The name Bill Tilden does not mean much to many
these days. But ‘Big’ Bill—he was six foot one-and-a-half inches
tall—won Wimbledon twice, in 1920 and 1930 (the latter when he was
thirty-seven), and he was described by René Lacoste as
‘the greatest player of all time’. He was a close friend of Charlie
Chaplin’s, and once starred in a silent movie,
Hands of Hope (1924), which he had written and produced himself.
One summer in Hollywood, Clifton Webb hired him to give tennis lessons
to some of Webb’s favourite actresses, including Greta Garbo. He
published tennis stories and even, in 1930, a tennis
novel, Glory’s Net.
Tilden was not a particularly clubbable
presence on the tennis circuit. In the locker room he was obsessively
private, never allowing himself to be seen naked, even by men who knew
him all his life. Outside the locker room
he preferred the company of ball-boys to that of his fellow
competitors. He agreed to take part in a tournament in Baltimore only
if he could throw a dinner party for some of his young friends. These
turned out to be the majority of the page-boys staffing
the US Senate. While it is true that he mixed with celebrities—in
London with Tallulah Bankhead and Beatrice Lillie, for instance—he was
generally uneasy in the presence of adults. His nephew defined the
attitude: ‘Uncle Bill was always glad to see you,
but at the same time, you knew he would be gladder still when you
left’. At first, there was no evidence that he tried to seduce his
tennis protégés, even if, as his biographer puts it, they ‘tended to be
cute little devils, and … Big Bill always seemed to
have his arms around them’. However, once he had turned professional
in 1931 and begun a hectic schedule of international touring, he appears
to have started taking more risks. He would always travel with a
teenage boy, ostensibly a ball-boy, usually German.
(He had first played in Germany in 1927, and loved it there. Even as
late as 1938 he called himself ‘the most ardent admirer of the German
people’ and said he would ‘rather play in Berlin than any city in the
world’.) Some cities he visited could not be
returned to: in his biographer’s not very forthcoming words, ‘some
unfortunate incidents were hushed up on the road, some polite warnings
given’. Presumably, the same was true not only of cities but also of
people’s homes. He was probably never invited back
to Errol Flynn’s place after being accused of assaulting a
seventeen-year-old guest at a tennis party Flynn held in 1943 (pp.51, 50, 159, 171).
Tilden did not seek anything so complex
as sexual mutuality with his boys. He would masturbate them but not
himself—again, his obsessive sense of privacy prevailed, and he would
only masturbate himself later, when alone. After
his eventual arrest, the court psychiatrist who asked if he had ever
engaged in ‘fellatio’ or ‘pederasty’ (anal intercourse) received a
furious response. Tilden regarded such activities as ‘perverted’;
indeed, he was not even known to associate his own activities
with ‘homosexuality’, a word which no one could remember his ever
having used. Yet, notwithstanding the rudimentary nature of his sexual
contacts with the boys he befriended, if we are to believe a young
tennis pro he spoke to in the late 1930s, he claimed
to have rather unconvincingly grand aims. ‘Those of us who have my way
of thinking’, he supposedly said, ‘well, we look upon ourselves as the
chosen few … I think it’s my responsibility to convert young boys. God
has smiled upon us’ (pp.212, 208).
God was not smiling on Big Bill at ten
in the evening on 23 November 1946, when two police officers flagged
down an automobile that was being driven erratically along Sunset
Boulevard. In the driving seat was a fourteen-year-old
boy called Bobby. In the passenger seat was Bill Tilden, with his left
arm around Bobby’s shoulders and his right hand inside Bobby’s flies.
Expecting probation, Tilden was horrified when, on 16 January 1947, he
was sentenced to a year behind bars. Having
served eleven and a half months he was released on 30 August 1947, but
banned from any further association with juveniles. So another
custodial sentence followed when, on 28 January 1949, he was accused of
interfering with a sixteen-year-old hitchhiker called
Michael. Sentenced to another year, Tilden served ten months, from 10
February to 18 December 1949. By now he was almost fifty-seven and
barely capable of earning a living. He more or less gave up washing,
always wore the same clothes, and gradually pawned
his old tennis trophies to pay his rent. He died of a heart attack,
aged sixty, on 5 June 1953.
Source: Frank Deford, Big Bill Tilden: The Triumphs and the Tragedy (London: Gollancz, 1977)