I was 19 when I met my first winemaker Julio Gallo. Immediately after shaking hands, I was whisked off with five others to a private luncheon. It turned out to be Julio’s birthday. At 19, and new to the industry, I had just started my second semester in the wine program at Fresno State, I really did not know the importance of the man I was with, nor did I really understand the rare opportunity I had been given.

But, I was keenly aware of the importance of the man standing next to me on the tennis court that very hot day in Santa Barbara. By this time I was a wine veteran managing a 4 million gal winery. Besides, I was six years older, an old man of 25. Mr. Mondavi was probably in his early 60’s.

I want to admit to you right now that I have always believed that the Gallo’s are the Fathers of the American wine industry. I have always considered Mr. Mondavi the father of Napa Valley. At the time the two belonged to very distinct camps. The Gallo’s believed that wine should flow like milk. It belonged in the domain of families, the daily table, and heritage. Mr. Mondavi believed more in the wine of James Bond. Great chefs, intricate dinners, special appellations, gifted palates, great vintages and Napa, Napa, Napa.

Have you noticed that Mr, Mondavi’s face has never really changed over the decades. We were standing together in a group, both of us just finishing our match with other partners. He looked the same then as he did until his end. He was giving me that same kind of hawk like stare, studying me. In those days, and probably still now, the leaders of the wine industry met four or five times a year to discuss the issues of the day under the direction of their trade organization the Wine Institute. The first day of meetings were strictly social, and centered on golf or doubles tennis. Tennis was booming in the 70’s. So that’s what my friend Russ Murray and I chose to play, and so had Mr. Mondavi. Now Mr. Mondavi had just finished playing with Russ. All he needed to do was win one more match and he would win the tournament. I knew this because, other than hello, nice to meet you, this is about all he said to me. I reminded him that it was 106 degrees on the court. I also reminded we were playing in the C division. That there was an A and a B division, and that a couple of beers during the match would be nice. He cocked his head at me and repeated, “All I need to do, is win this last match and I win the tournament.”

So this is the story of how I almost killed Robert Mondavi. I took my position at the line on the left side of the court and Mr. Mondavi took his position at the service line. His first serve wasn’t that strong and the return came at me like a rocket. Fortunately, I got the racket in front of my face (due only to youthful survival instincts) and the ball from the sheer force of the service return, bounced awkwardly off the face of my racket and crossed the net unreturnable into the opponents court. I turned to Mr. Mondavi who should no sign of appreciation. On the other hand, My friend Russ sitting on the right side of the court, where the only shade happened to be, looked up from pouring a full bottle of Sauvignon Blanc into a pitcher of ice, and nodded a salute. I took my new position now on the right side of the court. Mr. Mondavi was preparing to serve. “Having fun,” Russ asked. “He is taking this seriously,” I said. “You better not blow this, he advised.” “Thanks,” I answered as Mondavi’s second service went flying past my ear. The return was high over my head. I backed up to get it. Mr. Mondavi shouted, “Mine.” That set the precedent for the match. Every ball was his and I had better not get in the way. He Every ball was his and nothing was going to get by him. He was a dynamo. He was everywhere on the court. He won his serve.

As we changed sides Russ whispered to me, “Try and hit something will you. He has bad knees. He shouldn’t be running all over the court like that.” I didn’t answer.

Mike Nury was serving on the other side of the court. Mike was a good player. Mike was also a very smart. I admired Mike a lot. He was a hell of a business man. Mr. Mondavi was a visionary. But, in Napa the dollars fly freely and quickly. In Fresno, your profit was in nickels. Mike’s eye was on the nickel. Keeping his and getting yours. Mike figured out very quickly that Mr. Mondavi was covering the whole court. Nothing would stop him from running his heart out, not even a partner standing in his way. Mike knew one other thing. If he could win this round he would be tied with Mr. Mondavi for first. He would get him in a playoff, and Mike was at least ten years younger. Mike began to return high long lobs, first to one side, then to the other. Mr. Mondavi continued to chase every ball. “Mr. Mondavi,” I said. “But, I let the rest of it die out. I wanted to say. “You are running too hard. It’s hot. Remember this is only the C division,” I walked over to the net.

Mike’s partner came and stood with me. Our two partners volleyed back and forth. We talked about life, wine, the size and brands of our racquets. Robert continued his regular shots up the middle of the court and Mike continued to counter with these high volleys to the corners. Mr. Mondavi was amazing. The man loved to compete. I could tell he was enjoying it. The sun was directly over head. It had to be 110 now. I could hear Russ swishing the ice in his tumbler. I could also hear sound of tennis shoes on the court from the A group. Eric Wente and Louis Lucas who now owns Lucas and Llewyen were normally the champions of the A group. That is until the Bennum boys that someday would create Blackstone came on the scene. I don’t remember much about the B group. I know Frank Woods founder of Clos Du Bois and Moritz Katz President of Paul Masson were the best in that group.

Mr. Mondavi handed me two balls. It was obvious his legs were tiring and he looked winded. “All you have to do is win your serve and we got them,” he said. I could see Russ out of the corner of my eye. He was shaking his head.

Mr. Mondavi had won his serve. Mike had won his. All I had to do is win mine. I won mine. Russ was laughing. We had been playing all morning. We had been at this for an hour and we still had one more set to win. We didn’t. The lobs kept coming and Mr. Mondavi kept running. Russ stood up to hand me a ball that had rolled dead by his legs. “If you don’t start running and returning your share,” he whispered, “You are going to be known as the man who killed Robert Mondavi. “

“Great,” I whispered back.

“Come on, get moving. He is going to have a heart attack out there. If he drops dead, I am going to make sure everyone knows it was you who killed him.”

All of a sudden I wanted to win. Not that it meant anything to me. I wasn’t going to get a trophy or win the C division. Maybe it was fear. I could see my name in the wine Who’s Who not because of my winemaking but, for killing Robert Mondavi. But, I really don’t think that was the reason. I think it really was my partner, valiantly chasing every ball. My partner who did not have the word “give” in his vocabulary, and who wanted to win. What ever, the reason, I tried. I tried. We lost in the tie breaker.

Mr. Mondavi did not say much. He didn’t seem that upset. He just thanked me and hurried off at full speed to play Mike in the tie breaker for the C championship. I took a long drink of Mondavi Fume Blanc from Russ’s tumbler. I have always loved Sauvignon Blanc on ice. Russ put his arm around me. “Come on little buddy” he said. We walked off to the cool bar to watch the playoff. Mr. Mondavi lost the championship to Mike. But, I never doubted he would win more than his share in life. Most people would have considered it only a game of tennis on a hot Santa Barbara day. I was given a great lesson. I have met few men with his heart, focus, and determination.

By the way, years later I did win the C division tennis championship. That was the day Russ and I and a banker from Worlds Fargo had to climb a fence to get out of Mexico. The more I think back on it the more I think it was just the fence to the parking lot. But, that is another story.