When I was 14, my father owned the garden supply store next to the famous grass courts in Newport, Rhode Island, called the Newport Casino, and now known as the International Tennis Hall of Fame. It was a mini Wimbledon, the site of the early U.S. Open competitions, the first Virginia Slims Tournament, and a venue for most of the great players of the ‘50s and ‘60s. One morning my father told me the manager was looking for someone to warm up the champion, Ricardo “Pancho” Gonzalez, for an exhibition game, and that he had volunteered my services. I was both excited and more than a bit nervous.

At 6 feet 3 inches and 185 pounds, Gonzalez was an imposing figure. Even more intimidating was his fierce stare, a vertical scar on his cheek and a well-deserved reputation for being short-tempered. He also had a cannonball serve, clocked at 112 miles per hour, the fastest serve in tennis in those days of wooden rackets and catgut strings. Gonzalez won his first major tournament in 1949 in Forest Hills and, over the course of the next 20 years, managed to beat all the major players of his era and several of the next generation.

So powerful was his fast and high breaking serve, and so quick was he on his feet, that the professional rules were briefly changed to prevent rushing the net after a serve. Under the new rules, the return of serve had to bounce at least once before the server could take his next shot. Gonzalez won anyway, and the rules were changed back.

Gonzalez was a player with an attitude. Some of that came as a result of his encounters with prejudice, both on and off the court. There were few minority players at the time, and discrimination was common. Although his parents were immigrants from Chihuahua, they did well in the United States, and provided their children with a good home. They were comfortably middle class. But in a sport dominated by Anglos and a biased press, he was seen as a hard-scrabble cholo. A scar on his cheek from an accident made him a pachuco, or street tough, in the press. His nickname in the newspapers was “Pancho,” even though the name is a diminutive for Francisco, and his name was Ricardo. He was paid less than most professionals until — finally — when he was attracting sellout crowds, he refused to play unless paid the same as his competitors. A Sports Illustrated article called him hard and mean.

Whether he was hard and mean, or totally focused and tough, he persevered. Many sports writers consider him the best male player in tennis history. He was ranked No. 1 in the world for eight consecutive years (1952-1960), and he kept playing past his prime. In 1969, he was the top money winner in the United States, beating Rod Laver, the No. 1 ranked player. He was 40 at the time. When he was 43, he beat Jimmy Connors, who was a youthful 19. The tough Mexican American dominated a sport that previously had been the privilege of an exclusive country club group. He opened the game up to people of all races and ages, “engaging fans like no other pro before him,” according to Richard Pagliaro at Tennis Now. 

I returned to my hometown of Newport, Rhode Island, to see Gonzalez formally inducted into the International Tennis Hall of Fame. There, his many victories and his life are now documented, and the nickname “Pancho” has become one of honor and respect: an inspiration to future generations.