Sunday, August 16, 1964
The Newport Harbor Hotel
Newport, Rhode Island
Alice smiles, clipping on an earring, one of the final touches. That evening she expects to receive a loud reception. She was equal parts surprised, honored, and—okay—relieved to have recently received the news that she’d be inducted into the Tennis Hall of Fame at the age of fifty.
When Alice thinks back, especially on the days, weeks, and years that followed her time after the war, it’s astonishing how they bleed together, one into the next.
She had a falling-out with Teach, and years later a reconciliation. Alice was no longer a naive, yielding Eliza Doolittle to her coach’s demands and control, reins Teach had promised she’d loosen. An estrangement was bound to happen after so many years of their power struggle. But to this day, Alice is thankful for the chance that woman took on her.
After the war, she played in exhibitions but never in another Grand Slam, letting her victories at Forest Hills and Wimbledon stand as her last appearances. Maybe it’s that she didn’t want to tamper with her winning record. Maybe the need to constantly prove herself began to feel silly after the war. Perhaps it was a little of both. That’s okay—a person never stops growing. And grow Alice did, from a fireplug who so desperately needed people to notice her to a woman who’s never told a soul about her real reason for being in Switzerland.
A few years after the war, she rounded out her Wonder Women of History column, writing seventeen in all, with her final comics about Sojourner Truth, Abigail Adams, Evangeline Booth, Madame Marie Curie, and—finally—Emma Willard, the woman who started it all before Alice even knew her column would be a thing. All she knew was that Emma’s story needed to be told.
She took more lovers, who will go unnamed, thank you very much.
She had a lung removed. Fortunately, she’s gotten by with one.
She worked on a film, coordinating tennis scenes.
She even took classes to become a practical nurse and a receptionist—something she did for eight years that had absolutely nothing to do with tennis.
While she no longer played competitively, she played socially and then decided to coach. To think, the talent she’s had a hand in shaping over the years. More than two hundred students, in fact, but two stand out above the rest.
Billie Jean Moffit, soon to be King after her recent engagement, had champion written all over her from the jump. And Darlene Hard was an exemplary player when she won—and even when she lost.
Alice recalls such a moment during the 1957 Wimbledon tournament, when Darlene was beaten by Althea Gibson in only two sets. Yet Darlene’s smile matched that of Althea’s. It’s a victory that warms Alice. She likes to think she had a hand in Althea playing in that very match.
When Alice caught wind that Althea, an African American player she’d never met, wouldn’t be allowed to play in the National Championships, she couldn’t not say something. Especially when the stance of the US Lawn Tennis Association committee was that Althea couldn’t play because she hadn’t sufficiently proven herself.
Oh, that got under Alice’s skin.
Miss Gibson hadn’t proven herself?
Miss Gibson didn’t belong?
It hit too close to home. Like how Myrick put Alice through the wringer—and into the hospital—in order for her to get on the Wightman team because she wasn’t like the other girls.
Or how she had to prove she should be paid the same amount as her male counterpart. What had she told Icely all those years ago? “I don’t care if he’s a man and I’m a woman. Last time I checked, we’re both human beings, deserving of the same opportunities.”
So Alice wrote an editorial piece for American Lawn Tennis. People paid their fifty cents and read how Alice thought it was unfair that Althea was expected to prove herself in tournaments she wasn’t even invited to. Do the math there . . .
But if Miss Gibson was given the chance, then maybe, just maybe, tennis would add another great champion to its history. Let Althea be judged by her skill and not the pigmentation of her skin. That was all Alice wanted to get across. And she did. Althea was allowed to play. It took a few years, but she became the first African American—man or woman—to win a Grand Slam. A year later she won both Wimbledon and the US Nationals.
Alice likes to think she cheered the loudest when Althea received her trophy at Forest Hills.
Somewhere in all those years, Alice turned forty.
“One day when we’re forty, love, we’ll look back and realize we have everything we’ve ever wanted.”
Alice pondered Joe’s words. They made her smile. He may have been gone, but he wasn’t lost to her. She thought of him often and his use of love stuck out to her. A quote from George Sand, a French novelist, came to mind.
“There is only one happiness in this life, to love and be loved.”
Alice has had both. More than once. Many times over. It’s funny, in tennis, love means nothing. But in life, love is everything. And Alice has loved fiercely—people, moments, and a game.
After leaving Switzerland, she never contacted Hans. He never contacted her. He’ll forever remain a what-could-have-been, a regret, a name she has never said aloud again.
It doesn’t mean that she doesn’t think of him, or, she’ll admit, that she doesn’t hope to be handed a single peach rose one day. She’d ask him if he’d have done anything differently all those years ago during the war.
A year after victory was declared, the Nuremberg Trials came to a close, where more than two hundred stood trial for everything from aiding in concentration camps to stealing Germany’s wealth. Soon after, Alice received a handwritten note in the mail. There was no signature.
Thank you for Schmitz, Kugler, Ambros, Krauch
She remembered the names; of course she did. To this day, she still can name those in Hans’s ledger. To this day, she also wonders how the end of the war affected him. Switzerland signed an agreement to pay 250 million Swiss francs toward the reconstruction of postwar Europe. In return, the Allies waived various claims against Swiss banks. What’s more, the Swiss government pledged to identify and return any assets that once belonged to Holocaust victims.
Alice likes to think the retribution has made a difference.
She likes to think her time in tennis has too.
Her old doubles partner Donald Budge will be beside her this evening at the Hall of Fame ceremony, along with George Lott, Sidney Wood, Frank Shields, and George Adee.
The kicker: she’ll be inducted by Jimmy Van Alen, the president of the Lawn Tennis Hall of Fame, with the assistance of none other than her old “pal” Myrick.
That man almost broke her.
Alice is proud that she didn’t let him.
She’s proud of many things.
She clips on her final earring and then her pin from Teach, one of her most prized possessions. Alice stands to leave her hotel room, a car likely already waiting for her outside.
What will be said about her tonight? The mention of her eighteen Grand Slam wins. A world number one ranking. A champion. An ace. A marvel. A spy?
No, no one knows about that last one. Yet it’s Alice’s time in Switzerland that may be her greatest achievement of them all, something she accomplished for everyone but herself.