For Graebner to look across a net and see Ashe-and the reverse-is not in itself unusual. But they are here, close to the finish, playing each other. Ashe and Graebner are still amateurs, and it was imagined that in this tournament, playing against professionals, they wouldn’t have much of a chance. It has been thirteen years since an American won the men’s-singles final at Forest Hills, and this match will determine whether Ashe or Graebner is to have a chance to be the first American since Tony Trabert to win it all. The other semifinalists are a Dutchman and an Australian. This is Forest Hills, and this is one of the semifinal matches in the first United States Open Championships. With a vicious backhand drive, Graebner tries to blow the ball crosscourt, past Ashe. Surely this particular shot is a setup, a sitter, hanging there soft and helpless in the air. There have to be exceptions to any general strategy. His backswing is short, his strokes are compact nonetheless, the result is explosive. He is right-handed, and his right forearm is more than a foot in circumference. His frame is large, but his reactions are instant and there is nothing sluggish about him.
The firmly structured muscles of his legs stand out in symmetrical perfection. He is six feet two inches tall he weighs a hundred and seventy-five pounds. But Graebner happens to be as powerful as anyone who plays tennis. Graebner is mindful of his strategy: Just hit the ball in the court, Clark. Having no choice, he hits it up, and weakly-but deep-to Graebner’s backhand. Ashe will not be able to hit the ball with power from down there. It comes low over the net and descends toward Ashe’s backhand. Only an extraordinarily fast human being could make a move of that distance so quickly. The only way to get his confidence down is to get every shot into the court and let him make mistakes.” Graebner, standing straight up, pulls his racquet across and then away from the ball as if he had touched something hot, and with this gesture he blocks back Ashe’s serve.Īshe has crossed no man’s land and is already astride the line between the service boxes, waiting to volley. Arthur sometimes tends to miss easy shots more often than he makes hard shots. He will, in his words, “play the ball in the court and make Arthur play it, because Arthur blows his percentages by always trying a difficult or acute shot. Even if he sees the moon, he may decide not to shoot it. On the other side of the net, the serve hits the grass and, taking off in a fast skid, is intercepted by the backhand of Clark Graebner. With a step forward that stops his fall, he moves to follow.
His build is barely full enough not to be describable as frail, but his coördination is so extraordinary that the ball comes off his racquet at furious speed. He weighs a hundred and fifty-five pounds he is six feet tall, and right-handed. The force of gravity and muscular momentum from legs to arm compound as he whips his racquet up and over the ball. His body straightens and tilts forward far beyond the point of balance. If the ball were allowed to drop, it would, in Ashe’s words, “make a parabola and fall to the grass three feet in front of the baseline.” He has practiced tossing a tennis ball just so thousands of times. Photograph by Bob Gomel / LIFE Images Collection / GettyĪrthur Ashe, his feet apart, his knees slightly bent, lifts a tennis ball into the air. Arthur Ashe at the US National Championships in Forest Hills, Queens, New York, September, 1965.