John Gardiner's Tennis Ranch was past its prime–like Mr. Gardiner himself–when I first went to the storied Carmel Valley tennis resort. It was 1991, more than 30 years after the former Monterey High School tennis and football coach opened the secluded California enclave of sunlit courts and rustic cottages, providing three-week tennis sessions to well-heeled locals and celebrities alike.
I was 11, and John Gardiner was an icon, when I first made the pilgrimage 11 miles up Carmel Valley Road from Highway 1, turning in at an unassuming sign, and following a steep winding driveway to a paradise tucked between hill and river.
As a junior tennis player who was competing in regional and even national events, I was not the typical patron. Though top players of the time would occasionally come to the property, this wasn’t an academy. From time to time, Mr. Gardiner would walk by an outer court where I was training with my father and call me “champ,” which was more than gracious, but the intention was clear: you were not there to train, you were there to have a good time, enhance your tennis skills, make friends and learn the etiquette and sportsmanship of the game. You were going to improve your tennis, sure, but you’d come away with more than a faster serve.
There was an attention to detail when it came to court layout and design; courts were nestled in clusters of three or so, appointed perfectly on rolling lawns or near majestic oak trees. True to its name, the fences around each JGTR court were authentically ranch-like, made of redwood stakes and pig-wire lattice. Guests might play on courts with names such as “Live Oak 3” or “Apricot 2” for an afternoon round-robin. There were nods to Wimbledon, but there were also oak trees and near-perfect weather–JGTR was a seasonal operation, open Easter to Thanksgiving.
On teaching courts, guests enjoyed thoughtful details such as holes in the court for easy (lazy) ball collection, and sturdy brass gongs for service practice. Just as charming, but perhaps less thoughtful, was the wall of thick ivy on Center Court where countless balls were lost. Large beach balls floated in the pool, and even larger stuffed bunnies or life-size stuffed giraffes–depending on the season–peeked out from thoughtfully arranged flower beds. There was an Independence Day parade, complete with a bright-red old-fashioned fire truck. It was a touch of whimsy that made the natural surroundings doubly delightful; if you enjoyed tennis, you were going to especially like it in this context.
At JGTR, line calls were generous. Etiquette and sweat were welcome to hold the same space; tennis whites were required. The privilege of the place was blatant but somehow understated. The setting was a specific experience of Californian opulence, described by longtime Gardiner’s pro Rick Manning as "somewhat elegant but not wildly foo-foo."
For adult guests, the visit started with a cocktail party and ended with a graduation ceremony–and more cocktails. Guests woke up to freshly squeezed orange juice and a small vase of flowers on their doorstep each morning, then gathered for the pledge of allegiance. Tennis was from 9 to noon, after which came lunch and pool time. There was more tennis in the afternoon, a formal cocktail hour at 7, and dinner to follow. Coat and tie were required for the men. It was all-inclusive; it was leisurely; it was not frenetic; it was not demanding.
John Gardiner opened the Carmel Valley Tennis Ranch in 1957. He’d seen the success of destination golf in Pebble Beach, and wondered if people would do the same for tennis. They did. He eventually renamed it John Gardiner Tennis Ranch and expanded: at one time Gardiner was involved with 11 resorts in eight states.
After college and a stint coaching abroad, I returned home to Carmel Valley in 2005 and spent a few months teaching at Gardiner's. In what I thought was a strange twist of events, I was giving tennis pointers to a man some might argue was the most powerful man in the world at the time: Allen Greenspan, the former chairman of the Federal Reserve and a wily lefty who was honing his game and working his poaching skills. And Greenspan wasn’t alone; Gardiner’s low-key approach attracted people from the top echelons of politics, banking and entertainment.
“Well, a number of US presidents made their way into Gardiner's,” Manning said. “There were the people from Hollywood, primarily brought up by Merv Griffin. Clint Eastwood would come out, play occasionally. A number of people: Cary Grant, Lucille Ball, John Wayne would cruise through the property and have lunch. Athletes, in any sport, might show up.”
There was no fitness center, no signs with resort logos to remind you where you were, and no lights on the courts. “John felt that there were other things to do at night,” said Manning. “That's when you socialized with each other and you didn't play tennis. The guests would go to the jacuzzi at night and have a glass of wine and socialize, and I think it was in the early years of that scene, which made it comfortable for the guests.
"People came to the resort and stayed there,” he continued. “They didn't go tramping off on a day hike or an excursion or shopping spree or a golf junket. They came there and they settled down there and they really enjoyed being there. So the tempo of things was a different speed. I would say that it was a cozy elegance."
In 2015, after Gardiner’s death and several changes of hands, I attended a wedding on the property, now called Gardener Ranch. The new owners didn’t appreciate tennis, or tennis history. The old courts, where giants had played tennis at its most gracious, were freshly destroyed; nothing was left but piles of unsettling rubble.
I was devastated. It felt sacrilegious; criminal. There was a heavy feeling of mourning in my chest as I remembered the sound of the gongs and the smell of the jasmine in a tennis garden that was no more. I became determined to find a gong in the rubble. Even if my serve had lost power over the years, a gong felt like an important memento.
A little tipsy, in a cocktail dress and heels, I awkwardly tiptoed over a pile of incongruous pieces of concrete, still painted with baselines and service lines. I was unable to find a gong, but I did find something quintessentially Gardiner's: three round signs that said “Apricot 1,” “Apricot 2” and “Apricot 3.”
I took the signs. One made its way to Rick Manning, whose recent death is another poignant reminder of what’s missing, in Carmel Valley and the world at large, now that John Gardiner’s Tennis Ranch is gone. “Apricot 2” sits above a door in my garage.
Catherine Boyd Hawley played for UCLA, where her lefty serve didn’t live up to its potential.
