Remembering Suzanne Lenglen, who—yes—never competed at Roland Garros

Roland Garros' Court Suzanne Lenglen is enchanting. There are no bad seats, its vertical layout letting all 10,000 who fit into it feel right on top of the action. No doubt Suzanne Lenglen the player—as much a performer as an athlete—would appreciate its intimate qualities.

But she might also be vexed that the stadium that bears her name is only the second-largest court at Roland Garros, sister to the big brother more formally known as Court Philippe Chatrier. Pick your adjective to describe the woman dubbed “La Divine,” which translates into “The Goddess.” Confident. Expressive. Arrogant. You won’t find Humble. As Lenglen once said, “I am 27 and not wealthy—should I embark on any other career and leave the one for which I have what people call genius?”

So picture Lenglen, clad in her trademark outfit—bandeau on her head, revealing clothes (for the time), perhaps also clad in the fur coat she favored as she disembarked from ships or got ready to dance. The Goddess holds a flask, taking a sip of her beloved brandy, the other hand waving a cigarette.

“What? I am the greatest player in the history of France, probably the world. Many think and know this. And the biggest court in my homeland pays tribute to … an administrator?  This … is absurd.”

Lenglen had been dead for more than 60 years when Roland Garros’ Court Central was renamed for Chatrier in 2001. As one of the major architects of tennis’ Open Era, including 20 years at the helm of the French Tennis Federation (1973-1993) and a concurrent term as president of the ITF (1977-1991), Chatrier had certainly been worthy of significant recognition.

Then there was Lenglen, public demand to see her so great that she is often considered one of the major reasons why the All England Club in 1922 relocated Wimbledon to a larger facility. More than any other tennis player, this brash and flashy champion was the first great box office attraction of our sport’s most elegant and sacred spot, Centre Court.

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In a number of ways, Lenglen set the template for many a great tennis player. There’d been Charles: the pushy father who’d gotten her into tennis and sat over his prized daughter like a hawk. There’d been the precocious arrival: Lenglen winning her first of six Wimbledon singles titles as a 20-year-old in 1919. Fittingly, King George V and Queen Mary were in attendance. There’d been additional fortuitous timing: Lenglen’s glory years came in the 1920s, a time often referred to as the “Golden Age of Sports.” In the wake of World War I, as economies boomed, sports emerged as an exciting form of entertainment. Baseball, football, golf and, yes, tennis, were among the sports that greatly rose in popularity during that lively decade.

Alongside another charismatic titan, Bill Tilden, Lenglen was tennis’ star attraction. Over an eight-year period, she lost but one match, a second-set retirement due to illness versus American Molla Mallory at the 1921 US Championships. Lenglen’s 1926 match in Cannes against the rising American, Helen Wills, was highly anticipated. Covered by such notable writers of the time as Grantland Rice, James Thurber, John Tunis and Wallis Myers, it was such a hot ticket that prices quadrupled from $12.50 to $50. Lenglen won, 6-3, 8-6.

But, just like many players of more recent times, controversy and uncertainty also swirled around a woman who was a superstar before that term had even been coined. Lenglen’s 1921 trip to New York had been delayed by a cold. Upon arrival, she remained under the weather, but also demanded that American officials discreetly provide her with alcohol—a violation of the Volstead Act, legislation that had banned liquor in America. The mid-match exit versus Mallory would be accompanied by boos, in America earning Lenglen the nickname “Cough and Quit.” The following summer, in the final of Wimbledon, she took 26 minutes to beat Mallory, 6-2, 6-0. Upon shaking hands with her vanquished opponent, Lenglen said, “Now, Mrs. Mallory, I have proved to you today what I could have done to you in New York last year.”

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Lenglen’s 1926 proved quite stressful and eventually pivotal. In the days leading up to the Wills match, she was a nervous wreck, losing weight, barely sleeping. At Wimbledon that year, a mix-up over scheduling triggered an accidental violation of British protocol: Lenglen had kept Queen Mary waiting. So distraught was Lenglen by this happening that she fainted, withdrew from the singles tournament and never again competed at the All England Club.

Tennis then being strictly an amateur sport, Lenglen for years scarcely earned a nickel from tennis. In the summer of 1926, she took the bold step of becoming the first major tennis player to turn pro, what she vividly called “an escape from bondage and slavery.” Signing a contract with American promoter Charles C. “Cash and “Carry” Pyle, Lenglen earned $50,000—and played her way right into obscurity. Having turned pro, Lenglen was banned from the sport’s grand venues such as Wimbledon and Forest Hills. Never did she compete at Roland Garros, which had opened in 1928.

By 1930, Lenglen’s glory days ended, her days were spent working at a Paris clothing store. Though she held hopes of being reinstated as an amateur, nothing ever came of this. Beginning in 1933, Lenglen was the director of a government-backed tennis school. But five years later, still just 39 years old, Lenglen died of pernicious anemia. She was posthumously inducted into the International Tennis Hall of Fame in 1978.

Much like such other greats as Maureen Connolly and Althea Gibson, Lenglen had left a major mark on the sport and then simply dimmed. Such was tennis, long ago.