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Trapped on a swarming sector of Long Island where the backwash of Suburbia blurs into the edge of New York City, the West Side Tennis Club at Forest Hills is a green refuge from the crowded reality about it. Outside its high fences, the Long Island Rail Road rattles on its rounds and ordinary citizens endure the twice-daily war of commuting. Inside the club, the polite plunk of tennis balls, the whisper of sneakers on trim grass courts, the tinkle of ice in frost-beaded glasses still recall the long-gone white-flannel age of the courts. There, next week, a lanky jumping jack of a girl who grew up in the slums of Harlem will play tennis. She may not belong to any of the clubs that run the tournament, but this year the tournament belongs to her. Behind Althea Gibson, women's tennis curves off into mediocrity: without her, the U.S. Lawn Tennis Association would not have much of a show.
It was a different story when Althea made her Forest Hills debut in 1950, the first Negro ever to be invited to the U.S.L.T.A.'s national championships. For a few days, Althea was too good to be true. The tricky turf courts of tradition seemed to hold no surprises for the girl who had started out playing paddle tennis on the streets. She was well on her way to a second-round victory over third-seeded Louise Brough when rain stopped the match. While the grass dried, Althea had time to think—and to worry. Next day, Louise Brough brushed her aside with ease.
After seven years of trying, Althea Gibson has yet to win the national singles title. As a Negro, she is still only a tolerated stranger in Forest Hills locker rooms, still has no official standing in the U.S.L.T.A. But now none of that matters. For that Gibson girl has finally whipped the one opponent that could keep her down: her own self-doubt and defensive truculence. At 30, an age when most athletes have eased over to the far slope of their careers, Althea has begun the last, steep climb.
Sent abroad by the State Department in 1955 as an athletic ambassador, Althea made friends and won tournaments from Naples to New Delhi. In Paris last year, she won the French championship, her first big-time title. At Wimbledon, where the heady traditions of genteel sport stretch back beyond any at Forest Hills, her new-found confidence carried her all the way to the quarter-finals before she faltered. This year even Wimbledon succumbed, and Althea came home a queen, owner of tennis' brightest crown.
Lean, tall and well-muscled (5 ft. 10½, 144 Ibs.), Althea Gibson is not the most graceful figure on the courts, and her game is not the most stylish. She is apt to flail with more than the usual frenzy, and she often relies on "auxiliary shots" (e.g., the chop and slice). But her tennis has a champion's unmistakable power and drive. Says Tony Trabert: "She hits the ball hard and plays like a man. She runs and covers the court better than any of the other women." Says Promoter Jack Kramer, who eventually would like to get Althea into the pro ranks: "She has the best chance to be a champ in the manner of Alice Marble that I've seen."