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After World War I, big-time tennis counted its blessings and found them many. They were headed by "Big Bill" Tilden and "Little Bill" Johnston, about to begin their famous battles, and behind them were other tennis greats: Kumagae, the lefthanded Jap; Australia's Norman E. Brookes, Vinnie Richards. On the distaff side Suzanne Lenglen, the greatest girl player ever to swing a racket, had just gained control of her strokes, if not her temper. Helen Wills, a poker-faced youngster, was on her way up, copped the U.S. Nationals in 1923. In the tournament lists were names like Mallory, Bundy and Wightman.
This season, a year after World War II, nobody dares hope for such bounty. But big-time tennis has moved back into the big tent with what it has. At Forest Hills, Long Island, the shrine of U.S. tennis, even the kids in the neighborhood seemed to sense it last week. The little boys in the tennis-minded subway stop on the outskirts of New York City, who talk of tennis stars as other American boys discuss Joe Di Maggio and Ted Williams, scouted for good spots to shinny over the fence. The horseshoe-shaped concrete stadium was set to house global tennis again, with French, British and Australian accents. Inside the West Side Tennis Club's 11½acres, a kind of F. Scott Fitzgerald wonderland of pretty girls in shorts and lean, athletic men, the primping and preening went on.
Thirty grass courts, already billiard-table smooth, were being given a last expert roll. Out came the gaily striped awnings and umbrellas; up went the refreshment tent (favorite drinks: rum & Tom Collins). A fuzzy-cheeked crew of ball boys soaked up lectures on arm-folding and court behavior. All that was needed to bring in the crowd: the arrival of the 1946 crop of sun-browned, touring tennis stars.
The Perils of Pauline. Last week they were all in Boston, at suburban Brookline's venerable Longwood Cricket Club, the next-to-last stop on the tournament line. There the National Doubles Championships were at stake. The goal they were all shooting for—the U.S. Singles—begins this week at Forest Hills. The big names: 1) skyscraping Yvon Petra of France, Wimbledon winner; 2) solemn Frank Parker, the U.S. champion; 3) brilliant but unpredictable ex-Coast Guardsman Jack Kramer; 4) jugeared Bill Talbert, best of the wartime tournament regulars. Among the women, there was one whose name led all the rest—California's Pauline Betz.
At 27, Pauline, a friendly, attractive and aggressive American girl, is three-time winner of the U.S. Women's Singles. This week she will be out to win a fourth time—a feat that has been accomplished six times before.* Pauline is a trim 5 ft. 5; her hair is strawberry blonde, sun bleached and wiry. Principally because of her green eyes she seems to have a ready-to-pounce, feline quality. A straightening of her shoulders is a characteristic mannerism—a squaring away that seems to symbolize in an otherwise relaxed girl, a won't-be-beat spirit.