In the long arc of the almost endless presidential election, one small, seemingly inconsequential moment still lingers — a small happening, which, for many, may have already vanished from memory. But to more than a few sports fanatics, it was rich with meaning.
In a military gym in Kuwait, shortly after securing the nomination of his party, Barack Obama calmly took seven warm-up dribbles—his body relaxed and languid—and before an imposing phalanx of cameras and a hefty crowd of eager soldiers, drained a three point jumper. Nothing but net.
Sure, the feat revealed his hoops pedigree. In Hawaii, he was a notable high school power forward and later in Chicago he gained the approval of his future wife’s family when his acceptable on-court demeanor proved him to be a suitable suitor.
To me, Obama’s swish shot from downtown revealed certain traits millions came to see: flawless execution, silky grace under pressure and the ability to grow. After all, earlier in the campaign he failed miserably when he tried to bowl in working-class Pennsylvania. Plus, it vividly brought to mind another athletic African-American man of grace – Arthur Ashe.
Like Obama, Ashe relished stepping up in big moments. In ’68, at the very first U.S. Open, he made history by becoming the first African-American to win a Grand Slam. At Wimbledon in ’75, he displayed a certain “yes I can” confidence when he crafted a historic landslide over the reigning incumbent, brash Jimmy Connors. And, far more importantly, few public figures used their dying days more adeptly than Ashe, who finished strong and committed.
As with Obama, Ashe was a soft-spoken, stable pioneer; a devoted father and husband who was comfortable both in the hardscrabble inner city and the lofty chambers of power. A transformative idea-man with a vision, Ashe was an author with a curious and knowing intellect – wise and insightful. He was open to varying ideas, unafraid of wide-ranging associations and blessed with an oceanic calm. He listened closely: open mind, caring glance. He drew together those with divergent views.
Elegant yet tough, like Obama, Ashe melded an athletic grace and steely will well-suited for the gritty gauntlet of politics. Ashe was both an early president of the ATP and an ongoing gadfly who spoke truth to the then-stuffy tennis establishment. And, on rare occasions, Ashe even entertained thoughts of becoming the President of the United States. Plus, both men shared an antipathy to bellicose silliness. Ashe bristled at the prevailing in-your-face ethos of his day as unleashed by McEnroe and his friends, while Obama at least tried to offer a (“don’t boo, just vote”) alternative to the longstanding ‘gotcha’ politics of fear ‘n’ smear.
Both men lost a parent early in their lives, so not surprisingly, they became pre-occupied with mindful parenting and sought to inspire youngsters: Ashe with his tireless campaign to ignite the joy of learning within kids and the president-elect with his vision of a new day. While Obama’s “Yes We Can” call for change was the defining mantra of his campaign, near his death Ashe wrote his daughter Camera that “most people resist change even when it promises to be for the better. But change will come and…if you acknowledge this indisputable fact…you will have a head start.”
These days, Ashe is often put on a pedestal, a feel-good icon. But make no mistake about it, this was a highly nuanced fellow: an Army Lieutenant who passed through West Point and held dear many conservative notions, who voted for the first President Bush and who Rudolf Giuliani called “a transformative figure,” he also was an unsparing observer and an activist who was once arrested in front of the White House for protesting our treatment of Haitian refugees. Indeed, this side of Muhammad Ali, no other athlete became so involved in foreign affairs, by battling apartheid in South Africa and by addressing the U.N. as part of his trailblazing effort to combat AIDS.
But it was on racial issues where Ashe’s voice, like Obama’s, had a particular resonance.
“No question about it,” Ashe wrote. “Race [not AIDS] has always been my biggest burden…It continues to feel like an extra weight tied around me…Segregation achieved what it intended: it left me a marked man, forever aware of a shadow of contempt that lay across my identity and self-esteem…Only death will free me.”
Ashe noted that “the cornerstone of identity in the African-American world was the knowledge that we as a people had been historically wronged by the larger culture that dominated us.” Then, not unlike Obama, he confided, “In this racial divide, I often find myself critical of both whites and blacks. In the end, I am not for black or white, nor even for the United States of America, but for the whole of humanity. I can’t define myself finally as an African-American, or an American. My humanity comes first.”
In ’93, just before his death, he was not upbeat. “The moral fabric of African-American culture, like that of America as a whole, is now sadly compromised,” he contended. “Our family life is disintegrating… Our respect for the weakest among us has dwindled. Our educational standards and expectations are low and falling fast. Our ability to generate jobs, always a problem, is even more so.”
Arthur was less than hopeful. “Martin Luther King,” he noted, “thought black Americans might eventually prove to be the agents or vehicles through which America redeems itself as a nation—that is, if America would look into its heart…morally addressing and solving the problem of race. [But] such an option for redemption hardly exists… However, I do not view the decline as irreversible…I estimate that it would take at least a generation.”
With this in mind — 15 years after Ashe wrote of his despair—I mused on Ashe’s life and legacy on a fateful day. On November 4, when our nation made an historic decision, my mind wondered. And when Illinois’ favorite son, our president-elect, strode forward to address an eager world, I thought of tennis’ greatest ambassador up in heaven. My imagination took flight. I couldn’t help but envision that Ashe’s wry smile would have been in place. Always cerebral, I sensed he just might be reflecting on how a new day had dawned, while mumbling under his breath, “Hey, that Obama kid, he sure’s got game.”
