committees.
There is no committee that is needed to note that Donald Van Blake is the great unsung hero. A passionate tennis lover who all but single-handedly transformed grass courts (no not the flaw-free, manicured type at Wimbledon, but instead those hardscrabble ones that have grass growing in the cracks) and transformed them into oases of growth so that little ‘ol Plainfield New Jersey all but sizzled with tennis.
Without hesitation, Van Blake offered an unfiltered overview of the personal fulfillment and social realities of a singular black elder who has imbued an American journey, the long and winding road of a race within a society that was, to a degree, at last been jarred to its senses.
“What a way to go,” began his acceptance speech/prose poem with unhesitating pride. “I’m 86 years old...Mother raised four children and bought a home with only a sixth-grade education...Our generation, as with all generations, fought our wars...I was in a segregated outfit, with the hurts, the angers, the disappointments and hatreds. But the war gave us the G.I. bill, a home, direction and a civic consciousness. Then came the ‘60s and the great black protests. Again my generation stepped forward...Finally tennis came with its obsessions, devotions, challenges, rewards and goals...to learn the lessons of life.”
Yes, it’s been 86 years and now this is the final glory, to be elected to the Hall of Fame with the likes of Ashe, Gibson, Dinkens Vitas and all the McEnroes. What a way to end — smelling the roses.
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