The Belle Epoque
Philip Picuri
With Illustrations by the Author
Tennis is not only Roland Garros, Wimbledon, etc., Pancho Gonzales, Rod Laver, Stefan Edberg, Roger Federer, Rafa Nadal. The huge mass of tennis players are club players who also play with passion and have their own little world.
One such little world was Tennis Club Campo Marzio, in Lugano, Switzerland, in the late 1960's. The tennis pro was Lee Born, who was the founder of one of Lugano's first tennis clubs in 1931. Born was a Swiss German who grew up in London and worked as a tennis teacher in Wimbledon.
What a character he was! He was full of (fictional?) anecdotes about tennis. I remember he once watched me hit a double fault, and “tsked, tsked” me. He told me later that when he was in England at the Wimbledon Tennis Club, it was considered disrespectful to the opponent to double fault, and, anyone doing so, would be suspended for a month!
That was Lee alright, but I am getting ahead of my story. Come along with me in a time machine, and I'll introduce you to Born and my old friends....
Lee Born's tennis club is beautifully situated, surrounded by high shrubbery and with Monte Bre looming in the background, and two beautiful clay courts. The clubhouse is a small, ramshackle wooden affair painted a weather beaten dark green, and consisting of a small veranda with two tables, Born's office, and on opposite sides, a men's and a women's locker room. At the back there is a small dilapidated shower stall, with a shower curtain. Born's office is always shut, dark and cluttered with tons of old magazines and memoralia (old tennis rackets, photos, etc.).
As we walk up the gravel path leading to the clubhouse, Born hears us and peers out from his office suspiciously, with a frown on his homely face (He was about 80 at the time - 1969 - rather short and stocky, with one of the biggest noses I ever saw, bowlegged like Pancho Segura, deeply tanned. He speaks with an Oxford English accent. Don't let all that put you off, actually he is short-sighted and he is not really frowning, just squinting his eyes, trying to make if we are friend or foe (he has his very strong likes and dislikes - but don't worry - we are his friends).
The moment he recognizes me, a big warm smile appears and transforms his face immediately, "Aaah…my favorite non-paying customer." he says, coming to meet us. He is referring to my broke financial status as a student during those days. I smile sheepishly, knowing the privileged status I enjoy, being able to play hours on end for practically nothing. In return for this, I play against any tourist in need of a partner... He speaks excellent English, German, French and Italian.
Born is very independent, if he does not like you, he can make life miserable for you. I remember once on a lazy summer afternoon being seated on the veranda with him exchanging jokes when suddenly a family of rich, arrogant Germans arrived in single file, like an infantry formation. The father walked in as if he owned the place. I saw Born's eyes flash for an instant (a bad sign). He continued telling his joke, studiously ignoring the Germans.
The father, unaware of what was in store for him, walked up to Born, rudely interrupted him and told him he wanted to reserve both courts for his family for 4 in the afternoon. Born answered laconically that both courts were already reserved (which wasn't true). Annoyed the German said that in that case he will take both courts right now. Fine replied Born, that will be one hundred dollars an hour (lots of money in those days...). Flabbergasted at such an exorbitant price, the German haughtily replied he would go elsewhere to play, and left furiously. Born calmly went on telling me his joke.
Born was famous for his tennis lessons. They went something like this:
He would walk onto the court with his pupil, usually a self-conscious Nordic tourist with a brand new tennis outfit. He would then declare that he would first gauge the pupil's level of play by hitting a few balls, and without much ado, he would rapidly hit all the balls he was holding in his hands at such impossible angles not even Ken Rosewall could get them back.
"Aaah... I see you are a beginner," he would say, "please come up to the net... Before learning how to play, you should know something of the history... Suzanne Lenglen used to say...” (He had a secret crush on Lenglen.) He would then chatter on and on....Fred Perry....Kramer....Hoad... Born who gave up to 10 hours of tennis daily knew he had to save his energy. After half an hour, even the meekest of pupils expected that at some point he would be able to start hitting a ball. I remember one German tourist complaing to Born that Balestra (the pro at the neighboring club TC Lido), would hit balls much more than he with his students.
"Oh...him," Born would reply haughtily, "he is only a tennis trainer...I am a tennis professor," thereby crushing the German into submission.
It must have been exasperating for some of his pupils, because I remember once the same German telling Born determinately, that today he expected to hit some balls. "Why, of course..." replied Born, looking at him as if he were a madman.
They walked out onto the court, Born piled up a dozen tennis balls in his left hand (don't know how he did it), the German tense with eager expectation, when the phone would ring. The telephone was attached to the wall next to his office. Born had a very loud buzzer installed so that you could hear his phone ringing a mile away.
"Excuse me" he said smilingly, "hit a few balls with the ball boy till I get back." And so saying, he went to answer the phone with his leisurely, shambling gait. In five minutes he would return, and invariably, the phone would ring again. After this happened a number of times, he would look down at his wristwatch and say, "Ooops...your lesson is over, my how time flies." (I am sure he would tell his wife to phone him repeatedly.)
The club also has a number of characters as members.
First, look there is Renzo, a wiry, nervous little chap with dark glasses and black socks screaming and waving at his opponent who just made a point. Let's just watch him play for a moment: He is terribly theatrical. He is an elementary school teacher of about 20 school boys who drive him nuts. He is crazy about tennis. Born says that if you open up his head you would find a couple of old tennis balls. On his honeymoon, a couple of years earlier, he went to a tennis camp in Northern Italy (he wife doesn't play tennis...). Off the courts he is warm-hearted and generous. On the courts, he calls you an assassin if you make a point, screams and falls onto the court when he loses a point. HIs service motion is a hectic flurry of motion resulting ultimately in a 30 mph moon ball.
Who is his opponent did you ask? It is Bei, a deposed Hungarian Count. He is in his seventies and quite fit, even though he looks as if he swallowed a broomstick, walking so straight and stiffly He is like a cross between Buster Keaton and Bela Lugosi. He considers himself quite a ladies man, and kisses the hand of every lady in sight. Yes, a real count, they say, though he lost everything and is currently a butler in the household of a rich German in nearby Morcote. But don't feel too sorry for him. Though he is married he has a thirty year old girl friend on the side and is often out all night dancing at the nearby Casino in Campione. Don't envy him though: his girlfriend is no bargain - she is a health food fanatic with an expression like vinegar.
And look over onto the second court. Do you see the short little old man, giggling and playing doubles with three corpulent Dutch and German matrons? See him, all bundled up, as if it were a cool autumn day instead of a hot summer day? Wearing a white cap, hiding most of his head, long white flannel pants, a long sleeved tennis sweater.
That is Mr. Lucchini, a local multi-millionaire. You wouldn't think so looking at him would you?
He is notorious for two traits: one he never showers and he is extremely stingy. You see the ball boys on his court looking nervous? It is because they know that they will have a very hard time collecting their 20 cent fee from him. Once the hour is over everyone will promptly pay except Lucchini (who was also the most exacting and demanding player towards the ball boys.)
When asked he will indignantly reply that he never carries money with him on court, but rather has it safely looked away in his locker. He will pay once he has changed his clothes. The locker room is off limits to the ball boys, so they will have to wait outside (and wait... and wait...).
Through a small crack in the window curtains, Lucchini will observe the ball boys till they get tired of laying siege (or more often than not, they get called by Born to go on court for the next group of players (which is exactly what Lucchini is expecting). Once this happens, he comes out of the locker room like a bat out of hell (not bad for an eighty year old) and runs for the exit. If manages to escape, and is confronted by the ball boys the next day, he indignantly maintains that he already paid.
And look - here comes Monsieur Beroud, a wealthy Parisian industrialist in his fifties. He looks like a short, truculent frog. An ardent supporter of Charles De Gaulle, he refuses to speak any language other than French. He too has two distinctive traits. First of all, he cheats. When playing against him, line balls are invariably "out". Always count the score loud and clear when playing against him, otherwise he suddenly has more games than you, and how can you argue with him in French?
When he misses a point, it is always the fault of perspiration fogging up his glasses. He wipes them off theatrically, shrugging his shoulders at the unfairness of life in burdening him with this handicap, while is opponent is gifted with perfect eyesight. He makes you feel like a cad, taking advantage of a half-blind man.
His second trait? He will walk around to the back of the clubhouse to the shower stall wearing nothing but a skimpy towel around his waist. The towel is very small and skimpy. Since there is a single shower stall for both sexes, he often as not encounters an elderly German or Dutch spinster, bundled up in a bathrobe, also waiting for the shower stall to get free. A satyr like smile with his rotten teeth is enough to get the matrons to retire quickly, shocked at the "horrid Frenchman".
Just recounting these stories brings everything back to me, even though many are long gone. I used to have to play against all of them and against many other similar cards. They all had passion for the game, a game different from a Federer - Nadal encounter, but played with as much passion.
