from the 2003 Edition of Deuce Magazine

by Betty Blake

More Than a Game

Tennis has always been a way of life for the Blake family. Sons Thomas and James used to watch Mom and Dad play. How times have changed.

The 369th Armory in Harlem provide my sons, Thomas and James, with anything but a conventional introduction to tennis. When Thomas was born we took him with us in his car bed. By the time James arrived three years later, the Armory had become more than a place to play tennis—it was a home away from home, which for us was in nearby Yonkers. Thomas and James belonged to everyone at the Armory, and we never had to look far for a babysitter before my husband Tom and I played. It followed naturally that as soon as the boys could weird a racquet, they joined the free junior program.

We played at the Armory until, without warning, the city converted it into a homeless shelter, taking away our tennis and social life. Through the efforts of Claude Cargill, “the Angel of Harlem,” the city let us use half the floor during the day for the junior program, while the homeless men used the remainder. Every weekend dedicated parents folded and stacked cots, cleaned the floor, laud down a rubber surface and strung up four nets.

In 1986, when the boys were 6 and 9, we moved to Fairfield, Connecticut. Although we were never wealthy, we had enough for whatever we considered important. Usually, though, we taught the boys the value of hard work and economy. I believe our family enjoyed a wealth greater than material goods can supply. Harmony pervaded our home, a feeling of mutual respect, love and that essential ingredient, humor. Importantly, we spent time together.

Tom decreed two TV-free days a week; Thomas and James amazed us with the alternative activities they found. Tom also encouraged a literary pursuit, offering $25 for every 100 books read! Attendance at school was also paramount. There were no snow days, no matter how big the drifts.

After school, the boys shared a neighborhood paper route. James befriended all the dogs and cats along the way and this soon developed into a pet-car service. “You leave ‘em, I love ‘em,” proclaimed his flier, which attracted several regular customers.

They would rake leaves and shovel snow—anything for extra money. James briefly became an altar boy, hoping to receive tips for weddings and funerals. But Thomas and James enjoyed normal, happy childhoods. They played baseball, stickball and fought with each other over board games in winter.

And, of course, there was tennis. The sport brought Tom and me together, and it remained our main form of recreation. Inevitably, the children tried their hands. We never pressured them to play. They played frequently only because Tom and I did and, as James had been quoted as saying, we were “too cheap to hire a babysitter.” So they banged balls against the wall or found sticks and shied rocks or bottle caps into the trees to amuse themselves while we played.

When we finished playing we hit with the boys, even after their formal training began. It can be tedious playing with youngsters, but I still advocate it. Soon we realized the boys had some talent, and we began looking for an indoor court to take the place of the Armory. We chose The Tennis Club of Trumbull, where we met Brian Barker, who headed the junior program. And when Thomas took a part-time job in a sporting goods store, Barker was the one who tried to convince him to spend more time playing tennis.

Both boys were about 11 before we let them play a few New England tournaments and their early results proved disappointing. Thomas invariably drew the top seed and lost rapidly. I recall entering James in a 12-and-under tournament and being told that he hadn’t made the draw, but that he would be assured a place in the next tournament. He applied for another tournament at the same club but when, on calling for his starting time, they told me he hadn’t made it again, I appealed to the New England authorities. They allowed him to play and the tournament director, probably upset that he had to rearrange his draw, but him in the strongest section. The controversy fired up James. He narrowly beat New England’s top-rated 12-year-old and went on to win the tournament. He showed similar determination throughout his junior years and into college, often turning around matches that seemed lost.

Though he did well in the 12s, James faltered in the 14s and early 16s, probably due to his side. Results weren’t spectacular for their boy until they were in the 18s. James never won a main draw match at Kalamazoo until he went all the way to the finals in his last year. “Who’s James Blake?” said the second seed that year. After administering a sound beating in the semifinals, James muttered, “Guess he knows who James Blake is now.”

Even with their improving results we had no though of either son playing professionally. We were also against tennis academies, where we knew school would become secondary, and where too much pressure would be placed on them. Additionally, we couldn’t justify the expenditure—an issue that didn’t arise when Harvard accepted them.

The boys almost share a birthday (one day apart), but they have vastly different temperaments. “It doesn’t matter,” a beaten Thomas would assure me on the way home, but I often felt he was trying console me rather than himself. James, though, never accepted defeat gracefully, and driving home was torture. “I lost to a guy with a mohawk,” he raged (ironic considering his current hairstyle) and searched for any article he could destroy.

Thomas shrugged off bad shots or his opponent’s winners, but James had difficulty accepting that any shot could beat him. I recall telling him that sometimes you just have to accept that you opponent (even when it’s your mother) made a good shot, and that you should just applaud and play the next point. He didn’t buy that. But last year, watching him play Sebastien Grosjean at Roland Garros, commentator Cliff Drysdale noted the way he applauded winners. He has changed from being the worst tennis brat to being admired as one of the game’s best sportsmen.

As the boys began to play nationally and face tougher competitors, Brian tried to convince them to spend more time practicing. “Is there anything I can say to you that will make you practice more than four times a week?” he asked Thomas after he had lost in the first round of a national tournament. “No,” can the brief, but honest, reply.

However, during Thomas’ high school years, he and several other players started practicing before school, playing from 6am to 7am and arriving at school by 7:30am. James, not yet in high school, preferred to stay in bed—until he thought he was missing out. Eventually, Thomas was driving. He and Tom were in the front of his new Celica (an early graduation gift for a 4.0 GPA) while James and I huddled together in the back, sharing a cup of tea.

There was little competition for them toward the end of high school. Against weaker teams they’d see who could win fastest as they played on neighboring courts. Once they were neck and neck, both with a match point at the same time. “I won,” said James, putting away his last shot and throwing up his hands, to the amazement of his opponent, who hadn’t won a game. James at least had the grace to look sheepish after Thomas shot him a disapproving look.

After his junior year, and with Thomas already at Harvard, James decided to go to Cambridge, Massachusetts, passing on an attractive offer from North Carolina. He knew the members of the Harvard team and how well they played, but he still aspired to earn the No. 4 singles spot in his first year. It turned out that the No. 1 singles player—his brother—had to sit out most of that year with a hamstring injury, and James filled his place. By the end of his sophomore year, he became the No. 1 singles player in the country, and, after seeking Thomas’ advice and with his parents’ blessing, he turned pro.

While my son’s success is hardly an “against all odds” triumph, I’m grateful their rise came the way it did; it made them appreciate that there is life before and after tennis. We may never have been rich in the common understanding of the term, but any mother will admit that knowing her grown children have found happiness and that she might have play a part in it, is priceless. No amount of wealth could provide the joy our two sons bring to our lives. To quote James, “Life is good, man.”