The Road Not Taken

The Road Not Taken

T McCabe

August 2017

The notion of linear time never sat right with me. Time, when measured in the years of a person’s life is more circular, more recursive. We interpret new events and experiences with a learned and nuanced perspective; we interpret new events from the framework of our personal history. I have always believed in an integrative narrative that connects the dots of our experiences into a personal meaningful history -- a story, our story. Neurologists tell us that at the time of death the sum total of our life’s experiences flash before us; they playout before our closing eyes – that set of seemingly unrelated experience spools out as a coherent whole. Jewish proverb tells us ‘story is truer than truth’. Your truth is your story; storytelling at its most soulful.

Why wait… the sage writes his integrative narrative while it can be fully celebrated; especially on a 75+ tennis team. Like any coherent story, there is a strong connection between the beginning and the end. The chapters all relate and build. The seminal events of the tennis tournament in Forest Hills connect an earlier chapter of mine to my 75-year-old present; a gift of the moment, a gift of a lifetime.

There’s something unique about a tennis match – it’s only over after the last point. It’s never over til it’s over. In other sports, an overwhelming lead in the fourth means it’s over. Not in tennis. More than other sports, a tennis victory has a powerful presence, never to be taken for granted. Our Forest Hills victory had that kind of dramatic presence--- the exultation of a moment. Rare among moments at this tender age, or at any age. This was a gift of an exhilarating moment, but also a gift of a lifetime that connected to an earlier self – to form an integrative narrative.

So here’s a story, a new chapter connected to a six decades earlier old chapter. Part of my integrative narrative. It may be part of yours.

The Road Not Taken – – it’s not only Robert Frost’s seminal poem but also the literal experience I had on July 31 and August 1 in the venerable Forest Hills NY tennis complex.  Each of us makes difficult life decisions that mould our careers, our friends and our experiences – – each of us takes a particular road, and my guess is that each of us has a nostalgic ‘road not taken’ that they miss. For me, this road not taken has been in the forefront of my consciousness for decades and I thought it never to be reconciled. And then "poof", out of nowhere appears a wonderful surprise and somewhere ages and ages hence, I get to tell a story of ‘my road not taken’. Like Robert Frost –

“I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence”

When I was a kid, sports was my whole life. It started with Little League baseball, then football, basketball, and baseball in junior high school. Followed by varsity basketball, football, and baseball at St. Raphael Academy in Pawtucket, Rhode Island. This was in the early 60s and our thoughts were only about sports – – academics were just tolerated and hardly an item of interest. My closest friends were all good athletes – – Paul Dalpe went on a football scholarship to the University of Rhode Island, Bill Farley got a football scholarship to Bowdoin College in Maine, Paul Anderson had a football scholarship to Colgate University, Jerry Philbin and Dennis O’Brien had football scholarships to Buffalo University and the University of Bridgeport. These were my friends, all "jocks". I had a football scholarship to the University of Rhode Island and a separate basketball scholarship to Rhode Island College. This was the path we were on, our path. The unconscious destiny would have me continue with sports, either football or basketball, at URI or Rhode Island College. 

The friends were wonderful. Academically, they did well enough, and God knows had plenty of intellectual reserve – – untapped. In high school playing basketball, football and baseball left little time off between practices and games. Whatever time off we had off, was spent at the local Pawtucket YMCA playing basketball. Sports, sports, sports.

I took the road less travelled. I decided athletics was not my future. The mental image I carried was the picture of a mathematician working on a computer, the picture appeared in Look Magazine in 1959. The article described the many opportunities for a mathematician in the expanding field of computers. That image captured my imagination – – it seemed to

come out of nowhere, none of my friends ever discussed this, my parents never brought it up. But it stuck in my imagination, picturing wide open opportunities and a better life. Somehow that black-and-white picture of a nameless mathematician colored my imagination fire red – that image became my clarion call to a bigger life.

And that was the path I took. Instead of the athletic scholarships, I went to Providence College and studied mathematics. It was no easy transition; rigorous study was not in my portfolio. It took a couple years before the academics clicked in. It wasn’t until my senior year that I really excelled. It was then onto graduate school at the University of Connecticut for a Master’s degree in math. Many decades later, in 2013, I was awarded as a Distinguished Graduate of the University of Connecticut Mathematics Department – – the fourth time in its history it was awarded. My professional life was spent as an entrepreneur in mathematics and computer science; I  built a 175 person company in Columbia MD; (see Epilogue below).

All of this was way beyond my earlier imagination. However, the ‘road not taken’ with my good jock friends was front and center in my consciousness and, in a good way, haunted me. It was a nostalgic longing never to be reconciled; my career path taken would never converge to my athletic road not taken.

Until the events of July 31 and August 1, 2017 – – that changed everything.

The Atlantic Coast Cup is held every year with four teams competing for the trophy – – New England States, Eastern States (the NY counties), Middle States (NJ & PA) & Mid-Atlantic States (MD, DC, VA, WVA). This year it was to be held at the Westside Tennis Club which resides in the Forest Hills facility in Queens New York. Forest Hills hosted the US Open on grass courts for years, until

the U.S. Open was moved to a new neighboring facility at Flushing Meadows. Forest Hills was the place for tennis in my era. History was made there – – Althea Gibson, Arthur Ashe, Rod Laver, Ken Rosewall, John McEnroe, Jimmy Connors, ….. This was the place of my dreams in the 60s. During my sports-minded adolescence, I watched these great athletes in this venerable place; never imagining to visit, never mind playing there.

During July I was asked to join the Mid-Atlantic team, a powerhouse team of men who devoted their lives to tennis. The age category was 75 and up. My teammates had been playing at Forest Hills when I was watching on TV and pursuing my entrepreneurial career – – teammate Gus Castillo beat Arthur Ash there and played Rod Laver on the Forest Hills grass. Bob Andaman and Tom Bronkow won seven national doubles titles and were ranked #1 in the US several times. Bill Poist was rated number one in the world by the ITF (International Tennis Federation).

 These were guys who lived tennis, they took my path not taken, just like the jocks of my childhood. My newfound teammates indeed took the athletic path – – not only that, they were rated tops in the USA. The camaraderie was something special only shared among athletes of age 75. Here was my path not taken. A spontaneous bend in the road that converged to my long-lost path not taken. It was glorious. What a gift.

After a few practice sessions, we drove to New York on Sunday, July 30th and settled in at the Comfort Inn on Maurice Avenue in Queens, NY.  Our first match was at 2 PM on Monday the 31^st. We all arrived early to take in the historic ambience of Forest Hills. The Tudor architecture of the clubhouse speaks history – – the same architecture is visible in the entire neighborhood. All the rooftops are the same rusty red and the local covenants preserve the Victorian look throughout the neighborhood. It was wonderful to just sit there and take it in.

At 2 o’clock Bob Smethurst and I walked out to court number 15 to play number two doubles. The tournament competition consisted of two singles matches and three doubles matches. Warming up, it was clear our opponents had all the strokes; it was also clear they were 75 years old. I’m sure the opponents thought the same of Bob and me.

After going up 3-1 Bob and I were behind 3-5 while receiving serve. After multiple deuce serves we broke our opponents, the score 4-5. Bob and I held serve for 5-5. We broke the opponents serve, held serve again to win the first set 7-5. Coming back from 3-5 in the first set gave us a certain confidence that we wouldn’t buckle when under pressure. We’d need that confidence in the next match.

Our Mid-Atlantic team won our first match against the Eastern States 4-1; we split the singles and won all three doubles. There was a wonderful reception and meal that evening in Forest Hills. There was a speaker from Tennis Magazine who related the history of Forest Hills amidst the setting sun over the historic grass courts of this fabled tennis Mecca.

 Our Captain Tom Brunkow told Bob and me at breakfast that we would be facing a really strong New England team of Roy Anderson and Bob Dilworth – – they had won several national tournaments. Bob and I had a real Zen relationship, we both welcomed the challenge. Bob is totally relaxed and yet a good competitor, which is about perfect for a tennis partner.

New England had beaten the New York team on Monday so we played them in the finals for the Atlantic Coast Cup. The match began at 9 AM in the morning. It was a busy morning; we had to check out of the Comfort Inn and drive through traffic to get to Forest Hills. Somehow there is a magical calming virtuosity with 75-year-old athletes. They love the competition, they also love the opponents. They were all big-minded and rejoiced in the special gift to be competing at such a high level at such a high age – two gifts for the price of one. The thing I loved the most as a teenage athlete was the camaraderie – – being with other gifted athletes and sharing the challenge, the grit, the planning, the practice, the competition. Here it was all back again, the same conversations, shared with great athletes, rejoicing in the competition, and loving it. This, at age 75. Only at age 75 is it so profound.

Bob and I repeated the same beginning in our Tuesday match. We went up 3-1, and then lost the first set 5-7. Even though we lost the first set, we toughened up near the end and recaptured that mental toughness we shared on Monday. The first game of the second set Bob was serving and the game was tied six times when Bob finally held on and won. We were physically stronger and faster than Roy and Bob and that became pronounced in this first game of the second set. We kept the momentum and won the second set 6-0.

It was onto a third set tiebreak – – the first team to win 10 points by a margin of two will win the match. We fell behind 3-5 and then went on a tear to get up at 9-6. We were stronger physically – – quicker to the ball with bigger hits. We then got a bit conservative, they crept back in, the score was 9-8. On the next point, we steadied out and forced an error. We won.

Bob and I were elated and congratulated Roy and Bob on a great match.

Our mid-Atlantic team won the day – – we won one singles match and two doubles matches.  The mid-Atlantic team won the Atlantic Coast Cup. We all celebrated the win, each other’s company, and the adventure. We all drove off our separate ways.

My wife Linda and I drove to the northern point of Long Island and spent a couple of days in the Montauk Ocean. The ocean waves were a tonic for a sore tennis back. The twilight ocean mist was reverie for Robert Frost’s closing stanzas:

"Oh, I kept the first(path) for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference."

The Champs

Right to Left: Bob Smethurst, Donald Mathias, Bill Poise, Gus Castillo, Captain Tom Brunkow, Phouy Sengsourinh, Bob Anderman, Tom McCabe.

For years I have been the captain and player in a 55+ league. This is the first time I have ever played in my age group; felt like a "coming home" celebration. We share so much; most of all we share the joy and wonderment of playing competitive tennis in the twilight of our years. This gift is not lost on any of our teammates. ‘This is Forest Hills baby’ – it way exceeds the thrills of adolescence – fine champagne compared to wood alcohol. All of this happened spontaneously with a stroke of luck. Thank you teammate Phouy for recruiting me, thank you, Captain Tom Brokow, for putting up with me. Thank you, teammates, from this old man who had an "out of body" experience at the fabled Forest Hills Tennis Club. Thank you for bending destiny’s path back to where I belong.

I have had this plaque on my desk for years to remind me of the cost of my obsessiveness about tennis. The inscription makes a good point, but it’s only a very limited truth. The etymology of the word idiot came from the Greeks who considered an idiot somebody set apart, somebody not in the mainstream, somebody not taking part in everyday political life, somebody who’s an enigma, inscrutable.

The point the plaque makes is more about obstacles than truth—it’s about the pain and sting of losing. Many friends have quit tennis along the way because their age was accompanied by many losses and injuries. That’s really what the plaque is about.

There was something in the air in Forest Hills with my tennis buddies. It was exactly this 'quitting issue', but the 75-year-old’s transcended the quitting hang-up. They got on the other side of the fear of losing and rejoiced and celebrated in playing the game. No easy thing here – – most of our contemporaries have long since dropped out.

That was the ethereal truth that bonded us. My enigmatic tennis cohorts could see a larger truth beyond the fear of losing, and they lived this truth. That 75-year-old truth is that ‘not quitting is winning’ – a shared epiphany. Some 75-year-old should re-write that inscription.

My tennis buddies in Forest Hills transcended the frailties of old age and our brotherhood was something beyond tennis, bigger than tennis. More like poetry. Like the poem ‘IF” by Rudyard Kipling:

“If you can make one heap of all your winnings

    And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,

And lose, and start again at your beginnings

    And never breathe a word about your loss;

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew

    To serve your turn long after they are gone,   

And so hold on when there is nothing in you

    Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’”

Epilog.

Dennis O’Brien became a high school teacher and returned to our alma mater, St. Raphael Academy, Pawtucket Rhode Island. He coached the football team to three Rhode Island state championships. One championship was in the class A league even though St. Raphael Academy is a small class B school.

Paul Dalpe studied for a PhD in Medieval Mysticism. We connected after a 50-year absence and he attended a lecture I gave in Paris in 2013.

Jerry Philbin became an All-American at the University of Buffalo. He played on the Joe Namath led New York Jets team that beat the Baltimore Colts in the 1968 Super Bowl. He was a perennial All-AFL selection at defensive end and was later named to the All-Time AFL team.

Bill Farley became the chairman and CEO Fruit of the Loom. He was listed among the 400 most rich Americans in Forbes magazine 1985. Bill works out with the Chicago White Sox; he is a part owner.  Bill was my wife Linda’s boyfriend before she met me.

As for me, I became an entrepreneur based on a mathematical breakthrough that I published in 1976. It’s known as McCabe Cyclomatic Complexity and it was awarded one of the top 13 highest impact papers in software engineering. I grew McCabe and Associates to 175 people with European subsidiaries, published many articles, and wrote four books. During the year 2000 software crisis, I appeared in front of Congress and appeared on CNN television. I sold McCabe and Associates, simplified life, and now write stories.

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