Boys larger than 18 years of age may slake their thirst at the Forest Hills Inn, one block from the stadium, repairing either to the Tournament Grill, a basement grotto with a brass-topped piano and photographs of old tennis players; or else at the oak-paneled Unicorn Lounge upstairs. A sidewalk cafe functions through the first days of September. Although four airlines use the place for their crews, the uncertainties of plane travel being what they are there is just no telling when Spencer Tracy, Ava Gardner or somebody will show up to while away a flight delay. Both airports are 20 minutes away.
But all Queens is not Forest Hills. A scant 10 minutes distant, in Richmond Hill, reposes the Triangle Hofbrau, a beery den featuring pickled lamb's tongue, imported wild boar and eels, fried, tartar or broiled. Jahn's, one of the nation's most famous ice cream parlors, is just across the street. Under old stained-glass lamp shades that say "Moxie" and "Coca-Cola," the brave can dispatch double-sized sodas served in vases; a "twosday," which is a soda with an extra ball of ice cream hanging like saddlebags on a pack mule on either side of a specially constructed glass; and "the kitchen sink," a $6 glut of ice cream covered with fruits, nuts, whipped cream and flames served in a silver container roughly the size of the Davis Cup.
Queens is the home of such resorts as Aqueduct, Jamaica and that 10-mile-long Atlantic watering place collectively called the Rockaways. (They were off and running at nearby Hempstead as early as 1665, in the words of a recorder of that day, "not so much for the divertisement of youth as for the bettering of the breed.")
The West Side Tennis Club has a somewhat similar objective.