It's raining in West Palm Beach, Fla. -- one of those torrential rains where the drops are as big as your fist, raincoats and umbrellas are useless, and even on the fastest setting, windshield wipers can't keep up with the deluge. Everything's flooded, there's not a dry court in sight, and Venus Williams, teen tennis whiz, is stressed.
But it's not because she can't play tennis -- practice with her sister Serena on the court outside the sprawling home she shares with her parents, prepare for the future tournaments that will define how much of Venus Williams is hype, how much she can actually deliver. Nope, she's anxious because her father, Richard, is beating her at Galaga, the video game that sits in a corner of the family room.
"Right now, my goal is to become better than my dad," Williams says with a laugh. "I'm about 4,000 points behind."
At 17, Williams is simultaneously calm and excited, poised and awkward, mature and girlish. She talks easily about being one of the world's best tennis players, then dissolves into giggles when her father teases her about her passion for shopping. She has been called arrogant for naming herself when asked who her favorite player is, a criticism she dismisses: "You have to wonder why they're asking me that. It's probably because they don't think I can think -- maybe because of my color, and that's sad. When I was younger, I had favorite players, but now I've sort of grown out of that."
What does she see in her future? "I don't think it's possible I won't be No. 1," she says with no hint of arrogance -- just a flat statement of the facts as she has been raised to see them. "I'm sure I'll get where I want to go. My parents taught us to believe in ourselves, to have confidence. I can't remember a time I didn't feel good about myself."
Family is everything: "My parents were taught that family should be together, and that's how they taught us," Venus says. "I definitely don't plan to move away from my family. I'll probably live in the next lot."
At 6-foot-2, with her signature beaded braids, wide grin, and a serve that's been timed at 110 mph, Venus Williams combines the size, speed and talent to shape a game that has made her a top player.
She started playing
at age 4 when, according to her father, he decided to groom Venus and younger
sister Serena to be tennis champions after he saw an athlete on TV win
a match and get a $30,000 check. Venus' early years in poor Compton, Calif.,
outside Los Angeles, are the stuff of legend, stories told and retold by
her father/coach: of courts paved with broken glass, serves practiced between
drive-by shootings, dedicated Dad shepherding his girls through gangs of
tough guys onto the courts.
At 12, Venus had a 63-0 record on the junior circuit. She turned pro in 1994, at 14, making her debut at the Bank of the West Classic in Oakland, Calif. (The next year, she nailed a $12 million Reebok endorsement deal.) Last fall, Williams became the first black woman since Althea Gibson in 1958 to reach the finals of the U.S. Open. Her '97 prize money totaled nearly $470,000. This year, teamed with Justin Gimelstob at the Australian Open, she won her first Grand Slam title, in mixed doubles.
Currently No. 12 in the world, Williams, who won her first professional singles title in last month's IGA Tennis Classic, still has a ways to go to catch Martina Hingis, 17 (who has 16 singles titles), or tennis legend Chris Evert (who won 39 singles titles in her teens). Her next chances: the French Open in May, Wimbledon in June and the U.S. Open in August.
Richard Williams is not a former player or a professional coach, yet for the most part he has directed his daughters' careers. Eschewing the usual route to the pros, he didn't let his girls play much as juniors. He encouraged them to play to win and for fun, to be champions but not to take any of it too seriously. He always has valued school above sports, to the point of taking away Venus' racket when he felt she was neglecting more important aspects of life.
Richard's approach has attracted attention, as much for his comments on tennis and those who play it as for his non-traditional coaching methods. During last year's U.S. Open, which he declined to attend but watched on TV (he considers going to matches a waste of his time), Richard called 11th-seeded Irina Spirlea "a big, ugly, tall white turkey" after she collided with Venus during a changeover. He refers to tennis as "silly," and even though he calls the shots, it is usually not he but Oracene, his wife and the mother of their five daughters, who travels with Venus. (The three older Williams children are Yetunde, Isha and Lyndrea.)
Long before anyone knew of Venus' tremendous talent, her dad was blowing her horn to anyone who would listen, and a lot who wouldn't. With his thick Louisiana accent, casual demeanor and colloquial English, Richard Williams calls himself "a little ignorant man out of southeast Compton." He denies he has masterfully manipulated every aspect of Venus' career, and dismisses coups like her Reebok contract (negotiated when she was more hype than proven talent) as "maybe luck, but we just considered it common sense." Still, it's clear Richard Williams is shrewd, a man from outside the traditionally white, upper-class tennis world who has learned to play the game within the game.
"Richard always wants to be in control, and that's not bad," says Rick Macci, who coached Venus from 1991 to 1995 and has coached Jennifer Capriati and other top young players. "He has done what he thought in his heart was best for his girls. He gets an A-triple plus for being the type of parent he is. He's got educated, well-mannered kids who have their priorities in line."
Priorities seem very much in evidence this rainy afternoon at the 10-acre Williams estate in Florida. Venus hunches intently over Galaga until summoned to an interview. Serena sprawls in a chair, reading. Richard and Oracene chat quietly. The scene is cozy, almost idyllic. No music blares, voices are modulated, the familiar teenage air of discontent is entirely absent. If you didn't know otherwise, you'd have a hard time believing the lanky young woman horsing around with her family goes for the jugular on the court.
"I've prepared to be in competition all my life," says Venus. "I just try to improve, so the next time around I don't make the same mistakes."
Asked about criticism that she is aloof from other players on tour, she shrugs. "I'm looking to win matches, to be the best. I'm not looking for friends. You really can't find a friend these days. You have your family, you have your God, and that's about it."
Does she carry the burden of being a racial representative? "If I'd lived prior to the 1980s, it would have been different, because I would have been playing to prove African Americans are equal. Now, I don't necessarily feel I have to play for black people, because obviously they're doing everything in all sports. If I can go out there and play for myself and not feel I have to stand for something other than what I want to do, that's good."
Zina Garrison, who played on the women's tour for 15 years, knows the pressures Williams faces. "She's in a great position, and she's been raised to be in that position as an African American in a mostly white sport," says Garrison, who works with inner-city junior tennis players in Houston. "It helps her that she has the strength, confidence and arrogance you need to become the top player in the world. I see her going straight to the top."
Time is of the essence. Williams, who graduated from high school last year and is taking college courses as her tennis schedule permits, doesn't intend to play past age 26. That's when she'll focus on becoming an architect and clothing designer.
"A lot of people have more problems than going out and being the best," Williams says, laughing. "A lot of people are unhappy working 9 to 5, struggling, doing all kinds of things to keep afloat. I don't look at the practice and discipline as pressure; I look at it as working to be the best. I shouldn't want it to come easy, because that way it isn't a challenge."
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