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All this he blurted out in the bedlam of well-wishers, gladhanders, hangers-on and autograph hounds, against whose petty irritations he has had to build up an impervious defense. On these occasions his brown eyes, expressive in conversation, get a glazed look. He fumbles for socks and shorts, nodding agreement to whatever is said. "Yes, Yes, O.K., O.K., O.K.," he mutters over & over again. Reporters bother him more, and in a different way: "It makes me very tired to talk to the newspapermen. You have to think hard about tennis all the time."
By the time of his defeat at Orange he had had too much tennis, there was no doubt about that. But though he wanted a rest, there was no rest to be had: he had become too valuable a property of the U.S. Lawn Tennis Association to be allowed to do as he liked. Two days later, Savitt, along with Trabert, Larsen and Budge Patty, was whisked off to Canada to play in the final of the American Zone Davis Cup matches. Significantly, Savitt and Trabert, the youngest players, carried the burden of the important opening singles matches. Savitt finally got his longed-for recess when the L.T.A. excused him from last week's National Doubles championships* at Boston's Longwood Cricket Club. It was only the third time in 15 months (since he graduated from Cornell) that Dick has had a week at home with his family. That is part of the price he pays for playing bigtime, fulltime, worldwide tennis.
Tennis for Your Supper. His itinerary for the past year sounds like something out of Baedeker. Last summer it was a tour of the U.S. eastern seaboard from the Merion (Pa.) Cricket Club to the Newport (R.L) Casino, ending with the Nationals. Then it was a fast flight to Chile (with a stopover at Miami) for a month of tournaments and exhibitions. Three days after he got home, he was off for Australia for three months. Then back to Hawaii for ten days of exhibition matches, five days at home, and a flight to Europe in the middle of February.
The European high spots: San Remo, Egypt (Cairo and Alexandria), Monte Carlo, Rome, Palermo, Paris, Turin, Berlin, Hamburg, Paris again (for the French championships), Stockholm, Brussels and London (for Wimbledon). It was, excluding the tennis, pretty good fun—and, under the peculiar financial code of amateur tennis, it was all free.
Dick Savitt does not intend to make a career of tennis. In that case, as a young (24) college graduate, oughtn't he to be buckling down to his future business instead of gallivanting about the world? "Look," he says earnestly, "I'd have to spend the next 30 years to earn enough money to travel and live like this. We always travel first class, we eat in the best clubs and restaurants. People in Europe are tennis-mad; they knock themselves out to give us a good time. We get to know the natives—not just a bunch of fellow tourists. I give them good tennis. They make money, but I get plenty in return."