A few cracks, likely caused by wear and tear from hundreds of feet and thousands of balls, run through the dark-green tennis surface. On the far end of the seasoned court, a brick wall, also painted green but a few shades lighter, boasts “Epiphany Court” in black letters. A fence riddled with fading tennis balls stretches above the wall.
Over nearly four decades, Arveal Turner, now 75, has taught tennis to hundreds of kids on this court built in the backyard of his South Memphis home. Turner’s tennis program for youth has become well-known in the African-American tennis community.
Turner, dressed in a gray sweatsuit and cap embroidered with “Epiphany Court,” leads the way past baskets of tennis balls stacked on the deck close to the door of his house. He takes a seat in the den next to a towering bookshelf displaying trophies of all sizes and stacks of books. Behind Turner, a life-size action photo of Muhammad Ali hangs on the wall.
Turner doesn’t know for certain where he was born and doesn’t have a birth certificate. He says he was likely born in Woodville, Mississippi, near Baton Rouge. At least that’s where he grew up.
His childhood was ideal, he says, likening his hometown to Andy Griffith’s fictional town of Mayberry. Turner spent his youth swimming in ponds and lakes, hunting rabbits, and fishing. He was the third child of six kids. His mother was a maid and his father, a roustabout, Turner says, did a lot of odd jobs.
One thing he learned from his parents was how to work hard and provide for a family. When Turner graduated from high school, he joined the military and spent three years in the Air Force overseas during the Vietnam War.
Transitioning from the military back into civilian life in his mid-twenties, Turner and his wife moved to Memphis. Here, he attended LeMoyne-Owen College and was on his way to law school after graduation. He never made it to law school, though: He was side-tracked by politics.
Turner got involved in a number of political campaigns, working with politicians such as Harold Ford Sr., Roscoe Dixon, and Lamar Alexander. “As a matter of fact, you might even say I started the Ford machine,” he says.
Turner also notes he was the person who suggested Ray Charles’ version of the song “Alexander’s Ragtime Band” for Alexander’s 1996 presidential campaign. “You know the song,” Turner says singing a few lines of the chorus.
“I was trying to make the city, state, and world a better place by getting people elected that I thought represented some of my ideas,” Turner says of his time working with politicians. “I think politicians should think more about their constituents and the good they can do for them instead of how they can stay in office.”
“I chose the name Epiphany Court, because of the transformative effect tennis has once you start playing. It’s an epiphany moment.”
Last year, Turner rekindled his passion for politics and decided to run for a vacant Memphis City Council seat. He ran for one reason only, he says: to advance tennis in Memphis. As Turner anticipated, he didn’t win, but “it was worth a shot.”
Turner wishes to return to the days when there was a community mindset around tennis in Memphis. He says there should be more access to facilities and a wider effort to get youth involved in the sport. “You didn’t have to contact anyone to go play back when I first started,” Turner says. “You just went to the courts knowing there would be a whole group there waiting to not only play tennis but to sit and talk after we got done. There were people of all ages there intermingling and playing.”
Turner was a basketball player before he took an interest in tennis. He played basketball in high school, college, and in his time overseas during the Vietnam War. He even developed a basketball team for the Air Force and went into villages to put on basketball camps for the kids there.
He didn’t pick up a tennis racket until 1972. “At a little park over there on Parkway near Lauderdale, there were two tennis courts next to the basketball courts. Whenever I would lose out in basketball, I’d wander over there to the tennis courts and swat around the balls.”
He says he learned fast and developed a fondness for the game. “At the risk of sounding conceited, I was a pretty good basketball player,” Turner says. “So when I picked up tennis, my footwork was there even before my strokes were.”
photo by maya smith
Arveal Turner
Arveal Smith some of the publicity he’s garnered over the years.
Turner spent most of the 1970s playing at what used to be the John Rogers Tennis Center on Jefferson. “Everybody played there. That was the beginning of integration for tennis in Memphis. We had a tournament every year that we called White on Black, Black on White,” Turner says with a chuckle. “Those were the days.”
John Rogers was one of the more accepting places for black tennis players back then, Turner says. But it wasn’t always easy for a black man playing tennis in the South. “They let you know what you were,” he says. “I’ve been called the n-word through the fence. But tennis brought me in touch with a lot of different people I would probably have never intermingled with, so I’m glad for that.”
Turner played in a few adult pro circuits and built a name for himself in the tennis world. Then, a little less than a decade after first stepping on a tennis court, Turner opened his own facility right in his own backyard. He named it Epiphany Court.
“I chose that name because of the transformative effect tennis has once you start playing,” he says. “It’s an epiphany moment.”
Before he settled into this house, Turner says he was teaching tennis at a nearby apartment complex. At the time, the City of Memphis was not hiring African-American pros at the city’s courts — an issue Turner sued the city over in the 1980s.
The suit was brought after Turner says he was denied a job which was instead given to a white man. “The position was for someone who was college-educated and had experience. I had both and he had neither. They gave it to him.”
Turner didn’t win the lawsuit, but he thinks he started an important conversation which led to the hiring of one of the city’s first black tennis pros, Tony Womeodu.
The albums, with newspaper clippings, postcards, and other memorabilia falling from in between the pages, hold snapshots of kids he’s taught throughout the years. Some of the images are in black and white, some of them are in color, but all of them capture the impact of Turner’s work.
While teaching at the apartment complex, Turner began looking for a house with enough land to build at least one court. “This house was not for sale when I found it. Without the owner’s permission, I went in the backyard and counted it off. I knew I needed at least 80 by 30 feet of space. The space was there and I knew it was the place.
“The timing turned out to be just right,” he continues. “The owner was getting older and needed to move out.” A few weeks after mentally measuring his future tennis court, Turner made an offer and the owner accepted.
Over the years, Turner says his program transformed from a backyard operation to one that is well-known throughout the state. Many of his students have gone on to compete at the college level.
“This is why I’ve done it and why I keep doing it,” Turner says, walking over to a bookshelf and retrieving half a dozen photo albums. The albums, with newspaper clippings, postcards, and other memorabilia falling from in between the pages, hold snapshots of kids he’s taught throughout the years. Some of the images are in black and white, some of them are in color, but all of them capture the impact of Turner’s work.
Nearing his late 70s, Turner now teaches tennis three days a week and won’t stop teaching anytime soon.
“Why would I stop now?” he says, grinning widely. “As a matter of fact, I have a class in an hour I have to get ready for.”
