The Power Game

Australia's Lew Hoad, 22, and Harlem's Althea Gibson, 29, are the power hitters of amateur tennis. Despite his occasional lapses, mostly charged to a youngster's sulks, Lew Hoad is the finest amateur in the world. But because of her lapses, generally charged to a lack of confidence in herself, Althea Gibson, the first Negro to crash big-time tennis, has only hovered on the edge of greatness. Last week, day after day, crowds of 20,000 packed the stadium at Wimbledon, England to see if Hoad could still lick the world, and to wonder if Althea was really anything more than a strong-armed also-ran.

Right from the start Althea grimly set her lips and set out to play a man's game. Lean and agile (5 ft. 10 3/4 in., 138 lbs.), she sprinted about the court on tireless legs, belted her serves with unladylike gusto. For one giddy moment, all England hoped that a strapping (5 ft. 11 in., 155 lbs.) English schoolgirl of 16 named Christine Truman could stop Althea in the semifinals. Christine seemed to some to be the best British prospect in 20 years, but Althea was not impressed. "I'll gobble her up," she said coolly, and then did just that: 6-1, 6-1.

The Restless Panther. Even Queen Elizabeth ignored the 100-degree heat to come out to watch Althea play for the title against California's chunky Darlene Hard. It was no contest. Ranging the court like a restless panther, Althea had her big game zeroed in with power and precision. Darlene, a former waitress in Montebello, scampered to retrieve Althea's flat-trajectory volleys, but to little avail. Final score: 6-3, 6-2.

For Althea, the road to the center court at Wimbledon and the pinnacle of women's tennis was a long one, and all uphill. She grew up in a Harlem tenement, learned the fundamentals of the game playing with crude wooden paddles on the pavements of New York. In 1950, when she was invited to play in the U.S. nationals at Forest Hills, she was leading Former Champion Louise Brough in the second round when a thunderstorm washed out the match. Next day Althea collapsed before seasoned Tennist Brough. From that match until last week, no one really knew if Althea had the drive to match her physical talents; since becoming a name player in 1950, she had won more than a dozen tournaments, but only one major one (the French singles in 1956). In subsequent years she made most of the big-time tournaments, but never lived up to her promise. But last week she found the extra bit of confidence she needed. "Boy, I'm telling you I was nervous," she said later. "But I knew I could do it."

Sponge Tosser. While Althea was slamming her way through 6 opponents to the title, Hoad at first performed more like a talented but moody schoolboy than the defending champion. In early matches, played on the far reaches of Wimbledon before standing galleries of only a few hundred, he snarled at himself when a shot went astray, grimaced when his booming serve missed by millimeters. Asked one newspaper: "Can Hoad beat the sulks?" Against Sweden's Sven Davidson in the semifinals, Hoad fretted some, but still won in a breeze: 6-4, 6-4, 7-5.

When at last Hoad stalked out on the center court to play his countryman, Ashley Cooper, 20, for the title, he left his sulks in the clubhouse. His tennis was awesome. Serves powered by his thick shoulders and muscle-rippled arm had Cooper frantically switching his racket from forehand to backhand. Volleys flicked dust from the base line. Backhand lobs plopped into corners like wet sponges. Up in the stands, stunned tennis fans, many of them longtime Hoad baiters, talked aloud of such oldtime greats as America's Bill Tilden or Jack Kramer, and wondered whether Hoad's game did not rank him among them. It was all over in 55 minutes. Afterwards even Hoad admitted that Hoad had been great. "I think I've played better in Australia," he said, "but this was good tennis." So good, in fact, that Amateur King Hoad promptly decided he was now ready for the pros, flew to New York to discuss a fat professional contract with Tennis Promoter Jack Kramer.

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