The Waterbury Democrat., 1946-09-03
Bitsy Grant
 Ends Career

Forest Hills, N. r., Sept. 3. (UP) The tennis gods sobbed softly today at the final wake of the old guard and last pathetic attempts of the smallest of them all to re- capture glory gone forever.
 The end came swiftly and 1t drew but line the summaries:
 TT. Brown, Jr., beat Bryan M. Grant, Jr., 6-1, 6-2 6-2."
 Yet here was the ending of a storied era, the final passing of a golden age which produced such never-to-be-forgotten names as those of Perry, Budge. Vines, Lott and Stoefen.
 Giant Killer
 It was only right that BitSy Grant should end it. For the little guy with the bulldog tenacity, the steady nerves ad the relentless returns had humbled them all from time to time as they marched through the years. The giant killer" they called this five foot, five inch fellow who covered the court like a blanket and somehow always seemed to get the ball back over the net.
 They all had felt the sting of the fast little mans racquet and his jackrabbit coverage made 1t seem like hitting a ball against a wall. Years before the war the stocky little figure had shouldered in amongst the giants and they could not pry him loose from the first ten.
 Thirteen crowded years ago he was out here on the center court at Forest Hills turning in one of his upset masterpieces. The odds favored Lanky Ellsworth ivnes that day, for he was the defending champion in the national amateurs. But along came the giant killer and knocked the champ out of the tournament.
 It was just one instance of his skill, and all the others tasted it too at one time or another. Then, gradually, they began to fade but always there was Bitsy, knocking of the old timers or Johnnies- come lately with equal abandon.
 Former GI
 Then came the war and Bitsy wanted to get in. They turned him down a number of times because of his small stature but finally &C., cepted him out of sheer despera- ton at his insistance. He served in the Pacific and announced, last year in Australia, that he was through with tournament tennis.
 So it was like half-forgotten memory out of the past when the little man marched onto the center court again yesterday. At 34, Bitsy looked as jaunty and as fit as ever, but time and tennis wait for no man.
 Facing him across the net was tall Tom Brown, a promising youngster who couldn't have car ried the tiny Atlanta swatter's bats back in the old days. But from the opening service it was evident that Bitsy was through.
 It was like taking the venerable man O'War from his oaken stall and sending him against the might armed of today. Akin to matching a paunched Dempsey with the con- ditioned Louis or entering the fam fly pooch in greyhound race.
 The little man was as close to being pitiful as anything ever seen in the big concrete stadium where they crown the kings of tennis. He slid and stumbled when those chunky legs failed to stride as in the old days; shots passed him by that he would have put away while eating pie years gone by. and the skill of 8 surgeon with scalpel was gone from those once-deft hands.
 Bitsy talked to himself as of old, angrily at first and then conSol- ingly. He shook his head, waved his arms Practically at those passing balls and tried to smile whole when his young opponent won a questionable point.
 Bitsy too, knew swiftly that he had killed his last giant" and that +ha toIa ayd time had ended