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A true playboy who could play

Oakland Tribune, Sep 21, 2005 by Dave Newhouse, STAFF WRITER

ALAMEDA -- That mischievous grin, it could only be Whitney Reed, the forehand of frivolity, the backhand of bravado, the drop shot of deviltry.

Indeed, it is Whitney Reed, tennis' last party boy. His hair is thinner, and there's a paunch where there didn't use to be, but that mischievous grin is a dead giveaway, even though this Alameda legend now is 73.

Some who followed Reed's escapades will wonder how he ever made it to 73. But these same doubters were stunned when he became America's No.1 tennis player in 1961. What they didn't realize was the playful Reed had priorities.

Yes, he set limits. He enjoyed the libations and the ladies, but he took precautions so he could see his opponent with, at least, one eye open.

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"I tried to make sure I got my eight hours sleep," said Reed, that nocturnal wonder. "Eventually, the tournament committees learned to schedule me late in the afternoons."

Tennis is dramatically different from those days when Reed traveled the circuit as an amateur with little money in his pocket, but with a lust for living. The game's now professional, and sterile, starving for characters.

"They're making all that money, and they have trainers and masseurs traveling with them," Reed scoffed. "They have their own travel agents. But the way they're playing, they're missing a lot of fun."

Nobody in tennis ever had more fun than Reed, who partied as hard, or harder, than he played. His serve was far less remarkable than his stamina.

"I was able to go out in the evening and do well on the court the next day," he said. "I smoked. I drank beer. I liked poker. I met a few ladies on the circuit who'd take me from tournament to tournament. I had no moderation. Sacrifice is not one of my main attributes."

Neither was conditioning. His opponents lived a pure existence, took their tennis far more seriously. Reed had to outwit them, and he did mostly.

"We played in a tournament in Canada sponsored by a beer company," said Clif Mayne of Orinda, who competed with and against Reed. "If ever there was a tournament for Whitney, thiswas it. But the tournament was on clay, it's hot and humid, and Whitney's playing a 19-year-old Canadian hopeful.

"Whitney shows up from the beer company after an all-nighter, and he's lurching against the fence with this horrible cough. The kid takes two laps around the court, knocks out a bunch of pushups, then the match begins.

"Whitney's lurching around the court, holding his own. Then in the third set, the kid is carried off with cramps. When the media asked Whitney for his reaction, he said, 'The kid just needs to get into better shape.'"

Such stories abound about Reed, though he's not reluctant to tell them on himself with his familiar slow, sarcastic W.C. Fields-like delivery.

"I wasn't always on time," he said. "I was late at Wimbledon in 1962 when I played Neale Fraser, my first time on Centre Court. What happened was that I got into an all-night poker match the evening before. I knew I was in trouble when I saw the sun peeking through.

"I went back to the hotel, got some sleep, then arrived at Wimbledon at 1:45 p.m. for a 2 o'clock match. Only I had left my rackets in a friend's car. So I borrowed a racket from a ball boy and ran out to the court. Neale's already there, and I see him motioning for me to bow. I did, but the royal box was behind me. So I turned and bowed again. That didn't go over too well."

Neither did that third-round match, Fraser winning 7-5 in the fifth set. But all wasn't lost that day for the carefree Reed.

"I traveled to the next tournament in Ireland with this barrister from South Africa," he said, "a fiery little redhead who had an MG and a little Derringer pistol in her purse. We hit it off and spent the rest of the week together."

What was Reed supposed to do? There are groupies in tennis, too.

"Some of these ladies, when you're dancing, they put room keys in your pocket," Reed said. "I always tried to tell them that when the week is over, I go on to the next tournament."

Reed didn't marry the first time until the night before he turned 40. He later wed again, but neither marriage stuck.

"I get a D-minus in husbandry," he said. "Coming back from a tournament in Cleveland, my first wife was waiting for me at the Oakland Airport. I landed in San Francisco with a stewardess who lived in Mill Valley. That was my wife's first clue that maybe the marriage wasn't working.

"I guess I was a real rogue, a heartbreaker."

By his second wife, Reed had a son, Whitney Jr., who's 19 and living in Massachusetts, and who suffers from a bipolar condition.

Even though he frolicked on the wild side of tennis, Reed managed to become the top-ranked player in the country at age 29.

"To garner my No.1, I was the only American to have played in all the tournaments in 1961," he explained. "I had my share of losses, but the Aussies were winning most of the tournaments. But my wins qualified me as the highest-ranking American that year.

A true playboy who could play

Oakland Tribune, Sep 21, 2005 by Dave Newhouse, STAFF WRITER

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