Kmoch, the arbiter, sensing that Bobby was a champion in the making, had already begun collecting the prodigy's original score sheets as if they were early Rembrandt sketches. And somehow, most likely by paying for it, Lawson acquired from Kmoch the original "Game of the Century" score sheet, which bore Kmoch's notation in large red-penciled numerals: 01 (indicating the loss for Byrne, the win for Fischer). Eventually, upon Lawson's death, the score sheet was purchased by a collector, sold again, and for the last number of years it has rested with yet another collector. In today's market, the estimated auction price for the original score sheet is $100,000.

Bobby's remuneration from the American Chess Foundation for his sparkling brilliancy? Fifty dollars.

It was his fourteenth birthday, a typically windswept March afternoon, bone-dry and cold, and as Bobby worked his way along Central Park South toward the Manhattan Chess Club, to the most important match of his burgeoning career, he was shivering from the wind, not from fear. It was a good feeling to get inside the well-heated club.

His opponent, Dr. Max Euwe, from Holland, was waiting. Fifty-six years old, conservatively dressed, and well over six feet tall, he appeared a giant next to Bobby. Aside from the four decades that separated their ages, they were a study in opposites. Euwe, a doctor of philosophy and a professor of mathematics at the Amsterdam Lyceum, was a former World Champion, having defeated his predecessor in 1935 with a studied and logical approach to the game. He was an even-tempered, soft-spoken, and mature grandmaster who represented the old guard, and over a lifetime of tournament warfare he'd played many of the game's legendary figures. His gentle demeanor aside, he thrived on combat, and improbably, given his academic and chess prowess, he'd once been the European heavyweight amateur boxing champion. Bobby, in contrast, was nervous and volatile, the chess arriviste of Brooklyn, a colt of a player, and as it was beginning to develop, the spearhead of the coming generation of American players. He was pleased that he'd won the U.S. Junior Championship the previous summer, but above all, he'd begun to have increased confidence in himself after his celebrated "Game of the Century." In just six months that game had established him as more than just a curiosity: He was now a new star in the international chess galaxy. As much as Bobby wanted to play Euwe, the renowned doctor was just as intrigued by the prospect of playing the prodigy.

Bobby greeted Dr. Euwe with a polite handshake and a gentle smile. Billed as a "friendly" contest-no t.i.tles were at issue-the two-game exhibition match was sponsored by the Manhattan Chess Club to give Bobby an opportunity to play against a world-cla.s.s master. The stakes were pitifully small: $100 overall, $65 to the winner, and $35 for the loser.

Sitting at the chess table, the professor and the teenager created an almost comic tableau. Euwe's long legs could barely fit underneath, and he sat obliquely, somewhat casually, as if he wasn't truly a part of the action. In contrast, Bobby-all seriousness-had to sit upright to reach the pieces, his elbows just finding their way to the top of the board. A small crowd, hardly an audience, gathered around to follow the moves.

Euwe, in grandmasterly fashion, thoroughly outplayed Bobby until they reached the twentieth move, at which point Bobby, realizing that his position was hopeless, toppled his king in resignation. Feeling humiliated, Bobby burst out of the club in tears and ran to the subway. For his part, Euwe didn't evince much pride in his swift victory, since he felt that Bobby "was only a boy." He then quickly added, "But a promising one!"

The next day Bobby was back promptly at 2:30 p.m. for the second and final game of the match. This time he had the slight advantage of playing with the white pieces, which allowed him to employ his favorite opening strategy. Since he'd lost the day before, he was determined not to lose again. After an exchange of pieces, he emerged with a p.a.w.n ahead in an endgame that looked as though it would lead to a draw. When Bobby offered to trade rooks, Euwe responded by offering him a draw on the forty-first move. Bobby pondered for a long while and, with no apparent winning chances left, reluctantly agreed.

To wrest a draw from a former World Champion was neither small cheese nor minor chess, but Bobby was unhappy since he'd lost the match, 1. Oddly, in the more than fifty years since, although virtually all of Bobby's games have been a.n.a.lyzed and published-good games and bad; wins, draws, and losses-the complete score of the Fischer-Euwe draw has not only gone unpublished, but the game itself has gone unheralded in the chess press.

Contrary to the popular press's portrayal of Regina Fischer as the absent mother who left Bobby alone to rear himself, she was actually a doting and caring parent who loved her son and was concerned about his welfare. Raising two children as a single parent and trying to complete her own education, she just didn't have much time to spend with Bobby, nor did she have enough income to provide all the things she wanted to give him. One writer has claimed that the two didn't speak to each other for more than thirty years; that's simply false. They were always in touch, even when she remarried and went to Europe to finish her medical degree when Bobby was in his twenties. They shared messages, phone conversations, and gifts throughout their entire lives, all delivered with love, even though they might have been continents apart.

Most biographers have failed to make the salient point that the Fischer family was exceedingly poor-bordering on poverty, in fact-and every decision about which tournaments to enter, where to play, even which chess books and periodicals to buy came down to a question of money or lack thereof. During the 1950s and 1960s, the time of Bobby's initial and then most intense ascent, an expenditure of just $5 was considered burdensome by both mother and son. It could be that this penury was the catalyst for Bobby's often-criticized "greediness" later in his career. Bobby, on his way up the chess ladder, at one point wrote, "Many people imagine that the chess club or some other chess organization would take care of my travel expenses, buy chess literature for me, or in some other way finance me. It would be nice, or it would have been nice, but it just happens not to be so."

As worrying as the family's financial state was to Regina, her concerns about Bobby's mental health, personality, and behavior eventually became preoccupying. Aside from taking Bobby to meet a psychologist, and her talk with the doctor about what to do with her son, she was always trying to guide Bobby to broaden himself through attending cultural events, engaging in sports, meeting other children, reading, and paying attention to his academic studies. She was pleased that Bobby found self-esteem in chess. What concerned her was that his life lacked balance; she worried that his chess single-mindedness wasn't healthy.

In 1956, Dr. Reuben Fine, an American who was one of the world's best chess players from the 1930s through the 1940s, wrote a monograph ent.i.tled Psychoa.n.a.lytic Observations on Chess and Chess Masters Psychoa.n.a.lytic Observations on Chess and Chess Masters, which was published as Volume 3 of Psychoa.n.a.lysis Psychoa.n.a.lysis, a journal of psychoa.n.a.lytic psychology. Afterward, it became available as a separate seventy-four-page book, with a red-and-white chessboard cover. A certain amount of skepticism and even resentment was felt by many of the chess players who took the time to read it. Regina Fischer bought a copy and read it carefully; the book was found in Bobby's library years later, but whether he he ever read it is unknown. ever read it is unknown.

Fine, a devoted Freudian (he'd go on to write two book-length studies of Freud's theories and a history of psychoa.n.a.lysis), took the position that chess is symbolically related to the libido and has Oedipal significance: "The King stands for the boy's p.e.n.i.s in the phallic stage, the self-image of man, and the father cut down to the boy's size."

He also devoted a chapter to the psychoses of four chess masters, selected from the millions of normal people who'd played seriously over the years. This imbalance provoked criticism for its promotion of the belief that all chess players are seriously addled.

Regina was impressed enough with the book, however, and with Dr. Fine's chess credentials (he was an international grandmaster and had been a contender for the world t.i.tle) to think he might be able to help Bobby, or at least temper the boy's slavish devotion to the game. She wanted her son to do well in high school, enter a prestigious university, and get down and do some real work.

Regina arranged for Dr. Fine to telephone Bobby and invite him to his home just for an evening of chess. Bobby was well aware of Fine's chess reputation, having played over his games; he also owned and had read several of his chess books. Bobby was suspicious, however. He didn't want psychological probing. Fine a.s.sured him that he just wanted to play a few games with him.

Reuben Fine was not a therapist in the strict sense of the word, but he was was a renowned psychoa.n.a.lyst. His theory was that the problems of many troubled patients rested in forgotten psychic traumas, and through free a.s.sociation and the interpretation of dreams the key to the problems could be unlocked. The cure was usually a long process-sometimes lasting years-starting first with childhood memories and even, if possible, memories formed in utero. a renowned psychoa.n.a.lyst. His theory was that the problems of many troubled patients rested in forgotten psychic traumas, and through free a.s.sociation and the interpretation of dreams the key to the problems could be unlocked. The cure was usually a long process-sometimes lasting years-starting first with childhood memories and even, if possible, memories formed in utero.

Fine's office was located in a huge apartment on the Upper West Side of Manhattan. One wing of it was his home, which he shared with his wife and three children; the other part consisted of an a.n.a.lysis room, complete with a Freudian fainting couch, and a group room next door. Patients underwent a minimum of one hour a week of a.n.a.lysis at $55 a session, and some partic.i.p.ated in group sessions in the evening. Fine would sit in on the groups for one hour, say nothing, and observe how the members interacted with one another, and then for the final hour he'd quit the room and the group would continue alone. He'd then briefly discuss that session the next time each patient appeared for psychoa.n.a.lysis. With Bobby, Fine wanted to first gain the boy's trust and respect by playing chess, and then begin cla.s.sical Freudian a.n.a.lysis, in tandem with the group process.

So that Bobby wouldn't think he was being psychoa.n.a.lyzed, Fine avoided bringing the boy into his a.n.a.lysis room at first, instead inviting him to the home wing of the apartment. Bobby met Fine's wife Marcia and their children, and then he and Fine played speed chess for an hour or two. The psychoa.n.a.lyst was then one of the fastest players in the country, perhaps even stronger than Bobby had antic.i.p.ated. Fine would later write that Bobby "was not yet strong opposition. My family remembers how furious he was after each encounter, muttering that I was 'lucky.'"

After about six weekly sessions of chess, at the point when Fine believed Bobby had bonded with him, the psychoa.n.a.lyst nonchalantly started a conversation about what Bobby was doing in school. Bobby was on his feet in seconds, recognizing that he'd been duped. "You've tricked me," he blurted out, and stalked out of the apartment, never to go back. Fine later remarked that whenever the two saw each other after that, at a chess club or a tournament, Bobby would give him an angry look "as though I had done him some immeasurable harm by trying to get a little closer to him."

Although there may be some substance to Fine's implication that Bobby's hostility was all about the psychoa.n.a.lyst's attempt to "get closer," to peel back his layers, the main reason that Bobby never talked to him again was Fine's deception deception, and his use of chess to accomplish it. In a boastful statement, Fine wrote "that it becomes one of the ironic twists of history that of the two leading American chess masters of the twentieth century one almost became the psychoa.n.a.lyst of the other." Hardly Hardly.

Bobby, for his part, didn't think that anything was wrong with him. At thirteen, his behavior at chess tournaments and in clubs was quite benign, but like many teenagers, he was sometimes too loud when talking, clumsy when walking past games in progress, unkempt in grooming, and a perennial "bobber" at the board. There was nothing in his actions, however-at that that time-that indicated serious problems or advanced neurosis. time-that indicated serious problems or advanced neurosis.

Perhaps Fine's monograph gave impetus to the press; whenever they did chess stories, reporters would look for a certain amount of aberration among the players. Bobby, therefore, frequently became a victim of a twisted interpretation of his personality. When he was interviewed by a reporter, he was often asked patronizing or offensive questions ("How come you don't have a girlfriend?"..."Are all chessplayers crazy?"), and it became clear to him that they were going to slant the story to make him appear weird. "Ask me something usual," he once said to a reporter, "instead of making me look unusual." To another he talked about newspapermen in general: "Those guys always write bad stories about me. They say I'm stupid and that I have no talent in anything except for chess. It's not true."

Some articles proclaimed Bobby an idiot savant, with emphasis on the first word rather than the second. Chess Life Chess Life, indignant at the disrespect shown Bobby, came to his defense, calling such articles "Fischer-baiting" and proclaiming them "utter nonsense."

Of course, Bobby was was obsessed with chess and spent hours playing and studying it, but perhaps not any more than musical prodigies practice their craft. And he did have other interests, including sports. He saw as many hockey games as he could, was an active tennis player, skied, swam, and belonged to a Ping-Pong club in Manhattan. Science interested him most of all. What he was obsessed with chess and spent hours playing and studying it, but perhaps not any more than musical prodigies practice their craft. And he did have other interests, including sports. He saw as many hockey games as he could, was an active tennis player, skied, swam, and belonged to a Ping-Pong club in Manhattan. Science interested him most of all. What he was not not interested in was hypnotism and prehistoric animals, as some pop-culture articles indicated. interested in was hypnotism and prehistoric animals, as some pop-culture articles indicated.

The press was sometimes negative enough to cause those around Bobby to revise their opinion of him. Some players at the Manhattan Chess Club began huffing that he was a meshuggener-a Yiddish term of disparagement suggesting he was "a little crazy." But others, also using Yiddish, referred to him as a gaon gaon, a genius.

Despite all the discussion about Bobby, including the nicknames and the petty comments leveled at him, he just continued to play and study the game that he loved. During that one year, from 1956 to 1957, Bobby's official rating soared. Just fourteen years old, he was now officially ranked as a chess master, the youngest person ever to achieve that ranking in the United States. By the rules of the U. S. Chess Federation he could no longer play in amateur tournaments, which was fine by him. Bobby always wanted to play the strongest players possible, seeing it as a way to hone his abilities. And every time he defeated a player with a higher rating, his own rating rose.

In July, four months after the match with Euwe, he traveled to San Francisco to play again in the U.S. Junior Championship, which he won for the second year in a row. For each Junior Championship win he was awarded a typewriter, as well as a trophy and a parchment certificate with his name imprinted. As a result of now owning two two typewriters, he began to teach himself how to touch-type from a typing book, covering the letters with tape to memorize their positions, locating the starting position, and then checking to see if what he typed made any sense. He could quickly locate the keys that he wanted-memory was never a problem with him-but he never learned to build up real speed without first peeking at the keyboard. typewriters, he began to teach himself how to touch-type from a typing book, covering the letters with tape to memorize their positions, locating the starting position, and then checking to see if what he typed made any sense. He could quickly locate the keys that he wanted-memory was never a problem with him-but he never learned to build up real speed without first peeking at the keyboard.

On top all of the prizes he was winning, he defeated grandmaster Samuel Reshevsky at an exhibition at the Manhattan Chess Club, although Bobby later recalled that it was not much of an accomplishment: Reshevsky was blindfolded (and Bobby was not) and they played at ten seconds a move. It was, however, his first grandmaster scalp.

After winning the United States Junior in San Francisco, instead of going back home to Brooklyn and then journeying out again to Cleveland to play in the United States Open, Bobby stayed on the West Coast. That gave him three weeks to relax, play chess, and travel around California. Several other boys from the tournament traveled with him and he visited Los Angeles and Long Beach, where he stayed in the home of chess player/entrepreneur Lina Grumette and swam in her pool. An elegant public relations agent, Grumette conducted a regular chess salon in her home, which players paid to attend. During the 1940s she'd been one of the strongest female players in the United States. When she met Bobby, she took a maternal interest in him, and she became one of his few lifelong friends, ultimately playing an important part in his career.

After their three-week hiatus, the young players borrowed an old automobile from the editor of the California Chess Reporter California Chess Reporter, Guthrie McClain. Since most were too young to have a driver's license, William G. Addison, a twenty-four-year-old who also was going to play in Cleveland, got behind the steering wheel and they headed east to the tournament. The car kept breaking down, and everyone chipped in to have it repaired so that they could keep going. Riding through the hot desert with no air-conditioning led to petty arguments, and a fistfight broke out between Bobby and Gilbert Ramirez (who'd taken second place in the United States Junior). Bobby bit Ramirez on the arm, leaving scars that remain fifty years later. (Ramirez proudly displays them, as if to say, "This is the arm that was bitten by Bobby Fischer.") Eventually, the car broke down entirely and had to be abandoned. The boys arrived in Cleveland by bus on the evening before play began at the U.S. Open.

Before he was to play his first game, Bobby was rated at 2298, making him among the top ten active players in the country. There were 176 players in the two-week, twelve-round tournament. For his first round, Bobby was paired to play white against a Canadian player who'd registered in advance and paid his entry fee but was nowhere in sight. When the tournament began, Bobby made his first move and pressed his clock, which then started counting down against his invisible opponent. After an hour of waiting, the game was declared a forfeit, and Bobby received a gratis point. Curiously, later in the tournament that "free" point almost led to his downfall. In his next five games, Bobby won three and drew two; one of the draws was with twenty-seven-year-old Arthur Bisguier, the defending United States Open Champion and one of the strongest players in the nation.

In the second half of the tournament Bobby won five games straight, and it was certain that he'd be among the prizewinners. But could he win the t.i.tle? Several players in the tournament had come down with the flu-including Bobby's teacher, Jack Collins-and had to forfeit games. Bobby tried to keep himself fit by getting enough sleep, eating healthfully, and staying in his room as much as possible, away from the other players. As it developed, the flu forfeits didn't affect Bobby's pairings or score.

In the final round Bobby had to face Walter Shipman, the man who'd first welcomed him at the Manhattan Chess Club. Shipman had a reputation as a fearsome and stubborn player. The game didn't evolve to Bobby's liking, so he offered Shipman a draw on the eighteenth move. It was quickly accepted. Bobby had a score of 102 and hadn't lost a game. Arthur Bisguier, the highest rated player in the tournament, also finished with a score of 102. Who then was to be the United States Open Champion?

Bobby, Bisguier, and about twenty other players and spectators stood around the tournament director's desk as he applied the tie-breaking system to determine the winner. The ideal way to break a tie is to have a play-off between the two players. However, in American tournaments, where hotel ballrooms are rented and contracted for a specified period and players have made arrangements for flights home, it's necessary to apply a tie-breaking system to determine the winner. There are many such systems used in tournaments, and they're as complicated as abstract mathematical theorems. Few are applied without controversy.

While they were waiting for the results, Bisguier asked Bobby why he'd offered the draw to Shipman when he had a slight advantage and the outcome wasn't certain. If Bobby had won won that game, he would have been the tournament's clear winner, a half point ahead of Bisguier. Bobby replied that he had more to gain than lose by the decision. He'd a.s.sumed that Bisguier would either win or draw his own game, and if so, Bobby would have at least a tie for first place. That meant a payday of $750 for each player, a virtual gold mine for Fischer. Recognizing Bobby's greater need for money than the capture of a t.i.tle, however prestigious, Bisguier noted: "Evidently, his mature judgment is not solely confined to the chessboard." that game, he would have been the tournament's clear winner, a half point ahead of Bisguier. Bobby replied that he had more to gain than lose by the decision. He'd a.s.sumed that Bisguier would either win or draw his own game, and if so, Bobby would have at least a tie for first place. That meant a payday of $750 for each player, a virtual gold mine for Fischer. Recognizing Bobby's greater need for money than the capture of a t.i.tle, however prestigious, Bisguier noted: "Evidently, his mature judgment is not solely confined to the chessboard."

The tournament director continued to make calculations, finally looking up and declaring that Bisguier had won. Bobby, crestfallen, recalled: "I went to the phone booth and called my mother to tell her the bad news. In the booth next to me was Bisguier, phoning his good news to his family." After that, both players returned to the tournament hall to watch the conclusions of the other games.

After two hours had pa.s.sed during which people congratulated Bisguier as the champion, the tournament director announced that he'd made a mistake in the calculations. Under the Median System of tie-breaking, which was to be used in all tournaments conducted by the United States Chess Federation, all of the scores of all of the opponents of the players who are tied are totaled, the top two and the lower two are deleted, and whoever played the highest rated (and therefore more difficult) opponents would be declared the winner. Under this system, Fischer emerged a half point higher than Bisguier. But wait a minute, argued Bisguier: Fischer's first game was won by a forfeit; his opponent didn't show up, so he didn't even play the game! If that game was discounted, he claimed, then he he would be the winner. The counterargument was that the forfeited player in the first round was of such a low rating that it would have been almost statistically impossible for Bobby to have lost the game, and the result would have been discounted anyway. Back to the telephone booths. would be the winner. The counterargument was that the forfeited player in the first round was of such a low rating that it would have been almost statistically impossible for Bobby to have lost the game, and the result would have been discounted anyway. Back to the telephone booths.

This time, Bobby told Regina the good news, admitting that even though he was splitting the prize money with Bisguier, "it was the t.i.tle that really mattered." One wonders, then, why he didn't fight for the win against Shipman and win the t.i.tle outright.

No one as young as Bobby had won the United States Open before, and no one had ever held the United States Junior and Open t.i.tles concurrently.

When Bobby returned to New York, both the Marshall and Manhattan chess clubs conducted victory celebrations, and he was lauded as America's new chess hero. Even Bisguier, not prolonging any resentment, proclaimed Bobby Fischer as the strongest fourteen-year-old chess player who had ever lived.

After a summer of chess, Regina insisted that Bobby devote more attention to his sporting interests. So he swam at the YMCA and began to take tennis lessons, while also playing on the free city-owned courts. He hated going to the free courts, since it took two buses to get to the closest one, and then he'd have to wait sometimes for more than an hour to get a game. Nevertheless, he continued to play into late fall, until the weather became too cold and damp. Mother and son looked into his joining an indoor tennis club for the winter months, but when they discovered there was an initiation fee and a $10-per-hour charge, "it was, of course, ridiculous for us to consider," Bobby lamented.

Returning home from school one afternoon in September, Bobby sorted through his mail. He'd started to receive fan letters and requests for photos, autographs, even some selected game scores to autograph and inscribe-not just from the United States but from different corners of the globe. The letters didn't pour in at the level experienced by Hollywood stars, but hardly a day would go by that several pieces of request mail did not arrive at 560 Lincoln Place. Additionally, Bobby regularly received unsolicited advice from fellow chess players, as well as offers from companies that wanted him to sponsor products. Sporadically, Bobby would select a letter at random and reply with a personal note. To speed up the "fan relations" process, Regina had Bobby's photograph placed in an inexpensive greeting card on which was printed his signature, and she'd mail that out to the various requesters. She also responded to the commercial offers, but for reasons of his own, Bobby showed almost no interest in them, whatever the price offered.

One letter he almost skipped over came in an envelope on which was imprinted the Manhattan Chess Club logo. When he opened it, all he could do was smile: Mr. Robert J. Fischer 560 Lincoln Place Brooklyn, 38, N.Y.New York, September 24, 1956Dear Mr. Fischer:You are hereby invited to partic.i.p.ate in the Lessing J. Rosenwald Tournament for the United States Championship, co-sponsored by the United States Chess Federation and the American Chess Foundation.This tournament will also be the official Zonal Tournament of FIDE in its World's Championship compet.i.tion.The tournament will be held in New York City at the Manhattan Chess Club from December 15, 1957, to January 6, 1958. There will be fourteen partic.i.p.ants. The playing schedule is enclosed herewith.Please advise us at your earliest convenience but not later than October 10, 1957, whether or not you will partic.i.p.ate in this tournament. If we do not receive your acceptance by October 14, 1957, we will a.s.sume that you are declining this invitation.THE TOURNAMENT COMMITTEEM.J. Kasper, ChairmanWalter J. FriedI.A. HorowitzWilliam J. LombardyEdgar T. McCormickWalter J. Shipman As the newly reigning United States Open Champion, and a partic.i.p.ant in the Rosenwald the previous year, Bobby had antic.i.p.ated getting this invitation for the 1957 tournament. What particularly intrigued him, though, was that this tournament would be the qualifying tournament for the Interzonal, which was the beginning of the path to the World Championship. Interzonal tournaments were only held every four years, and this coming year happened to be the the year. He should have been thrilled with the invitation, but he faced a conflict, and thus was forced to puzzle out what to do. year. He should have been thrilled with the invitation, but he faced a conflict, and thus was forced to puzzle out what to do.

The problem was that the Rosenwald overlapped with the great Hastings Christmas Congress in England, the annual international tournament that, over the years, had seen some of the greatest chess legends capture first prize. Bobby had been invited to that tournament and wanted to enter its elite winner's circle. It would be his first real trip abroad, and his first international event, and it would be against some of the world's finest players.

He couldn't decide what to do.

After he had talked the situation over with his mother and his friends at the club, his mind was finally set. Youth believes it has no limits, and shows little patience. In the end Bobby could not tolerate a denial of his destiny. He notified the Rosenwald Committee that he'd accept their invitation to compete for the United States Championship-the prelude, he hoped, to eventually capturing the World Championship as well.

In December, just before play began in the United States Championship, Bisguier predicted that "Bobby Fischer should finish slightly over the center mark in this tournament. He is quite possibly the most gifted of all players in the tournament; still he has had no experience in tournaments of such consistently even strength." Bisguier's crystal-ball divination seemed logical, but of course Bobby had had had experience from the previous year's Rosenwald. And although many other tournaments in which he'd played may not have included the very top players in the country, there were enough that skirted the summit. Throughout 1956 (when Bobby traveled some nine thousand miles to compete in tournaments) and through 1957, he never stopped playing, studying, and a.n.a.lyzing. had experience from the previous year's Rosenwald. And although many other tournaments in which he'd played may not have included the very top players in the country, there were enough that skirted the summit. Throughout 1956 (when Bobby traveled some nine thousand miles to compete in tournaments) and through 1957, he never stopped playing, studying, and a.n.a.lyzing.

It seemed that his strength grew not just from tournament to tournament and match to match, but from day to day. Each game that he played, or a.n.a.lyzed, whether his or others', established a processional of insight. He was always working on the game, his his game, refining it, seeking answers, asking questions, pulling out his threadbare pocket set while in the subway, walking in the street, watching television, or eating in a restaurant, his fingers moving as if they had a mind of their own. game, refining it, seeking answers, asking questions, pulling out his threadbare pocket set while in the subway, walking in the street, watching television, or eating in a restaurant, his fingers moving as if they had a mind of their own.

The New York winter wind began to blow snow flurries through the trees of Central Park as Bobby entered the Manhattan Chess Club for the first round of the United States Championship. Immediately, a buzz of awe pa.s.sed among the spectators, some of whom called out-as if Jack Dempsey had entered the ring-"There's Fischer."

Perhaps Bisguier was right. The field did did seem stronger than the previous year. Players who turned down the invitation in 1956 accepted readily in 1957, as Bobby had, because of the importance of the tournament. Almost all of the fourteen entrants wanted an opportunity to go to the Interzonal, and it was rumored that some had entered to take a crack at Bobby Fischer. It was a chance to play against a growing legend. seem stronger than the previous year. Players who turned down the invitation in 1956 accepted readily in 1957, as Bobby had, because of the importance of the tournament. Almost all of the fourteen entrants wanted an opportunity to go to the Interzonal, and it was rumored that some had entered to take a crack at Bobby Fischer. It was a chance to play against a growing legend.

Bobby walked to his board and silently sneered at the chess timer. It looked like two alarm clocks side by side and had a plunger on its flanks for each player. Bobby disliked the timer because it took up too much room on the table-plus, you had to push the plunger forward to stop your clock and start your opponent's. That took too much time, especially when a player faced time pressure and every second counted. In contrast, the new BHB clocks from Germany featured b.u.t.tons on top, which made them much faster to operate: As one's hand quit the piece, in a swift motion one could hit the b.u.t.ton with one's retracting hand, thereby saving a second or two. There was rhythm that could be established with top-b.u.t.ton clocks, and Fischer had become a connoisseur of that kind of clock. Nevertheless, in the 1957 championship he put up with the old push-plunger clunkers.

Bobby started off with a win against Arthur Feuerstein, defeating the young up-and-comer for the first time. Bobby then drew with Samuel Reshevsky, who was the defending champion, in an extremely intense game-and the fourteen-year-old was on fire after that, at one point ama.s.sing five wins in a row.

Bobby's last-round opponent was the rotund Abe Turner, a perpetual acting student whose great claim to thespian fame was that he'd been a contestant on Groucho Marx's television program, You Bet Your Life You Bet Your Life. Turner, who exhibited an opera bouffe opera bouffe appearance but was a slashing and dangerous player, had beaten Bobby in the previous year's Rosenwald. So Bobby was especially careful when playing him. After only a few minutes, though, Turner, in his high-pitched voice, offered Bobby a draw on the eighteenth move. Bobby accepted and then nonchalantly walked around the club as the other games were still being contested. He'd ama.s.sed 10 points, and just as at the United States Open, he hadn't lost a game. The peach-faced Lombardy, who wasn't in the running for the t.i.tle, was playing the venerated Reshevsky, and the Old Fox stood at 9 points. If Reshevsky defeated Lombardy, he'd equal Bobby's score and they'd be declared co-champions: In this championship there were no tie-breaking systems or play-offs. To while away the time, and perhaps to feign indifference until the deciding game was finished, Bobby began playing speed chess with a few of his chess friends. Occasionally, he'd wander over to the Lombardy-Reshevsky game and scan it for a few seconds. Eventually, after making one of these trips, he declared matter-of-factly, as if there was no room for debate, "Reshevsky's busted." Lombardy was playing the game of his life, steamrolling over Reshevsky's position. When it was entirely hopeless, Reshevsky removed his lighted cigarette from its holder, pursed his lips, and resigned. Bobby came over to the board and said to his friend, "You played tremendously." The twenty-year-old Lombardy smiled and said, "Well, what could I do? You forced me to beat Sammy!" With Reshevsky's loss, fourteen-year-old Bobby Fischer was the United States Chess Champion. appearance but was a slashing and dangerous player, had beaten Bobby in the previous year's Rosenwald. So Bobby was especially careful when playing him. After only a few minutes, though, Turner, in his high-pitched voice, offered Bobby a draw on the eighteenth move. Bobby accepted and then nonchalantly walked around the club as the other games were still being contested. He'd ama.s.sed 10 points, and just as at the United States Open, he hadn't lost a game. The peach-faced Lombardy, who wasn't in the running for the t.i.tle, was playing the venerated Reshevsky, and the Old Fox stood at 9 points. If Reshevsky defeated Lombardy, he'd equal Bobby's score and they'd be declared co-champions: In this championship there were no tie-breaking systems or play-offs. To while away the time, and perhaps to feign indifference until the deciding game was finished, Bobby began playing speed chess with a few of his chess friends. Occasionally, he'd wander over to the Lombardy-Reshevsky game and scan it for a few seconds. Eventually, after making one of these trips, he declared matter-of-factly, as if there was no room for debate, "Reshevsky's busted." Lombardy was playing the game of his life, steamrolling over Reshevsky's position. When it was entirely hopeless, Reshevsky removed his lighted cigarette from its holder, pursed his lips, and resigned. Bobby came over to the board and said to his friend, "You played tremendously." The twenty-year-old Lombardy smiled and said, "Well, what could I do? You forced me to beat Sammy!" With Reshevsky's loss, fourteen-year-old Bobby Fischer was the United States Chess Champion.

4.

The American Wunderkind

THE O ODYSSEY BECAME more than just a routine or a habit. It was a ritual, a quest for chess wisdom. After cla.s.ses during the school year, on Sat.u.r.days, and all throughout the summer when he wasn't playing in tournaments-on the days that he didn't go to the Collins home-Bobby would walk to the Flatbush Avenue subway station and take the train across the East River into Manhattan, exiting at Union Square. He'd stride south on Broadway to Greenwich Village, and make his way to the Four Continents Book Store, an emporium of Russian-language books, music recordings, periodicals, and handmade gifts such as nested more than just a routine or a habit. It was a ritual, a quest for chess wisdom. After cla.s.ses during the school year, on Sat.u.r.days, and all throughout the summer when he wasn't playing in tournaments-on the days that he didn't go to the Collins home-Bobby would walk to the Flatbush Avenue subway station and take the train across the East River into Manhattan, exiting at Union Square. He'd stride south on Broadway to Greenwich Village, and make his way to the Four Continents Book Store, an emporium of Russian-language books, music recordings, periodicals, and handmade gifts such as nested martryoshka martryoshka dolls. It has been confirmed through the Freedom of Information Act that the FBI conducted an investigation and surveillance of the Four Continents from the 1920s to the 1970s, ama.s.sing fifteen thousand reports, photos, and doc.u.ments on whoever entered, exited, or bought from the store, looking for potential Communist sympathizers or Soviet agents. In the 1950s, when Bobby frequented the establishment, the Bureau was particularly active, hoping to supply information to the House Un-American Activities Committee. dolls. It has been confirmed through the Freedom of Information Act that the FBI conducted an investigation and surveillance of the Four Continents from the 1920s to the 1970s, ama.s.sing fifteen thousand reports, photos, and doc.u.ments on whoever entered, exited, or bought from the store, looking for potential Communist sympathizers or Soviet agents. In the 1950s, when Bobby frequented the establishment, the Bureau was particularly active, hoping to supply information to the House Un-American Activities Committee.

The Four Continents stocked a small but potent collection of chess books, as well as the latest copies of Shakhmatny Bulletin Shakhmatny Bulletin, a newly launched Russian-language periodical. This chess magazine contained theoretical articles and reports on the latest games from around the world, mostly games involving players from the Soviet Union. Fischer learned when the new copies would arrive each month, and within a day or two of their appearance he'd be at the Four Continents to purchase the latest edition. To others he proclaimed Shakhmatny Bulletin Shakhmatny Bulletin "the best chess magazine in the world." "the best chess magazine in the world."

He'd play over the magazine's featured games a.s.siduously, following the exploits of eighteen-year-old Boris Spa.s.sky, the chess comet who'd won the World Junior Championship in 1955. He also studied the games of Mark Taimanov, the 1956 champion of the Soviet Union-and a concert pianist-who introduced novelties in opening play that Fischer found instructive. Thumbing through copies of each edition, Bobby made a mental note of which openings being played around the world won more games than others and which seemed too unorthodox. He also noted the games that ignited his interest toward further exploration. The games of the masters that he discovered in Shakhmatny Shakhmatny became his models; later, some of these masters would emerge as his compet.i.tors. became his models; later, some of these masters would emerge as his compet.i.tors.

At the Four Continents, Bobby bought a hardcover Russian-language copy of the Soviet School of Chess Soviet School of Chess for $2. A cla.s.sic of contemporary chess literature, it had been issued as a propagandistic treatise to highlight the "rise of the Soviet school to the summit of world chess [as] a logical result of socialistic cultural development." Even as a teenager, it's likely that Bobby was able to separate the not-so-subtle Soviet attempt at indoctrination from the sheer brilliance of the games and what he learned from them. He was in awe of the acuity and the rapid, intuitive understanding of the Soviet players, inarguably the best in the world at that time. When Bobby was fourteen, he gave an interview to a visiting Russian journalist from for $2. A cla.s.sic of contemporary chess literature, it had been issued as a propagandistic treatise to highlight the "rise of the Soviet school to the summit of world chess [as] a logical result of socialistic cultural development." Even as a teenager, it's likely that Bobby was able to separate the not-so-subtle Soviet attempt at indoctrination from the sheer brilliance of the games and what he learned from them. He was in awe of the acuity and the rapid, intuitive understanding of the Soviet players, inarguably the best in the world at that time. When Bobby was fourteen, he gave an interview to a visiting Russian journalist from Shakhmatny v SSSR (Chess in the Soviet Union) Shakhmatny v SSSR (Chess in the Soviet Union) saying that he wanted to play the best Russian masters, and elaborated: "I watch what your grandmasters do. I know their games. They are sharp, attacking, full of fighting spirit." saying that he wanted to play the best Russian masters, and elaborated: "I watch what your grandmasters do. I know their games. They are sharp, attacking, full of fighting spirit."

Bobby browsed and shopped at the Four Continents for years, and nothing attracted him more than a book he'd heard spoken about in almost reverential whispers: Isaac Lipnitsky's Questions of Modern Chess Theory Questions of Modern Chess Theory. For chess players, the book became an instant cla.s.sic the moment it was published in 1956, and copies were scarce. A chess-playing friend, Karl Burger, ten years older, who went on to become a medical doctor and an international master, first told Bobby about the tome, feeding the boy's imagination about the wisdom it contained. Bobby was eager to read it but had to place a special order through the Four Continents. Only months later did it arrive, poorly printed on cheap paper and filled with typographical errors.

Bobby cared nothing about the book's physical appearance, though. He pored over the pages, as if he were a philosophy student attempting to understand Immanuel Kant's Critique of Pure Reason Critique of Pure Reason. He struggled with the Russian and continually asked his mother to translate some of the prose pa.s.sages that accompanied the annotations of the moves. She didn't mind at all and was, in fact, delighted that he was learning some Russian. For his part, Bobby was astonished at how much insight he absorbed from the book.

Lipnitsky stressed the connection between commanding the center squares of the board and seizing the initiative through the mobilization of the pieces. It's a simple notion, almost rudimentary, but accomplishing this in an actual game can be quite difficult. Lipnitsky didn't just fling concepts at the reader, but rather gave clear and logical examples of how to do what he recommended. In his own games Bobby began employing some of Lipnitsky's suggestions and adopted a plan called the Lipnitsky Attack when playing against the Sicilian Defense. Years later, he'd quote Lipnitsky's precepts in his own writings.

After spending perhaps an hour in the Four Continents in pursuit of the best in current chess literature, Bobby would cross the street to the d.i.c.kensian shop of the phlegmatic Dr. Albrecht Buschke, where he sought an entree into the past. The shop was located deep within the innards of an old office building that, one hundred years earlier, had been the Hotel St. Denis, the place where Paul Morphy, America's unofficial World Champion, had stayed when he played in the First American Chess Congress. For Bobby, the building was a totemic destination since it also contained the offices of the U.S. Chess Federation, housed in what had been the St. Denis's bridal suite.

Buschke's lair was no larger than a small bedroom. It smelled of mold, was redolent of antique paper and bindings, and was permeated with a perennial gray cloud from Buschke's cigar. Used chess books were everywhere, hidden in every conceivable crevice, many stacked from floor to ceiling or on top of chairs, or weighing down and bending the shelves. Some were haphazardly strewn across the floor; none seemed to be in thematic order. If a customer questioned the proprietor about a book's price being too high, he had the perverse habit of saying, "Oh, I'm sorry," erasing the price that had been penciled in, and autocratically adding a new one that was higher!

Bobby pored over Buschke's holdings for hours, looking for that one book, that one magazine, that one luminous game that might lead him to enlightenment. And he bought some books that were many decades old, such as Rudolf von Bilguer's Handbuch Handbuch and Wilhelm Steinitz's and Wilhelm Steinitz's Modern Chess Instructor Modern Chess Instructor. The serendipity of finding a book he hadn't known about was delicious, as was the pleasure of discovering the expected-a book he knew he wanted if only he could find it in Buschke's labyrinth.

Bobby's funds were meager, but the good doctor would often give him a discount price, a policy he shared with absolutely no one else. When Bobby won the U.S. Championship, Buschke gave him a $100 gift certificate, and he took months to select his gift books, picking nothing but the best.

From Buschke's, Bobby would sprint around the corner to the University Place Book Shop, just a p.a.w.n's throw away. The store had a chess collection-at prices lower than Buschke's-combined with a specialization in Caribbean and radical literature. It was at that store that Bobby met a short man named Archie Waters, who wasn't only a chess player but also the World Champion of a variation of draughts called Spanish Pool Checkers, played for money in Harlem and other urban neighborhoods. Waters, a journalist by profession, had written two books on the variation, both of which he presented to Bobby-eventually, he'd teach the boy the intricacies of the game and become a lifelong friend. Bobby obligingly studied Waters's books and other checkers books, but he never entered a tournament. He enjoyed checkers but found it far less of a challenge than chess. The only thing the two games had in common, he said, was the board of light and dark squares.

Within the chess world, Bobby at fourteen was something of a celebrity, and the general media were also finding his anomalous background good copy for their publications: a poor kid from Brooklyn who seemed interested only in chess, carelessly-or certainly, casually-dressed, talking in monosyllables, and beating the most renowned adepts of the day. Each story generated more publicity, and Regina, while conflicted about her son's prospects, tried to help Bobby by capitalizing on the attention. Her oft-quoted statement that she'd tried everything she could to discourage her son from playing chess "but it was hopeless" had been blurted out in an offhand moment in an attempt to deflect the blame she was receiving for not broadening him. The truth is, she knew that Bobby's self-chosen raison d'etre was to become the world's best at chess, and like any mother wanting her child to achieve his dreams, she supported him, ultimately becoming his pro bono press agent, advocate, and manager.

From that point forward, there wasn't a tournament Bobby played in or an exhibition he conducted that wasn't pre-ballyhooed by a press release Regina sent to the media. She also compiled the addresses and telephone numbers of the major radio and television stations, newspapers, and magazines in New York City, and if her press release didn't work in generating coverage, she called, wrote personal letters, or-like a true stage mother-visited the newsrooms to promote her son. I. A. Horowitz, the editor of Chess Review Chess Review, claimed that she was a "pain in the neck" for always appealing to him for more publicity for Bobby. She even tried to get on various radio and television quiz shows herself, hoping to bring home some money for being a successful contestant. She was pre-interviewed for television quiz shows such as Top Dollar Top Dollar and and Lucky Partners Lucky Partners, but despite her high intelligence and erudition she was never chosen.

That Regina was apt to put Bobby's interests above her own and, out of love, signed on to Bobby's dream of chess dominance is hinted in a letter she wrote back when her son had been vacillating between attending the Hastings Christmas Tournament and playing for the U.S. Championship. To Maurice Kasper, president of the American Chess Foundation, she wrote: "I hope Bobby will become a great chess champion some day because he loves chess more than anything else."

During tournaments, either in the United States or abroad, she'd often send Bobby letters, cables, and telegrams of encouragement and advice, such as: "I see you are 1 so far after two rounds, which is terrific. Keep it up but don't wear yourself down at it. Swim, nap."

Eventually, through Regina's persistence, Bobby received an invitation to be a possible contestant on the most popular show on television, The $64,000 Question The $64,000 Question. The idea was that he'd be answering questions about chess. Several other players were also invited to audition for the proposed show, which would present questions that would focus on the history and lore of the game. Fourteen-year-old Bobby showed up at CBS's Television Studio 52, garbed in his characteristic corduroy pants and flannel shirt b.u.t.toned at the collar and displaying an att.i.tude that was one part a.s.surance and one part skepticism.

The way the show worked was that contestants would choose a category, such as movies, opera, baseball, etc., and answer questions that would become exponentially more difficult and ultimately more valuable. The first correct answer was worth $2, then $4, then $8, doubling week after week until the sum of $64,000 was reached, if ever. If a contestant reached the $8,000 plateau and failed to answer that question correctly, he or she was given a new Cadillac as a consolation prize, worth about $5,000 at that time.

The $64,000 Question was so popular that even President Eisenhower watched it every week, telling his staff not to disturb him during its time slot. On the Tuesday nights when the show was broadcast, crime rates fell, and attendance at movie theaters and restaurants dropped. It seemed as if all of America was watching the show, and successful contestants were becoming celebrities in their own right. If chess were chosen as a category for the show, the result could greatly promote the game to the public. The chess fraternity, at least in New York, was all aquiver over the possibility. was so popular that even President Eisenhower watched it every week, telling his staff not to disturb him during its time slot. On the Tuesday nights when the show was broadcast, crime rates fell, and attendance at movie theaters and restaurants dropped. It seemed as if all of America was watching the show, and successful contestants were becoming celebrities in their own right. If chess were chosen as a category for the show, the result could greatly promote the game to the public. The chess fraternity, at least in New York, was all aquiver over the possibility.

Regina Fischer was also atypically giddy about Bobby's prospects, and Bobby, for his part, was excited about using his immense knowledge of the game and the possibility of going all the way, emerging with $64,000 (equivalent to about a half million dollars in today's wealth), thereby solving the family's financial woes.

In the audition, everything went well at first. Bobby correctly answered question after question, until he was asked in what tournaments Yates defeated Alekhine. Bobby thought for a long while, then told his interrogator that it was a trick question, because Yates had never defeated Alekhine.

Surprised because Bobby's answers had been unerringly correct up to that point, the quiz show representative told the boy that Yates had beaten Alekhine in two tournaments: in Hastings in 1922, and in Carlsbad the following year. Bobby was furious, unwilling to admit that he was mistaken.

Yates did defeat Alekhine in those tournaments. Nonetheless, it was not as a result of Bobby's peevishness or slip of the mind that the producers decided against initiating a chess-devoted category segment. The idea died because of the arcane nature of the game. Ultimately, the producers concluded that there just weren't enough people interested in chess to maintain a large enough viewing audience.

Bobby took some of the blame himself. His dreams of wealth quickly slipped away, and he wrote, humbly: "I guess none of us were smart enough to pa.s.s inspection. It made interesting conversation while it lasted, anyway."

Returning home one afternoon from her hospital shift, Regina was approached in front of her apartment house at 560 Lincoln Place by two sun-gla.s.sed men, conservatively dressed. "Mrs. Fischer? Regina Fischer?"

"Yes?" she said.

The men flashed their credentials: They were FBI agents.

"What's this about?"

"May we go inside? We don't like to talk on the street."

"Before I do anything," said Regina, "tell me what you want."

"We just want to ask you some questions."

Regina demurred: "I don't want to answer anything unless I have my lawyer present."