ACasper Star-Tribune, Casper, Wyoming, Friday, May 29, 1959 - Page 11
Bobby Fischer at Work: He speaks only chess.
16-Year-Old Chess Champ Is Typical Teenage Type
By Ward Cannel
NEA Staff Correspondent
New York (NEA)— Despite warnings from writers, photographers, publicists, TV personnel, editors, publishers, tourists and just plain folks who said it couldn't be done, I have successfully seen and talked to Bobby Fischer.
And so I can report that Bobby is a typical American 16-year-old kid with typical teen-aged needs and typical porridge crumbs on his typical sweater. It is only by Providence that he happens to be the U.S. Chess Champion, and the youngest International Grandmaster of chess of all time.
Well, you can imagine what it is to be a teen-ager, when life's uncertainties begin to loom over you, and find yourself matching strategy against men two and three times your age — and beating them at it.
In the first place, it's a terrible strain on a typical gangling kid. One false move and you can knock all those little chess pieces on the floor.
And in the second place, it's an unfair attack on your sense of security, having all those full-grown players trying to outwit you.
It's the kind of thing that turns other, weaker kids into hostile delinquents or juvenile rebels. And Bobby would be the first to admit it. But unfortunately, he speaks only chess.
Unhappily, most recent efforts to reassure him have bogged down.
The U.S. State Department, for example, offered to send him to the Paris Exposition last year. But he turned them down with a flimsy excuse that there wasn't enough money in it for him.
South America has tried, too. And while they actually got him down there, it was all they could do to keep him feeling secure and not afraid that he would be done out of his prize money.
On his return, one of New York's most venerable chess clubs held a reception for him. But even they had missed the combination to his secret heart. he did not show up.
So, it has been left up to the newsmen and photographers to break through the boy's insecurity and tell him that he can trust in America because we care.
At one time or another, almost everybody has tried. But invariably, the formula has been wrong. And it would stagger your mind to total up the number of newsman-hours lost over chess games with people guaranteed to be “Bobby's best friend: they see each other every afternoon.”
“But who knows?” a magazine reporter shrugged at me. “You may be the lucky one. I came pretty close myself. I had an appointment to meet him at a big resort where he had been invited free of charge because he was a champion.
“He had left long before I got there, of course. But I did have the good luck to be allowed to take his suitcases back to the city with me.”
Well, what nobody knew was: There is a secret ritual you have to go through before you can see Bobby. It works this way:
You make an appointment with him through Simon and Schuster, the publishers of Bobby's “Games of Chess.” You arrive at the appointment time, and 45 minutes later an editor comes in and sets up a chess board.
“This one has a very interesting middle game,” the editor says, beginning to play chess with himself. “Bobby would find this one quite challenging.”
The editor, who admits readily he will never be as good at chess as Bobby, soon gets into real jeopardy with himself. But just at the crucial moment—85 minutes late—the young champion gangles into the room, assays the game, and wins handily.
Away from the chessboard, Bobby is quite liberal and does not care that you are there, or who you are, or what you want. But you can tell that deep down he is in desperate need of reassurance—15 or 20 lashes of it.
