This tournament has been enormously successful - it's the most notable summer hard court event besides the U.S. Open, and it's list of champions attests to that. Seven of the last champions here have held the no. 1 ranking. I get out here as often as I can, although most years the scheduling is tough. When I make it here, I always have a great time. You know, there's a lot to be said for a place where commercial and industrial establishments near the venue put out signs and placards welcoming tennis fans, which is less a tribute to tennis madness in Ohio (ever hear of the Ohio State Buckeyes?) than support for this specific event because of its organic and long-standing roots in the greater Cincinnati area community.
The man who made this event a significant and valued part of Cincinnati's broad cultural life is Paul Flory - still the co-tournament director with his son. Bruce. The best way to describe Paul is via this anecdote, told to me yesterday by Phil Smith, the director of media relations here:
"One day we were just sitting around the office and someone asked, 'Who do you suppose is our oldest volunteer?' We all looked at each other and shrugged, but then someone said, utterly deadpan. "'Oh, that would have to be Paul Flory.'"
So if you think I'm just lionizing a tournament director whose self-interest happens to benefit many others, please re-consider. Paul Flory, long-retired from his primary career as an exective with Proctor-Gamble, has been tournament director here since 1975. He has never accepted a dime for his broad, tireless services. Among other things, that means that I've earned more money from the tournament than has Flory (Someone cue the laugh track). And best of all - and this is something you don't see acknowledged often, but will appreciate - this tournament has raised more than $7,000,000 for the Cincinnati Children's Hospital. This is nothing short of noble, but it's also representative of what this event has meant to the community, and it helps explain the high regard in which it's held.
Paul invited me to join him for drinks and dinner in the patron's dining room yesterday evening, just to catch up (If you're watching at home, it's just behind the courtside baseline to the right of the chair umpire). The entire staff seemed to snap to attention when we walked in, and not because Flory is a martinet or micro-manager. It was out of respect. If it's possible to be an "aw shucks" kind of guy without false modesty, that's Paul. We sat down and ordered drinks. Paul fielded my compliment on the dining room and, frowning, admitted, "You know what, though? By building it this way we lost out on having about a dozen more premium boxes. It cost us a lot of potential revenue to have this design, it probably was a mistake. Nice as it is."
Remember, none of that extra revenue would have found its way into Flory's pocket: a good deal of it might have helped improve the already outstanding rate-of-cure at Children's Hospital, which is currently 85 per cent.
At 110 years of continuous history (albeit at various locations around Cincinnati, including, at one time, the Old Coney amusement park), this probably is the oldest tournament still played in its original city (two tournaments, the US Open and Pacific Coast Championships [now the San Jose event]), have operated longer. The great stroke of luck for Cincinnati was delivered in the mid-1970s, when Longwood Cricket Club (just outside Boston) rebelled against having to change surface for the second time in the span of a mere three years, in order to remain a US Open tune-up held on the same surface as the main event. Flory was given a heads-up about Longwood's reluctance; he negotiated a change of date that eventually re-positioned Cincinnati into its now familiar, August slot (the tournament is being staged early this year because of the Olympic Games).
Paul's own "continuous history" is no less impressive. He's 86, but sharp as a tack and he still patrols the grounds, fussing over every detail of the tournament operation like a doting grandfather. This makes things easier for his co-director and son, Bruce, who operates out of a wheelchair (they don't do stairs well). Although Paul lost his beloved wife Carolyn back in the fall of 1986, he still misses her, saying, "It's still hard, sometimes. . ." But Paul is resiliant, tough man. Perhaps more importantly, he has a clear sense of his purpose and mission in life: this tournament. He lives alone, in his own home, perpetually annoyed by the telephone calls and other fishing expeditions he gets from homes for the elderly. "Once they get a hold of your name and age, you'd better watch out," he says, with an uncharacteristic glint of defiance in his eyes. "They have you targeted."
While we ate, a steady stream of well-wishers dropped by our table. It will embarrass the hail out of Paul Flory but I'm going to write it anyway - this pale-skinned 86-year old dude in his signature seersucker sports jacket and khakis is a freakin' rock star. The only thing missing from his kit is a ring, for the supplicants to kiss. He even knew or remembered some of those who came up to say hi - and remind him of when they'd previously met, compliment him on the event, or chit-chat before departing with the inevitable: Well, sorry to interrupt, good to see you, Paul!
It's funny, but over the years I've often wondered why I'm so fond of Flory. He's in many ways the epitome of the straight-laced and buttoned down midwestern executive - a company man, both in his professional and volunteer careers. Journalists tend to be different animals. But I realized while we ate and talked why I'm so fond of him. He doesn't have an elitist or pretentious bone in his body. He's also a good judge of character and sharp observor of human nature. He's got no interest in where you stand on the social scale, or how successful you've been unless you've done something interesting or useful.
The thought and effort Paul has put into this event is evident everywhere. What I like best about it is the concentrated nature of the venue. Everything - from the fan-friendly practice courts to the food court and grandstand courts - is huddled around the stadium. The place holds throngs of people - the stadium capacity is 10,000 plus. The architecture has a mild amusement park feeling, with skeletal stairways, mezzanines, wings and balconies towering over the grounds. Call it Starship Flory.
Of course, there have been minor setbacks. This tournament was once the "official" ATP Championships (think of how the PGA Championships is considered a major in golf), but the combination of the cost of that designation with the loss of potential commercial sponsor revenues made that deal unsustainable.
For next year, Paul is hoping to convince his title-sponsor to drop "Financial Group" from the name of the event, making it, considerably more simply, The Western & Southern Cincinnati Masters.
"The drawback to that," Paul said, "Is that to some people it will sound like we're sponsored by a railroad. I don't know. . ."
Personally, I like that name. It's nice and muscular, straightforward, like. . . a railroad. But you've go to be into the heartland vibe to appreciate that.
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