SAN DIEGO — I went one year to the annual professional women’s tennis matches held at La Costa Country Club. La Costa was a client of my company. We made all the signs at the tennis center including the scoreboards on the tournament courts.
Once when I had a crew working at the courts, Bobby Riggs, and Pancho Segura, the club professional for many years, were playing a pickup doubles game for $600. Each world-famous player had a young, assistant club professional as a partner.
I watched some great tennis played on a side court without an audience. Pancho, always a fierce competitor, had a ferocious temper. He got upset with Bobby Riggs, because Bobby was gaming him with snide comments about the way he and his partner were playing. I watched and listened as he cursed blue flames at the young team-mate that withered him, the same Pancho who sat studiously and serenely on the sidelines when he was Jimmy Connor’s coach.
Another year , the women’s professional tournament finals were held on St Patrick’s Day. I remember this well because green bagels were handed out for the first and last time. The matches began after dark and were preceded by preliminary speeches given by U.S.T.A. tennis dignitaries.
In the middle of the speeches a slow and low-flying airplane was heard directly above us, and two parachutists came floating down towards the court. One drifted into the trees outside the court and the other, in a great show of chutzpah, landed standing up smack in the center near the net.
Everyone in the stands was amazed and thought this was part of the show. It became quickly apparent no one was more shocked than the officials. When the daredevil removed his leather cap and goggles, it turned out to be Don Hansen, a guy I knew quite well, who once owned the shop building I now inhabited. He was among the first large manufacturer of surfboards in the nation, and, lately, the proprietor of a highly successful sporting goods store in the area.
Spontaneously, I yelled to him, “Don, you’ve got more guts than I do! ” He acknowledged my shout with a wave of recognition. Amazingly, he and his girl friend, Sally, the other chutist who landed in the tree, and herself a tennis pro, were not arrested.
I learned one thing from this experience: Forever more, I will always look skyward when eating lox or cream cheese on a green bagel.
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Ira Spector is a freelance writer based in San Diego.
That was most likely me playing with Pancho… The best of times!