I had several rules about my on-court conversations, or advice, during
a match:
An Elon graduate, Kyle Smialek, and his family donated tennis
scoreboards at the Jimmy Powell Tennis Center on the campus of Elon
University. Graciously, they named the scoreboards in honor of my
assistant, Bob Owens, and me.
Kyle’s mom, Jill Smialek, wrote me this nice email:
I am hoping you will be there! Kyle is going as well as Kaylyn.
If it wasn’t for you my children wouldn’t be going and there might not
be a scoreboard!
But, God bless you, you had given him a chance–and to his credit he
followed through for four years. Because of your dedication, which you
have passed on to my son. He never gave up. He was Elon inside and out.
Tom, you have given my son the determination to try his best. He may
never had been given that chance if it weren’t for you. He may not ever
made it “big” in college tennis but his loyalty and his determination are
admirable. And that loyalty drove Kaylyn to try her best at Elon. And again
she struggled with tennis but never gave up!
I attribute that determination to you. They have both grown through
Kyle Smialek with Tom Parham Elon tennis and have now become successful adults. Two children thatmake me very proud of their accomplishments.
So when you are there–look at those scoreboards and know you made a
difference on not one but two people’s lives. You deserve that scoreboard.
Enjoy it!
Hope you get to catch Kyle and Kaylyn while there.
My very best to Margaret.
Cheers,
Jill
I responded with the following email and the thought, “One parent is
worth more than 100 teachers.”
Jill,
What a kind note and thanks. Here is an alternate explanation for the
kid’s success. In James Michener’s “Mexico,” Michener uses bull fighting
as a metaphor for death. He asks the reader “what is the worst thing that
can happen from a promoter’s point of view?” Answer: The bull must have
courage or he won’t fight! Picture Ferdinand the Bull.
Next question: what is the surest way to determine if a bull has the
necessary courage? Practice fight? Can’t do that, because one practice and
the bull figures out the deal about the cape. Kills the matador. Promoter’s
best guess at determining the potential courage of a young bull? Fight
the mothers. If the mother has heart, the offspring will have courage. You
did good with the kids, Mom. Jill, I loved Kyle as a person and you all as a
family. I’m glad, but not surprised about their success. Margaret and I are
quite thrilled about the scoreboards and look forward to seeing them in
action. (Hopefully with some Phoenix wins on the boards). I must tell you
and your family that as much as we appreciate our names up there with
Elon, our most intense thanks are for the remembrance of our beloved
friend, Bob Owens. I truly believe Bob is an angel. Can’t wait till next
weekend.
Stay in touch, and thanks once again.
Tom and Margaret Parham
The Smialeks think I did Kyle a favor by keeping him on the team. It was
a no-brainer. First of all, he was a good player. More importantly, he was a
heck of a fine student and person.
But I started to think about unsung contributors who often don’t get to play much. Football coach Henry Trevathan is a dear friend and legendary
coach. I once asked Coach Trevathan what he liked most about coaching.
As was his way, he pondered the question a while and finally said, “There
was almost always a kid trying out for the football team who had no
business trying out: Too small, lack of talent, slow—whatever. But he had
one quality. He wouldn’t quit. I somehow could keep him around and turn
it into a positive for him, the team, and myself. Took some time,
some patience, some faith.”
I had several of those kids who played for me, Kyle was one; his friend
George Memory was another. George’s family, the Don Memorys, are part of the “Memorys of Wake Forest College.” Bull and Jasper Memory are icon-
ic at “Old Wake Forest.” They were also tennis players who took my father, E. T. Parham, under their wing when he was an aspiring young theology
student and ministerial hopeful. They taught him tennis, and he played
number four for Wake Forest in 1928. I met Don Memory socially when
George was a senior in high school. We uncovered our connection, and
I learned that George was interested in Elon. We got him to Elon, and he
was a “marginal” player who I kept on the squad. The summer of George’s
second year I checked my returning player data with Elon and George was
not enrolled. I called his dad, and I don’t believe Don would object to me
saying there were “tears in his voice” when he told me that George “had
worsened” (he suffered from severe kidney problems) and would not be
able to play anymore. And he was not going back to Elon. I encouraged
both to have him come back. I would keep him as manager and “in”
tennis—a game he loved.
Fast forward two years, George’s health had thankfully improved and he
was able to return to the team. We were playing Davidson; they were good
and it would take all of our efforts to win. George and Kyle Smialek were
up to play doubles together in a “scratch match.” We may have already won
but you’d never know watching Kyle and George. I don’t remember much
else about that day, just that our team won. It was beautiful out and
watching Kyle and George play together made a lot of sense. It was a
tremendous jolt of joy, for me and the team.
I did my share of winning. It is worthwhile to do your best. I remember a lot of these “Smialek” moments and what great kids some of these non-
starter, marginal players were. Many of my era’s kids would have played on a lot of fine college teams but were bumped by the influx of foreign and
international players. My first team had great guys who would not have
played later. However, given the chance and some time, they blossomed
with experience. Joe Roediger was number 13 on my first Elon team. He
worked his way up to number 5, graduated when no one thought he
could, and has taught tennis for 20 years. No one loves teaching tennis more than Joe. Many of these marginal players ended up as teachers and
coaches. The players who are cut, end up bitter at tennis and probably quit
playing, let alone teaching. The marginals though, will possibly be your
next great tennis teacher, pro or coach.
One of the few things that I did not like about Title IX was that it dictated
squad size for men be equal to women, or vice versa. You had to cut at a
certain equal number. Until then, I could let them hang around as long as
they would. Coach Jim Verdieck of Redlands University and our NAIA days,
kept 32 on his squad. He gave the top 16 a private hour lesson weekly, the
bottom 16 a half hour. Many of these “subs” are teaching today. Plus,
Verdieck won more national tennis titles than anyone, ever, in college
tennis.
I did, of course, kick a few off. None who didn’t deserve it. And I kept a
few I should have run off. Maybe I was idealistic, but I thought they could
all be salvaged. Often, a challenge match cost a kid a starting slot, or a
chance to stay on the team. One kid lost a challenge match on the match
point of a third set tiebreaker—on a double fault. That hurts. But he didn’t
quit and eventually became a fine starter. Almost every kid I kept, sooner
or later, came back and got me a crucial win. Peter Van Graafeiland lost
and lost and lost. He was as nice a kid as ever played. He figured it out and
became solid at the bottom of the lineup. Jon Hodges, Ashley Shaw,
Justin Clark, and Micheal Prelec were Americans who sat out until their
time came. John Morel grew four inches in his freshman year. He later
became all conference.
So many more examples, Chad York teaches at one of the better tennis
clubs in Charlotte. He took lump after lump, and it killed me to watch him come up short. Chad has never blinked, to this day. Tommy Stratford teach-
es tennis in D.C. He would bleed to play and always, always supported the team. Tommy Nielsen was the same. A guy named John Potanko was
recruited out of PE classes. Andrew Hodges teaches today. I watched him
play freelance every day while we practiced. I convinced him to come over
to the varsity courts, hit with some of the better players. He didn’t think he
was good enough. Great kid. Kevin McCabe was another. Sebbe Bredberg,
a Swede, fought shoulder problems and substituted for a school year. Next
go—Southern Conference Champion, Bredberg a hero! There were similar
kids at Atlantic Christian College and, I’m sure I’ve forgotten several.
I wrote this thinking of, and thanking, the Smialeks. More than that,
thanking my persistent kids. I loved seeing them make it. More than either,
though, I write this for the young coaches. “Don’t cut ’em; don’t give up on
’em; coach ’em; coach ’em; coach ’em!”
“You can observe a lot by watching” –Yogi Berra.
I have felt apologetic to the people I coached in my “pre-Leighton” career.
We had good teams and kids early, but I really had no “body of knowledge,”
or thorough concept of what to suggest. Having a background in other
sports helped me make common sense decisions, and I was developing an
eye for how to help. Still Leighton provided the base to expand on.
I began to see things that I hadn’t been aware of, and a great new source
of learning emerged. I was seeing things my own players did or didn’t do
properly. Other teams provided examples. And while I hardly know about
the upper echelon of tennis, I now see things the pros were doing that
helped. Television brought the great players right into my living room.
And tennis fits television like a glove: Borg, Connors, McEnroe, the U.S.
Open, Wimbledon, Billie Jean vs. Bobby Riggs, etc.
A team requires a “critical mass.” Chemistry. We had that in 1979. Tom
Morris was the leader. Part of the Bassett Furniture family, they lived in the
wealthiest part of Columbia, South Carolina. Sam Modlin’s family of six
lived in a trailer. Tom and Sam were the closest of friends. Sam died in a car
crash two years after graduation. Tom’s father, Jack Morris, told me that he
thought Tom almost died himself when Sam was killed. Sam was a beauty,
and we still miss him. Jay Aldridge was the third member of that critical threesome. Jay won the first Maryland High School tennis singles title by the score of 7–6, 6–7, 7–6. Played indoors with the old nine-point tiebreaker in existence, Jay said neither he nor his opponent lost their service. Jay won the last breaker 5–4, having the last serve by
virtue of winning the toss. A junior on this team, Brian Staub was from
the Hampton, Virginia, area. His coach, Ron McVittie, had quit coaching
Brian’s team because of the team behavior, including Brian’s. I’d never met
Brian when he showed up at one of our matches. Jay told me who he was,
and that he was ranked number five in the middle Atlantic states. That was
a good ranking for our level. I introduced myself to Brian and asked if he
was visiting a friend? “No sir, he said, I’m hoping I can be on your team next
year.” Brian went on to explain that he’d felt so bad about his coach, he’d
begged him to return. Classmates were mad because McVittie was a great
person and coach. “If you won’t return, will you please help me with mycollege choice,” Brian begged. Coach McVittie advised him to “go to Atlan-
tic Christian College, they have a coach there who can keep you straight.”
I left after a road match at Davidson for a three-hour trek to Columbia,
South Carolina, trying to recruit Tom Morris. It was late when I arrived at
the stately Bermuda Hills mansion. Father Jack Morris told me later that
my willingness to drive there that night, putting me back in Davidson at
3:00 AM, convinced them I’d look after Tom. Tom Morris led us, willed us,
played us to the school’s first-ever National Championship. He won the
conference singles title all four of his years, the only person before or since
to do that. And he did it his senior year with a badly damaged thumb.
Congratulations to an “All American Leader.”
Watching Elon University grow was fascinating. Our team was changing
fast, too. Duane Johnson was an unlikely “cornerstone” for a college tennis
team, but I recognized him even before I changed jobs. I’d seen him play
the year before. His mom, Eleanor, was the engine that drove Duane. Here
I repeat an earlier story. It applies to a lot of mothers, including Duane’s,
Eleanor. Coaches have known this about good mothers for a long time. In
James Michener’s “Mexico” the author explores bull fighting. The worst
scenario for a promoter is a cowardly bull; Ferdinand, if you will. No
courage, no fight. Michener explains that determining the probability of a
fierce bull can’t be ascertained by “trying out” the bull. Show him the cape
and after one audition, he’ll know where the matador is. Solutions for
fight promoters? You try out the mothers. If the mother has courage, it’s
likely the offspring will.
Maybe “drive” is the word for the Johnsons. And for so many other
successful people. “Just keep pecking away at it.”
Duane would park in my office chair and wait for me. He’d tell me his
ideas, goals, and how to motivate others. Once he (or we) obtained one
goal, on to the next. He wanted to beat neighbor Guilford College. Done in
year two. Atlantic Christian? “We’ve never beaten them!” Beat them in the
second conference and district tournaments. Go to a national tournament?
Elon’s first qualification in 1987. Next goal, same chair: “I want our team in
the top ten of the country.” Our finish in 1988? Tenth of 55 teams. I want to make Academic All-American! Picked that up in 89 too. First-Team All-
American? 89! When he graduated in 1989, I thought I’d done about allI could do as his coach.
Our team, led by Roland Thornqvist, won Elon’s first national title in 1990.
I thought Duane would be elated, but when I saw him he was angry. “Well,
what is it now, Johnson?”
“I wanted to be on that team.”
Big drive.
Novak Djokovic’s win over Rafa Nadal in the 2011 Men’s U.S. Open
showed tennis fans a new level of play in the history of the sport. I’ve
discussed Nadal’s Circle strategy to defeat Federer and the rest of the
men’s tour consistently. But Djokovic has taken the baseline game to a new
level. He has perfected deep, heavy shots that keep Rafa out of his Circle.
Djokovic and his team have engineered their rise to the top of the men’s
game much like Andre Agassi’s team did. A rigorous fitness regimen and
diet have amplified his natural counter-punching style, and he is returning
serves and hitting passing shots as effectively as any player ever. I
can’t remember a Grand Slam final (grass, hard, or indoor) where the first
service percentage carried almost no statistical advantage. Neither Nadal
nor Djokovic benefited from their normally deadly first serves. It makes you
wonder if Pete Sampras could have held service while serve and volleying
against Djokovic.
This also makes me wonder about the upward evolution of the game and
who will achieve the next level.
Djokovic has almost perfected corner-to-corner baseline strategy.
Another thing that he seems to be getting better at is the drop shot. The
old adage that you can’t drop shot on a hard court is being tested more at
the top level. There are four corners on each side of the court. Two are up at
the net. The only player I have seen who could hit an unreturnable drop
shot from the baseline was CharlieOwens. Many watched Charlie
dismantle quality players with a disguised, featherlike drop shot that
confounded even great players.
Maybe there is someone coming along with this unique touch, who
combined with the other tennis skills needed will produce the next level
in the never ending evolution of tennis. Women players might be well
advised to note this possibility. And to be aware that not only should she
be able to hit drop shots, she must be able to defend against them. My
guess is that many players and teachers have realized there are four
corners on each side of a tennis court. I watched the Wimbledon men’s single semi finals. If you go to the three strategy articles in review, I think you will find I was pretty close:
basic tennis strategy, The Circle Stinger, and Rafa vs. the Joker. In the latter,
I predicted this season would feature a lot more drop shots (Andy Murray
vs. Baghdadis, for example). To follow up, or evolve, as a teacher-coach, it
then seems we must learn defense against the drop shot. In addition to
the basic strokes of tennis there are auxiliary shots (returns, approaches,
passing shots…) with different techniques to be mastered. Drop shots are
one of these now more than ever. There are also unlimited awkward shots
in tennis (for example, a backhand overhead, or running down a shanked
shot). These shots, including defending against drop shots, must be
identified, the proper techniques practiced, and implementation mastered.
Please remember, players and parents, that this isn’t easy work. Don’t
abandon the insightful pro who pushes this mastery for a guy who simply
moves you left and right. And don’t worry about how you get
to a good drop shot. No one has done that gracefully.
In the mid-’80s I began writing a coaching manual. Maybe I’ll add the
next 20 years’ experience to that in a “tennis coaching book” later. If I do,
one person will be responsible: Coach Jim Leighton of Wake Forest
University.
North Carolina had, for years, featured the East-West High School All-Star
Games. The state added more sports, then girls’ all-stars, and the games
progressed. My team had just won a trip to the NAIA Nationals. We finished15th in the nation. The first tennis clinic held in Greensboro was an after-
thought. Coach Ira Norfolk was going to the basketball game, and I figured I’d pile in with him. My running buddy, Jack Hussey, was at the clinic, and
we were off. We were all over Guilford County and Greensboro as well.
Norfolk was in bed when I sneaked into the shared motel room very late.
The tennis clinic was the next morning. I knew Norfolk was awake because
he smoked 11 Viceroys before taking a morning trip.
I dragged myself out of bed just in time to make the 9:00 AM clinic at
Latham Park in Greensboro. There were four coaches there including me.
Coach Leighton rolled up with racquets and balls. He wore traditional
white, and it matched his hair. He looked just like Colonel Sanders. After
pleasantries and introductions he began speaking in a new language. Two
puzzled coaches left after 10 minutes. The other coach left at noon.
Coach Leighton was a master teacher, and my first introduction to
someone who was knowledgeable about the game. I was fascinated. One
of his players, Paul Caldwell, was with him. When the other guy left, leaving
only me, I was embarrassed, both by how much Leighton knew, and my own misjudgment about my greatness. I offered to abandon the afternoon
session. I was delighted and impressed when Coach responded, “Tom,
we’ve agreed to stay until 4:00. I can tell you are interested in learning. As
long as you’ll stay, we’ll stay.”
Our college offered $200 per year for “professional growth” at convention
trips. I never again spent mine on anything but my new mentor, Coach
Jim Leighton. He would try to refuse my money, but I’d have paid triple. I
was in his home, at his club, at his varsity practices, watching tapes on
everything from his current players to sequential pictures of Ellsworth
Vines. He had just completed Inside Tennis: Techniques of Winning. This
book, much of the information by Leighton himself, also included
contributions by Dennis Van Der Meer, Welby Van Horn, Chet and Bill
Murphy, Wayne Sabin, Pauline Betz Addie, and others. I loved Leighton and the book. I had so many questions. I’d schedule time in his Winston-
Salem home. We’d talk about the book, and with explanations by Coach Leighton, I felt like Moses on the mount.
The USTA held our annual teacher’s convention just prior to the U.S.
Open in Flushing Meadows. One year Jim and I made almost every session.
Every coach seemed to want to use his session to further his tennis
standing. At one session Leighton’s “bull” detector kicked in. A coach was
trying to sell a lame idea as the end of all tennis instruction; Leighton
politely questioned the man’s premise. The clinician sloughed off this old
white-haired guy’s puzzlement. Again coach queried, “I want to make sure
I’m understanding what you’re saying.” An abrupt, “Am I not speaking
plainly enough?” was his answer. Selling the same lame premise, the
clinician was startled when Leighton rose and stated, “Sir, you are
addressing the tennis teachers of America and beyond. Never have I
heard such a crock of baloney.” He turned to me and said “Get up Tom,
we’re getting out here!” I followed him.
One day at the New York host hotel he asked, “Do you want to hear
someone who knows tennis?” My immediate response was “Sure!” Coach
said, “Meet me in the lobby at 6:30 for breakfast.” I joined Coach and Chet
Murphy in a downtown café. Chet and Bill Murphy were Californians who
knew the biomechanics of tennis. I’d heard Chet Murphy as a clinician. He
seemed nervous but once the first technical question was asked, he was
off and running. This morning Coach Leighton did something I’d never
seen him do. He deferred to Murphy, asking questions the way I’d asked
him. And while there was great mutual respect, I’ve got to say Murphy was
impressive. I was all ears. This was a time when all kinds of research was
being done in tennis. I was pleased with the next question asked by Coach
Leighton, “Chet, how do you feel about what we’ve done?” (Meaning the old-time proponents of “classic” tennis instruction.) Chet thought a moment and said, “We should have let them hit more western grip forehands. Other than that everything was right.”
Coach Leighton was buried the day the Jimmy Powell Tennis Center was
dedicated at Elon, North Carolina, in 1988. The
funeral was in Wait Chapel on the campus that had
named their stadium after this fine man, coach, and friend. People say
you don’t have to play to be a coach. Or that you don’t have to have much
other than good players (“You can’t make chicken salad, until you get the
chicken”). I became a much better coach after meeting my mentor. I know
it made me money. I taught everyone in Wilson and the surrounding area
for years. I took Leighton’s advice and sought out private sessions with
Dennis Van Der Meer and Welby Van Horn. They couldn’t have been nicer
to me. As my ability to see broadened, I could connect to my own experi-
ences, while coaching college tennis for 40 years. I learned from television, professional tennis, coaching in 28 national team championships, my own
players, players from other teams, other tennis coaches, and coaches of
other sports. I learned particularly from Coach Jim Verdieck of Redlands
University. It would be unfair to omit Coach Verdieck. The following article
looks at this outstanding coach.
Not every athletic contest is the Super Bowl or the Final Four. Great
games occur everywhere. There were some great contests, team efforts,
and fine people in NAIA tennis. I’m grateful I saw 28 tournaments. Dick
Gould of Stanford was the “Coach of the Era” (25 years) during the period I
coached. No doubt he was the best.
But our absolute best was Jim Verdieck, a competitor, the coach at
Redlands University (California). Jim was the best at winning I ran into, in
any sport. And he was already a legend when my team made its 1970 trek
to Rockhill Tennis Club in Kansas City, Missouri, home of the NAIA Championships. Verdieck was a strong-willed football and tennis coach. His teams won 12 of 13 NAIA
titles, starting in the mid-’60s. I’d admired him and then
befriended him. I need to write some of what I saw; one could learn a lot
from Redlands and their coach. I asked him once why he didn’t write
about his vast knowledge. Our kids were about to face each other. He
pointed to the court and said, “See that match. If you told me we could
win that match if I’d write 200 pages,
I start right now.”
I asked where, over his coaching years, the non-scholarship Redlands
team would rank in California, including the division I giants of USC, UCLA,
Stanford, Pepperdine, and all the rest. “Sixth.”
The teams wore national championship warm-ups. Only for Kansas City.
No one got to the courts before Redlands. We mimicked that too.
“But what if it dies?” I asked about his knowledge.
“If I die, it dies.”
He proved true to his word. Suffering a major heart attack, he was told
he needed an emergency treatment.
“Not before Kansas City.”
Told he may die if he went, he boarded the plane.
He knew his business. Janice Metcalf, a fine California player, played
number 6 on one Redlands men’s team. It was early 1970, and there were
no girls’ teams in the NAIA. I was on the rules committee that denied Coach
Verdieck’s appeal for a substitute for Janice, who’d injured her knee after
the substitution deadline. The rule was clear and Coach Verdieck accepted
the decision.
He flew Janice out for her first-round match, which she won easily, and
then boarded a return plane to Redlands. Redlands University won the
national title by that one point. When I asked Verdieck about that move, he
explained, “I’d figured the draw pretty close. I knew Janice could probably
beat this kid easily and told her to walk off if it was bad at all.”
Perhaps as impressive as Jim were his sons, Doug and Randy. Doug won NAIA singles all four years. He won the doubles, three times—twice with
Randy. When Doug was inducted into the NAIA Hall of Fame, he flew from
Hawaii. As Doug tried to speak of his father, tears, not words, came. He
backed out and tried again with the same results. Another attempt. The
NAIA official next to him stood as if to relieve him. “No, dammit, no. I flew
all the way from Hawaii to do this, and I’m gonna do it.” Angry now—his
level voice stated: “My dad is the greatest” and sat down.
Coach Verdieck told me he had had lights approved for the university
courts three times. Somehow the school procrastinated every time they
said yes. Later he found out that when he’d tell his wife the lights were to
be installed, she nixed the deal. She simply went to the administrators
saying, “If you put up lights, he’ll stay there all night, and I’ll leave him.”
His roster included 24 players—a very large team. Not only that, each
week every player in the top eight had a one-hour private lesson with
Verdieck. Sixteen remaining players had a half hour per week with him.
This, in addition to team responsibilities.
I called to congratulate him when I learned he’d retired at age 65. He was
within 60 or so wins of 1,000. No one else was close.
“Did you consider staying until you break that barrier?” was one of my
questions.
“No, I promised my wife if I got to 65, I’d stop. A deal’s a deal.”
Though he quit coaching he couldn’t give up teaching. I asked Coach
Verdieck early on if he knew Dennis Van Der Meer. Not only is Van Der Meer
the world’s most prolific tennis teacher, he was close to my mentor, Jim
Leighton. Verdieck said, “Know Dennis? I taught him ninety percent of what
he knows!” When I asked Coach Leighton if he knew Coach Verdieck, he
said no. I told him of the Verdieck comment about Dennis Van Der Meer.
Leighton was appalled and said he intended to ask Dennis about it! A
couple of years went by, and I asked Leighton if he’d asked about Verdieck.
Leighton admitted that Dennis had responded, “Yes, that’s probably
about right.”
In retirement, Verdieck worked with Dennis at Sweet Briar College in the
mountains of Virginia. I called Coach Verdieck and asked if I could hire him.
“What for?” he asked. I told him I wanted to know more about coaching
and he was the one who I most respected. I’d been coaching 25 years at
this point. Still not convinced, he argued that his knees had gotten so bad
he couldn’t move enough to hit many balls. I replied, “Coach, I just want to
talk with you.” He contended he didn’t talk much but to come by and
we’d probably be done in 30 minutes. My wife went with me and waited
patiently for three-and-a-half hours. “Tom, we have to set the babysitter
free at 8:00 PM.”
You’re never too old to learn, and I learned a lot that day. When I became
director of athletics the first thing I did was book an hour with five different
athletic directors whom I admired. Dylan said you had to get up close to
the teacher if you want to learn anything.
Coach Verdieck was impressive. In The Little Green Book of Tennis I draw
from all my writings, and his coaching and advice show up, as well as that
of my long-term mentor and friend, Jim Leighton.
Here, then, is The Little Green Book of Tennis. Done, I hope, in a style that
does justice to the great game of tennis and to the fine men I have learned
from.
P.S. Find your mentor(s)!
The Little Green Book of Tennis 