Wimbledon's Rich and the Not-So Rich

LONDON, June 25, 2005 — -- Michael Collins is an autograph hunter, one of hundreds who prowl the nightclubs and appear at public events in Britain.

At 43, Collins has been out of work since 1984, and lives at home with his mother in Liverpool.

One night recently, he stood outside the Hard Rock Café near Hyde Park, collecting the signatures of some of the world's top tennis players, who are gathered here for the Wimbledon Championships. The players were attending a party in their honor.

Inside, perhaps a dozen athletes, and their wives, husbands and dates, sipped beers and sodas, watching a belly dancer gyrate to L-Rey and listening to a three-piece band and vocalist, singing Latin Soul.

The event had all the makings of just another party for the rich and famous, basking in wealth and power.

But appearances deceive.

Poor Tennis Pros

While a handful of tennis pros make millions, some skimp along on poverty-level earnings (supplemented by friends and relatives).

And just as an out-of-work machine operator like Collins might seem to be the face of poverty in Britain, his earnings might surprise a casual observer.

The picture is different than the reality: Collins is not destitute (more about this later), and many of the world's most glamorous tennis players are not wealthy.

To be sure, among the partygoers, Roger Federer of Switzerland, the reigning Wimbledon champion, has amassed $2,585,868 in prize money and endorsements so far this year. Svetlana Kuznetsova of Russia, the U.S. Open champion who sat outside briefly on a borrowed motorcycle, has collected $637,455.

But America's Ashley Harkleroad, one of the most highly touted younger players in recent years, has earned only $10,286 this year, after playing in the United States, Italy and France. Once ranked 39th, she is currently 202nd in the world.

America's Shenay Perry, ranked 159th, has yet to break the $20,000 ceiling, although her early victories here will more than double her earnings for the year.

What even many tennis fans do not realize is that some Wimbledon-level players collect extremely modest amounts of money when chasing the circuit around the world.

Just last month, Daniele Bracciali, an Italian who faced Andy Roddick on Centre Court here at Wimbledon, earned the grand sum of $420 for competing in a professional tournament in San Remo. (Two weeks later, of course, he hit paydirt, winning $72,000 by capturing the title at Surbiton, a Wimbledon warmup event).

Carers Allowance

Even so, Collins, standing outside a London club, might be just a bit jealous of those dollars were it not for a quarter-century-old British government welfare program.

Called Carers Allowance, it currently employs 436,000 adults to care for the aging and disabled in their communities. The government is spending £1.113 billion (about $2 billion) this year to deliver this service.

"A billion pounds is not huge as a share of government spending," says Stuart Adam, a senior researcher at London's Institute for Financial Study. "But for families, 50 pounds a week is likely to be a substantial portion of income."

Collins' last job, in a factory making kettle drums, ended 21 years ago. Since then, he's cared for his ailing disabled mother, who suffers from smoking-related diseases. While not wealthy by any means, Collins can count on Carer's Allowance to help his family.

Here's how the system works: A typical carer earns £45.70 a week ($83) for assisting a disabled adult. If the carer lives with the ailing person, he or she is entitled to an additional £27.30 ($50) each week. That's $531 per month or $6,372 per year.

Coupled with other benefits he and his mother receive, Collins said, the family is able to make its way. His greatest fear: Calls to privatize the government's National Health Service may succeed in ending Britain's free medical care.

"That's what I worry about," he said.

'We Love the Excitement'

But that seemed a distant concern this night in front of the Hard Rock Café. Collins stood with an assortment of onlookers. Men and women dressed in shorts and T-shirts for an overnight fund-raising marathon mingled with college students on holiday, including Americans Jessica Matzek and Kristen Rasmussen of Winona State University in Minnesota.

"Can I have a tennis ball?" asked Rasmussen. A photographer slipped her one of the dozens of balls dropped into the café's flowerbeds to publicize the presence of its guests.

Standing beside Collins, a friend, Graham Williams, also of Liverpool, explained why they seek out autographs.

"We love the excitement," he said.

But there wasn't any excitement for nearly an hour. A young break dancer swirled and twisted on a red carpet. Two café hostesses in black jerseys and pants patrolled the carpet. Three security men in dark suits used stern expressions to keep the unwanted from the club entrance.

Suddenly, from an open limousine door, America's Serena Williams emerged, a vision in a flowing skirt and tank top, her hair coiffed and her cheeks rouged.

Williams and Collins watched as she stood apart and assessed the crowd. After about 30 seconds, she stepped in front of the two men, signed their cards and moved on, signing more cards and walking into the café (disappearing with her sister Venus, apparently leaving by the back door).

When it was over, Collins and Williams began to walk away toward a subway station, planning to catch an early train the next morning back to Liverpool.

A moment of excitement had passed; autographs collected, they were headed back to life in 21st century Britain, not luxurious, but livable.