Gibson, Althea (1927—)

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Gibson, Althea (1927—)

American tennis champion, known as the "Jackie Robinson of Tennis," who was the first African-American to win tennis titles, as well as the first black female to compete on the Ladies Professional Golf tour. Born Althea Gibson on August 25, 1927, in Silver, South Carolina; first daughter and one of five children of Daniel and Annie (Washington) Gibson; Florida Agricultural and Mechanical University, B.S., 1953; married William A. Darben, in 1965.

Won the National Negro Girl's Championships (1944, 1945, 1948–56); won the French Open (1956); won women's singles and doubles at Wimbledon (1957 and 1958); won Wightman Cup (1957), national singles championship at Forest Hills (1957 and 1958) and the Babe Didrikson Zaharias Trophy (1957).

Was a singer, musician, product representative, and actress (1958–63); was a member of Ladies Professional Golf Association tour (1963–67); served as tennis coach, member of athletic commissions, and associate of Essex County, N.J., park commission (1970–92).

Selected publications:

(autobiographies) I Always Wanted to Be Somebody (Harper, 1958) and So Much to Live For (Putnam, 1968).

How does a wayward youth become world champion? A high-school dropout become a university instructor? A teenage welfare ward become a good-will ambassador for the U.S. State Department? A street fighter learn how to curtsey before the queen of England? A poor black ghetto kid gain highest honors in the rich, exclusive, all-white world of professional tennis in the 1950s? It takes desire. "I knew that I was an unusual, talented girl through the grace of God," Althea Gibson once said. "I didn't need to prove that to myself.… I only wanted to prove it to my competition." It takes passion. "The only thing I really liked to do was play ball." It takes courage. "Uncle Junie hauled off and slapped Mabel as hard as he could, right across the face. Well, that was all I had to see.… I sashayed right up to him and punched him in the jaw as hard as I could and knocked him down on his back." It takes hard work. Describing one of her matches, a Daily Telegraph reporter wrote, "Gibson, ever pressing netwards, ever on the attack, fighting every point, recoiling only to spring again, played as relentlessly as [any woman] ever did." It takes poise. After a New York City tickertape parade in her honor, Gibson told the crowd at the Waldorf Astoria, "I can't describe the joy in my heart. God grant that I wear this crown with dignity and humility." And in Althea Gibson's case, it also took many a helping hand.

An unemployed musician, volunteering as a Police Athletic League play-street supervisor, saw her tennis potential. A part-time cab driver and tennis coach believed in her game when she was beginning to doubt herself. The dynamic director of the Ladies Professional Golf Association (LPGA) supported her attempt to break the color barrier in golf. A Cosmopolitan club member bought Gibson her first tennis dress and helped her grow both on and off the court. Two doctors gambled that she might become what New York's mayor would eventually call, "A credit to our city, [and] a credit to our nation."

When Althea Gibson was first noticed, she was a rough, tough teenager. At age 13, she had a great basketball jumpshot and polished boxing moves, but few people skills. She was moody, temperamental, tactless, and arrogant. Early in her tennis career, her relationship with the press was so rocky that she was referred to as Jackie Robinson without the charm, and Ted Williams without the ability. It took a great deal of hard work for Gibson just to control her temper, play by the rules, and moderate her hostile attitude toward responsibility. The enormous stress of moving rapidly from the streets to the courts to the spotlight, and into the role of champion and role model, often made her withdraw. Even her friends described her at times as sullen—a turtle-like personality who often retreated into an impenetrable shell. Ultimately, by her 30th birthday, Gibson gained peace with herself and fully blossomed. Along the way, she managed to pack a good deal of excitement into her life.

Althea Gibson was a Depression child, born two years before the stock-market crash, on August 25, 1927, in the tiny farming town of Silver, South Carolina. Her parents, Daniel and Annie Gibson , lived in a cabin on a farm but owned no land. Instead, Daniel helped his brother farm five acres of cotton and corn. The Gibsons were sharecroppers who, for the first three years of parenthood, faced falling prices, bad weather, and brutally hard work. In 1930, Daniel spent a third of his $75 yearly income to purchase a train ticket and headed to New York to find a better life for his family.

Althea was sent to live with her Aunt Sally in Harlem, where her parents also lived for a while before they found an apartment of their own. Since Aunt Sally sold bootleg whiskey, Gibson's earliest memories include accidentally drinking from the wrong jug and sometimes sipping spirits with her aunt's customers. For two years, Althea lived in Philadelphia with her Aunt Daisey, where she began to be known as mischievous. It wasn't until she returned to her family in New York, at age nine, as they settled into a place of their own, that Althea began to get herself into serious trouble.

Unlike her four younger brothers and sisters, Gibson hated authority and rarely went to school. No degree of discipline from her teachers or her father helped. At the time, physical punishment was not only acceptable but encouraged. Sometimes her teachers would spank her "right in the classroom," wrote Gibson in her 1958 autobiography:

Daddy would whip me, too, and I'm not talking about spankings. He would whip me good, with a strap on my bare skin, and there was nothing funny about it. Sometimes I would be scared to go home and I would go to the police station on 135th Street and tell them that I was afraid to go home because my father was going to beat me up.

But she didn't change her ways, although truancy, shoplifting and minor thefts were the worst of her crimes. She roamed the streets, traveled throughout the city on the subway, and often escaped into the movies. Away from school and home, Gibson overcame her problems by playing sports.

It has been a bewildering, challenging, exhausting experience, often more painful than pleasurable, more sad than happy. But I wouldn't have missed it for the world.
—Althea Gibson

The athletic teenager was taller and stronger than other girls her age, eventually growing to 5′10½", and weighing 145 pounds. Daniel Gibson actually wanted his daughter to be a professional boxer on a circuit rumored to be in development, but it was never formed. Wrote Althea:

I know it sounds indelicate, coming from a girl, but I could fight, too. Daddy taught me the moves, and I had the right temperament for it.… He would say, 'Put up your dukes,' and I had to get ready to defend myself or I would take an even worse beating. He would box with me for an hour at a time, showing me how to punch, how to jab, how to block punches, and how to use footwork. He did a good job on me, maybe too good. I remember one day he got mad at me for not coming home for a couple of nights, and he didn't waste any time going for the strap. When I finally sashayed in, he just walked up to me and punched me right in the face and knocked me sprawling down the hall. I got right back up and punched him as hard as I could, right in the jaw, and we had a pretty good little fight going and we weren't fooling around, either.

She earned a reputation for not backing down in a fight with anyone. She also earned a reputation in sports. The block she lived on—143rd Street between Lenox and 7th—was designated a "play" street and closed to traffic by the Police Athletic League to keep children "on the courts and out of the courts." At age 14, Gibson earned medals playing paddle tennis, a sport played with wooden paddles in a fenced-in area about half the size of a tennis court. That's where Buddy Walker first noticed Gibson's natural athleticism and tenacity. Walker purchased two used racquets for five dollars and taught Gibson the basics of tennis. Impressed by her quick ability to absorb the game and by her powerful strokes, he arranged an exhibition for her at New York's premier black tennis club.

Although blacks were banned from playing at white clubs and from competing in national tournaments against whites, black tennis players had their own leagues and clubs. The American Tennis Association, founded in 1916, is the nation's oldest African-American sports organization. The Cosmopolitan Tennis club, where Gibson's first match caused a stir, was composed of wealthy and prestigious members. Althea demonstrated enough talent and promise to merit the Cosmopolitan's encouragement and support. President Juan Serrell and club pro Fred Johnson convinced fellow members to donate money to develop Althea's game. Rhonda Smith , who had lost a daughter of her own, helped clothe, feed, and sometimes shelter Gibson. Within six years, Althea Gibson became the best black female tennis player in the nation.

While developing her tennis game, Gibson graduated from junior high school at age 17 and worked several odd jobs for pocket money. She started to attend technical high school but dropped out. As her relationships at home soured, the welfare department paid her a stipend and gave her shelter. At age 18, Gibson competed in the primarily black American Tennis Association (ATA) national women's singles championship at Wilberforce College in Ohio in 1946. Though Roumania Peters defeated her in the finals, Gibson was noticed by two men who helped change her life. Robert W. Johnson of Lynchburg, Virginia, and Hubert A. Eaton of Wilmington, North Carolina, were wealthy African-American doctors. They were also tennis fanatics.

The doctors saw in Althea both a prodigy and a potential force for attacking segregation. At the time, blacks were prohibited from competing against whites in all sports. The doctors proposed that Althea split her time living among their families while she pursued a college athletic scholarship. Stunned by her announcement that she had never received a high-school diploma,

they came up with a plan to send Gibson back to high school while developing her game at Eaton's house in North Carolina.

Althea returned home and faced a tough decision. She was tired of being poor and had little to keep her in New York, but she was wary of the segregation and racism in the South. One night she noticed Harlem's premier celebrity Sugar Ray Robinson at a bowling alley. Althea, who as a young teenager bowled in the 200s, brazenly challenged the world-champion boxer to a match. Sugar Ray and his wife Edna Robinson befriended her, became lifelong supporters, and encouraged her to pursue tennis and especially the opportunity to get an education. "You'll never amount to anything just banging around from one job to another like you've been doing," declared Sugar Ray. "No matter what you want to do, tennis or music or whatever, you'll be better at it if you get some education."

That summer of 1947, Jackie Robinson broke the major-league baseball color barrier. That September, Gibson stepped off the train at the Wilmington station. North Carolina was a huge transition for Althea. The Eatons had a full-time maid, a private tennis court, and they provided a supportive family environment. In contrast, Wilmington was an insular town, which, like all Southern cities, had humiliating regulations concerning where blacks could eat, what fountains they could drink from, and where they had to sit on the bus.

After a five-year absence from school, Gibson pushed herself, graduating from high school, "tenth in my class if you please," and then accepted a scholarship to Florida A&M. But she had a hard time bonding with her younger classmates and fitting in as a female athlete. A saxophone that Sugar Ray had given her as a gift helped her find musicians on campus. They seemed better able to accept Althea for who she was.

Gibson's tennis continued to improve as she practiced religiously on Eaton's court. In 1947, she and Eaton won eight out of nine mixed-doubles tournaments on the ATA circuit. The following year, Althea captured her first of nine consecutive ATA singles championships. By 1949, her mentors felt she was ready to pursue the chance to play on the all-white tour. Gibson agreed.

Though Gibson was ready, the entrenched opposition at the U.S. Tennis Association built seemingly insurmountable roadblocks. The press rallied to Althea's cause. Writers highlighted the unfairness of a bogus argument; that players had to first prove themselves in the preliminary matches—none of the major pre-Forest Hills grass eliminations allowed blacks. The biggest assist came from a fellow player. In July of 1950, Alice Marble , one of America's greatest players, wrote in American Lawn Tennis:

I think it is time we faced a few facts. If tennis is a game for ladies and gentlemen, it's also a time we acted a little more like gentle people and less like sanctimonious hypocrites. If there is anything left in the name of sportsmanship, it's more than time to display what it means to us. If Althea Gibson represents a challenge to the present crop of women players, it's only fair that they should meet the challenge on the courts, where tennis is played.… I can't think of one who would refuse to meet Miss Gibson in competition. She might be soundly beaten for a while—but she has a much better chance on the courts than in the inner sanctum of the committee, where a different kind of game is played.… Eventually the tennis world will rise up en masse to protest the injustices perpetrated by our policy makers. Eventually—why not now?

A Forest Hills invitation soon found its way to Gibson. Despite a large media gathering and feeling "pretty emotional deep down inside," Gibson, the initial black to compete in a major tennis tournament, won her historic first-round match. In a dramatic second-round match, she fought back from a poor start and had three-time Wimbledon champ Louise Brough on the verge of defeat before a thunderstorm forced a delay of the match. Brough won the following day, but Gibson had proved that she could compete against the world's best.

In 1951, Althea Gibson became the first black to compete at Wimbledon. Joe Louis, the boxing champion, lent her an apartment near her training area and helped raise money for her trip. Although Althea was defeated in Wimbledon's third round, she again proved that she belonged.

For the next five years, Gibson ranked among the top ten female players in the world, but she failed to win the biggest tournaments. Her rising fortunes seemed to reach a plateau and then begin to fade. She was often unhappy and did not handle the press well. She also had trouble carrying the torch for racial equality. Gibson was criticized for not being outspoken enough, and she disappointed friends and fans who thought she had the talent to prove that a black player could win the toughest matches. Jet, a prominent black magazine, called her "the biggest disappointment in tennis." She also suffered financially. Before the age of television, amateur athletes, especially women, were barely paid expenses. A job as a physical education instructor in Missouri helped financially but left her unfulfilled, and she felt hemmed in by the divisive racial climate in the midwest.

Losing interest, Gibson nearly joined the service on the advice of a U.S. army captain she was dating. Two things kept her from changing paths. Sydney Llewellyn, a part-time taxi driver and tennis coach, revamped and reenergized her tennis game. And the U.S. State Department invited her to participate in tennis exhibitions throughout Southeast Asia to promote American good will. Her answer came quickly, "Not only would I consider making the trip but I was dying for something interesting to do."

Gibson traveled with Ham Richardson and Bob Perry and roomed with Karol Fageros , all tennis players. Althea loved the excitement, the attention, and the camaraderie, and the foursome earned rave reviews in every city. "I've never done anything more completely satisfying," Gibson wrote, "or more rewarding, than that tour." The stimulation helped bring her out of her shell; it also reinvigorated her tennis game.

At the second to last stop on the tour, Gibson's game came together. She won the women's singles championship at the All-Asian Tennis Tournament in Rangoon, Burma, and then won 16 out of the next 18 tournaments she entered. On May 20, 1956, Althea Gibson became the first black to win a major singles title when she captured the crown at the French Open. Even though she lost again at both Wimbledon and Forest Hills, she had jumped to number two in the 1956 world rankings.

Finally, in 1957, Gibson defeated Darlene Hard in straight sets in the finals at Wimbledon, and Queen Elizabeth II presented Althea with the silver tray commemorating her championship victory at centre court. Upon her return to New York City, the girl from the Harlem ghetto was treated to a tickertape parade. She also received the following telegram which read in part:

Millions of your fellow citizens would, if they could, join with me in felicitations on your outstanding victory at Wimbledon. Recognizing the odds you faced, we have applauded your courage, persistence and application. Certainly it is not easy for anyone to stand in the center court at Wimbledon and, in the glare of world publicity and under the critical gaze of thousands of spectators, do his or her very best. You met the challenge superbly.
With best wishes,
Dwight D. Eisenhower

Two months later, Gibson became the first black to win the U.S. national women's singles championship at Forest Hills. Amazingly, the following year, she successfully defended her titles, taking first place at both Wimbledon and Forest Hills, and then abruptly retired at the top her game. Gibson was, she wrote, "as poor as when I was picked off the back streets of Harlem and given the chance to work myself up to stardom.… I am much richer in knowledge and ex perience. But I have no money." At that time, before Billie Jean King and others on the tennis circuit made waves, women could only earn money under the table from tournaments sponsors, and a black woman in the 1950s had little chance of signing with a mainline sponsor.

So Gibson attempted to switch careers, and her fame helped get her in the door of the music world. She had a rich, resonant singing voice. At age 15, she had won second prize in a talent competition at the Apollo Theater. She had played saxophone in the band and sang in the choir at Florida A&M. She had made test recordings in 1956 and hired a voice coach in 1957. After performing at a testimonial dinner in 1958, she signed an album contract with Dot Records. Gibson appeared twice on the "Ed Sullivan Show," the most popular television variety show of its time. She also released an album. But her records did not sell, and the requests for appearances never came.

Next, she turned to acting. John Ford cast her in an important role in his Western The Horse Soldiers, where she played alongside William Holden and John Wayne. In the 1950s, however, there were few roles available for black actors, and her acting career never blossomed. But a surprise offer took her into a different area of show business.

In 1959, when Abe Saperstein offered Gibson the chance to stage a tennis exhibition as an opening act for his Harlem Globetrotters basketball team, Gibson formed a corporation with Sidney Llewellyn and her lawyer. She also convinced Karol Fageros, her traveling roommate in Southeast Asia, to join the tour. The matches were a hit with fans. Gibson, inspired by her first significant income-generating venture, decided to branch off and go out on her own. It was a disastrous business move. Without the pull of the Globetrotters, the tour failed.

Althea Gibson Entertainment's bankruptcy was a damaging blow, perhaps the lowest point in her life. But another helping hand reached out, in the form of a corporate sponsor. The Ward Baking Company signed Gibson to a $25,000-a-year personal appearance contract and sent her around the country to give motivational speeches. She spoke on radio and television shows, at school assemblies, and at charity affairs. Gibson was very popular, but she found the work difficult. She was often lonely and had trouble talking about the past instead of focusing on a future goal. "Everything worth living for," she wrote, "it seemed to me then, existed in the past: money, glory, prestige, popularity and publicity, love and friendship all glowed with the yellow luster of unpolished trophies."

Earlier, friends had introduced Gibson to the game of golf, and, to kill time during speaking engagements, she played wherever she traveled. At age 33, after "hibernating" for two years, she decided to pursue professional golf and dedicated most of 1962 and 1963 to developing her game. Althea had to adjust her mental approach—in golf there was no chance to blow off steam by spending herself physically. She started with a terrific disadvantage, competing against younger players, most of whom had developed their games as children. And once again she had to fight racism.

Although the barrier was the same, the Ladies Professional Golf Association (LPGA) was set up differently than the Tennis Association. It was possible for Althea to be proactive during the fight. Players made up the LPGA, not a governing committee, and players were generally open to competition of any kind. Many country clubs banned blacks altogether. But it was difficult for a club to keep an LPGA member off the greens. Any player who finished in the top 80% of three-out-of-four consecutive tournaments qualified for an LPGA card.

Gibson set out to obtain a card. Despite a slow start, by the summer of 1964 her scoring average dropped to 77, at a time when the elite players averaged around 74. After finishing in the top 80% in two tournaments, she was allowed to compete on the next course but, because of her skin color, was barred from entering the clubhouse. Instead of exploding, Gibson dismissed the pettiness and took out her revenge on the course. She had one of her best days ever and qualified for the LPGA player's card. LPGA director Leonard Wirtz readily accepted Althea and championed her right to play.

Gibson made slow progress. By the end of 1964, she had collected $561.50 in prize money. Unfortunately, Ward reluctantly dropped her as a sponsor because the obligations of the tour took too much of her time. A personal bank loan kept Althea on the tour. The following season, she collected $1,595 in prize money, but her winnings were not nearly enough to make her loan payments.

In 1965, her Las Vegas wedding to longtime suitor Will Darben, brother of her good friend Rosemary Darben , provided emotional and financial support. The following year, she broke the course record at the Pleasant Valley Country Club in Sutton, Massachusetts, lowered her average to 74 and doubled her earnings. Gibson improved her game again in 1967, but it would ultimately be her best year. Though she worked hard for three more years, she never managed to separate herself from the middle of the LPGA pack. Althea Gibson opened the door and paved the way for younger players, but she never reached the top or covered her tour expenses.

After retiring from golf, Gibson and her husband settled in New Jersey. She briefly considered a tennis comeback, enticed by the huge prize money available, but ultimately settled on teaching tennis and investing in a tennis center. She also accepted an offer from the city of East Orange, New Jersey, to manage the Department of Recreation. For 20 years, she was a source of inspiration to thousands of young players, lending a hand to kids just as needy as she had been.

Gibson retired in 1992. As to how she continued to fare, there have been conflicting reports. She was said to be "still active," and she told a reporter in 1994 that she was still hoping for a women's Seniors LPGA so she could compete again professionally. But in 1996, Time magazine reported that Gibson was living in East Orange as a virtual 69-year-old recluse, barely subsisting on Social Security. A major fundraiser was held in California.

In Harlem, they still speak of Althea Gibson with the reverence usually reserved for freedom fighters like Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Jackie Robinson is described as having fiery up-front courage, Joe Louis quiet dignity, Muhammad Ali outrageous panache. The champion Gibson, like the champion Arthur Ashe she helped inspire, had a straight-forward, low key, strength and confidence. In an interview about her role in the desegregation of sports, she said, "I set a good example. I didn't think about anything but the sport I was involved in and playing as well as I could, talent shows up better, quicker than anything else."