English and Labor oct 27

“I GUESS I’M BECOMING MORE AND MORE MILITANT”: ARTHUR ASHE AND THE BLACK FREEDOM MOVEMENT, 1961–1968 Author(s): Eric Allen Hall Source: The Journal of African American History, Vol. 96, No. 4, Special Issue: “African Americans and the History of Sport” (Fall 2011), pp. 474-502 Published by: The University of Chicago Press on behalf of Association for the Study of African American Life and History Stable URL: https://www.jstor.org/stable/10.5323/jafriamerhist.96.4.0474 Accessed: 21-08-2018 14:51 UTC

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474

“I GUESS I’M BECOMING

MORE AND MORE MILITANT”:

ARTHUR ASHE AND THE BLACK

FREEDOM MOVEMENT, 1961–1968

Eric Allen Hall

Arthur Ashe, courtesy of the UCLA Athletic Department.

White and black, rich and poor, men and women, liberals and conservatives

all lined the streets of downtown Richmond on 7 February 1993 to pay their final

respects to Arthur Ashe, an international activist, world champion tennis player,

humanitarian, teacher, writer, husband, and father. Many who entered the viewing

room had no interest in sports and had never played tennis. One Richmond woman

braved the winter cold to honor Ashe as a crusader against South African

apartheid, a man who had risked his own career and reputation to help others.

__________

Eric Allen Hall is Assistant Professor of History at Georgia Southern University in Statesboro, GA.

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Arthur Ashe and the Black Freedom Movement, 1961–1968 475

Future South African President Nelson Mandela agreed. Following Mandela’s

release from prison on Robben Island after almost thirty years, a reporter asked

him who in the United States he most wanted to see. “Arthur Ashe,” was his

unequivocal reply.1 One African American professional standing in line described

Ashe as a role model for African American youth. “I owe him at least this,” the

man told the Richmond Times-Dispatch. “He showed me it’s OK to aspire. It’s OK

to be articulate. I never had an older brother. Instead, I had a hero.”2 A Richmond

city councilman compared the loss to that of John F. Kennedy and Dr. Martin

Luther King, Jr. “The sea of faces in the line to pay respects to Arthur Ashe Jr. last

night represented a melding of races and ethnic groups that observers said demon-

strated the universality of Ashe’s message,” wrote one local reporter.3

From the late 1960s until his death, Ashe’s belief in moderation, open dia-

logue with his opponents, and respectful disagreement resonated with African

Americans and whites in Richmond and throughout the world. Born in segregat-

ed Virginia in 1943, Ashe came under the tutelage of his father, Arthur Ashe, Sr.,

and Robert Walter Johnson, an African American physician and amateur tennis

coach. Both mentors instilled in him a philosophy of personal uplift similar to the

teachings of Booker T. Washington. Ashe graduated from UCLA on a tennis schol-

arship in 1966, entered the Army Reserve Training Corps (ROTC), and served as

a first lieutenant in the U.S. Army from 1967 to 1969. In his prime as the U.S. top- ranked player, Ashe in 1968 became the first African American man to win the

U.S. Open; in 1970 he won the Australian Open, and in 1975 at Wimbledon.

Historians of race and sport have long overlooked the social, cultural, and

political significance of Ashe’s life. The literature on race, politics, and sport in the

late 1960s and throughout the 1970s primarily examines the integration of inter-

collegiate sports programs, the rise of activism among African American athletes,

and the proposals to boycott the 1968 Olympic Games in protest of worldwide

racial discrimination. Historians and journalists have consistently privileged the

life of boxer Muhammad Ali in surveying a wide range of activism among African

American athletes in that era. Although these studies make a compelling case for

the importance of African American athletes in the black freedom movement, they

lead readers to assume incorrectly that most African American male athletes

joined the Black Power Movement, withdrew from white America, and became

militant spokesmen for Black Power ideology. Ashe responded to racism in more

moderate and nuanced ways, and historians have failed to examine how he and

others like him participated in and helped shape worldwide human and civil rights

movements.4

This essay traces Ashe’s path to activism from his youth in Richmond to his

U.S. Open victory in 1968. It examines a number of personal and environmental

influences that shaped his political philosophy: mentors such as his father and ten-

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476 The Journal of African American History

nis coaches, the Civil Rights and Black Power movements, the Olympic boycott

movement, and living in the Jim Crow South, Los Angeles, and at West Point

Academy. The sport of tennis, Ashe’s family background, his increasing celebrity

appeal, and his constrictive status as an officer in the U.S. Army led Ashe to devel-

op a strand of activism similar to the militant integrationism espoused by Dr. King.

This approach to activism allowed him to reach a greater audience, black and

white, than Ali and other perceived black radicals. These influences—personal

and environmental—helped transform him from a youth who was taught to accept

the status quo to an outspoken militant integrationist coming to grips with his race,

sport, and role in the black freedom movement.5

LESSONS IN SURVIVAL

On 10 July 1943, Arthur Robert Ashe, Jr., was born in St. Phillip’s Hospital,

one of Richmond’s few medical facilities that treated African American patients.

He was the first of two sons born to Arthur Robert Ashe, a carpenter, chauffeur,

and general handyman; and Mattie Cordell Cunningham, a housewife and depart-

ment store clerk. On the streets and courts of Virginia and in the homes of two

men, his father, Arthur Ashe, Sr., and his tennis coach, Dr. Robert Walter Johnson,

Ashe learned to negotiate southern white racism. By the time he left Richmond in

1960, Ashe’s philosophy of targeted resistance and gradualism had been shaped by

the racist environment he grew up in, his mentors’ insistence on hard work and

personal responsibility, and the racial and class dynamics of his sport.

Living in Richmond during the Jim Crow era presented a series of social and

economic challenges for African Americans. Most African Americans resided in

Jackson Ward, Fulton, or the Seventeenth Street Bottom district, all-black neigh-

borhoods on the city’s North Side. White elites who controlled the city council

neglected these neighborhoods, resulting in high crime rates, unpaved roads, and

crumbling infrastructure. Jim Crow laws mandated segregated seating in theaters,

at athletic events, and on public transportation. As in all southern cities and most

northern ones, Richmond included two worlds: one black, one white, separate and

unequal.6

Ashe grew up believing that racial discrimination was immutable and con-

stant, a normal fact of life in the South. “People in Richmond just took segrega-

tion for granted,” he explained in 1969. “I don’t remember any racial unrest

there.”7 African American parents instructed their children to avoid trouble at all

costs by not making eye contact with whites, not talking back, and staying away

from white establishments and districts. Attending all-black schools, riding in the

back of the bus, and playing in the separate park for African Americans taught

Ashe that racial separation was simply a part of American life.8

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Arthur Ashe and the Black Freedom Movement, 1961–1968 477

Although Ashe’s most direct experiences with racial discrimination in the

1950s occurred on the tennis court, de jure and de facto segregation affected all

African Americans in Richmond in some way. In 1954 the U.S. Supreme Court

ruled unanimously in Brown v. Board of Education that segregated public schools

were inherently unequal and therefore unconstitutional. Ashe recalled, “I remem-

ber the day when word swept through our grammar school that we children would

thereafter be going to school with whites; we would have all the rights and oppor-

tunities that whites had.”9 Despite his teachers’ rhetoric, life after Brown was no

different for Ashe and his classmates. “Although I served as a student council

president in the sixth grade,” he wrote, “I did not understand the importance of the

Brown decision, and its impact on segregation and equality.”10 Through the

remainder of his time in Richmond, the schools remained mostly segregated.11

The racial landscape of postwar Richmond shaped Ashe’s early life, but his

father was his greatest influence. Arthur Ashe, Sr., valued hard work and persist-

ence, and he believed in a doctrine of economic empowerment that he passed on

to his sons. He was an old-fashioned disciplinarian, a man who did not tolerate

insubordination from his children. His view of the world left little room for nuance

or debate.12 One of Ashe, Sr.’s “commandments” was to remain busy and produc-

tive at all times. “There’s to be no hanging around,” he instructed his boys. “If you

don’t have to be somewhere, you should be home.”13 Aside from the dangers of

falling in with the “wrong crowd,” more time at home reduced their chances of

being exposed to racial violence. Ashe reflected on his upbringing: “Daddy

instilled self-sufficiency in us. . . . Hard work and discipline helped shape my

personality. I studied in school and read extensively because Daddy wanted me to

be the ‘best reader in school.’”14 Ashe, Sr., understood the importance of a good

education, proper discipline, and maintaining a consistent schedule.15

Along with steady lessons in hard work, Ashe, Sr., instructed his boys to keep

their emotions in check and avoid conflict with potentially hostile whites. Ashe was

to be observant, deferential, and respectful to others, regardless of how they treated

him. Ashe, Sr., offered himself as an example for his sons, rarely fighting or arguing

with anyone. In a city known for racial segregation, Ashe, Sr., befriended a number

of white men and women in the 1930s and 1940s, many of whom would later help

to support his son’s tennis career. He was the driver for William Thalhimer, the

Jewish owner of Thalhimer’s department store in downtown Richmond. On one

occasion he drove Thalhimer to the edge of the city to purchase a piece of land, but

the white owner was reluctant to sell his land to a Jew. “You should have heard [the

man],” Ashe, Sr., told his son years later. “He called Mr. Thalhimer all sorts of

things. Mr. Thalhimer never said a word. When the man finished all his ranting and

raving, they closed the deal.”16 On the drive home Ashe, Sr., asked Thalhimer how

he had tolerated all of the insults without ever changing his disposition. Thalhimer

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478 The Journal of African American History

responded, “I came out here to buy that land and the end result is I got the land. It’s

mine now. He can curse me out all he likes.”17 Ashe, Sr., learned an important les-

son that day, one that stayed with him for the rest of his life. No matter what people

say to you, he told Ashe, Jr., no matter how hard they try to make you feel inferior,

you must always keep the end goal in mind. Later on the tennis court, the Thalhimer

strategy served Ashe well. Ignoring racial slurs from spectators and bad calls from

white linesmen, he focused on one thing: winning the match. Like Thalhimer and

his father, Ashe learned the benefits of turning the other cheek.18

In addition to his father, the racial and class dynamics of tennis also shaped

Ashe’s formative years. He began playing the sport at the age of six after watching

Richmond’s top African American player, Ronald Charity, practice at Brook Field

Park. Charity agreed to give Ashe private lessons, and shortly thereafter, the young

phenom dazzled African American fans with an overpowering serve, a deft back-

hand, and solid groundstrokes. To contemporary observers, though, a quick survey

of Ashe’s race and class made it clear that tennis was not for him. The sons of afflu-

ent white families played tennis, not the sons of maintenance men. On the East

Coast, it was played in wealthy country clubs on grass and clay courts, not in pub-

lic parks on asphalt courts. In 1950 at the amateur level, Budge Patty won the French

Championships and Wimbledon, Art Larsen, the U.S. championships, and Frank

Sedgman, the Australian crown, all white, upper-middle-class men. The sport’s other

heroes included Jack Kramer, an aging pro, and newcomers such as Tony Trabert.

They all had one thing in common: none were African American. While some work-

ing-class players had integrated junior tennis in California, they remained locked out

on the East Coast, and African Americans were not welcomed in any U.S. tennis cir-

cles. The historical realities were simple: in 1950 an African American man at a

prominent country club was almost certainly asking members what they wanted to

drink and was not playing on the tennis courts. Even Ralph Bunche, winner of the

Nobel Peace Prize in 1952 and a United Nations undersecretary, was refused a mem-

bership at the West Side Tennis Club in Queens, New York, because he was an

African American. In the 1950s most tennis players were white, wore white clothes,

hit white balls, and played before white audiences.19

Tennis also had a reputation among many African Americans as a “sissy

sport,” played by effeminate, not macho, men. “As long as I have known it,” Ashe

wrote in a memoir, “tennis has always been considered, certainly in the crudest

male circles, a ‘sissy’ sport, one mainly attractive to men of ambivalent sexuali-

ty.”20 Ashe’s contemporary, tennis champion Billie Jean King, concurred: “You

picture people sipping mint juleps under an umbrella, and it’s not that way. People

think of tennis as a sissy sport and this is what we have to get away from.”21

Popular films in the 1950s such as Tea and Sympathy and Alfred Hitchcock’s Dial M for Murder also portrayed the sport in this way.22

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Arthur Ashe and the Black Freedom Movement, 1961–1968 479

Tennis presented additional financial obstacles for African American parents.

For African American youths to compete with their white peers, they had to spend

on average $750 in racquets and strings, $150 for shoes, and $60 for socks for

each tournament season. “The cost of equipment alone was more than a thousand

dollars a year,” noted writer John McPhee of the New Yorker.23 Ashe explained, “It

doesn’t cost a boy anything to learn to run or jump or play football, but before he

even takes on tennis, he has to have a racket that costs $40. How many Negro kids

can afford that?”24 African American tennis players in the 1950s succeeded in part

because they attracted the attention of wealthy benefactors, members of the

African American elite who paid their tournament expenses.25

Tennis’s unique set of written and unwritten rules further tempered the behavior

of the athletes. Because tennis was a traditionally upper- and middle-class sport, ten-

nis players were to act in a proper, dignified manner in accordance with the expec-

tations of “high society.” The sport’s culture forbade arguing with an official or

fighting with competitors. Boxers or football or hockey players, by contrast, often

taunted their opponents and argued with the referees, as these were established and

almost encouraged elements of the sports. A boxer who verbally intimidated his

opponent was being tough, but a tennis player who did the same was a disgrace to

his sport. If the tempered influences of his father and hometown were not enough,

tennis further curtailed any impulse Ashe might have had toward acting out.26

Despite the racial, gender, and class distinctions associated with the sport,

African Americans were involved in competitive tennis in the first half of the 20th

century. As early as 1898, an interstate tennis tournament held at the Chautauqua

Tennis Club in Philadelphia featured the region’s best African American players.

By 1916 African American players from Washington, DC, New York, New Jersey,

Massachusetts, and Pennsylvania, representing fifty-eight tennis clubs, competed

at various times throughout the year. To the sport’s backers, however, the occa-

sional tournament was not enough. African Americans needed more tournaments,

greater financial support, and additional player development programs. On

Thanksgiving Day, 1916, therefore, representatives from twenty of the region’s

tennis clubs met and formed the American Tennis Association (ATA). They estab-

lished a series of goals, including founding new clubs, consolidating local and

regional tournaments, writing official standards, and hosting an annual champi-

onship tournament. The doctors, lawyers, and other professionals who made up

the ATA’s leadership hosted their first championship matches at Druid Hill Park in

Baltimore in 1917. By 1940, the ATA claimed 145 clubs with a combined 1,000

members, including Dr. Robert Walter Johnson.27

Other than his father, Dr. Johnson was Ashe’s most important mentor before

he enrolled in college. Johnson first proposed the idea of a summer tennis camp to

train promising African American youth. Each summer he invited a handful of the

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480 The Journal of African American History

region’s most talented African American players to his home in Lynchburg,

Virginia, to train for and compete in local and national tennis tournaments. The

young men and women would live in his house, eat healthy meals, train in his

backyard, watch films of tennis matches in the evening, and learn proper etiquette

for both on and off the court. A participant in the Civil Rights Movement, Johnson

understood that his tennis pioneers had to have the right temperament and

demeanor as well as athletic talent. How they conducted themselves in hotels,

restaurants, and at tournaments was equally if not more important than how they

behaved on the court.28

In many ways, however, Johnson was the opposite of Ashe’s father. Ashe, Sr.,

was reserved and careful; Johnson was not afraid to take chances and challenge

the status quo. Ashe, Sr., was an activist in spirit; Johnson was one in practice,

joining sixty African American students in a civil rights protest outside of a

Woolworth’s restaurant in 1960.29 Differences aside, Johnson and Ashe, Sr.,

agreed on how the young tennis star should conduct himself in public. Once in

Brook Field Park, when Ashe threw his racquet in anger, “he heard the screen door

of his house slam before the racquet hit the ground.”30 Ashe, Sr., did not stand for

poor sportsmanship or childish tantrums. Likewise, when a stubborn Ashe refused

to alter his racquet grip during the first day of Johnson’s camp, the doctor imme-

diately threatened to send him home.31

More than a tennis camp, Johnson’s “Junior Development Program” was a les-

son in life, offering strategies for survival in a world alien to most African Americans

and working-class whites. To succeed in the predominantly white, upper-class world

of competitive tennis, Johnson’s youths had to be disciplined and tough, knowing

when to fight and mostly when to walk away. He knew that Jackie Robinson’s entry

into Major League Baseball had as much to do with his temperament as it did his

athletic abilities. Beaned, spiked, and taunted by racially motivated bench-jockey-

ing, Robinson remained calm and collected, allowing his bat and glove to do the

talking. Johnson’s players had to imitate Robinson, he believed, because tournament

officials would look for any excuse to dismiss or disqualify them. To avoid the

appearance of cheating, for instance, he ordered Ashe and his peers to play any shot

within two inches of the out-of-bounds lines. The players were never to gloat, argue,

complain, or celebrate in a boisterous way. They were to ignore calls of “nigger,”

“coon,” and “darkie” from spectators or competitors.32

Despite Johnson’s code, Ashe faced racial discrimination on the junior tennis

circuit. In 1959 officials of the Middle Atlantic Junior Tennis Tournament denied

him entry because his application arrived “too late.” Similar exclusions plagued

him in other cities. In addition to an outright ban of African American players,

racism in tennis manifested itself in other ways, including editors featuring only

white players in magazines and newspapers, white parents and fans yelling racial

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Arthur Ashe and the Black Freedom Movement, 1961–1968 481

slurs from the stands, and local officials selecting only white players for junior

traveling teams. Ordered never to challenge the status quo, Ashe and his team-

mates found ways to cope with white racism. Banned from local restaurants, the

team packed their own lunches and ate in the car. When they were refused entry

into a local movie theater, the team simply left, no questions asked.33

Late in the summer of 1960, Ashe left Richmond to live with former ATA

standout and tennis coach Richard Hudlin and his family in St. Louis. Unlike his

hometown, St. Louis had indoor tennis facilities that allowed Ashe to practice

year-round, and the city was home to a number of promising young players. For

any tennis hopeful, black or white, Richmond was unable to offer the facilities,

coaching, and competition necessary to become a successful player. Yet Ashe was

leaving behind more than tennis courts in disrepair and poor competition. “I left,”

he explained, “all that Richmond stood for at the time—its segregation, its conser-

vatism, its parochial thinking, its slow progress toward equality, its lack of oppor-

tunity for talented black people. I had no intention then of coming back.”34 As an

African American youth growing up in a segregated southern city, Ashe had devel-

oped strategies to manage white racism. He followed the rules of his mentors by

working hard, avoiding potentially dangerous situations, focusing on long-term

goals, and remaining deferential to white adults.

CHOOSING YOUR FIELDS OF BATTLE

In the winter of 1961, Ashe received an unexpected phone call from J. D.

Morgan, the head tennis coach at the University of California at Los Angeles

(UCLA), offering him an athletic scholarship to play tennis for the school. Ashe’s

childhood hero Jackie Robinson had attended UCLA, and other African American

athletes appeared to thrive there. The expansion of the Civil Rights Movement, the

emergence of more radical individuals and organizations in Los Angeles, and the

presence of politically active students at UCLA forced Ashe to reconsider some of

his childhood beliefs. Free from the rules and expectations of his father and Dr.

Johnson, he became interested in politics, debating classmates on the topic of race,

speaking out on international political matters, and developing a philosophy of his

own. For Ashe, however, exposure to new ideologies did not result in an abandon-

ment of his beliefs or erase what his childhood mentors had taught him.35 “It

would have been difficult for me to avoid getting involved in politics,” Ashe

recalled in 1981. “Growing up in the South in the 1950s, studying at UCLA in the

1960s, even playing tennis planted seeds of confrontation.”36

On the courts, fields, and diamonds of American sport in the mid-to-late

1960s, African American athletes developed a heightened racial consciousness.

Ashe described his growing sense of awareness: “I was moved into the world of

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482 The Journal of African American History

tennis that had little in common with the black experience. The game had a histo-

ry and tradition, [and] I was expected to assimilate, but much of that history and

many of those traditions were hostile to me.”37 He and other African American ath-

letes in the 1960s experienced what historian David K. Wiggins has called “split

existences.” Drawing from W. E. B. Du Bois’s concept of “double-conscious-

ness,” Wiggins has argued, “On the one hand, black athletes were proud of their

race for its forbearance and ability to survive and fought against the negative

images of black inferiority. On the other hand, black athletes’ aspirations to suc-

cess in American sport necessitated that they adhere to values upheld in the dom-

inant society.”38 This dilemma of whether to conform to the social mores of his

sport or stand with fellow African Americans against injustice remained a constant

struggle for Ashe throughout the 1960s.39

Ashe, like other African American high school and college students, had to

respond to a number of external forces and national events throughout the 1960s.

The early-to-mid 1960s witnessed an increase in civil rights activism throughout

the United States, including the nationwide sit-in movement beginning in

February 1960, the Freedom Rides in 1961, and the March on Washington on 28

August 1963. Racial tensions mounted, and in the summer of 1964, Harlem and

six other U.S. cities erupted in rioting over police brutality.40 With accounts of the

sit-ins and other protests filling the pages of the Richmond Times-Dispatch, Ashe

and his father had to be aware of the expanding Civil Rights Movement. Yet, in

his memoirs Ashe focused on his quest for tennis victories and only briefly men-

tioned the sit-ins. “My father,” Ashe wrote, “respected the skilled, courageous

leaders in the black community in Richmond . . . but protesting was for other

people.”41 Ashe, Sr., and Dr. Johnson argued that Ashe’s role was to win tennis

matches and contribute to the cause by defeating his opponents on the courts, and

Ashe at that time willingly obliged his mentors.42

To an outside observer in the early 1960s, UCLA appeared to be a model of

racial tolerance and equality. Despite an enrollment of less than 1,000 African

Americans out of a total student body of more than 30,000, the university had a

record of offering scholarships to talented African American athletes. Football

players Kenny Washington and Woody Strode, decathlete Rafer Johnson, basket-

ball player Don Barksdale, and, most notably, multi-sport athlete Jackie Robinson

were all UCLA alumni. As one scholar has noted, the presence on campus of suc-

cessful African American athletes “created the myth that UCLA was a ‘racial par-

adise’ where equality reigned and Jim Crow dare not rear his head.”43 Even Ashe

subscribed to the myth. “Negroes have been doing okay at UCLA for thirty years,”

he explained. “Rafer Johnson . . . was elected [as] student body president. Dr.

Ralph Bunche of the United Nations had been a UCLA student.”44 Signs of racial

progress to Ashe and others were instances of tokenism to the university’s critics.

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Arthur Ashe and the Black Freedom Movement, 1961–1968 483

By recruiting and publicizing star African American athletes, campus officials

could more easily ignore housing discrimination in the predominantly white

neighborhood of Westwood. Loren Miller, a local NAACP attorney, suggested in

UCLA’s student newspaper, the Daily Bruin, that it was “difficult for a Negro to

find even a cellar [to rent] around [Westwood].” Though clearly more progressive

and liberal than Richmond, UCLA was no beacon of racial equality.45

Ashe’s most influential mentor at UCLA was J. D. Morgan, an able recruiter, a

skilled motivator, and a father figure who took an active interest in his young star’s

future. At that time, each male undergraduate at UCLA had to complete two years in

the Reserve Officer Training Corps. At the end of their training, a student could either

drop out of the program or continue and become a commissioned officer in the U.S.

Army upon graduation. Before meeting with Morgan, Ashe viewed his decision in

terms of patriotism and duty. His family had a military background, including one

uncle who had served in the Marines and another who had served in the Navy.

Morgan encouraged Ashe to view the choice in more pragmatic terms. As a former

officer, he knew the realities of war and the difference between entering the Army as

an enlisted man or a commissioned officer. Concerned about the brewing military

conflict in Vietnam as well as possible future engagements, Morgan suggested that

Ashe take four years of ROTC training, advice Ashe never regretted accepting.46

Arthur Ashe with J. D. Morgan.

Courtesy of the UCLA Athletic Department.

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484 The Journal of African American History

Despite Ashe’s successes on the tennis court, racial prejudice marred some of

his time at UCLA. One day during his freshman year, Morgan called him into his

office to discuss an upcoming weekend tournament. Each year, Morgan explained,

the Balboa Country Club sent tournament invitations to college teams. Although

UCLA had received an invitation, Ashe’s name was conspicuously absent from the

list of invited players. Like most country clubs in the early 1960s, Balboa catered

to upper-class whites and prohibited African Americans from becoming members.

As he listened to his coach, Ashe realized that California was not “the land of milk

and honey, free spirits and golden opportunity” portrayed in advertisements.

“There would be no more riding in the back of the Number 6 bus,” he recalled,

“but the sense of space, palm trees, and ethnic diversity in Los Angeles could not

hide other realities,” like white racism.47 Morgan presented Ashe with a choice:

the team would either travel to Balboa without him or they would boycott the tour-

nament and “make an issue” of the exclusion.48 The decision was his. Perhaps

Morgan was trying to avoid controversy, hoping that Ashe would not protest the

club’s decision. He knew that Ashe’s mentors had taught him to avoid controver-

sy. By making Ashe responsible for the team’s actions, Morgan placed a heavy

burden on the young player. After careful deliberation, Ashe decided against a

boycott, reasoning that such an action would force his teammates to withdraw

from their matches. In the end, he relied on the advice of his father and Dr.

Johnson, who encouraged him to play the hand that life dealt him. Morgan accept-

ed his choice, but offered words of guidance that proved valuable as Ashe’s career

progressed:

You can’t make a little issue. If you want to fight something like [the Balboa exclusion], you

have to fight it to win it. And you have to prepare for it, get your ducks in order so to speak.

There will always be clubs like that and people like that. If you want to make a career out of

fighting them, your tennis is going to suffer. When you’re more established, you can be a good

tennis player and be in the position of fighting them on your terms.49

Playing championship tennis and being an activist would always be a difficult and

sometimes impossible combination. In the future, Ashe would have to choose

where to focus his attention.50

Ashe was a student at UCLA at the height of the Civil Rights Movement.

While he attended classes, socialized with his friends, and starred on the UCLA

and U.S. Davis Cup teams, activists in Mississippi and Birmingham and Selma,

Alabama, were on the front lines of the black freedom struggle. The Daily Bruin covered the events in the South, including the stories of several UCLA students

who traveled to Mississippi and Alabama in 1964 and 1965 to register African

American voters. One piece reported on Earl Lemont Avery, a former Daily Bruin sportswriter whose previous accomplishment was leading UCLA’s flag football

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Arthur Ashe and the Black Freedom Movement, 1961–1968 485

team to victory over their archrival the University of Southern California.

Traveling to the South, Avery said, “is just something I have to do.”51 In March

1965, a group of UCLA students held a rally protesting the violence in Selma.

“Since Birmingham,” student leader Jim Berland declared, “[W]e have stood by

while the Negroes of the South have been denied again and again their constitu-

tional rights to vote and the freedom to assemble. . . . The beatings in Selma

should shake us out of our apathy.”52

1965 UCLA Men’s Tennis Team.

Courtesy of the UCLA Athletic Department.

From his dorm room at UCLA, Ashe tracked the events in the South, but took

no action. As a member of the tennis team and an ROTC cadet, he stood to lose

his athletic scholarship and military status if he joined other activists in the South

or said the wrong thing to the press. Moreover, his father had advised him to avoid

protests. However, Ashe could not shake the persistent feeling that he should join

the cause. “While blood was running freely in the streets of Birmingham,

Memphis, and Biloxi,” he wrote, “I had been playing tennis. Dressed in immacu-

late white, I was elegantly stroking tennis balls on perfectly paved courts in

California and New York and Europe. Meanwhile, across the South, young men

and women of my age were enduring pain and suffering so that blacks would be

free of our American brand of apartheid.”53

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486 The Journal of African American History

STAKING OUT A POSITION

Outside the student union, in the rooms of the Kappa Alpha Psi fraternity, and

in the classrooms at UCLA, some activists were demanding that Ashe stand up for

fellow African Americans in the South and in urban America. African American

militants such as Ron Karenga called on Ashe to speak out against white racism

and join the African American cause. “Those were the frenetic, psychedelic, schiz-

ophrenic ’60s,” Ashe told a reporter, “when the moderate progressive’s hero could

be the reactionary’s nigger and the revolutionary’s Uncle Tom.”54 Both moderates

and radicals agreed, however, that he had to do something. “As my fame

increased,” he explained, “so did my anguish. I knew that many blacks were proud

of my accomplishments on the tennis court. But I also knew that some others,

especially many of my own age or younger, did not bother to hide their indiffer-

ence to me and my trophies, or even their disdain and contempt for me.”55 The

politically charged atmosphere of the 1960s helped Ashe move away from the

moderate integrationism espoused by his father. Being an African American in

college, a black athlete, and a racial symbol to African Americans and whites alike

moved him more in the direction of militancy. And none of his intellectual oppo-

nents at UCLA were as combative or insistent as Ron Karenga.56

Short, stocky, and bald, Karenga wore oversized black tinted glasses, colorful

dashikis, a “Fu Manchu” mustache, and “was known as the heaviest, baddest black

dude on campus.”57 Born Ronald Everett in 1941 to a poultry farmer and Baptist

minister, Karenga attended Los Angeles City College and became the school’s first

African American student body president. He later enrolled at UCLA where he

earned a master’s degree in political science and African Studies. Like other Black

Power advocates, he focused on reviving African culture as a means to empower

African Americans. He argued “As cultural nationalists, we believe that you must

rescue and reconstruct African history and culture to revitalize African culture today

in America.”58 After a brief flirtation with the Nation of Islam in the mid-1960s, he

founded the organization US (as opposed to “them”). US required members to shave

their heads, wear traditional African clothing, assume Swahili surnames and learn

the language, and follow the principles of the Nguzo Saba, the group’s cultural

philosphy. At the height of his influence in the late 1960s, Karenga helped build

Black Studies departments, Black Student Unions, and African American schools,

and he founded the Black Congress to assist in revitalizing Watts after the 1965 riot.

When Ashe met Karenga at UCLA well before either reached the peak of their fame,

the self-proclaimed radical gave the tennis star an earful.59

One day after class, Ashe made an impromptu stop at the Student Union to

hear Karenga address a small gathering of supporters. He stood quietly as Karenga

discussed racial injustices in the United States and explained how African

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Arthur Ashe and the Black Freedom Movement, 1961–1968 487

Americans could reclaim their African cultural heritage. Once the small crowd had

dispersed, the two men stood side-by-side, engaged in a respectful, though tense,

war of words. In an assertive tone, the US leader detailed the need for African

Americans to learn African history and establish their own customs apart from

whites. For this reason, Karenga had founded Kwanzaa, a celebration of African

heritage designed to rival Christmas. Although Ashe listened patiently, Karenga

sensed Ashe’s reluctance to embrace this worldview. The conversation became

more intense. “It’s attitudes like yours I’m trying to change,” he told Ashe. “Look,

you’re the cream of the black crop, you’re in college, you’re going to do fairly

well in life. If I can’t convince you, then what do you think about the black mass-

es?”60 Ashe found Karenga persuasive and likeable, yet to Ashe, some supporters

of black nationalism such as the members of the Nation of Islam believed that

African Americans should separate themselves from white-dominated society.

However, this philosophy went against Ashe’s core belief in integrationism. The

two men never crossed paths again, but through television and newspaper

accounts Ashe continued to follow Karenga’s activism. In Virginia, segregation

and racism confronted him on a daily basis. Now, Karenga and others exposed him

to a philosophy of voluntary separation.61

But Karenga was just one of the immediate influences that shaped Ashe’s

approach to activism. Dr. Martin Luther King and his understanding of Black

Power was another. In Where Do We Go from Here? Chaos or Community?, pub-

lished in 1967, King argued that Black Power was an “emotional concept” that

took on different meanings depending on the person or the particular circum-

stances.62 He defined Black Power as “a cry of disappointment,” a term that sym-

bolized the frustration of African Americans with the lack of federal law enforce-

ment, the deteriorating conditions in urban black neighborhoods, and the

hypocrisy of white politicians.63 He contended that “Black Power, in its broad and

positive meaning, is a call to black people to amass the political and economic

strength to achieve their legitimate goals.”64 King also argued that Black Power,

properly understood, was “a psychological call to manhood,” a reassertion of

one’s self. He recognized, though, that other African American leaders such as

SNCC leader Stokely Carmichael, had a different understanding of Black Power.65

King predicted that the “negative values” of Black Power would keep it from

becoming a substantial enough strategy to drive the Civil Rights Movement.66

King disagreed with Carmichael’s questioning of the movement’s nonviolent

approach, his insistence on separate black political development, and his abandon-

ment of hope. “Black Power alone,” King concluded, “is no more insurance

against social injustice than white power.”67

Despite King’s understanding of Black Power as a positive ideology, many

historians and journalists writing about the late 1960s and 1970s focused instead

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488 The Journal of African American History

on the widely held notion that Black Power undercut the aims of the Civil Rights

Movement. Peniel Joseph has argued that for these scholars and writers, “Black

Power stands at the center of declension narratives of the 1960s: the movement’s

destructiveness poisoning the innocence of the New Left, corrupting a generation

of black activists, and steering the drive for civil rights off course in a way that

reinforced racial segregation by giving politicians a clear, frightening scape-

goat.”68 In this context, Black Power became the “evil twin” of the Civil Rights

Movement. More recent studies by William Van Deburg, Timothy Tyson, Komozi

Woodard, Charles Jones, Jeffrey Ogbar, Robert Self, Matthew Countryman, and

others, however, have examined the fluidity of Black Power as a political and cul-

tural ideology and concluded that the movement was more diverse, widespread,

and complex than earlier historians had concluded. This view is much closer to

King’s initial conception of Black Power than popular representations “of violent

rhetoric, misogyny, and bravado by Black Power advocates.”69

In the late 1960s Ashe had very distinct opinions about King, Whitney Young,

Carmichael, and Black Power. He identified most with King and Young, two well-

respected leaders whose philosophies of nonviolence, integration, and open dia-

logue with whites echoed what his father and Dr. Johnson had taught him. Ashe

argued, “I am with Thoreau, Gandhi, and Martin Luther King, Jr., in their belief

that violence achieves nothing but the destruction of the individual soul and the

corruption of the state.”70 Ashe labeled King one of his heroes and even compared

himself to the iconic leader. “Like Martin Luther King’s role gave him pleasure,”

he told a New York Times reporter, “so does my struggle for equality,” referring to

his own current and future activism.71

Although Ashe agreed with Carmichael in principle, he was skeptical of the

new SNCC leader. To the Los Angeles Times in July 1969, Ashe contended, “We

need aggressive militants, the Stokely Carmichael and Rap Brown and Leroi Jones

figures. You need men with charisma who can appeal to emotions.” But, he added,

“without guys like me, they are dead.”72 He believed that militants could not func-

tion without moderates and vice versa. Ashe admired Carmichael’s passion and

agreed with his demand for freedom now, but opposed Carmichael’s seemingly

violent rhetoric, unwillingness to work with white leaders, and lack of faith in the

U.S. economic system. “Stokely shouts that black is beautiful and so it is, but that

doesn’t mean that white isn’t beautiful,” Ashe explained in September 1968 to a

reporter for World Tennis.73 To the press, Ashe made it clear that King and Young,

not Carmichael, best represented his position.74 In an interview that appeared in

the Chicago Tribune in December 1968, Ashe echoed the approach of Young when

he argued that “the only way to advance materially this whole human rights strug-

gle is to have us hold out a hand to the slums, saying, ‘Look, I’m going to help

you!’ And keeping the hand out until we’ve proved it. Meanwhile the other hand

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Arthur Ashe and the Black Freedom Movement, 1961–1968 489

is out, raised up toward the white establishment steadily insisting, but also slowly

building up its confidence.”75 Ashe viewed himself as a bridge between black and

white Americans, and in this respect he was akin to Young, whose biographer

described him as a “militant mediator.”76

On the topic of Black Power, Ashe was quite clear. In an interview, he said,

“I’m in favor of black power as far as it pertains to the exercise of power by black

people in a bloc, if they so desire. This power is not only good, it’s just and it’s

American. It’s democracy in action. . . . We want certain things and we’ve got

to lobby for these things, to ask Congress for them. That’s the only place we’re

going to get it. In that respect, I’m all for black power.”77 He, like King, was a mil-

itant integrationist who argued that the federal government should immediately

enforce the Civil and Voting Rights Acts. Yet he did not support black separatism.

“There’s nothing constructive about people living in a self-styled state of quaran-

tined isolation,” he concluded.78 The most important element of his future

activism, Ashe believed, would be “to balance the practical and the emotional.”79

THE MAKING OF A BLACK SPOKESPERSON

Like many African American athletes in the late 1960s, Arthur Ashe juggled

activism and athletic achievement. In September 1968 he became the first African

American man and amateur player to win the U.S. Open in Forest Hills, New

York. Three months later, Ashe led the U.S. Davis Cup team to a 4-1 victory over

defending champion Australia to capture the Davis Cup crown for the first time

for the United States since 1963. Ashe finished 1968 ranking second in the world

behind Rod Laver of Australia, and was ranked as the top player in the United

States.

As Ashe found his game, he also found his voice. Sportswriters and reporters

in the late 1960s asked him about racial issues, the Black Power Movement, and

South African apartheid, and he often responded with direct statements. He also

spoke to the public, but perhaps most importantly, by winning the U.S. Open and

the Davis Cup, he achieved an international platform that he used to rally others

to the causes of civil rights, Black Power, anti-poverty, and anti-apartheid. He rep-

resented other militant integrationists who agreed with radicals in principle, yet

often objected to their tactics. From 1968 on, tennis and activism would go hand-

in-racquet for the American champion.80

Nineteen-sixty-eight was also the year that African American sports figures

became civil rights activists on a larger scale. Harry Edwards, a former multi-sport

athlete and then professor of sociology at San Jose State College, led a movement

calling on African American athletes to boycott the 1968 Olympic Games in

protest of racial discrimination globally. At the Games in Mexico City, U.S. sprint-

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490 The Journal of African American History

ers Tommie Smith and John Carlos raised their black-gloved fists from the victo-

ry podium after the 200-meter race, a Black Power salute that got both men

banned from the Olympic Village. At colleges and universities across the United

States, African American athletes challenged racial discrimination and threatened

to boycott competitions until officials met their demands. Heavyweight champion

Muhammad Ali fought a Vietnam War draft order in the courts, National Football

League All-Pro Jim Brown founded an organization to aid inner-city African

Americans, and the St. Louis Cardinals football team made plans for a walkout

unless the league disciplined racist players and coaches. The participation of

African American athletes in the freedom movement increased the visibility of

African American activists as a whole, drawing attention to those who suffered

racial discrimination in sport and throughout American society. By assuming the

role of social and political activists, some African American athletes became influ-

ential actors in organized protests, requiring Dr. King, Whitney Young, Stokely

Carmichael, and other leaders to seek their counsel and enlist them in the cause.

Given his national and international recognition, Ashe’s name was at the top of

their lists.81

Left to right: Arthur Ashe, Juan Farrow, Dr. Robert Walter Johnson,

and O. G. Walker. Courtesy of Robert Walter Johnson III.

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Arthur Ashe and the Black Freedom Movement, 1961–1968 491

In early 1968 Ashe became a participant in the black athletic revolution. While

in Atlanta for a tournament, he attended an informal gathering at the home of civil

rights activist Andrew Young, an officer in Dr. King’s Southern Christian

Leadership Conference (SCLC). Also present were Donald Dell, Ashe’s Davis

Cup captain, Jesse Jackson, the head of the SCLC’s Operation Breadbasket, and

several other African American activists. The men discussed world affairs, civil

rights, and the best ways to confront persistent racial discrimination. At one point

during the conversation, Jackson challenged Ashe to be a more vocal agent for the

African American cause. “Jesse,” he responded, “I’m just not arrogant, and I ain’t

never going to be arrogant. I’m just going to do it my way.”82 In 1968 his “way”

finally included making public statements on race relations, African American

youth, and South African apartheid. For Ashe, the year was emotional and confus-

ing, and he believed that he had to negotiate the moderate integrationism of his

father, Dr. King’s militant integrationism, and Carmichael’s seemingly radical

path. The status quo, however, was not an acceptable choice.83

Ashe’s position as a first lieutenant in the U.S. Army inhibited his ability to

openly fight against racial discrimination. Participation in the ROTC program

required him to serve as a commissioned officer in the Army upon graduation

from college, and many sportswriters and columnists initially predicted that

he would serve in Vietnam. In 1966 the military draft affected a number of

prominent athletes, threatening to remove them from the playing fields, boxing

rings, and arenas and place them on the battlefields of Southeast Asia. The draft

status of Muhammad Ali drew the attention of most Americans. A local board

initially declared Ali ineligible for the draft. However, after he joined the Nation

of Islam, this decision was reversed, listing him mentally and physically fit

for service. Immediately following the ruling, Ali declared himself a “conscien-

tious objector,” reinforcing his earlier comment, “I ain’t got no quarrel with

them Viet Cong.” He argued that he should be excluded from military service

because of his religious beliefs. In his opinion, the government had targeted

him: “I can’t understand out of all the baseball players, all of the football play-

ers, all of the basketball players—why seek out me, the world’s only heavy-

weight champion?”84

In Ashe’s case it soon became clear that he would not be fighting in Vietnam.

The Army’s insistence that he compete in tournaments during basic training

proved that the military viewed him like other famous athletes in the past, as a

goodwill ambassador rather than a combat officer. As an enlisted Army officer and

an international tennis star, he would be in a position to showcase “American free-

dom” to the world. Ashe, in fact, allowed the military to use him for its own polit-

ical and propaganda purposes. He could have resisted or demanded that the Army

send him to Vietnam alongside most of his fellow young officers. Instead, as a

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492 The Journal of African American History

goodwill ambassador, Ashe would play in exhibition matches and meet with the

troops, but escape the front lines, an arrangement that benefited him and the Army.

Ashe continued to improve as a tennis player, and the Army and State Department

used him as a propaganda vehicle, evidence of “racial progress” in the United

States. Ashe later objected to his role in this propaganda campaign, but in 1966 he

lodged no complaints. Lieutenant Ashe obeyed orders.85

In 1968 the Daily Bruin student newspaper included Ashe in an Army adver-

tising campaign asking UCLA students, “How Will You Fulfill Your Military

Obligation?” Ashe and J. D. Morgan, both military men, appeared smiling in the

ad. Now a first lieutenant, Ashe was a success story, a testament to the ROTC pro-

gram. In addition to featuring Ashe in print advertisements, the Army encouraged

him to play in specific tennis tournaments such as the Pan-American Games and

Wimbledon, and not participate in others where his patriotic image mattered less.

At the Pan-American Games, for instance, the press often referred to him as

“Lieutenant Ashe,” a clear military reference.86 Sportswriter Sam Lacy of the

Baltimore Afro-American objected to the Army’s plan, arguing that Ashe had no

voice in the Army’s strategy, a voice that could be powerful if someone allowed

him to speak. Lacy believed that Ashe was a natural politician, a smart man whose

words would accomplish more than his image.87

A single invitation soon changed Ashe’s life. Rev. Jefferson Rogers of the

Church of the Redeemer in Washington, DC, believed that African American ath-

letes were important agents for social change. Rev. Rogers began hosting a polit-

ical forum where activists, politicians, artists, and athletes addressed his congre-

gation on the topic of civil rights. Early in 1968, Rev. Rogers invited Ashe to speak

at his church. As the sole African American star in a predominantly white sport,

Ashe offered a different perspective from that of Bill Russell, Jim Brown, or

Muhammad Ali. Ashe’s previous statements to the press showed intelligence and

revealed a man who struggled to reconcile the differing philosophies of King,

Carmichael, and others. Initially, Ashe politely refused Rev. Rogers’s invitation,

citing Army rules that prevented officers from giving political speeches. Rogers

called Ashe’s bluff, however, accusing Ashe of “copping out” and refusing to take

a stand, using his Army status as an excuse. Rogers’s response triggered some-

thing in Ashe. In effect, Rogers was calling him a liar, and that was not something

Ashe could easily live with. Ashe agreed to give the speech, with or without the

Army’s permission. The Army, though, was not his only concern. He also worried

about his reception among church members and those in the African American

community. He questioned whether his athletic accomplishments qualified him to

offer advice. Why, he wondered, did African American athletes and entertainers

feel compelled to speak out on political matters? How was Sammy Davis, Jr.,

among other entertainers or athletes, an “expert” on racial prejudice? Ashe deter-

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Arthur Ashe and the Black Freedom Movement, 1961–1968 493

mined that if he was going to deliver a speech, he would work hard on his remarks.

The address would be personal, heart-felt, and genuine, and he would not simply

repeat the ideas of King, Carmichael, Ali, or anyone else.88

Late on a Sunday afternoon in March, Ashe stepped up to the podium before

a standing-room-only audience and gave a passionate, though politically temper-

ate, address. As he stared at the mostly African American men and women who

attended the Church of the Redeemer, something came over him. He felt empow-

ered and emboldened, and he recognized that his words meant something to the

audience. Drawing from the integrationist philosophies of his father and Dr.

Johnson, his speech focused on personal uplift and encouraged the congregation

to concentrate on the elements of their lives that they could control. He labeled this

“a do-it-yourself blood-and-guts, Me Power kind of philosophy.”89 “There is a lot

we can do and we don’t do because we’re lazy,” he told the crowd. “This may be

brutal, but poverty is half laziness.”90 This mode of thinking was nothing new to

members of the congregation. As far back as the 1880s, Booker T. Washington had

called for personal uplift and economic empowerment within African American

communities. Inherent in the Civil Rights Movement was the notion that African

Americans had to take responsibility for themselves and their families. Like his

father and Dr. Johnson, he urged African Americans not to blame white leaders for

their current predicament. Ashe pointed to football player Jim Brown as someone

who was making a difference in the African American community. Brown had

founded an organization, the Negro Industrial Economic Union (NIEU), to help

create “producers instead of consumers, achievers instead of orators.”91 Brown, he

believed, was correct to focus on personal income and community investment. At

the end of his speech, Ashe promised to be more active in the black freedom strug-

gle. He asked the audience where they should start to improve their lives, and the

congregants responded in unison, “At home!”92 After receiving a standing ovation

from the audience, he vowed to himself to give more speeches and actively con-

tribute to the struggle.93

The Church of the Redeemer speech was a turning point for Ashe, marking the

moment in his life when he transitioned from being just an athlete to an athlete and an activist. In this short address he answered critics who assailed him for being

silent, and he promised to be more active in the movement. The speech briefly

alleviated years of guilt, as he had finally said something, participated in the

movement, and openly joined the African American cause for social justice. His

defiance of the Army, however, came at a cost. When he returned to West Point

following the speech, his Army superiors had already read a Washington Post arti-

cle that summarized his address. As an officer of the U.S. Army, they told him, he

was not to give political speeches. Ashe left the meeting feeling angry at himself

and Rogers, and wondered if Rogers had used him to score political points.

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494 The Journal of African American History

Quickly, though, his anger faded into satisfaction and relief. “I knew there would

be trouble [with the Army] if I made the speech,” he admitted, “but I accepted

rebuke as my way of paying dues to the [African American] cause.”94 In the early

1960s, he had played tennis, received a free education, and basked in the sun of

Southern California. The late 1960s, he vowed, would be different.

The speech, and his statements and actions immediately following the

address, transformed Ashe from a peripheral actor in the freedom movement to a

prominent activist within the sports world. Leading African American figures rec-

ognized his growing influence in the African American community and reached

out to the young athlete. Harry Edwards encouraged him to join the Olympic

Project for Human Rights (OPHR), a coalition made up of African American ath-

letes, actors, entertainers, and activists that focused on the discrimination and

exploitation of African Americans in sport and society. The OPHR resolved to

boycott the 1968 Olympic Games. When Edwards discussed the boycott with

Ashe, however, the tennis star resisted the plan. Although he agreed with the goals

of the OPHR, Ashe argued that an African American athletic boycott would dam-

age the reputations of the Olympians. His comments were a direct affront to

Edwards, though also a sign of Ashe’s expanding independence. “Well I’ll be

damned,” Edwards said to himself, “Arthur Ashe is an Uncle Tom.”95

Although he disagreed with Edwards’s position, Ashe signed a letter support-

ing a boycott by African athletes of the Games. In 1964 the International Olympic

Committee (IOC) barred South Africa from the Games for refusing to field an

integrated team. Four years later, South Africa buckled to international pressure

and agreed to send an integrated team with several important caveats. The nation’s

black and white athletes still had to compete in segregated trials, and black South

Africans had to earn their way onto the team. Under this scenario, white athletes,

who trained on state-of-the-art fields and tracks, had a decided advantage over

blacks who practiced in decaying townships. The Supreme Council for Sport in

Africa (SCSA), a union made up of representatives from African nations, argued

that South Africa’s 1968 concessions were superficial and failed to dismantle

racism in sport. On 15 February 1968, disappointed SCSA members learned that

the IOC had officially readmitted South Africa, paving the way for South Africa’s

participation in Mexico City. At a meeting in Brazzaville, Congo, on 26 February,

SCSA members voted overwhelmingly for African athletes to boycott the Games

if South Africans did not eliminate racist practices in sport.96

A few weeks before the vote, Ashe joined thirty other amateur and profession-

al athletes in supporting the SCSA. Other famous athletes who signed the petition

included Wilt Chamberlain, Jim Bouton, and Oscar Robertson. Shortly thereafter,

the IOC reversed its decision and barred South Africa from the 1968 Olympic

Games after a number of other nations threatened a boycott. Unlike amateur sports

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Arthur Ashe and the Black Freedom Movement, 1961–1968 495

in the United States, South African rules prohibited racial and ethnic minorities

from having a chance to compete at the Olympic level. Although race relations

were far from perfect in the United States, African American athletes such as

boxer George Foreman still represented the United States at the Games. Simply

put, Ashe supported the SCSA because South Africa denied its black athletes all opportunities to compete.97

In addition to his role in the African Olympic boycott, Ashe became a popu-

lar public speaker. From 1968 on, he gave numerous speeches to women’s and

business groups, community organizers, and activists on a variety of non-sports

topics. In December 1968, the Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI) discovered

that the Black Unity Congress (BUC) had targeted him as a speaker for its 1969

“Black Convention.” The congress’s other potential speakers included Ali,

Carmichael, Adam Clayton Powell, and Amiri Baraka. The fact that Ashe’s name

appeared alongside established activists attested to his growing influence among

black activists at that time. The FBI considered the BUC a radical Black Power

organization, which is one of the reasons why the bureau monitored plans for the

group’s upcoming convention. If Ashe agreed to address the organization on the

topic of youth education, he would certainly face a much more radical audience

than the Church of the Redeemer congregation. The BUC’s invitation to Ashe,

then, shows that his approach to activism was not too conservative for that Black

Power group.98

Even Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., recognized Ashe as an emerging leader

whose moderation and intelligence made him quite effective as an activist. “Your

eminence in the world of sports and athletics,” King wrote to Ashe, “gives you an

added measure of authority and responsibility. It is heartening indeed when you

bring these attributes to the movement.”99 Although King had never met Ashe,

King’s associate Jefferson Rogers assured the civil rights leader that Ashe could

play an active and prominent role. Ashe had always admired King’s pragmatism

and ability to inspire others to action. Ashe explained, “What was so great about

[King] was that he could use emotional power to stir black people at rallies and so

on and then use sophisticated political techniques to achieve practical ends.”100

Now, the nation’s most prominent civil rights leader was reaching out to the most

prominent tennis star, affirming Ashe’s importance to King and his movement.

King believed that Ashe had an obligation to join with other African Americans

who fought discrimination and racism, and the tennis star agreed.101

Just weeks after his Church of the Redeemer speech, Ashe was driving across

the George Washington Bridge into New York City when news of Dr. King’s

assassination hit the airwaves. The initial radio reports indicated that an unnamed

assassin had shot King on a hotel balcony in Memphis, Tennessee. King had come

to Memphis to support a strike of African American sanitation workers. The news

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496 The Journal of African American History

of King’s untimely death shook Ashe to the core. Once he arrived in New York

City, Ashe stopped his car on Amsterdam Avenue and listened to the reports along

with several other African American motorists. “Their reactions ranged from sor-

row to anger,” he later wrote. “We all assumed some white man did it.”102 King’s

death saddened and worried Ashe at the same time. King’s belief in nonviolence,

his rejection of separatism, and his views of Black Power aligned with Ashe’s

views.103

After King’s death, Ashe feared that Black Power radicals such as Stokely

Carmichael might take control of the movement. He admired Carmichael, H. Rap

Brown, and others for their courage, outspokenness, and dedication to the cause,

but their methods did not always appeal to Ashe. Carmichael and Brown, he

believed, were genuine in their desire to help African Americans and had the guts

to say what he and other African Americans felt. “I wouldn’t move that far left

myself,” Ashe told the Amsterdam News, “but I agree with some of the things they

say, and you need a few extremists when you want to change something.”104 To a

World Tennis reporter, he asserted, “Men like Stokely are absolutely right to

demand and insist that it must happen now. What Stokely is doing is wonderful.

I’ve met him and talked with him quite a lot and I’m full of admiration for the

guy.”105 But Ashe’s public statements directly contradicted his private feelings and

concerns about Carmichael’s vision of Black Power. He avoided appearing pub-

licly with the young radical. When Carmichael’s representatives invited Ashe to

participate in a freedom march, he politely declined and instead spent the day on

a Milwaukee playground, leading a tennis clinic for African American and white

children.106 A reporter for the Amsterdam News explained in 1968 that Ashe “was

not a moderate on racial matters, but that he was also not a militant along the lines

of a Stoke[ly] Carmichael or a Rap Brown.”107

Just days after his September 1968 U.S. Open victory, Ashe became the first

African American athlete to appear on CBS’s Face the Nation. Since its debut on

7 November 1954, the Sunday morning debate show had become a must-see for

political activists, businessmen, and socially conscious men and women. It fea-

tured presidents, pundits, activists, and economists who debated one another about

the Vietnam War, the war on poverty, Medicare, civil rights, and other issues. CBS

did not invite Ashe on the program to discuss his historic U.S. Open win or his

general athletic achievements, even though these accomplishments, in many ways,

made him a celebrity. Instead, he appeared on the show as an African American

activist, weighing in on the Civil Rights and Voting Rights Acts, Black Power, and

the role of the African American athlete in society. Ashe argued that African

Americans were frustrated because the U.S. government failed to enforce federal

civil rights legislation. Offering a thoughtful assessment of race relations in the

United States, Ashe outlined a moderate path, embracing African American

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Arthur Ashe and the Black Freedom Movement, 1961–1968 497

empowerment while opposing separatism and violence. The mainstream and

African American presses applauded his segment on the show. An article in the

Nation of Islam’s Muhammad Speaks also declared that Ashe had accepted mili-

tancy and vowed to fight for his race. A mainstream newspaper explained that

Ashe had impressed viewers with his “intelligence, candor, grace, and good will.”

He had delivered a winning performance.108

That CBS officials chose Ashe and not another African American athlete to

discuss U.S. race relations attests to his importance as an activist and a spokesper-

son. Evidence of Ashe’s position as a militant integrationist and his expanding role

in the black freedom movement would become more apparent throughout the

1970s and 1980s as he took on the broader challenge of the anti- apartheid move-

ment in sports and society.

NOTES

The author would like to thank Christina D. Abreu, Randy Roberts, John Matthew Smith, Jamal Ratchford,

Cornelius Bynum, Dexter Blackman, V. P. Franklin, and the JAAH anonymous readers for their much appreci-

ated comments on earlier versions of this essay.

1Michael Paul Williams, “Arthur Ashe: A Virginia Hero for the World,” Richmond Times-Dispatch (hereafter

RTD), 8 February 1993. 2Mike Allen, “He Had to Know How Much He Meant,” RTD, 10 February 1993. 3Olivia Winslow, “Thousands Pay Respects to Ashe,” RTD, 10 February 1993. 4For more on Ashe’s biography, see, for instance, Arthur Ashe and Arnold Rampersad, Days of Grace (1993);

Arthur Ashe with Neil Amdur, Off the Court (1981); Arthur Ashe with Frank Deford, Portrait in Motion (Boston,

MA, 1975); John McPhee, Levels of the Game (1969); Mike Towle, ed., I Remember Arthur Ashe: Memories of a True Tennis Pioneer and Champion of Social Causes by the People Who Knew Him (Nashville, TN, 2001);

Sundiata Djata, Blacks at the Net: Black Achievement in the History of Tennis (Syracuse, NY, 2006), 42–68. For

a discussion of the integration of intercollegiate sport, see, for instance, Richard Pennington, Breaking the Ice: The Racial Integration of Southwest Conference Football (Jefferson, NC, 1987); Charles H. Martin, “The Rise

and Fall of Jim Crow in Southern College Sports: The Case of the Atlantic Coast Conference,” North Carolina Historical Review 76 (1999): 253–84. For black activism at the 1968 Olympic Games, see, for instance, Amy

Bass, Not the Triumph But the Struggle: The 1968 Olympics and the Making of the Black Athlete (Minneapolis,

MN, 2002); Douglas Hartmann, Race, Culture, and the Revolt of the Black Athlete: The 1968 Olympic Protests and Their Aftermath (Chicago, IL, 2003). Two of the best works on activism among black athletes include David

K. Wiggins and Patrick B. Miller, eds., The Unlevel Playing Field: A Documentary History of the African American Experience in Sport (Urbana, IL, 2003); and Wiggins, Glory Bound: Black Athletes in a White America (Syracuse, NY, 1997). 5Throughout this essay, I use the term moderate integrationism to refer to those individuals, activists, and organ-

izations that favored desegregation yet were willing to accept gradual progress. The NAACP, a civil rights organ-

ization that focused on litigation, is an example of a moderate integrationist organization. I use the term militant

integrationism to refer to those who demanded integration immediately, such as A. Philip Randolph and Dr.

Martin Luther King, Jr. Militant integrationists often engaged in direct action, including boycotts, marches, and

demonstrations. For a discussion of both types of integrationists, see, for instance, Dennis C. Dickerson, Militant Mediator: Whitney M. Young, Jr. (Lexington, KY, 1998), 1–7, 318–19; William W. Sales, Jr., From Civil Rights to Black Liberation: Malcolm X and the Organization of Afro-American Unity (Boston, MA, 1994), 195; and

Timothy B. Tyson, Radio Free Dixie: Robert F. Williams and the Roots of Black Power (Chapel Hill, NC, 2001),

197, 200, 204, 210. 6Christopher Silver and John V. Moeser, The Separate City: Black Communities in the Urban South, 1940–1968 (Lexington, Kentucky, 1995), x, 6, 12, 24, 26, 42–43; Megan Taylor Shockley, “We, Too, Are Americans”:

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498 The Journal of African American History

African American Women in Detroit and Richmond, 1940–1954 (Urbana, IL, 2004), 18; Steve Clark, “Waiter

Who Became a Writer Came Home to Be Buried This Week,” RTD, transcript in the hand of Arthur Ashe, box

1, folder 1, Arthur Ashe Papers, Schomburg Center for Research in Black Culture, New York Public Library, New

York City, hereafter SCRBC. 7Ashe, Advantage Ashe, 20. 8Louie Robinson, Jr., Arthur Ashe: Tennis Champion (Garden City, NY, 1967), 11, 76; Ashe, Off the Court, 33;

Clark, RTD, 11 February 1993; Steins, Arthur Ashe, 6; McPhee, Levels of the Game, 64–65. For more on the ori-

gins of the Civil Rights Movement in Richmond, see, for instance, “Appeal Planned for Two Fined for Sitting in

Front of Whites,” Richmond Afro-American (hereafter RAA), 6 March 1943; “Ingram to Study Segregation

Case,” RAA, 27 September 1947; Shockley, “We, Too, Are Americans,” 170, 182. For more on the desegregation

of buses and trolleys, see pp. 170–204; Lewis A. Randolph and Gayle T. Tate, Rights for a Season: The Politics of Race, Class, and Gender in Richmond, Virginia (Knoxville, TN, 2003), 165–66. 9Ashe, Days of Grace, 142. 10Ashe, Off the Court, 61. 11On 17 May 1954, the same day as the first Brown decision, nine governors and forty-one Southern leaders gath-

ered at the John Marshall Hotel in Richmond to discuss the ruling. Almost all of them opposed the court’s deci-

sion and many had campaigned on platforms that defended segregated schools. What the delegates sought, then,

was resistance not compliance, a way to “follow” the law without really following it. The leaders left without a

consensus, yet soon thereafter Southern opposition to Brown crystallized in a series of Massive Resistance (MR)

campaigns. The MR strategy included the passage of local and state laws designed to block school integration as

well as a media campaign to rally the public in favor of segregation. Day after day, James Jackson Kilpatrick,

editor of the conservative Richmond News Leader, heralded the virtues of separate but equal in his newspaper,

causing many fearful white moderates to remain silent. In Virginia, only two African Americans attended a white

school in 1960, thirty-seven in 1961. See Silver and Moeser, The Separate City, 69, 71; Randolph and Tate,

Rights for a Season, 79, 137. For a good overview of desegregation and MR in Richmond, see Mildred Davis

Bruce, “The Richmond School Board and the Desegregation of Richmond Public Schools, 1954–1971,” Ed.D.

diss., College of William and Mary, 1988; James Jackson Kilpatrick, The Southern Case for School Segregation (1962). For more on the Brown decision, see James T. Patterson, Brown v. Board of Education: A Civil Rights Milestone and Its Troubled Legacy (New York, 2002); For more on the African American response to Brown, see

Silver and Moeser, The Separate City, 123, 136; and Randolph and Tate, Rights for a Season, 180. 12Ashe, Off the Court, 24. 13Ibid., 26. 14Ibid., 27. 15Ashe, Off the Court, 24, 26–27; Arthur Ashe: Citizen of the World, prod. and dir. Julie Anderson, 59 min., Home

Box Office, 1994, videocassette; McPhee, Levels of the Game, 63. 16Ashe, Off the Court, 13. 17Ibid. 18Ibid.; Jennings Culley, “Native Son Comes Home—and Wins Davis Cup Match,” The Richmond News Leader (hereafter RNL), 4 May 1968; Ashe, Advantage Ashe, 110–12. 19Parke Cummings, American Tennis: The Story of a Game and Its People (Boston, MA, 1957), 18; “Comment

on Bunche,” New York Times (hereafter NYT), 14 July 1959, 15. For more on race and class in tennis, see E.

Digby Baltzell, Sporting Gentlemen: Men’s Tennis from the Age of Honor to the Cult of the Superstar (New York,

1995), 13–36, 144, 149, 157; Djata, Blacks at the Net, 163, 179; George E. Alexander, Lawn Tennis: Its Founders and Its Early Days (Lynn, MA, 1974); and Will Grimsley, Tennis: Its History, People, and Events (Englewood

Cliffs, NJ, 1971). 20Ashe, Days of Grace, 224–25. 21Hal Higdon, “Plays Tennis Like a Man, Speaks Out Like,” NYT, 27 August 1967, 115. 22Tea and Sympathy, dir. Vincente Minnelli, 122 min., MGM, 1998, videocassette; Dial M for Murder, dir. Alfred

Hitchcock, 109 min., Warner Home Video, 1996, videocassette. 23McPhee, Levels of the Game, 44. 24Harry Gordon, “Arthur Ashe Has to Be Aware That He Is a Pioneer in Short White Pants,” NYT, 2 January 1966,

164. 25Ashe, Portrait in Motion, 148; Ashe, Days of Grace, 224–25; Roscoe Harrison, “‘I’m a Crusader,’ Tennis

Champ Ashe Reveals in Jet Interview,” Jet, 19 December 1968, 50–51. In a 1968 interview published in Jet mag-

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Arthur Ashe and the Black Freedom Movement, 1961–1968 499

azine, Ashe revealed that he had made a “gentleman’s agreement” to work for Whitney Young and local chapters

of the Urban League after completing his service in the U.S. Army. He explained, “I will do whatever Whitney

wants me to do. I will first be an athlete and then a crusader”; Gordon, NYT, 2 January 1966, 164; “Negroes in

Davis Cup Play, Expert Predicts,” Chicago Daily Defender (hereafter CDD), 5 June 1962, 23; Robinson, Arthur Ashe, 79; “Davis Cupper Arthur Ashe Threatens Aussie Net Domination,” Chicago Defender (hereafter CD), 9

April 1966, 17. 26Baltzell, Sporting Gentlemen, 15–36, 341–78; Djata, Blacks at the Net, 154–58; Nick Powell, The Code (Lynn,

MA, 1981). 27Doug Smith, Whirlwind: The Life and Times of Dr. Robert Walter Johnson (Washington, DC, 2004), 43–44, 48. 28Smith, Whirlwind, 9–18, 43–44, 48; Michael Lomax, “The African American Experience in Professional

Football,” Journal of Social History 33 (Fall 1999): 163–78. 29McPhee, Levels of the Game, 43. 30Ibid., 41. 31Ibid., 41, 43; Smith, Whirlwind, 103; Arthur Ashe: Citizen of the World, videocassette; Ashe, “My Most

Unforgettable Character,” Reader’s Digest (September 1972), 152, SCRBC, box 26, folder 9. 32Ashe, Portrait in Motion, 225; McPhee, Levels of the Game, 29; George Minot, “Across the Net,” WP, 19 July

1959, C5. 33Ashe, Advantage Ashe, 34; Minot, WP, 19 July 1959, C5; McPhee, Levels of the Game, 44–45; Djata, Blacks at the Net, 168; Towle, I Remember Arthur Ashe, 11–12; Ashe, Off the Court, 42; Arthur Ashe: Citizen of the World, videocassette; Bill Parillo, “Arthur Ashe Earned His Place in History,” Providence Journal, 14 July 1985,

D1, SCRBC, box 35, folder 4. 34Ashe, Off the Court, 52. 35Ibid., 51; Ashe, Advantage Ashe, 50; Smith, Whirlwind, 106; Al Wolf, “Ashe’s Victories Not Surprising,” Los Angeles Times (hereafter LAT), 5 August 1965, B2; Towle, I Remember Arthur Ashe, 5; Ashe, “New Competition

for the California Tennis Factories,” Tennis (July 1980), SCRBC, box 40, scrapbooks; Ashe, Reader’s Digest (September 1972), SCRBC, box 26, folder 9. 36Ashe, Off the Court, 61. 37Ibid., 52. 38Wiggins, Glory Bound, 200. 39Ashe, Off the Court, 52, 61; Wiggins, Glory Bound, 200; In The Souls of Black Folk, W. E. B. Du Bois argued

that double-consciousness was “this sense of always looking at one’s self through the eyes of others, of measur-

ing one’s soul by the tape of a world that looks on in amused contempt and pity. One ever feels his two-ness—

an American, a Negro; two souls, two thoughts, two unreconciled strivings; two warring ideals in one dark body,

whose dogged strength alone keeps it from being torn asunder.” W. E. B. Du Bois, The Souls of Black Folk (1990), 8. 40For a good overview of the American Civil Rights Movement, see Steven F. Lawson, Running for Freedom: Civil Rights and Black Politics in America Since 1941 (Philadelphia, PA, 1991); Manning Marable, Race, Reform, and Rebellion: The Second Reconstruction and Beyond in Black America, 1945–2006 (Starkville, MS,

2007); Bruce J. Dierenfield, The Civil Rights Movement (Edinburgh, UK, 2008); and Juan Williams, Eyes on the Prize: America’s Civil Rights Years, 1954–1965 (New York, 1988). 41Ashe, Days of Grace, 116. 42Ibid.; Silver and Moeser, The Separate City, 75. For more on the Greensboro sit-ins, see William H. Chafe,

Civilities and Civil Rights: Greensboro, North Carolina, and the Black Struggle for Freedom (New York, 1981),

71–101; and David Aretha, Sit-Ins and Freedom Rides (New York, 2009). There is some evidence to suggest that

Ashe agreed that his victories on the court aided the black freedom movement. In 1968, Hugh McIlvanney of the

Washington Post wrote, “[Ashe] sees his success in tennis not as a means of escaping from the predicament of

his people but as a chance to make a worthwhile contribution to their struggle.” See McIlvanney, “Ashe Tries to

Knock Down Racial Wall,” WP, 14 July 1968, C4. 43Kurt Edward Kemper, “Reformers in the Marketplace of Ideas: Student Activism and American Democracy in

Cold War Los Angeles,” Ph.D. diss., Louisiana State University, 2000, 100, 153. 44Ashe, Advantage Ashe, 50. 45Ibid.; “An Open Letter,” UCLA Daily Bruin (hereafter DB), 3 October 1962, 4; Kemper, “Reformers in the

Marketplace of Ideas,” 100, 153; Marty Kasindorf, “The Emancipator Hasn’t Won Yet,” DB, 12 February 1960,

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500 The Journal of African American History

1, 11; Ashe, Reader’s Digest (September 1972), SCRBC, box 26, folder 9. 46William C. Ackerman, “The Right Man at the Right Time: J. D. Morgan,” interview by David Rose, 19

February 1982, transcript 1984, UCLA Oral History Program, Department of Special Collections, Young

Research Library, UCLA (hereafter UCLA OHC), 1–2, 4, 10, 16; Robert Fischer, “The Right Man,” interview by

David Rose, 9, 24 March 1982, transcript 1984, UCLA OHC, 25–26, 32–34, 45–54; John Wooden, “The Right

Man,” interview by David Rose, 12 March 1982, transcript 1984, UCLA OHC, 357; Ashe, Off the Court, 89–90;

Byron K. Atkinson, “The Right Man,” interview by David Rose, 18 February, 23 March 1982, transcript 1984,

UCLA OHC, 185. 47Ashe, Off the Court, 53. 48Ibid., 54. 49Ibid. 50Ibid., 53–54. 51Joel Boxer, “Summer—Dixie Way,” DB, 2 February 1965, 4; Douglas Faigin, “Southern Brutality Fosters

Protests,” DB, 9 March 1965, 1; Ashe, Days of Grace, 113. 52Ibid. 53Ashe, Days of Grace, 113. 54Barry Lorge, “Inside the Heart and Mind of Arthur Ashe,” Tennis (September 1988), SCRBC, box 35, folder 4. 55Ashe, Days of Grace, 113–14. 56Ibid. 57Ashe, Off the Court, 61. 58“Interview with Maulana Karenga,” Emerge (January 1992): 11–12. 59Ibid.; Ashe, Off the Court, 61. For more on the life and philosophy of Karenga, see Scot Brown, Fighting for US: Maulana Karenga, the US Organization, and Black Cultural Nationalism (2003); Karenga, “Ideology and

Struggle: Some Preliminary Notes,” Black Scholar 6 (January/February 1975): 23–30; and Karenga, “A

Response to Muhammad Ahmad on the US/Panther Conflict,” Black Scholar 9 (July/August 1978): 55–57. 60Ashe, Off the Court, 62. 61Ibid., 61–62; Ashe, Days of Grace, 113. 62Martin Luther King, Jr., Where Do We Go from Here: Chaos or Community? (New York, 1967), 32. 63Ibid., 33. 64Ibid., 36. 65Ibid., 38. 66Ibid., 44. 67Ibid., 49. 68Peniel E. Joseph, “The Black Power Movement: A State of the Field,” The Journal of American History 96

(December 2009): 751–52. 69Ibid., 751; Tyson, Radio Free Dixie; Komozi Woodard, A Nation Within a Nation: Amiri Baraka (LeRoi Jones) and Black Power Politics (Chapel Hill, NC, 1999); Charles Jones, ed., The Black Panther Party Reconsidered (Baltimore, MD, 1998); Jeffrey O. G. Ogbar, Black Power: Radical Politics and African American Identity (Baltimore, MD, 2004); Robert O. Self, American Babylon: Race and the Struggle for Postwar Oakland (Princeton, NJ, 2005); Matthew Countryman, Up South: Civil Rights and Black Power in Philadelphia (Philadelphia, PA, 2005); Peniel E. Joseph, Waiting ’Til the Midnight Hour: A Narrative History of Black Power in America (New York, 2007); Joseph, ed., The Black Power Movement: Rethinking the Civil Rights–Black Power Era (New York, 2006). 70Ashe, Days of Grace, 119. 71Parton Keese, “Tennis Pros Hesitant on Support for Ashe on South Africa Issue,” NYT, 22 February 1970, S11. 72Hugh McIlvanney, “‘Black Is Beautiful,’” LAT, 7 July 1969, B1. 73“Around the World,” World Tennis, September 1968, 84. 74“End of Tortuous Road,” NYT, 10 September 1968, 51; McIlvanney, WP, 14 July 1968, C4; Andrew Crane, “Lt.

Ashe, First Black to Top Men’s Tennis,” NYAN, 7 September 1968, 1; Crane, “Ashe Cops Open,” NYAN, 14

September 1968, 1. 75Robert H. Bradford, “The World Is King Arthur’s Court,” Chicago Tribune, 1 December 1968, N40. 76Dickerson, Militant Mediator. 77Amdur, “Conversations with Lt. Arthur Ashe: Part II,” World Tennis, May 1968, 28–29. 78Bradford, Chicago Tribune, 1 December 1968, N40.

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Arthur Ashe and the Black Freedom Movement, 1961–1968 501

79McIlvanney, WP, 14 July 1968, C4. 80Bud Collins, ed., The Bud Collins History of Tennis: An Authoritative Encyclopedia and Record Book (Washington, DC, 2008), 491, 698; Jim Murray, “Ashe Goes Big League,” LAT, 10 September 1968, E1. 81Wiggins, Glory Bound, 106, 121. 82Towle, I Remember Arthur Ashe, 66. 83Wiggins, Glory Bound, 121; Ashe, Off the Court, 102. 84“Athletes Face Call in Draft Step-Up,” NYT, 20 February 1966, S1; “Accelerated Calls Affecting Many Big

Names,” CT, 20 February 1966, I1; “An American Ace,” Time, 19 November 1965; “Ashe Will Report to Army

in June,” NYT, 10 November 1965, 10; “Ashe to Enlist, ’66 Cup Play Doubtful,” CDD, 10 November 1965, 32;

“Ashe to Enter Armed Forces Next Summer,” LAT, 10 November 1965, B1; Ashe, Off the Court, 117; Ashe,

“Ali’s Greatest Opponents Could Be ‘The Jackals,’” RTD, 14 September 1980, B14, SCRBC, box 40, scrap-

books. 85Ashe, Off the Court, 98; Ashe, Advantage Ashe, 10. For more on the use of athletes as goodwill ambassadors,

see, for instance, Damion L. Thomas, “American Politricks: Sport, Civil Rights, and the Cold War,” paper pre-

sented to the Conference on Globalization and Sport in Historical Context, University of California, San Diego,

March 2005, 1–15; and Steve Bullock, “Playing for Their Nation: The American Military and Baseball During

World War II,” Journal of Sport History 27 (Spring 2000): 67–89. 86“Ashe, U.S. Swimmers Set Pace in Pan-American Games,” NYT, 26 July 1967, 30; Frank Litsky, “The

Absentees,” NYT, 31 July 1967, 32. 87“How Will You Fulfill Your Military Obligation?” DB, 24 January 1968, 6; Frank Litsky, “The Absentees,”

NYT, 31 July 1967, 32; Arthur Daley, “A Rugged Assignment,” NYT, 28 August 1968, 55; Sam Lacy, “Ashe

Wants Title More Than Reprieve,” Baltimore Afro-American (hereafter BAA), 19 February 1966, 17. 88Ashe, Off the Court, 101–02. 89S. Asher, “Ashe Wants Athletes to Act,” WP, 11 March 1968, C1. 90Ibid. 91Ibid. 92Ibid. 93Ashe, Days of Grace, 145–46; Asher, “Ashe Wants Athletes to Act,” WP, 11 March 1968, C1. For more on

Booker T. Washington and racial uplift, see, for instance, Robert J. Norrell, Up From History: The Life of Booker T. Washington (Cambridge, MA, 2009); and Jacqueline M. Moore, Booker T. Washington, W. E. B. Du Bois, and the Struggle for Racial Uplift (Lanham, MD, 2003). 94Ashe, Off the Court, 102. 95Arthur Ashe: Citizen of the World, videocassette; Lawrence Casey, “Sports Ledger,” CDD, 21 March 1968, 33;

Phil Finch, “Ashe Isn’t Afraid to Tell It Like It Is, Baby!” Washington Daily News, 18 March 1968, 52, SCRBC,

box 35, folder 1. 96Letter from Bob Boozer, Oscar Robertson, and Jackie Robinson to an unnamed athlete, 27 February 1968,

NCAA Library and Archives, Indianapolis, Indiana, Charles Neinas Files, Olympic Basketball folder, March

1968; Leonard Koppett, “Robinson Urges So. Africa Ban,” NYT, 9 February 1968, 58; Frank Litsky, “65 Athletes

Support Boycott on S. Africa Issue,” NYT, 12 April 1968, 28; Neil Amdur, “Conversations with Lt. Arthur Ashe:

Part I,” World Tennis (April 1968): 52, 54; “Athletes of Both Races Sign Boycott Resolution,” BAA, 16 April

1968, 13; Lawrence Casey, “Sports Ledger,” CDD, 21 March 1968, 33. 97Ibid. 98Memorandum from Agent “SAC” to the FBI Director, 3 July 1969, 1–3; http://www.africanafrican.com/

negroartist/fbi%20files/ashe_authur.pdf. 99Letter from Martin Luther King, Jr., to Ashe, 7 February 1968, SCRBC, box 2, folder 1. 100McIlvanney, WP, 14 July 1968, C4; Ashe, Off the Court, 103. 101Ibid.; Letter from Martin Luther King, Jr., to Ashe, 7 February 1968, SCRBC, box 2, folder 1. 102Ashe, Off the Court, 103. 103Ibid.; Casey Bukro, “Bobby Tells Crowd of Slaying, Calls for Compassion, Wisdom,” CT, 5 April 1968, 23;

Nicholas C. Chriss and Jack Nelson, “Dr. King Slain by Sniper in Memphis,” LAT, 5 April 1968, 1; David

Garrow, Bearing the Cross: Martin Luther King, Jr., and the Southern Christian Leadership Conference (1986),

575–623. 104Andrew Crane, “Lt. Ashe, First Black to Top Men’s Tennis,” New York Amsterdam News (hereafter NYAN), 7

September 1968, 1.

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502 The Journal of African American History

105“Around the World,” WT (September 1968): 84. 106McPhee, Levels of the Game, 143. 107Crane, NYAN, 14 September 1968, 1; Crane, “Lt. Ashe, First Black to Top Men’s Tennis,” NYAN, 7

September 1968, 1; Ashe, Off the Court, 60, 103. 108Letter from John C. Regan to an unidentified newspaper, SCRBC, box 35, folder 1; “Ashe Feels a Duty to Aid

His Race,” CT, 16 September 1968, C4; “Ashe Says Negro Athletes Should Back Negro Causes,” NYT, 16

September 1968, 13; Ashe, Off the Court, 113; Mike Zitz, “Arthur Ashe: Career Has Come Full Circle,”

Freelance Star (Fredericksburg), 17 July 1982, SCRBC, box 35, folder 3; “World Tennis Champion Arthur Ashe

Declares His Militancy, Determination to Struggle for His People,” Muhammad Speaks, 27 September 1968, 16;

“Ashe to Guest on Face Nation Sunday,” LAT, 13 September 1968, D20.

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