 |
Home | Search | Browse | About IPO | Staff | Links |
|
Home | Search | Browse | About IPO | Staff | Links |
|
Reprinted with the permission of World Tennis magazine. By John Stewart They were the best of friends. They were the worst of friends. For 60 years, they were genuine, bona fide tennis bums. They lived and loved the game, and their daily pursuit of it into their mid-80s kept them as active and agile as two alley cats. Henry Holland and Wilbur Dunkley began their endless tennis match in 1924 soon after moving next door to each other within a block of the city courts. "The courts were free, that's why we did it," they would say. Through years of poverty and prosperity, war and peace, Democrats and Republicans, and irate but indulgent wives, they played tennis each morning, 6 to 8, rain or shine. It could be the heat of summer or the cold of winter, and they'd be decked out in shorts or in coats or earmuffs. But, alas, their friendship became marred by stinginess: living on modest Social Security payments, each grew increasingly reluctant to provide new tennis balls. Victims of inflation, they played with the same balls longer and longer, each making an amazing variety of excuses for not bringing new ones to the court. They played with the same balls for 2 1/2 years, gnashing their teeth all the while, although each had a can of new balls at home that their wives had given them for Christmas. "That Henry Holland is the most tight-waddish old bugger I've ever known!" Wilbur confided to his wife Angela. "That Wilbur Dunkley is the original Scrooge of the entire tennis world!" exploded Henry to wife Marsha. The increasing acrimony affected their game. Previously, they had been quite charitable in linecalls, giving each other the benefit of the doubt. No more. Any ball that landed within two feet of a line now was likely to be called out. They used to congratulate each other on exceptional shots, but now commented caustically on all the bad ones. Although neighbors, they now walked to and from the court on opposite sides of the street. At home, they became so crotchety that their wives suspended all conjugal privileges. Then, a wonderful thing happened: on Henry's eightieth birthday it occurred to Wilbur that if he gave Henry a can of new tennis balls — the can he had been hoarding since two years ago Christmas — it might mend their friendship. Henry was surprised and delighted when he received the special gift. Wilbur had carefully rehearsed what he was going to say to Henry, which was simply, "Time heals all wounds." But in the emotional excitement of the moment he garbled his words and blurted, "Time wounds all heels!" If Henry noticed the slip, he never said so. He embraced Wilbur and they shed tears of joy, vowing to never argue again. As the two old friends tottered courageously into their mid-80s, they reluctantly discussed the day they might need to play in motorized wheelchairs. One fiendish thought that occurred to Henry was that when Wilbur became sufficiently senile, Henry might tie his friend's wheelchair to the netpost, giving him just enough rope that he could not quite reach the baseline to return deep shots. But Henry never got to put his wheelchair plan into effect, for one morning Wilbur did not come out of his house to meet Henry for their trudge to the court. Wilbur had died in the night. The doctor supposed it was a heart attack, but Henry diagnosed it as an acute attack of tennis elbow. Special friend In his last will and testament, Wilbur left his racket and his best can of used balls to Henry. But Henry had no use for them now. "The game's over," he muttered. With Wilbur's widow's approval, he placed the racket and the balls in Wilbur's casket. "Whether he's headed up or headed down, he'll be needing them," reasoned Henry as he bid his friend a tearful farewell. "Until we meet again, it's a LOVE game for you, Wilbur, my dear little buddy! But remember, next time we play it's my turn to serve!"
Illinois Parks and Recreation 24 July/August 1985 |
|
|
