Thirty minutes before the gates opened at Arthur Ashe Stadium at 4 p.m. on June 22, a cluster of people began gently rolling tennis balls across a parking lot.
One after another, they drop one knee near the ground, extend their opposite arm, and release a tennis ball at a person 10 feet away.
Closer to a locked chain-link fence, a crowd began to perform calisthenics while others nervously shifted their weight, clutching tightly to their application papers.
The pool of 500 people – whittled down from about 1,200 online applicants – will vie for 120 spots as ball people for the US Open, during week-long tryouts forced who went inside the house because of the rain. Those selected join 200 or more people returning to service in Queens courts.
“I don’t think people understand, it’s a highly sought-after job,” said Tiahnne Noble, the director of the US Open Ball Crew.
From the age of 14 to mid-70s, the dependents come from all corners of the country. Applicants flew from California, drove from Indiana, took the subway from the Bronx and took the train from Connecticut. Some are tennis fans, some play themselves and others pique their curiosity from seeing ball people on TV. Can they do that? (Spoiler: Usually not.)
Older adults are generally more anxious than their younger counterparts. The experience has been described as a “dream” by many over the age of 30.
Masami Morimoto, 59, says she’s determined to try before she turns 60. “I love tennis,” says the Manhattanite, a bounce in her step. “I can’t sleep, I’m so excited.”
The groups were led through a series of drills during a 30-minute audition, where they were asked to quickly and silently roll, catch and throw balls. The participants are locked in, acting as if, at any moment, Novak Djokovic will look dead in the eyes of one of them and move for a ball.
Administrative staff members are very attuned to anxieties. When an applicant forgot the instructions, threw the ball instead of rolling it, they quickly comforted the grieving applicant. “Don’t worry about it!” they said softly, sending a tennis ball back in their direction.
Body language suggested the message was ignored.
Noble and his staff of veteran ball people say they spot a potential ball person almost immediately. Ball people, he said, must have speed, agility, quick reflexes and the ability to blend into the background of the contest.
Six ball people work every match, communicating clearly and quietly so as not to disturb the pros or spectators. They have to respond to the wishes of different players – some just want a ball thrown to them with their left hand, for example – and act as invisible guardians of the game.
As the evaluators looked over the June tests, there was a lot of gentle nodding and note-taking on clipboards.
Auditions are not for the faint of heart. “It’s the US Open,” said Aaron Mendelson, 57, with a quiet acknowledgment of the stakes. He rolled a suitcase by his side, flown in from San Francisco for the occasion. He said he planned to go straight to the airport afterwards.
Mendelson knew what to expect. He became a ball person at the 1992 US Open, working the match between Jim Courier and Andre Agassi. He pulled up a YouTube clips as proof. “Look for the red-headed boy,” he said.
Applicants won’t know if they’ve been selected for another week, but some have carefully sketched out plans for where they’ll stay. While the US Open is the only Grand Slam that pays its ball people — $16 an hour for most recruits — it does not provide housing. “Which borough would you recommend?” Avani Kondragunta asked this reporter.
His 21-year-old daughter, Alekhya, used to be a ball person at the Western & Southern Open near their home in Cincinnati. So the two decided to make the 10-hour drive for tryouts.
As the high-stakes auditions drew to a close, prospective balls shuffled off the court sweaty and shrugging. They will receive an email with their acceptance — or a rejection — shortly.
“It’s not that hard,” said Debra Gil, 14, of the Bronx as she left the court. He is one of the youngest applicants with experience under his belt. Her brother was a ball person last year, and she worked the Bronx Open.
When Mendelson finished his ordeal, he ran into another group of Californians who had traveled for the opportunity. Father and son Kuangkai and Emily Tai of San Diego both tried.
When asked if, if chosen, they would return for the duration of the US Open, Emily Tai, 19, responded cautiously, “We’ll see!”
His father’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, we’re on our way.”
“If you pay,” Emily replied.
Of those interviewed, only Emily Tai got the golden ticket — erm, email. He was surprised by what he had done to his father. “She’s prettier than me,” he said.
Kuangkai Tai planned to stick to his word. Even though he won’t be servicing the courts, he plans to visit his daughter.
