Life’s Work: An Interview with Billie Jean King

At age 11 King tried tennis for the first time and found her calling. She not only became the top female player in the world but also founded the Women’s Tennis Association and WTA Tour and pushed for gender pay equity and more diversity in the sport. At the height of her career, after a triumph over Bobby Riggs in the Battle of the Sexes, she was publicly and painfully outed as gay, and she has since become an outspoken advocate for LGBTQ+ rights. Her new memoir is All In . HBR: When did you know you wanted to become a pro tennis player? King: Well, I was a child of the 1950s, and they didn’t have professional tennis then. I was playing other sports—baseball, softball, basketball, all intramural, since we didn’t have school teams or leagues—but in fifth grade, in Mrs. Delph’s class, Susan Land said to me, “Do you want to play tennis?” I said, “What’s tennis?” She said, “You get to run and hit a ball.” I said, “Those are my favorite things. I’ll try it.” So I went to her country club, and we hit, and I just loved it. My dad was a firefighter, so we couldn’t afford a country club. But Susan told our softball coach that we’d played, and she told us there was free instruction at Houghton Park every Tuesday and a coach, Clyde Walker, who would teach me. Hallelujah! My parents made me earn the money for my first racket. I went to neighbors to plead my case, and they were so sweet to me. After that first session with Clyde, when my mom picked me up, I told her that I’d found what I wanted to do with my life: be the top tennis player in the world. Every morning, I do a gratitude list, and Susan Land is always on it. When did your activism start? I grew up knowing that a pro is really good and an amateur is pursuing a hobby. So I was furious right from the beginning that tennis wasn’t yet a professional sport. Fast-forward to me at 12 years old, playing tournaments at the Los Angeles Tennis Club, which is the mecca of tennis in Southern California, and realizing that tennis was all white: white shoes, socks, clothes, even white balls at that time, and everybody who played. I remember wondering: Where is everybody else? I already knew that girls were second-class citizens, not listened to as much as boys. And my sisters of color had it much worse. That’s when I decided to fight for equality. Tennis was played around the world, and I thought that if I could become number one, I would have an opportunity to make it a better place using tennis as a platform. I didn’t know that word then, but I do know. What were some of the key qualities that enabled you to get to the top? I’m fortunate in that I was born with exceptional coordination. My brother, Randy, who became a Major League Baseball player, was too. My dad and mom gave us space, which most parents do not. And I was obsessed. I just loved to hit the ball. I wanted to go to college: Education was everything for my family. But this was pre–Title IX, so there were no women’s athletic scholarships, which meant I had to work two jobs while at California State University, Los Angeles. Meanwhile, about 30 miles away, Arthur Ashe had a full scholarship to the University of Southern California. But we practiced with our men’s team every afternoon, from 2 to 5, which ended up being a huge advantage. Of course, wanting to be number one doesn’t mean you will be, and it’s never a straight line to the top. I was not the poster girl for tennis. I was not the number one junior in Southern California. I had doubts about whether I would make it. It was a long and winding road. But people championed me and gave me faith that I could make it. Tell me about the founding of the WTA Tour. When tennis became a pro sport, in 1968, the women wanted to have one association with the men, but they just rejected us left, right, and center, even though they were our friends. So in 1970 my then-husband, Larry King, and I were trying to figure out how to get women’s pro tennis on the map. Larry suggested that Rosie Casals and I talk to Gladys Heldman, the publisher of World Tennis Magazine, about creating a tour. Gladys said she’d be happy to help us but didn’t have any money. So I told her, “Don’t worry. You can sign us all up for a dollar.” Nine players—Julie Heldman, Valerie Ziegenfuss, Judy Dalton, Kristy Pigeon, Peaches Bartkowicz, Kerry Melville Reid, Nancy Richey, Rosie, and I—joined. We each signed a $1 contract on September 23, 1970. That was the birth of women’s professional tennis. We had to get organized in three months and then, in 1971, with support from Philip Morris, we launched the Virginia Slims tour. Larry and I ran two of the first tournaments with partners, and Gladys kept adding them, so we had enough to get started. We did it as a team and put our careers on the line: We knew we might get suspended from other tournaments. But we didn’t care. We wanted any girl in the world, if she was good enough, to have a place to compete and be appreciated for her accomplishments, not her looks. Most important, because we came from the world of amateur tennis, making $14 a day, we wanted to create a way to make a real living playing the sport we loved. Of course, some of us did get suspended. But we just stuck together, and eventually the other tournaments took us back. You gained a lot of attention for the Battle of the Sexes—a match between you and Bobby Riggs. What were you trying to achieve with that event? Bobby had been chasing me around for a couple of years, and he was one of my heroes, so I appreciated him. But I was working on the women’s tour and was already overloaded and getting no sleep, so I kept saying no. Finally he started asking other women, and Margaret Court said yes. She told me that she planned to do it and make some big money. I said, “I hear you, Margaret. But you have to win—for the tour, for women.” And I told Larry, “If she should lose, I’m going to have to play him.” And she got killed. How did you get ready for that must-win moment? The same week that I played Bobby, we also had a Houston Virginia Slims tournament. I asked Gladys, “You won’t let me off for this match?” And she said, “Nope.” So I played both, which was hard. From the time I knew I was going to play Bobby, I visualized: I thought about playing well, running down every ball, not caring if the surface was horrible, adapting. I like to say that pressure is a privilege, and I felt exactly that. I enjoy big moments, being on the tennis stage, and I knew that winning could maybe catapult us forward in a big way—and not only in tennis. Title IX had been passed the year before, on June 23, 1972. Along with giving women the right to vote and the Civil Rights Act, it was one of the most important pieces of legislation in the 20th century because it ended classroom quotas. Universities could no longer have only 5% women in a doctoral program, for example. And for the first time, women could get athletic scholarships. The federal government stipulated that any school—high school or college, private or public—had to spend equally on boys and girls. The Riggs match was a moment to help justify that decision. And I won. How have you worked to make tennis more diverse? In 1974 I founded the Women’s Sports Foundation to help female athletes, particularly girls and women of color, with grants. Over the years we’ve given out close to $100 million. But from the beginning of the women’s tour we thought about how to make it more diverse and give girls of color a pathway into tennis. Althea Gibson was the first Black player of either gender to win a major, and she became one of my sheroes. But we needed more players. As they say, “If you can see it, you can be it.” So Gladys went to the American Tennis Association, which was mostly Black, and got three of their players—Bonnie Logan, Sylvia Hooks, and Ann Koger—to join the circuit. Ever since, we’ve had many women of color. Most people know Serena and Venus Williams. I think the lesson is that unless you’re intentional, things usually don’t change. Was it the same with the push for gender pay equity? Yes. In 1968, the first year that players received money in the majors, I got £750 for winning Wimbledon, and Rod Laver got £2,000. I thought, Oh, no. This is another fight we’re going to have. That’s why we founded the Women’s Tennis Association, so we would have one voice and get it done. Eventually we did. In 2007 they started paying equal prize money to men and women in the majors. After being outed, how did you persevere? Well, back in the 1970s and 1980s, as far as sexuality was concerned, it was a very difficult go. It was made very clear to me that I should not discuss anything in that area, or we would not have a tour. So not only was I having my own challenges, but I also had responsibility for others. Some people already assumed that if you were a girl in sports, you were a lesbian, and the reporters, who were mostly men, would ask us about our sexuality. They would never do that to a male player, but with us women it was free game. As players, we never talked about it with one another. Looking back, it’s interesting how under the carpet everything was. There was a real fear. Then I was outed, and it was excruciating—a really negative and difficult time. When I did the audio for the book, I even broke down a few times reliving these things. Still, I could play tennis. The court was where I had some sanctuary, where nobody but the umpire could ask me questions. I had support from other players, friends, and Larry. What also helped was therapy. Psychiatrists made a huge difference in my life. Especially in those days, we were supposed to be tough. But asking for help is important. Naomi Osaka’s withdrawal from the French Open and Wimbledon this year threw a spotlight on athletes’ mental health. How did you cope with the media and public pressure? Back in our day, there was no social media, so we had to spend a lot of time with the traditional press. We knew they would be the ones to tell our stories, and if we didn’t have the media on our side, we would fail. Do they ask stupid questions? Yes. The same questions? Yes. But I thought they were fair most of the time. They’re human beings trying to make a living too. Players today need to better understand the business. When you make $55 million in a year, how does that happen? A big part of it is the media. We need each other. You seem to enjoy the business side of sports. Yes, Larry and I owned four tournaments at one time. Of course, if they lost money, my prize money was going into the budget, but that was good pressure. Then we cofounded World Team Tennis, and when I stopped playing, I went right into that office immediately. We sold the company five years ago, but now my partner, Ilana Kloss, and I are part owners of the Los Angeles Dodgers, Angel City FC, and the Philadelphia Freedoms. We also have a for-profit company, Billie Jean King Enterprises, and a nonprofit, the Billie Jean King Leadership Initiative, which does DEI work. I want more women in ownership positions in sports. Women are not taught to follow the money. I want us to follow the money, understand it, and learn from it. The challenge is that guys are always mentoring other guys. I used to see it all the time in the lounge or lunchroom, especially as an amateur: these former, now rich, male players talking to the young male players, making sure they got into schools of their choice or had jobs lined up for them when they stopped playing. So I’m asking men out there to at least think about mentoring women, including women of color and women with disabilities, just as much as you do with the guys. Do you ever see yourself stepping out of the public domain and living a more private life? I am going to fight the good fight with my last breath.

Life’s Work: An Interview with Billie Jean King

Partner Center