Gary Bergman is one of 25 massage therapists who worked at the U.S. Open. picture courtesy of chuck solomon/si

HEALING HANDS
Bergman is more than just a blind massage therapist

Posted: Friday September 9, 2005 5:33PM
NEW YORK -- The grip is strong, the forearms muscular, the fingers smooth from years of oil seeping into his skin. These are the tools of Gary Bergman's trade. There are stories everywhere at the U.S. Open. The most notable ones play out in Arthur Ashe Stadium and the Grandstand Court. But in the tunnels of the main stadium, deep inside the men's locker room, Bergman is as good a story as you'll find at the USTA National Tennis Center this fortnight. Over the past two weeks (until his assignment ended on Thursday), Bergman has worked on the aching muscles of Justin Gimelstob, Mark Philippoussis, Olivier Rochus, senior players, junior players, whoever walked into the locker room looking for a massage.

What makes this story such a great story is that there is no story. No one blinks at the blind massage therapist. "It's so strange for me to try to describe blindness," says the 38-year-old Bergman, who was born with retina pigmentosa, a progressive degeneration of the retina that affects night and peripheral vision. "I'm blind. That's the truth. It's not worth discussing because you can't explain it to someone else. If you were looking at a room and drew a picture in complete detail, the expression on people's faces, where the lights were in the room ... erase 99.5 percent of that. That's what I have. There is no real definition. It's not blurry or murky. It's just not clear. It is very much about contrast, light on dark, dark on light. It changes every day."

The U.S. Open employs 25 massage therapists. Bergman was one of 100 applicants to apply for 12 available spots last June. "I had never seen a blind massage therapist," says Bob Russo, the USTA's senior trainer and coordinating trainer of the ATP Tour. "When I first found out Gary was blind, I had some concerns, not about his capabilities, but I had concerns about how he would get around. This place is crowded. It's hard to get around even if you can see.

"He told me that I shouldn't be concerned, and since the first day he came out, he's been a great clinician and team player. He was so at ease with everything that he put everybody else at ease with it. It was a non-issue. The players were fine. Everybody said he was a great therapist."

That is all Bergman wants to hear. Gimelstob said he spent most of his massage trying to figure out if Bergman's skill is enhanced by an adaptation of feeling things others try to see. The two have become friends.

"People aren't exposed to blind people every day," says Bergman. "Some respond very openly and very quickly. Others don't respond at all. You get used to it when you live that long. But if you are good at what you do, people look past the idiosyncrasies. I was part of a wonderful team. They do great work and that's what I am most proud of here. All of us here, taking care of each other." Sports runs through Bergman's blood. His father, also named Gary, was a mobile, stay-at-home defenseman in the National Hockey League from 1964 to '76. He played in 838 games, most of which were during his 11 seasons with the Detroit Red Wings.

But where Bergman Sr. earned a place in hockey lore was as a member of Team Canada during the 1972 Summit Series with the Soviet Union. He was a surprise pick by general manager Harry Sinden but proved to be an unsung hero in Canada's historic win. (The Canadians rallied to win the final three games.) Bergman played in every game, and his plus-five rating was second-best on the squad. Bobby Orr called him a "rock." Rod Gilbert said, "you felt secure when he was on the ice." [ continued... ]