Man at His Leisure

Forest Hills – home of the West Side Tennis Club – is one of the hemisphere's most prominent rallying points for tennis buffs. The superbly appointed clubhouse, fifty-five courts and stadium serve the most notable net competitors in the entire world. Forest Hills, as the club is familiarly known, has been the site of title tennis playing for forty-seven years – ever since its officers acquired the present Long Island grounds. (The club was founded in 1892 and occupied three New York City locations before moving to Forest Hills in 1913.) The roster of players who have achieved international greatness at the club reads like a tennis hall of fame: Bill Tilden, Bill Johnston, Ellsworth Vines, Don Budge, Frank Parker, Jack Kramer, Pancho Gonzales, Frank Sedgman, Lew Hoad, Alex Olmedo, to name a few. A string of major net events are held regularly at Forest Hills, including the Davis Cup, the Wightman Cup and the National Tennis Championship matches. In establishing its eminence, the club has grown from thirteen hardy founders to approximately one thousand dues-paying ($60 to $150 annually) devotees. Its impeccably groomed acres serve as a model for aspiring tennis clubs throughout (concluded on page 101) man at his leisure (continued from page 77) the world: between the terraced clubhouse and the 13,500-capacity horseshoe stadium is a diligently manicured stretch of grass, easily converted to active courts according to the day-to-day needs of the club; flanking this expanse of grass as smooth as a golf green are rows of clay courts. To the visitor, there is a unity that links clubhouse, courts and stadium in a single manorial image.

It was this image, regal in nature, that inspired artist LeRoy Neiman during his visit to Forest Hills. Neiman. on special assignment for Playboy's Man at His Leisure series, went on a sketchbook tour of the club. He explored the Old English-style clubhouse; he strolled through the field of grass courts; he observed top-notch tennis players at peak performance during Davis Cup combat. For Neiman, whose esthetic excursions have taken him around the world, it was an inimitable adventure.

"My first impression was of the clubhouse, a strikingly charming building," Neiman says. "Players and spectators were relaxing in front of it, under parasols and awnings. At an outdoor bar, dignified, formally dressed waiters served drinks to the players, garbed in white, and to the guests, in sports attire. It was an elegant scene in an almost palatial setting," he remembers.

Inside the clubhouse, Neiman noted the manifestations of tradition and style. For those members not on the courts, a spacious lounge, with leather chairs, offers a casual, comfortable respite. Above and below the luxurious lounge and dining room are quarters designed for more expedient matters. On the second floor are the dressing rooms; in the basement are the business offices. Throughout the building, Neiman sensed the well-mannered air of a private club.

"The members are of all ages, but have one common interest: they all play tennis and they all play it intensely. They are devoted to the game and they take it seriously. Off the court, they revere each other's privacy. For example, during major competitions, well-known players can roam through the clubhouse without ever being approached or even stared at by a member.

"The players themselves – like Olmedo and the other great ones – are quiet, too. You can sense the infinite strain of the matches in their actions. They rarely speak: they seem uneasy. They sit for a while, then move around. Former tennis stars – like Bill Talbert and Vic Seixas – are members and they spend their time with other members, while the contemporary players drift around.

"I noticed one man who had been playing and had returned to the clubhouse to rest. He was about sixty-five years old and seemed to know most of the members in the lounge. He stretched out with his gin and tonic. Seated beside him was Davis Cup team member Barry MacKay. Instead of conversing with MacKay, the older man opened his newspaper and read about the cup match MacKay had played the previous day," Neiman recalls.

From the clubhouse, Neiman looked past the pattern of grass courts to the stadium, where a capacity throng prepared to observe the Americans and Australians in their battle for the world's most treasured tennis trophy – the Davis Cup. He was given the rare opportunity to enter the playing field and sketch during the matches.

"Compared to the fans of other sports, tennis addicts are extremely orderly," Neiman says. "They clap politely for a good shot and rarely react to a bad one. They just maintain a dignified silence. Oddly enough, that silence sometimes becomes more cuttingly evident than catcalls or Bronx cheers."

As an artist, Neiman was particularly conscious of color at Forest Hills. "The dress of the spectators is in keeping with their reserved attitude. A view of the stands gives one a basically white image. It's pretty much a white-jacket or poloshirt crowd. The eye-catching color, the focal point, is the green of the grass court. It is white racing against the green as the players volley or as the ball boys scamper to retrieve. The officials, seated in studious poses on the sidelines, never take their eyes off the ball. They wear dark-green jackets or dark-gray jackets, in contrast to the white, informal dress of the crowd," Neiman recalls.

"The refreshment tables for the players brighten up the court. Dotted with oranges, lemons and pitchers of water, they are as lovely as still-life paintings," he says.

When the matches end and the crowd disperses, members and guests stroll along the fringe of the massive grass area linking the stadium and clubhouse.

"Nobody walks on this grass-court expanse," he says, "unless he is playing on it. It is a solid mass, framed by narrow paths. As you walk, you can see sizzling serves and volleys everywhere – on the clay courts bordering the grass, as well as on the grass itself. Tall, stately trees provide just the right degree of shade. I felt the rare, European sort of leisure that members must feel. I seemed to be in the midst of a park, yet the infinite care evident made it unlike any park I'd ever seen."

Engraved above the entrance to the stadium are Kipling's words: "Meet with Triumph and Disaster and treat those two impostors just the same." Forest Hills, as Neiman saw it and painted it, is the personification of that ideal.