A Sister Act That Inspires

A young woman from Compton with a wonderful name and a wonderful game to match, Venus Williams, found herself vying this weekend to be the tennis queen of England.

Standing between her and the crown was a sister Southern Californian, a woman whose own name, Lindsay Davenport, has a rather lovely British lilt to it, even though the only foggy days Davenport knew growing up were in Newport Beach.

And in a rare case of sibling rivalry that obligated the siblings to become rivals, Venus Williams had to vanquish her own baby sister, Serena, in a match on Thursday to keep her eyes on the prize.

What a week it was at Wimbledon, where the game they play is “lawn tennis,” not exactly the way the Williamses learned to play in their hometown.

What these women have accomplished is not only absolutely remarkable, but a lesson to any kid from any neighborhood that life’s possibilities are endless.

Could it be only three years ago that a washed-up Los Angeles sportswriter attended his last tennis match and saw the sisters Williams for the first time?

“Serena and I will be fighting for the No. 1 ranking someday,” Venus Williams said on Sept. 4, 1997, during the U.S. Open tournament in New York.

“We are going to play doubles together, which is great. But we have already discussed what will happen if we play each other in singles. It will be each woman for herself. I will pretend not to know her. Who is she?”

At the time she was saying this, Venus Williams was but 17 years old. And her sister was 15.

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Sometimes the first time you lay eyes on somebody, you can see that there is something unique about that person, that she or he is going to boldly go where few have gone.

The Williams girls were that way.

That’s what they were when some of us got our first look at them in 1997, still just a couple of girls. They were poised on the brink of womanhood, and--even sooner than their own family had expected--their time to emerge as stars had already arrived.

Richard Williams, their father, had once referred to daughter Venus vividly as “the ghetto Cinderella.” He had watched his daughters develop in an inner-city program sponsored by Arthur Ashe, who had won at Wimbledon a dozen years before Venus was born. Now, in 1997, here she was, playing in a major pro tournament for the first time.

Before a single ball was served, New York’s new tennis stadium had to be officially christened in honor of its namesake, Ashe. The dedication ceremony came on the 70th birthday of Althea Gibson, who had won both the 1957 and 1958 Wimbledon and U.S. Open’s singles championships.

Gibson was on hand for the ceremony. It was she and Ashe who had been virtually the Jackie Robinsons of tennis, setting examples of hard work and determination that would influence generations to come.

The first lesson to be learned was to have a life beyond the lines of the court. Richard Williams didn’t even want his daughters to enter the U.S. Open that summer. He preferred that Venus stay home to work on her French lessons, practice her guitar and stop spending so much time shopping. Venus had to talk him into letting her play --”a little bargaining,” she put it.

Richard Williams may or may not be a perfect parent, but as was witnessed at Wimbledon again this past fortnight, he is Father Knows Best compared to some of the dads, a few of whom have embarrassed their tennis-star daughters with crude public behavior.

Upon arriving in New York before that ’97 Open, the Williams sisters volunteered at a free neighborhood tennis clinic. They spoke plainly to the children there, as when one of around 5 stared up with big eyes at Venus and asked, “How do you play tennis?”

“With a racket,” she said.

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And that she did. At the time, Venus was ranked 66th in the world and had never reached the quarterfinals of any pro tournament. But she made it all the way to the final match against Martina Hingis before losing.

Nothing fazed her. Not an opponent who--perhaps deliberately--crashed into her on the sidelines during a changeover. Not a press corps that served up senseless questions about why she didn’t smile more. Not even the death at mid-tournament of Princess Diana in a car crash, which players were asked about repeatedly because many had met the princess in England.

To a tired old sportswriter who thought he’d seen it all, the idea of sisters playing at Wimbledon for a chance at the championship would have seemed an absurd longshot, something out of a child’s storybook. But after that week, anything definitely was possible.

What happened with these women this year will be almost impossible to top. Unless, of course, Lindsay Davenport also has a sister.

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Mike Downey’s column appears Sundays, Wednesdays and Fridays. Write to: Los Angeles Times, 202 W. 1st St., Los Angeles, CA 90012. E-mail: mike.downey@latimes.com