moderation when it came to political and racial issues. He thought deeply about the problems, but took no part in the demon - strations after the Watts riots in L.A. in 1965, and didn’t travel back to the South for the protests against segregation there. “There were times,” Ashe said, “when I felt a burning sense of shame that I was not with blacks—and whites—standing up to the fire hoses and police dogs.” When Ashe listened to the speeches of African-American activists at UCLA, he heard echoes of the white segregationists he had happily left behind in the South. Unlike Ali, Ashe believed that civil rights had made a difference, and that racial progress in the U.S. was possible. “I never went along with the pronounce - ments of Elijah Muhammad,” Ashe told Hauser, “that the white man was the devil and that blacks should be striving for sepa - rate development—a sort of American apart- heid. That never made sense to me.” For the war effort, Ashe played exhibi- tions, met with troops, and worked as a ten - nis coach at West Point. He got to hit balls rather than dodge bullets, while the Army got to show off an African-American officer and star athlete in its ranks. It was the type of arrangement that Ali, who was offered the chance to put on boxing exhibitions for the Army instead of fighting, had risked jail time to reject. By 1968, Ashe could no longer resist the pull of politics or the example of Ali. This was the year of the Revolt of the Black Ath - lete, illustrated most vividly by U.S. sprinters Tommie Smith and John Carlos, who raised gloved fists on the medal stand at the Mexi- co City Olympics. At a meeting of black ath - letes that year, Jesse Jackson challenged Ashe to use his fame to greater effect. “Jesse, I’m just not arrogant, and I ain’t never going to be arrogant,” Ashe said. “I’m just going to do it my way.” In March 1968, Ashe accepted an in- vitation to speak at the Church of the Re - deemer in Washington, D.C., from the same
Through his fiery words, he helped change mainstream America’s attitude toward the war, and toward himself. Nowhere was Ali’s impact on the country more obvious than in the verdict that the Supreme Court handed down in 1971. Four years earlier, Ali had been quickly and decisively found guilty of draft evasion; now the country’s highest court unanimously upheld his status as a conscien - tious objector. While Ali was telling the world that he didn’t have anything against those Vietcong in early 1966, Arthur Ashe was flying to Fort Lewis, Wash., to begin six weeks of basic training with the Army. Ali saw segregation as fundamental to the United States. Ashe saw it as a regional derangement to be cured, a way of life that was ultimately antithetical to the nation’s character. Ashe’s attitude can be summed up in his feelings about Davis Cup, tennis’s international team event. Nothing would give him more satisfaction than becoming the first black man to be chosen for the U.S. team. “Segregation and racism had made me loathe aspects of the white South, but had scarcely left me less of a patriot,” Ashe wrote. “In fact, to me and my family, winning a place on our national team would mark my ultimate triumph over all those people who had opposed my career in the South in the name of segregation.” “Despite segregation, I loved the United States. It thrilled me beyond measure to hear the umpire announce not my name but that of my country: ‘Game, United States,’ ‘Set, United States,’ ‘Game, Set, and Match, Unit - ed States.’” Ashe began the ’60s by joining the Re- serve Officers Training Corps (ROTC) at UCLA. Ashe’s uncles had fought in the Ma - rines and the Navy, and his younger brother, Johnnie, would join the Marines and fight in Vietnam. In college, Ashe was a study in
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