The Second Hand Man -
May 9th, 1968
It was mybirthday party today.
As expected, I found the whole businessextremely frustrating and irritating.
Still, I hopeI managed to put on a good enough act to convince everyone, especially my mother,that I had had a wonderful day of fun and excitement.
We played Pinthe tail on the donkey, Blind Man’s Bluff, Musical Chairs and Simon Says.
My mother hadmade me a chocolate birthday cake in the shape of a steam locomotive. On thetender at the back she had arranged 9 candles in three rows of three to form aneat square.
It wasstrange, almost surreal to gaze down upon those 9 burning candles. My thoughtsmust have wandered off somewhere because my mother had to repeat, “Come on,blow!” I got them all with a single blast of air. The traditional singingfollowed and my mother asked, “Did you remember to make a wish?”
What does aperson with a mental age of 58 wish for when he’s turning physically 9 for thesecond time?
I think itwas more a prayer than a wish:
Please giveme the patience, tolerance, fortitude and determination to endure through timeslike these.
In the lateafternoon, just after the last noisy, obnoxious brat had been carted off by hisfolks, my grandparents, on my father’s side, arrived.
Afterfinishing a slice of birthday cake my grandfather called me over and presentedme with a gift.
It had notbeen wrapped, and I immediately recognized the small wooden box with thesliding panel on top. I had still kept it in a draw in my study in 2014.
It was...ismy very first chess set. Somewhere along the line one of the white pawns hadgone missing, and I had replaced it with an old bottle cap (The cap wouldalways be replaced by the first white pawn to be taken).
Mygrandfather is a bombastic, but likeable old fart. And although he’s the typeof person who always calls a spade – a spade, he always calls me boy. I guesshe would probably replace it strange or uncomfortable to call me by my namebecause it’s the same as his.
“How old younow, boy?”
My fatheranswered, “He turned nine today, pop.”
“Shut up,Claude! I was asking the boy!”
“Nine,grampa,” I quickly chimed.
“Nine! Hell,that’s more than…”
“Mind yourlanguage around the children,” reprimanded my grandmother.
“Quiet,woman!” He waved a hand at my grandmother and mother. “Don’t you two have socksto darn or something? The men are talking now!” We all laughed. Then he staredintently at me. “That’s right ain’t it? You’re a young man now.” I nodded.“Damn right!”
“Grampa!”chided grandmother.
He ignoredher and continued, “It’s time to put away all those silly games you alwaysplay. No more Tiddlywinks or Chopsticks or Ludo or Candy Land or Chutes andLadders or Snakes and Ladders or whatever they call it these days? None of thatsilly childish nonsense for you anymore. It’s time for a thinking man’s gamenow.” He handed me the box.
I slid openthe wooden panel and peered inside. “Wow!” I exclaimed pretending to besurprised. “A chess set.” I emptied the pieces out onto the coffee table.
“These aren’ttoys, you hear!” said my grandfather picking up one of the pieces. “So don’tlet me replace out you been using them to play toy soldiers or whatever.”
Mygrandmother chipped in again. “I wanted to get him one of those Monopoly sets,but he insisted on the chess set.”
“Bah, the boyneeds to stimulate his brain. There’s no thinking in games that revolve on theluck of a thrown dice. With chess, the only way you can win is by out-thinkingyour opponent. They say the great chess masters are able to think twenty movesahead. Twenty!”
“You’ve got acheckerboard in your Games Compendium box,” said my mother. “Go fetch it, andlet grampa teach you how to play.”
I rushed off.
He explainedthe chess pieces and their moves to me. He was very serious when he got to theknight and rook.
“This is theknight. I don’t ever wanna hear you calling it the horse. And this is the rook– not castle. It comes from the Persian word ruhk meaning chariot. So try tothink of it more like a chariot riding forward to trample the enemy, ok?”
After muchexplanation, advice and threats we were finally ready.
“Right,” hesaid packing the pieces for both sides. “How about a game, then?”
“Great!”
It wasdifficult making all those foolish moves that had him swiftly winning the firstthree games.
In the fourthI made a terrible blunder. After moving the pieces between my King and Rookforward, I proceeded to castle.
He lookedsternly at me and asked, “What was that?”
I suddenlyrealized that he hadn’t explained the castling move to me yet. I quickly triedto smooth over the mistake.
“Is itwrong?” I asked innocently. “I think I saw it on TV once.”
“And I thinkyou know more about this game than you make out.”
My mothercame to the rescue, “No, dad, this is the first time he’s ever played.”
“Well, that’sjust so darn typical of Claude. How come you’ve never taken the time to teachthe boy?”
“You nevertaught me! Ever!” said my dad struggling to conceal his anger and annoyance.
“That’s adamned lie.”
“Yeah, onetime only! And when I kept making all those idiotic moves, you said I was areal useless case without any hope.”
To calm thesituation my grandfather suddenly said to me, “Do you know that I once playedten chess champions all at once?”
It was an oldjoke that he loved to tell over and over. As this was the first time I washearing it, I played along.
“Really?Nah?”
“I kid younot.”
“Wow!That’s…absolutely amazing!”
“You betcha!”Then he added the punchline with a dry expression on his face. “I lost everysingle game, of course.”
We all roaredwith laughter.
Mygrandfather is a hard man. Fair, but hard. Never once, in my first life, in allthe time that I played him did he ever let me win. In a way it was a goodthing, because a few years later when I did finally manage to beat him for thefirst time, the feeling of triumph was inexplicable.
And he knewit too!
Gramps, as Ilater called him, also had an irritating way of constantly talking during agame. I guess it was his way of trying to psychologically break down hisopponent. The most irritating of all his bad chess habits was the fact that hewould constantly say the same old thing every time he was about to make, whathe considered on his part to be a rather brilliant move; a move that normallyresulted in the taking of one of his opponents major pieces.
“Watch thisclosely now,” he would say with a wry smile. “It is a thing of absolutebeauty.”
It was duringthe fifth and final game that I decided to turn up the pressure. About halfwaythrough he made a foolish and fatal mistake that would allow me to move myknight into a position placing his King in check and threatening his Queen atthe same time.
I took anextra long time to decide my next move. My dilemma was between purposely losingor miraculously winning.
I decided tohell with it! Let me knock the wind out of the old fart’s sails.
I lifted theknight slowly and looked him in the eye. “Watch this closely now,” I saidunable to conceal my smirk. “It is a thing of absolute beauty.” I placed theknight in position and added, “That, I believe is check.”
His eyesflashed between me and the board. “Don’t be getting smart with me, boy! Thegame ain’t over yet.”
But it was,he just didn’t know it yet.
A short whilelater I moved my Rook across the board and said, “And finally the Persianchariot moves forward trampling the enemy to death. Check and mate!”
He sat therestunned for a few moments before asking, “Are you quite sure you’ve neverplayed this game before?”
“Yep.”
“Well, that’sjust plumb amazing! I was going a little easy on you, but I won’t make the samemistake again.” He looked over at my father. “Thank God the boy’s got hismother’s brains. This family don’t need another sales clerk. You better startsaving some serious money for his university education.”
My father wasinstantly peeved. “A few games of chess, and you decide my son is Einstein?”
“Well hecertainly got more brains now than you ever had at his age.”
“Yeah, andwhat about you?”
“What aboutme?”
“Did you goto University?”
“I went to acollege at least.”
“Oh, yeah!That’s right! And?”
“And what?”
“Where areall your diplomas then?”
“You know Inever finished. I told you…”
“Well aren’twe the hypocrite! You couldn’t finish!”
“You knowdarn well that I had no choice in the matter. I left because my father couldn’tafford…”
“Yeah sure!That’s what you always say. That’s your side of the story. Seems to me theGreat Depression is just a reason for your great excuse against yourincompetency.”
I suddenlyrecalled an interesting fact, and said, “Did you know that Bobby Fischerdropped out of school when he was only sixteen.”
“Who?” askedmy father frowning.
Before Icould reply my grandfather said, “I might not have any diplomas hanging on mywall, but I still done pretty darn good for myself and my family considering. Alot more than you’ve ever…”
“It’s gettinglate!” blurted grandmother. “We should be going?”
I managed tooverhear the following as my parents were seeing my grandfolks off:
At the doormy mother kissed my grandfather’s cheek and whispered in his ear, “Thanks forletting him win a game. It’ll do his self image and confidence the world ofgood. He’s so withdrawn lately.”
“The brightones normally are, Beth. He’s a quick learner that one. You be sure he gets agood education, hear?”
“Of course,dad. Of course.”
It’s great tohave a chess set again. It’s been ages since I played a game. Even though Ibeat my grandfather, I can sense that I’ve become quite rusty. I need to getmyself back on form again.
I justremembered that the great and controversial clash of minds between BorisSpassky and Bobby Fischer will only take place 4 years from now. And althoughit will come to be dubbed as the Match of the Century, it won’t be as excitingfor me as I already know that Fischer will take the World Champion title afterbeing 2-0 down.
Hmm, maybe Ican make a little cash out of it once the odds are raised in Spassky’s favor.
I’ll only be13 in ’72 when the tournament takes place, but I’m certain that I can figureout a way by then to get a bet placed.
My folksbought me a green plastic WWII Tommy Gun for my birthday. I remember as a kidthat I absolutely loved playing with it as it makes this terrific rata-tata-tatsound. This time round I was pretty disappointed though – I had specificallyasked for a wristwatch. I hate always wondering what time it is.
I guess kidsjust aren’t obsessed with time as much as adults are. When you’re a child,there seems to be so much of it ahead that it almost seems to stand still orslow down. It is only much later that Time becomes an important issue - and anenemy.
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