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Old sports equipment had a very long shelf life in my childhood home. Tennis racquets, footballs, golf clubs and field hockey sticks stuck around way past their usable phase. When I think of all that gear, I am reminded of our family’s younger years, when Mom was calling us for dinner, and we were exhausted from running around in the back yard or returning from a late tennis game. Dad had to be picked up at the train station. Homework waited. Time to come in!

When I was five years old, we moved to a new house in Greenwich, which my father had designed and helped build even though he was a full-time lawyer. In addition to the cool laundry chute, which transported our clothes down two floors, he crafted a small sports equipment closet in the playroom. For the next thirty-five years, tennis racquets, baseball mitts, bats, badminton birdies, ping pong mallets, footballs, basketballs, Whiffle Ball bats and aerated white balls were kept in this narrow, two-shelved space.

We had a nice backyard and could play lots of sports. I was a quick study and fairly coordinated as a young girl. My brother Eddie taught me how to throw a football and baseball, among other sport skills, with proper technique. He loved being outside. I loved being outside with him. Football, basketball and whiffle ball were our favorites. Occasionally, we’d throw a Frisbee.

My first football pass at age seven or eight was probably four yards long. Eddie would smile at me and say, “That’s so good, Mar!” He loved that I could throw the football to him. He didn’t care that I could barely manage it all. “It’ll be easier when your hands get bigger,” he’d explain, making me feel good about my abilities at the time.

Eventually, after a few more years had passed, we had four set plays. The 28, which was our only running play, was a quarterback sneak. Then, we had the 38 and the 48, two passing plays, one to the right and one to the left. The 58 was the Bomb – a long pass. Eddie had to call that one. I could entertain the 28, the 38 and the 48, although the 38 was best for me as a righty. In our two-person huddle, Eddie would invariably call the 38 for me. Brilliant! We even huddled up although no one else was with us in the back yard. It was fun and funny, all at the same time.

Eddie was a huge sports fan. He cut out every newspaper article on Navy Quarterback Roger Staubach that he could find and glued them all into a dedicated notebook. He kept the cutting and pasting going even after Staubach became the QB for the Dallas Cowboys. He held on to that crinkly, glue-filled notebook for many years, although it eventually fell apart.

Eddie was an amazing athlete. He was excellent at tennis, skied beautifully, and fast, on a tight slalom path and had a silky basketball shot. I was five years younger, so I always trailed him in capabilities, but he told me I was super coordinated and would keep instructing me on how to get better at whatever sport we were focused on at that moment. “Just watch me,” he’d say.

To this day, all that advice has stayed with me and I’ve passed it down to our children, not with giant expectations but rather to enjoy playing all that much more. Hit it harder. Go faster. Throw it farther.

For the most part, Eddie played tennis with the boys his age at the club or with my sister Tina. She was also a fourteen and under club champion at our local club, two years older than Eddie and a very nice player. Michele and Karen played occasionally and they, too had their own racquets and good games. Those were happy years.

Fast forward thirty-five years. It’s now 1999 and the Greenwich house is sold. It nearly killed us to leave that house, but we had to go. Mom’s memory was disappearing, and Dad was not well enough to manage his everyday tasks. Everything had to get cleared out, a rather large undertaking given that they had held onto a fair amount of paraphernalia.

It was decided by the moving committee, i.e., “the kids,” but mostly us girls, that the old tennis racquets could not be thrown away. But where to put them? Quonnie. The footballs, basketballs, ping pong stuff of yore could all go.

Somehow, another, fifteen years floated by with those racquets rattling around another closet. In that time, both my mother and father passed away when they were in their upper eighties. Sadly, my brother was not well. He had medical problems and was having difficulty navigating life. It was a very hard time.

One day, about five years ago, my husband Bill suggested that we hang the oldest racquets on a wall. I loved the idea.

I shared with Bill a bit about their provenance:

1. Lou Ballato Autograph – Circa 1965: The tennis pro at our club, Lou Ballato, was a colorful figure. A champion squash player, he played and taught tennis in long white or crème colored wool pants which somehow made him look like he was floating on the court. Karen played with this racquet. Perhaps Tina and Michele played with that one, too. Maybe even I did when I was just starting at age six – sounds about right.
2. Slazenger Challenge No. 1 – Circa 1967: This was my brother’s most treasured possession. It was a big deal as I think it was more expensive than many other racquets at the time. It was finely made with more rounded, contoured wooden edges. Eddie was working on his game and vying for club championships against other excellent players. I believe he won the Twelve and Under championship trophy at our club in 1967 with this racquet.
3. Lou Balatto Autograph – Circa 1969: I think this must have been either Tina’s racquet, as she also was an excellent player and contested in the junior club championships, or Michele’s, but I can’t remember exactly who played with this one. The styling on this racquet’s signature is more elegant. I bet I used it, too.
4. Jack Kramer Autograph – Circa 1972: This was my first official racquet! I felt so cool having a brand-new racquet that was not a hand-me-down. I improved a lot and started playing in the club championships. I was a decent player, but many of the girls were better than I was, so I just kept plugging along. I also was on the swim team, so much of my focus was in the pool rather than on the tennis courts. I loved playing.
5. Wilson T–4000 – Circa 1973: This was a game changer. While the first modern small-head metal racquet, the T-2000, had come out a few years earlier, Jimmy Connors popularized the brand with his winning ways throughout the ’70s. We had two of these racquets and Mom and Dad each played with one. Dad was a good player. He stayed active until he was in his eighties, even with all the back surgeries that he had. Mom was also an advanced tennis player, having started in her early school years. Our parents were both good athletes.
6. Chris Evert Autograph – Circa 1975: When this racquet came out, I knew I wanted to get it because I wanted to be like the tennis pro Chris Evert – the way she played, her demeanor on court and her steadiness – were all qualities I wanted to absorb and integrate into my own game. Dad bought it for me and I was thrilled! I played with this racquet until about 1980, when we started buying the new-fangled composite versions. I played in the club championships and did well in the doubles competition. I’ve loved to play tennis all my life.

Dad was into equipment and always wanted us to have excellent tools at our fingertips. He was generally very supportive of newer technology – if we didn’t spend too much money. Here’s a link that provides a great overview of how tennis racquets have evolved over time.

I’m so grateful to have these racquets now. They’re like old pals. Every so often, I look at the collage and think of my family during that time. Tomorrow marks seventeen years since Dad died, and in ten days, it will be the third anniversary of Eddie’s death. I’m sorry that Eddie never saw this collage while he was still living, but I know he’d like that we are keeping his memory alive, especially in regard to the sport he spent so many happy hours pursuing.

These vintage possessions have a special place of honor in our Quonnie home – a place where we can remember Dad, Mom and Eddie in the good years and rejoice in our love of sports and family.

RIP

Edwin Michael Jones, Jr. (1954-2018)

Edwin Michael Jones (1916-2004)

Alberta Irene Conway Jones (1918-2006)

Always in our hearts.