As Arthur would soon learn, Jeanne remained close to her mother, father, and brothers, even though she had come to regard her upbringing as too rigid and confining. The family’s protective regimen during her girlhood had not even allowed her to go to summer camp as her brothers did. Indeed, she had rebelled at age nineteen, impulsively marrying an aspiring twenty-one-year-old copywriter named Michael Lloyd. The marriage, which lasted a mere three months, was annulled in January 1971. By that time—after declaring, “marriage is not for me”—Jeanne had fled from Chicago to New Rochelle, in suburban Westchester County, New York, where she lived for a time with a favorite aunt while she attended the College of New Rochelle. A year later, she transferred to the Cooper Union School of Art in Manhattan, where she developed a passion for graphic design and photography. With its unlimited possibilities, Manhattan proved to be the perfect backdrop for a strong-willed young woman seeking personal reinvention.
During her junior year, Jeanne spent several weeks in West Africa taking photographs she later presented in three extensive portfolios. Skilled well beyond the typical undergraduate, she drew the attention of NBC, which hired her as a graphic designer and photographer during her senior year. Only twenty-five when she met Arthur, she was already one of New York’s most promising young photographers.6
Ambitious and proud of her work, Jeanne was a committed civil rights activist and feminist who had no tolerance for sexist condescension. So she was thrilled when at that first dinner Arthur asked to see some of her work. Back at her NBC cubicle at 30 Rockefeller Plaza, he seemed to take a genuine interest in her portfolios, asking lots of questions about her choice of photographs. “He got big points for that,” she recalled years later. More than enough points to warrant a second date, it turned out. The following night they attended a benefit at a New Jersey tennis club frequented by Arthur’s uncle E. J. Cunningham. Arthur’s beloved Aunt Marie was also on hand to meet her nephew’s new girlfriend, so it wasn’t long before the family grapevine was buzzing about his budding romance.7
Whatever was stirring was soon interrupted by Arthur’s commitment to play in two European tournaments in late October and early November. It would be almost three weeks before he returned to New York, but he did his best to keep his new relationship alive. “I kissed her on the cheek in the lobby of 30 Rockefeller Plaza . . . and was off,” he remembered. “I called from the airport and from Vienna. I called every day from Europe and talked to her on election night as Jimmy Carter went over the top. By the time I got back, we were in love; at least I was.”8
Nurturing a romance through transatlantic communication was a new and not altogether satisfying experience for Jeanne. But her new boyfriend was so attentive—albeit at long distance—that she tried not to complain. For a time Arthur feared she would grow tired of the phone calls and break off their relationship. But fear turned to joyous relief when she invited him to come to Chicago to have Thanksgiving dinner with her family. The visit with the big-hearted and welcoming Moutoussamy clan went well, so well that Jeanne’s relatives began to press her about wedding plans. “Has Arthur asked you to marry him yet?” one aunt asked, drawing a swift denial from Jeanne. “No, God,” she exclaimed, “I’ve only known him a month!”9
In truth, both Arthur and Jeanne were already contemplating a long-term relationship, perhaps even marriage. But before that could happen they had to overcome the lingering psychological effects of her first marriage. From the beginning of her relationship with Lloyd, Jeanne had sensed something fundamental was not quite right. She had felt the need to leave Lloyd, but she was also fleeing from the sometimes stifling atmosphere surrounding her parents’ close circle of devout Catholic friends. She loved her family, but her life in Chicago had not allowed for much freedom or independence.
Early on in their relationship, Arthur became aware of Jeanne’s independence of mind—and of her long-standing disillusionment with aggressive men. She was especially distrustful of black men who, in her experience, were long on seductive talk and short on substance. He knew she was hesitant to commit to anyone—even someone to whom she was deeply attracted. So he proceeded as slowly as he could, despite his depth of feeling. He was “more distant with her” than with previous girlfriends. During the early dates there was “no kissing, no holding hands, not even privately.” He didn’t want to do anything to scare her off.10
All of this began to change, however, after the Thanksgiving visit. The couple’s deep mutual affection was becoming more obvious with every passing day—both to them and to everyone around them. Now that he had met Jeanne’s family, it was time to introduce her to Arthur Ashe Sr. He was confident his father would see the same sterling qualities in Jeanne that he did. But he wasn’t prepared for his father’s reaction. “For an instant, I thought he would faint,” Arthur Jr. recalled. “He just stood there and stared at Jeanne. I had never seen him so stunned.”
A few moments later, when he had the chance to ask his father what was going on, he learned what should have been obvious. “She looks just like your mother,” Arthur Sr. whispered. “Later that day,” Arthur Jr. recalled, “I looked again at an old photograph of my mother, taken when I was just four years old. Indeed, there was a strong resemblance: the straight brown hair, the high cheekbones, the large eyes, the light brown complexion.” He “hadn’t noticed” the resemblance until that day, but after his father’s prompting he began to see it as a sign of something deeper: “I sensed that somehow, my mother had managed to reach from beyond and influence my choice of the woman who would share my life.”11
Before long Arthur was plotting a marriage proposal. But the demands of the tour temporarily complicated matters. Diverted by two trips, one to Tucson for a Davis Cup tie against Mexico, and a second and much longer trip to Australia, he had no choice but to put his love life on hold. In mid-December, he helped the U.S. squad defeat Mexico 4–1, though he lost his second singles match to Raúl Ramírez. There were some days when his heel problem wouldn’t allow him to play anywhere near his best, and Ramírez caught him on one of those days. Although the heel didn’t seem to be getting any better, he reluctantly agreed to honor his commitment to play in the Australian Open in early January. The Australian sojourn actually began with a preliminary tournament on December 26, which meant he and Jeanne would not be together for the Christmas holidays. Once again he tried to make up for his absence by calling her every day.12
Once the Australian Open began he concentrated on the task at hand. Despite the pain in his heel, he managed to win his first four singles matches before losing to John Alexander in the quarterfinals. His loss came on January 6, the day of the Epiphany, and he was tempted to truncate his tour and fly home. But he and Roche were still alive in the doubles competition, so he decided to stay a bit longer. Amazingly, he and Roche actually ended up winning the doubles title. His left heel was still painful and increasingly unreliable, but this unexpected victory was enough to convince him to stay another week to play in the South Australia championships in Adelaide.
He had always played well in Adelaide, and he managed to win his first two matches. His luck ran out, however, in a third-round match against Pasarell. By the end of the four-set match, he was limping noticeably and some observers wondered how he had managed to remain on the court so long. This time he knew there was no point in prolonging the tour and within a few hours he was on a plane bound for the United States.13
The long plane ride home gave him plenty of time to ponder his personal and professional circumstances, and by the time he reached New York he had made two important decisions: “I would have heel surgery and get married.” Both decisions involved considerable risk, though he was fairly confident Jeanne would agree to marry him. Even so, he couldn’t seem to manage a traditional proposal. Instead he surprised her by putting an engagement ring “in an envelope in her medicine cabinet.” As a result, he experienced more than a few anxious moments when “it took her three days to find the envelope.” Despite this h
iccup, Jeanne said yes, making Arthur—and both families—deliriously happy.14
The wedding date was set for February 20, ten days after Arthur’s scheduled heel surgery. Since he expected to be on crutches for at least six weeks, the couple decided to simplify matters and hold the wedding in New York. Their plans crystallized on January 30 when he went to Washington to attend the swearing-in ceremony of Andrew Young. Held in the East Wing of the White House, the ceremony gave him the chance to meet both President Carter and Supreme Court Justice Thurgood Marshall, who administered the oath to Young as the new U.S. ambassador to the United Nations.
Young was pleased that his former African traveling companion had taken the time to come to Washington for the ceremony, and he went out of his way to offer his congratulations on the upcoming marriage. Indeed, when Arthur asked if he would be willing to officiate, Young not only said yes but also suggested the United Nations Chapel as the perfect venue for the blessed event. Located in midtown Manhattan, the small but beautiful ecumenical chapel was a perfect fit for a couple determined to avoid a showy wedding.15
But before there could be any ringing wedding bells, Arthur had to get beyond the surgery scheduled for February 10. The procedure entailed “a carving of his heel bone, designed to relieve pressure from his Achilles tendon, where years of calcium deposits had built up.” Deemed a success, the surgery left him pain-free for the first time in more than four years. He had not spent a night in a hospital since he had undergone a tonsillectomy at the age of ten, but spending a week in bed gave him time to think about his future.
Not surprisingly, he vacillated between optimism and resignation. “If I was 20, I wouldn’t give the operation a second thought,” he told one reporter, adding: “sitting here I’ve been thinking about it for three days. If I had to quit tennis now, I’d be fairly satisfied” since “there are only five active players with records equal to mine. So, what the hell?” Minutes later, however, he expressed a totally different outlook: “I’m going to really want to play again. Maybe I’ll be like a colt out there all frisky. I won’t be afraid to run on my heel, and the other guys won’t be able to play me wide and know they’ve got me. I bet you I play at least four more years—four more years. They’re not going to get rid of me that fast.”16
As the wedding day approached, Arthur’s mood brightened. When asked about his fiancée, he could not resist beaming. “I think we have very compatible life styles,” he offered at one point, adding half jokingly: “We’re Africa freaks. She likes West Africa and I’m keen for East Africa, which means we’ll probably end up in the Central African Republic.” On a more serious note, he spent much of the last week of his bachelorhood dealing with a controversy surrounding an opinion piece he had recently written for The New York Times.17
Titled “An Open Letter to Black Parents—Send Your Children to the Libraries,” his highly provocative essay pulled no punches. “Since my sophomore year at University of California, Los Angeles,” he began, “I have become convinced that we blacks spend too much time on the playing fields and too little time in the libraries. . . . I don’t have children, but I can make observations. I strongly believe the black culture expends too much time, energy and effort raising, praising and teasing our black children as to the dubious glories of professional sport.”
This style of parenting, he insisted, was bound to lead to disappointment, disillusionment, and unfulfilled lives. “There must be some way to assure that the 999 (out of a thousand) who try but don’t make it to pro sports don’t wind up on the street corners or in the unemployment lines,” he wrote. “Unfortunately, our most widely recognized role models are athletes and entertainers. . . . While we are 60 percent of the National Basketball Association, we are less than 4 percent of the doctors and lawyers. While we are about 35 percent of major league baseball players, we are less than 2 percent of the engineers.”
While acknowledging that “racial and economic discrimination forced us to channel our energies into athletics and entertainment,” he maintained “parents must instill a desire for learning alongside the desire to be Walt Frazier. . . . We have been on the same roads—sports and entertainment—too long. We need to pull over, fill up at the library and speed away to Congress and the Supreme Court, the unions and the business world.” He closed with a personal note about his grandmother’s pride in his educational accomplishments—and her relative lack of interest in his tennis exploits. “What mattered to her was that of her more than 30 children and grandchildren, I was the first to be graduated from college, and a famous college, at that,” he explained. “Somehow, that made up for all those floors she scrubbed all those years.”
Ashe had been expressing this point of view to high school audiences for several years, but this was the first time he let loose in a major public forum. Clearly, he had other things on his mind besides tennis; facing the possibility that his playing career was over, he was preparing for the coming transition to life after tennis—a life that would include a role as a public intellectual.18
Jeanne was wholly supportive of his intellectual ambition, as were the close friends and family members who gathered at the United Nations Chapel to witness one of the most joyous days of his life. To those who knew him best, Arthur’s intellect and independence of mind were two of his most endearing and impressive traits. More than his whiplike backhand, perhaps even more than his polite and gentle demeanor, the quality of his mind—the intellectual curiosity and seriousness of purpose with which he approached the world—made him special. That was why Jeanne and the others were not overly concerned about his heel or about whether he had a future on the court. They were confident he would make the most of the rest of his life in all the best ways. So as he stood next to Jeanne and said his vows, there was joy all around, and not even the cast on his left leg could diminish the occasion.
The night before the wedding, Young and his wife, Jean, invited the young couple to have dinner in their sprawling suite at the Waldorf Towers. Whenever Young presided at a wedding, he took the time to offer prenuptial counseling to the couple at hand. But with a “celebrity” couple like Arthur and Jeanne, he sensed that counseling was especially important—that whatever the depth of their affection there would be difficult challenges related to public image and personal ambition. The Youngs knew Jeanne was a professional woman with a proud sense of personal identity—that she, like Arthur, was a strong-willed, independent-minded individual. Creating a mutually satisfying and equal partnership was not going to be easy, considering the cross-pressures of their busy lives and Arthur’s status as a celebrity.
Young urged them to deal honestly and openly with the complexities of their public and private lives. “When a couple marries,” he told them, “six people are really involved. There are two people—yes, but they are different people at different times. First, there is the person you are. Then there is the person you think you are and then finally there is the person others think you are. Most of the time, these three people are not the same.” To Arthur, who was averse to opening up emotionally, these words did not carry much weight at the time. But in the months and years that followed, he would come to recognize the wisdom of Young’s counsel.19
Following a brief honeymoon in Haiti, the newlyweds moved into a duplex apartment on East 72nd Street, in the heart of Manhattan’s trendy Upper East Side. For the first month of their marriage, Arthur was pretty much confined to the apartment. During this period, he and Jeanne spent a great deal of time together, more time than he had spent with anyone since he and his brother had been inseparable as children. Thus, along with the normal adjustments to married life, he had to deal with inactivity and inevitable boredom. This lack of mobility left him with plenty of time to read. By the time his cast was removed in mid-March, he was more than ready to resume his normal life—at least psychologically. As he soon discovered, he was still physically a long way from being ready to play again.
Facing a longer period of convalescence than he ha
d expected, he began daily workouts at the Nautilus Sports Medical Institute in an effort to accelerate his recovery. Working with a team of physical therapists, he swam, rode an exercise bike, and lifted weights. It would be several weeks before his doctors gave him the okay to run, but by early April he was walking well enough to consider a brief trip to South Africa.20
The producers of ABC television’s Wide World of Sports had asked him to host a documentary on sports and the prospects for racial integration in South Africa, and he eagerly accepted the challenge. He had not been to South Africa for eighteen months, and he wanted to see firsthand how the 1976 Soweto uprising had altered the political climate. The trip would also give Jeanne a chance to take some photographs, to meet Owen Williams, Don Mattera, and other liberal reformers, and to have her first look at the country that meant so much to her husband.
Within minutes of landing in Johannesburg, Arthur sensed South Africa was in deeper trouble than ever, and during five days of interviews he encountered nothing to dispel this view. Conservative figures in the government had stymied Minister of Sports Piet Koornhof’s reform measures at every turn, and Koornhof himself had shown little willingness to take any real risks on behalf of black South Africans. In a meeting with the minister, Arthur challenged him to provide evidence of meaningful change. “You say mixed sport in South Africa is a reality, but where is it?” he asked. “You show me where it’s being done.” In response, Koornhof implored him to “understand how things work here.” “We can’t force these things,” he insisted. “They’re purely voluntary.” He went on to cite a few examples of progress—Indians playing cricket alongside whites, a series of interracial boxing matches, and an integrated professional soccer match—but it was not enough to convince Arthur that the government had authorized anything more than tokenism.
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