By Randy Walker
@TennisPublisher
The legacy of Bud Collins was honored on Friday, August 27 at the historic West Side Tennis Club at Forest Hills as part of the club’s annual “Heritage Day.” The long-time former home for the U.S. Open honored Stan Smith, on the 50th anniversary of his winning the 1971 U.S. Open at Forest Hills, as well as Collins, who covered and broadcast tennis from the club for decades, and dedicated banners in their honor that will hang from the rafters of the 13,000-seat horseshoe stadium. The club also accepted and now have on display and for reference many of the the entire tennis book collection owned by Collins that was donated to the club by Bud’s wife Anita Ruthling Klaussen.
While most people think of all of the contributions Collins made to tennis broadcasting, writing and the documentation of tennis history during his life, there is a deeper contribution and legacy that all of humanity can still learn from Collins, who died in 2016.
“If one word could describe Bud, it would be kindness,” said Klaussen in her speech at the event from the front grass court at Forest Hills with a brilliant sunset behind her. “He had no B-list with his friends. They were all A-list.”
While eloquently describing the amazing career highlights, contributions, colorful stories (and clothes) and his global popularity, Klaussen ended her speech with a poignant story that summed up the “Collins Kindness” that all should adhere to and pass forward.
“We were in the press room on the first day of Wimbledon and Bud asked the kid emptying the wastepaper baskets, ‘And who are you?’” said Klaussen. “He always used to say, ‘And who are you?’ instead of what’s your name? So anyway, the kid was startled, told him his name. And from then on every time he came by to empty the wastebasket, Bud thanked him by name, asked what he had seen and done so far that day. ‘Have you seen any tennis?’ What had he done of interest. Exchanges toward the 15 or 20 seconds. Not a huge expenditure of time. But at the end of a fortnight Bud found a note on his desk. ‘Dear Mr. Collins,’ the note said. ‘You’re the first person in my life that has made me feel worthwhile.”
Most of the Klaussen speech text is can be read below.
Bud considered the 1972 Davis Cup tie in Romania to be one of Stan Smith’s highlights. It was a wild weekend in Bucharest – this is Bud’s writing – made unforgettable by the fervor of the fans. Thievery of the linesman. Machinations of Tiriac. And the security due in part to the recent Olympic massacre in Munich. Bud wrote about Stan that despite the pro Tiriac officiating, Stan knew he had to hit winners well within the lines. He clinched the Cup in five sets, saying he had a headache from concentrating so hard. No Yank abroad in Davis Cup has ever done better….and Bud loved Davis Cup.
I wish I could tell you more stories about Stan and Bud, but I know my time is limited and I want to talk about Bud. So anyway, I believe that Bud would be very, very pleased to know that his cherished tennis books are now housed here. He loved the West Side Tennis Club. What is important to me and would be to Bud is that the books be kept together, the entire collection, that they be accessible to people doing research or whatever, and that they’d be protected. They’d be cared for. And I’d like to thank Bea, and her unbelievable group that have worked to catalog Bud’s collection and make it look so beautiful in its new home. It’s just gorgeous. I’m so happy. Thank you.
Now the advice that Bud would give me in accepting this honor is keep it short. However, talking about Bud is not easy to do short. I could regale you with tales of Bud’s sartorial splendor, but you’re all aware of that. But one small vignette, Wimbledon called me a few years ago and asked if I would donate a pair of Bud’s trousers to their inner city youth program auction. So I said, of course, and I fixed up a nice package with a book and a photo of Bud wearing the trousers with Ken Rosewall was there. They later got back to me and told me who had bought the pants. I was pretty amazed. It was a Savile Row tailor who dresses William and Harry.
Anyway, I could tell you about Bud’s love of all sports and his coverage of them. His first beat was boxing. A lot of people don’t know that, but he covered almost all of Ali’s fights and, but loved covering it because he said it was a sport you could cover without being libeled. And he also stood up for Ali when he wanted to change his name, Bud was only two, one of two sports writers in the United States who went along with that instead of calling him Cassius Clay. Ali loved him for that. They traveled a lot of places together.
I could tell you about his being an op-ed writer at the Boston Globe or about being shot at during his coverage of the Vietnam War. Bud went over a hawk, but he came back a committed dove after seeing the fiasco there. He would have been glad we just got out of Afghanistan. I could tell you the Bud described himself as never having worked for a living because he so loved what he did. He would’ve paid to do his job. He called it babbling and scribbling. And he was also the first writer to make the jump to television. His editor at the time, the venerable Tom Winship, was not pleased. But once he saw what cache Bud brought to the newspaper he went along with it. And in fact, he said about Arthur Ashe, ‘Ride that Horse!’ meaning, wherever you want to go if Arthur is playing. I could tell you about the excitement, enthusiasm he brought to the broadcast booth while commentating about his beloved sport of tennis.
Bud’s reach was far flung. One year we were sitting at a Death of a Salesman performance in Boston, and during intermission, as we went up the aisle, a gentlemen said to Bud,, ‘What are you doing here, Bud? There’s no tennis being played.’ And Bud said, I’m a great admirer of your work, Mr. Miller. Arthur Miller said to Bud, I’m a great admirer of your work. I thought that was amazing. I couldn’t believe it. I mean, it’s one thing to be revered in the tennis world, but Arthur Miller? Another time we were returning from a walk, when an electrician on our streets said, oh, Bud I just want you to know. I love hearing you talk. I don’t care about tennis one bit. I never missed your broadcast because you’re so interesting. Bud felt that really was one of his greatest compliments that he could entertain somebody who didn’t even care about tennis.
I could tell you about traveling all over the world in the early days with a racket in hand, always ready to play. One of his favorite partners was Luciano Pavarotti, whom he said moved quite gracefully considering his girth. Bud loved opera, Pavarotti loved tennis. And when in the same city they exchanged tickets.
One night Pavarotti had invited Bud to dinner after enjoying Wimbledon thanks to Bud’s tickets. By the time Bud finished writing, he had to drive to the swish Italian restaurant after the rest of the party. The bouncer did not want to let him in saying it was a “private party.” Bud said: “But I am with the Egyptian” because, Pavarotti hadn’t even changed his costume. The bouncer let Bud in.
I could tell you about Bud’s prowess in the game. He won a U.S. mixed doubles title in 1961 with Janet Hopps. And one year of Wimbledon, Bud was walking by practice courts in his street clothes with shoes on etc and he passed Andre Agassi, who was working out. Andre looked up at Bud and said, Bud, what the heck do you know about this game, anyway. Have you ever even picked up a racket? And Bud said, just lend me a racket please. And so, Bud served one of his very nasty sliced ball serves. Andre got it back because Andre was a good returner. But Bud was at the net and put a perfect volley away. Put the racket down said, thank you, Andre. He knew how to play the game.
I could tell you about Bud’s mentoring of new people in the broadcast booths and in the press rooms around the world. He was endlessly generous in sharing his knowledge. You know, a lot of people are very proprietary, but Bud would tell you anything you needed to know. He started at WGBH in the early days of public television. Julia Child was there at the same time. One time she said to Bud in her squeaky voice, ‘’You know, Bud, you and I really made channel two.’ And it was true.
I could tell you how Bud really created the televising of tennis. Calling matches alone. Start to finish, no commercials , for hours on end. That will never happen again. He used to say that to be a commentator you needed a good bladder. Bud went big time in 1968 when asked to cover the first US Open at the West Side Tennis Club. Arthur Ashe had just won the amateur tournament at Longwood. Bud had a very long interview with him after the match. He asked him all kinds of very insightful questions like ‘How does it feel to be playing in a club where you couldn’t be a member?’ It caught the attention of big wigs in New York and he got a call from CBS wanting him to do that first US Open. He continued to do so for many years. So, you know, he has a real relationship with your club.
And I could tell you that if one word could describe Bud, it would be kindness. He had no B-list with his friends. They were all A-list. I could tell you about the friendships he made over his 55 years covering sports. The Aussies considered him one of their own. The Italians loved him. They wished he were Italian. And always referred to him as Collini. I could tell you about his work for social justice. He had a clear vision how all people should be treated. I could tell you about how Bud was Google even before there was Google. And even when he was on deadline, when his colleagues approached asking if they could ask one question, he always said, ask two. I could tell you how Bud was beloved the world over. A fan of Bud’s said Bud was a Jedi Knight. A guardian of justice.
Anyway, in conclusion, I’ll tell you one story that really sums up Bud. We were in the press room. The first day of Wimbledon and Bud asked the kid emptying the wastepaper baskets. And who are you? He always used to say, who are you instead of what’s your name? The kid was startled, and told him his name. And from then on every time he came by to empty the wastebasket, Bud thanked him by name, asked what he had seen and done so far that day. ‘Have you seen any tennis?’ What had he done of interest. Exchanges toward the 15 or 20 seconds. Not a huge expenditure of time. But at the end of a fortnight Bud found a note on his desk. Dear Mr. Collins, the note said, you’re the first person in my life that has made me feel worthwhile.
