FABULOUS WIMBLEDON 1997

Yesss! Walker Joe went a fifth time. Lucky for him, but unlucky for you, he lived to tell about it. Consequently, you are stuck with this 1997 Wimbledon Story, which almost had an unhappy ending. Fortunately, 'nearly' only counts in horseshoes. Cheer up it's short.

This year Marjorie Lee purchased a Dome tent just big enough to sleep Walker Joe, - at least we thought it was - and two blowup tanning mats. He had asked for blowup dolls. Hot 'diggity' dog! He was going to be sleeping on air. Why did he take two mats? No, the second one wasn't a hospitality mat. It was a backup in case one leaked. Of course, she purchased a bed roll and a set of ear plugs. But dreadfully, in retrospect, she forgot to pack his overcoat, long johns and fur-lined underwear. Fortunately, she packed flannel pajamas. This June was the coldest in 104 years.

Five years had expired since a grayer, balder, slightly heavier Walker Joe graced the hollowed grounds of Wimbledon. Yes, five more years of spite for a few who had wished him gone years ago. Laugh will you! There's Social Security and two private pension payers namely, United Technologies, General Electric, and a few other non-contributing individuals. His spirit had become tormented with desire, although his wallet is now shorter of the quintessential of life, wampum, and the decision had to be weighed carefully . . inflation you know. Private companies' pension does not increase; therefore, since retirement, his only increase in income has been social security. You know they give it to you with one hand and take it away with the other; the raise goes to pay the increased Medicare costs. But he threw frugality to the wind.

Often, over the last four years, Walker Joe has read and updated his Wimbledon memoirs, the 50,000-word essay which he has painstakingly chronicled for posterity, but more hopefully prosperity. His intentions had been to satisfy the craving stirring inside him, although the resulting stimulus only served to heighten his longing for his spot at the end of a rainbow, the Somerset Road queue. The place he 'once' queued to obtain regularly priced Centre Court and No. 1 Court tickets to watch inspired tennis played on a grassy lawn.

The bird, a Virgin Arlantic Jumbo 747 named "Tinker Belle," was thirty minutes late leaving Orlando International. No one seemed to care. It was packed with happy vacationers and the flight attendants would work their sweet little buns off pleasing the packed flight. They were a friendly crew as was the 1990 crew. Walker Joe sat in a window seat well ahead of the wings. A couple several years his senior, who lived in Winter Park, Florida, sat in the two seats next to him. He was a golfer. I’d thought so the moment I spotted him. The abundance of lard gave him away. She had played tennis before a back operation ended her love affair with the game.

Mr. Bill Loh was originally from Macon, Georgia, and Docia was a Georgia Peach born in Blairsville, Georgia. Bill was a graduate of the University of Georgia. Walker Joe told Bill his dad and brother had graduated from Georgia and that he had graduated from Georgia Tech. Since Tech and Georgia are arch rivals it made for a very uncomfortable relationship at home, but Bill and Walker Joe were too grown up to let school rivalry interfere. He was a retired air force officer, having piloted transports. They were headed for England to visit a son with a newborn son.

Since none of us could sleep, we talked, drank beer and frequented the toilet. This offered one cheap thrill. Once, Walker Joe flushed it while in the sitting position and he thought for a moment he was a goner. Man, the suction and sound was terrifying. We chased the sun for eight hours and finally caught it over Ireland. Walker Joe looked down nodding respectfully to his distant Grandfather, George Walker, who came over to America from Ireland in 1750. Then he prayed for his soul. Walker Joe gets his first name from him. Incidentally, he married Mary Duhart and they birthed twelve children. What a libido. There has got to be some Walkers out there somewhere. There is one famous name on the Walker Family Tree, Robert 'Bobby' Jones. Maybe Walker Joe should have picked up golf instead of tennis. After all it seems to be the more politically correct game to play.

The flight over the Atlantic was quite pleasant although he was a trifle upset discovering Virgin no longer passed out decals, i.e., do not disturb, wake me for duty free, wake me for meals, and wake me for sex.

Apparently, decals have become an obsolete method of communication. The world seems to keep on passing Walker Joe by. Obviously, Virgin has never really passed out the decal, wake me for sex. Walker Joe made a similar jest back in his 1990 episode and he thought it was high time he sanctified Virgin's image.

Walker Joe had purchased £120 at his bank in Sebring, Florida, near to where he now lives. This smart move denied those expensive hole-in-the-wall exchange banks at Gatwick that rape you. He went straight to the Gatwick Express and, after removing his sterling stash from his tennis shoes, he purchased a £10.5 ($18) ticket for Victoria Station. On board he met three young men who were on a two-month backpacking adventure in Europe. They were recent Georgia Tech graduates. They had spoken to him first, having notice the Georgia Tech sweater he was wearing. We had a short discussion about Tech, and Walker Joe was reminded of the midnight oil he’d burned to keep up with Tech's high standards.

Time! On these trips to Wimbledon, Walker Joe seems to have a few wonderful happenstance experiences that relate to the past. It seems uncanny to him, but maybe it just goes to prove what a small world we live in.

By ten-thirty Walker Joe arrived at Wimbledon Park Station and walked the short distance to Mrs. Jane Scoon's home. She had weathered the five years he'd not seen her better than himself. Perhaps the fifteen years age difference was in her favor. She took little time away from his day quickly finding a B&B victim to take him in. The fare was £28 ($48). It was located in Wimbledon Village within walking distance of the 'Big W' and only four squares from the business section. It was ideal.

This day, Thursday, it rained constantly. The huge rain covers were never removed at Wimbledon. Fortunate for some of the fans, who paid for tickets, the rain check policy has been liberalized.

At the Long Bar later, Walker Joe cornered a young person and had a rather lengthy, friendly and interesting conversation with him. He said this about the rain-check policy of yore. "On days that no play occurs, the 'genuine tennis fans' leave the gates mumbling adjectives that sounded like: rained-off and ripped-off." He has purposefully refrained from mentioning one other adjective they used. But they keep coming back like a song. Walker Joe met him on the second middle-Sunday. This was not suppose to happen again, but he's ecstatic it did. It was a real break for him, which you'll learn about. Think about it. Only two middle Sundays have happened in 111 tournaments and Walker Joe was there both times. Is that uncanny?

At one point Walker Joe drawled, "Why is the Long Bar so dead? In the past, an available table at this time was nearly an impossibility. Actually, you'd be lucky to find an empty chair."

Without hesitation, he said, proving his keen perception, "These Sunday fans have come to watch the tennis and they are sitting on courts relishing an opportunity to watch Wimbledon tennis at a bargain price. On regular days, the fans are less avid and mostly come for the international atmosphere, feasting, drinking and socializing. Take a look at the Champagne and Pimms Kiosk."

Walker Joe stretched his neck and had a look. "Only one customer," he said surprised.

"Right. The 'genuine fans' can't afford champagne and Pimms." He smiled sardonically and continued, "And amazingly they have already sold-out of strawberries and cream. (It was only about three dollars and affordable) This is the first time in many years this has happened."

And another plus, thanks to the many rain delays, starting times were three hours earlier than usual. This results in more matches being scheduled, and should they run short, even more matches might be scheduled due to the pressing backlog. When rains raise havoc with the schedule, you always get more tennis for your money.

Joe arrived back at his B&B around noon and Mrs. Holland, his host, made him a nice cup of hot coffee. Afterward, he went to his room on the third level, undressed and jumped into the single bed. This old house still has steam radiators. Finding warmth within the radiator, he became ambivalent. He felt as though he had receded to Victorian times and perhaps the month was January, not June. His internal time clock said it was 7am and time to rise. Sleep came slowly, but his eyes were closed for five hours.

Awakening at 5pm, he walked to the business district to find a hot meal that he could afford. Balderdash! The price for food is astronomically expensive by our standards. Anything smacking of gourmet will cost you $20. Should the linens be made of silk and the cutlery silver, prepare to spend $30. Walker Joe didn't succeed and he ended up having a sandwich and French-fries at Volleys, a friendly, modern pub in Wimbledon Village, which required two pints of Stella Artois to wash it down. Price about $17. Afterwards, he went back to Mrs. Holland's and read Shakespeare, and on Friday, he read Milton. Friday was another wet day.

Time! Walker Joe found an old fashioned pub, "The Grid Inn," near Southfields Station that served excellent hot meals for about $8. He ate three meals there, and they were all great, especially the Barbecued Half-Chicken. And it was the only pub that offered a small no-smoking section. Walker Joe bumped into a couple his age from Victoria, British Columbia. They were attending a dance contest in Fairbourne, and they popped up to Wimbledon for the tennis. Strangely, he played the trumpet, and he said he'd been a line umpire at the Australian Open in 1988. This man, like Walker Joe, was fond of dancing, playing tennis and the trumpet. What an uncanny coincidence. Maybe he's a chip off the old Walker block.

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