Endgame

by Frank Brady

  Fischer has done more, however, than simply win the world title he has so long, even obsessively, considered his right. He has transformed the image and status of chess in the minds of millions, suddenly multiplying manifold both the audience for chess as a sport and the number of people actually playing the game.… From a wider perspective, the Fischer-Spassky match has a unique political importance.… The result was an atmosphere that, for all its tenseness, contributed to improving the broader ambience of Soviet-American relations.

  Fischer, the Cold War hero, traveled to New Jersey and became the temporary houseguest of his lawyer Paul Marshall. So besieged was Bobby by the media that for a while Marshall had to have a bodyguard stationed in front of his palatial home to keep the press hordes at bay.

  11

  The Wilderness Years

  BOBBY FISCHER’S LONG, almost monastic pursuit of the World Championship, although not totally chaste, gave him little time to connect with women. “I want to meet girls,” Bobby said when he moved back to Los Angeles in 1973. “Vivacious girls with big breasts.” He was twenty-nine years old, and though there’d been a few brief liaisons, at no time had he experienced a meaningful romantic relationship. Now, with his earnings from Reykjavik and a new place to live—an apartment provided for him at a modest rental fee of $200 per month by the Worldwide Church of God—he felt that he was starting a new life. He wanted to read more—not just chess journals—acquire more money, continue his religious studies, and possibly meet someone with whom he could fall in love. What it all added up to was an intense need to recharge his emotional and spiritual life.

  Not all was altruism and ebullience, however; certain realities still cast a pall. His alienation from the press caused ongoing problems. He’d suffered a series of fractured relationships with chess organizers in the United States (he was no longer speaking to Edmondson, the executive director of the U.S. Chess Federation) and looming in the near future were the Soviets, with what he foresaw would be a resumption of their underhanded ways of competing.

  After Bobby’s period of post-Reykjavik idleness had stretched to about a year, he decided that his first priority should be accumulating more money, always on his terms. So, working with Stanley Rader, the chief counsel for the Worldwide Church, he called a press conference in August of 1973 to publicly discuss his plans.

  Rader was a lawyer and Armstrong’s closest advisor. As chief counsel, he was becoming rich through his work with the Church, and Bobby was impressed with Rader’s trappings: his Ferrari, his chauffeur-driven limousine, his palatial mansion in Beverly Hills, and his use of a private jet. Rader was in charge of the $70-million-a-year windfall that the Church was bringing in, mostly from tithing its members. Bobby himself had given the Church more than $60,000 from his Icelandic winnings, and ultimately his tithe would be close to $100,000.

  For the press conference, dozens of journalists and photographers assembled in Rader’s soaring living room. Aside from two television appearances right after Reykjavik, it had been almost twelve months since Bobby had made any statements or, for that matter, been seen in public. The words “secluded” and “recluse” had begun straying into newspaper stories about him. Hardly days after his win in Iceland, an article in The New York Times headlined NEW CHAMPION STILL MYSTERY MAN speculated as to whether he’d ever play again. The Associated Press took the same tack, publishing a story entitled BOBBY FISCHER TURNS DOWN FAME, FORTUNE; GOES INTO SECLUSION. It was an odd slant, since at that point Bobby had no intention of isolating himself or turning down money; he was just tending to personal matters that he’d neglected for years. Also, up to that time chess champions would traditionally defend their title only every three years. Although the public wanted to see Bobby back at the board, his absence from chess for less than a year was not an aberration.

  Rader did most of the talking at the press conference, and he was good at it, having graduated first in his class at the University of California Law School. Bobby, dressed conservatively, stood somewhat nervously at his side. Throughout the event, photographers took photos, and Bobby looked annoyed every time a flashbulb popped. Rader said, in a voice that was both sonorous and emphatic, that Fischer would like to announce that he will soon be back at the 64 squares and 32 pieces again … quite soon. “We are making arrangements for a series of simultaneous exhibitions and matches for early next year. We are also considering an exhibition match where Bobby would play the entire Dutch Olympic team simultaneously.” A reporter shot out a question: “What about a re-match for the championship?” Rader and Bobby exchanged a flicker of a glance, and the lawyer responded: “That is a possibility.” The reporter came back with an immediate follow-up: “Would that match be under the authority of the World Chess Federation?” Rader didn’t hesitate: “That would not be likely but it is under discussion.” Rader also mentioned that a tour of both Russia and South America was being talked about.

  The reporters wanted a go at Fischer: “What have you been doing for the last year?” was one of the first questions. Bobby drawled out his response: “Well, uh, I’ve been reading, working out, playing over some games, that sort of thing.” A few other general questions were tossed out, and Bobby answered them succinctly and with aplomb, until someone asked whether he was living in an apartment subsidized by the Church. “That’s personal,” he said. “I don’t want to answer any more personal questions.” A reporter asked him about a supposed offer of $1 million for a match against Spassky in Las Vegas. Rader jumped in with the answer: “To begin with, the Las Vegas offer was not a firm $1 million offer. They said the offer was for a million but it would have turned out less, and Bobby didn’t want to agree with anything less than a firm $1 million.”

  Rader pointed out that aside from any non-sanctioned matches, the official match for the World Championship would be in 1975, and it would consist of Bobby against whoever qualified through the Candidates system. “When he defends his title in 1975,” Rader added, “he’ll be much better able to capitalize financially.”

  And then the conference was over. “That’s all gentlemen. Thank you,” said Rader, and he and Bobby scurried away. The reporters looked at one another, incredulous at the abrupt termination. As a result of the non-event event, the resulting press coverage was practically nil.

  Rader had reason to be helpful to Bobby. If Bobby could make millions, and if he continued tithing large amounts to the Church, he could emerge as one of the Church’s biggest benefactors. Also, the more publicity Bobby received, the more publicity the Church would receive. Before anything was completed, however, complications set in.

  Attractive financial offers kept tumbling Bobby’s way—almost pouring over him—but nothing was to his satisfaction:

  Warner Bros. offered him a million dollars to make a series of phonograph records on how to play chess, but Bobby wanted to voice the series himself. Scripts written by Larry Evans were translated into several languages and rendered phonetically to make it easier for Bobby to read. Unfortunately, when he voiced one of the scripts for a pilot recording, he didn’t like the sound of his own voice, and he wouldn’t approve a professional announcer as a substitute. Ultimately, he rejected the whole project.

  An entrepreneur, hearing of the $1 million offer from the Hilton Corporation in Las Vegas for a Fischer-Spassky match, offered to raise the amount of the prize fund to $1.5 million if the two men played in his home state of Texas. Nothing came of it.

  A publishing company offered Bobby a “small fortune,” according to press reports, to write a book on his title match. He refused.

  A television producer wanted him to make a series of chess films that could be marketed throughout the world. No agreement could be reached.

  Bobby was offered $75,000 plus residual royalties plus a new car simply to say in a commercial that he drove only that car, which would have been true since it would have been the only car he owned. He declined.

  The most fabulous offer came to Fischer in 1974, right after
the Muhammad Ali–George Foreman fight (known as “The Rumble in the Jungle”) in Zaire. The Zaire government offered Bobby $5 million to play Anatoly Karpov in their country in what would have been a month-long championship chess match. “Too short,” said Bobby. “How dare they offer me five million dollars for a month-long match? Ali received twice that much for one night!” (He didn’t.) It was after that match that Ali began calling himself “The Greatest,” and Bobby took issue with that, too. “Ali stole that from me,” said Bobby. “I used ‘The Greatest’ for myself on television before he ever used it.”

  Bobby did accept one offer, but not for millions—rather, for $20,000. He was invited to be the guest of honor at the First Philippine International Chess Tournament in 1973, and in addition to the honorarium mentioned above, all of his expenses were paid. He stayed at the Tropical Palace resort on the outskirts of Manila for a month. At the tournament he made the ceremonial first move and played a mock game with President Marcos—one that ended in a mock draw after eight moves.

  Journalists asked Fischer why he’d accepted the offer to come to the Philippines on his first “official” visit when he’d turned down similar offers from other countries. “I was there in 1967,” he said. “I was not yet World Champion but they treated me like a world champion.” According to Casto Abundo, a chess player who described himself as Bobby’s “Young Man Friday” during his 1973 stay, Bobby studied chess every night, already preparing himself to face whoever emerged as the winner of the Candidates match. After finishing his studying, he often took long walks at three in the morning and didn’t fall asleep till four. Film footage from the visit shows Bobby at the apex of his life. Wearing the traditional crisp white barong shirt and often sporting a lei of flowers, he looked fit and handsome and was always smiling. The Filipinos loved him; Marcos entertained him at the palace and on his yacht; Marcos’s wife, Imelda, dined with him at lunch; young ladies gathered around him constantly, as if he were a movie star. On a Bangkok stopover en route to Manila, he’d bought a number of Thai music cassettes, which he played over and over again at night while he was going over games. By the time he sailed back to the United States, his fondness for the Filipino people had intensified.

  Paul Marshall, Bobby’s lawyer during the Fischer-Spassky match negotiations, has said that by the time Bobby came back from Iceland he’d received offers that could have totaled up to $10 million—but he turned down all of them. Bobby’s interest in making money was undeniable, so theories abounded as to why he acted contrary to his own financial interests. One friend chalked it up to Bobby’s winner-take-all mentality, saying, “If someone offers him a million dollars, he thinks there is a lot more available, and he wants it all.” Grandmaster Larry Evans preferred a more neutral explanation: “I think he feels that lending his name to something is beneath his dignity.” International master George Koltanowski conjectured that Bobby just didn’t trust people and didn’t want to be cheated: “There’s a word for it in German: Verfolgungswahnsinn,” he said. “It means ‘persecution mania.’ ” But perhaps the best explanation of why Bobby cast aside all financial offers came from Bobby himself: “People are trying to exploit me. Nobody is going to make a nickel off of me!” Nor, as it developed, would he make a dime off of them—in the short term, at least.

  As all of these financial shenanigans were happening—offers, discussions, negotiations, acceptances, and then rejections—Bobby was going his own way but under the influence and guidance of the Church. Church officials set him up with young, amply endowed women—all Church members—but since no physical intimacy was permitted, Bobby soon grew disillusioned. After dates with eight different “candidates,” each of whom adhered to the same sexless script, he abandoned Church relationships as the avenue to an amorous life.

  His connection to the Church was always somewhat ambiguous. He was not a registered member, since he hadn’t agreed to be baptized by full immersion in water by Armstrong or one of his ministers. And since he wasn’t considered a duly recognized convert, he was sometimes referred to as a “coworker” or, less politely, as a “fringer”—someone on the fringes or edges of the Church but not totally committed to its mission. The Church imposed a number of rules that Bobby thought were ridiculous and refused to adhere to, such as a ban on listening to hard rock or soul music (even though he preferred rhythm and blues) and prohibitions against seeing movies not rated G or PG, dating or fraternizing with non–Church members, and having premarital sex.

  Ironically, despite Bobby’s unwillingness to follow principles espoused by the Church, his life still revolved around it. He sat in on a demanding Bible course, even though it was open only to members (the Church made an exception for him); he discussed personal and financial matters with both Rader and Armstrong; and he prayed at least an hour a day, in addition to spending time on a careful study of Church teachings. On a visit back to New York, while driving around Manhattan with his friend Bernard Zuckerman, Bobby made a reference to Satan. Zuckerman, ever sarcastic, said, “Satan? Why don’t you introduce me?” Bobby was appalled. “What? Don’t you believe in Satan?”

  As he continued to tithe more and more money to the Church, he enjoyed perks only available to high-ranking members, such as occasional use of a private jet and a chauffeur-driven limousine; invitations to exclusive events such as parties, concerts, and dinners; and a continuous parade of bright and pretty women whom he couldn’t touch. He was also given access to the Church’s personal trainer, Harry Sneider, a former weight-lifting champion who took a special interest in Bobby. Sneider trained Bobby in swimming, weight lifting, tennis, and soccer, and they became friends.

  With the same diligence he’d brought to the task of soaking up chess knowledge, Bobby around this time started a relentless search for general knowledge. The library at the Worldwide Church’s Ambassador College, to which he had access, was highly limited. It contained books on religion and theology, but he wanted other points of view and to explore other topics, and he never set foot back in the library after he heard it was sprayed with insecticide for termites.

  Botvinnik may have been right when he suggested that Bobby suffered from a lack of culture and a thinness of education. But he was determined to catch up. He started by going to bookstores in Pasadena, and when he’d depleted their shelves, he took the bus into downtown Los Angeles and scoured the shelves of every bookstore he could find. He became a voracious reader.

  There have been many theories offered over the years as to why Fischer eventually turned against Jews, including speculation that Bobby’s rhetoric was triggered by distaste he felt as a child for his mother’s Jewish friends; that he was antagonistic toward officials of the American Chess Foundation, most of whom were Jewish; that he was ultimately disillusioned with Stanley Rader, who was Jewish but had converted to the Worldwide Church of God; that he was somehow influenced by Forry Laucks’s Nazism; and that he was propelled by ideas he’d read in some of the literature that fell into his hands during the time he lived in California. Perhaps all of those factors contributed.

  David Mamet, the Pulitzer Prize–winning writer, described the prototypical self-hating Jew in his book The Wicked Son, and his description, although arguable, could conceivably be applied to Bobby: “The Jew-hater begins with a proposition that glorifies and comforts him, that there exists a force of evil that he has, to his credit, discovered and bravely proclaimed. In opposing it he is self-glorified. One triumphs over evil, thus becoming a god, at no cost other than recognition of his own divinity. Ignorant of the practices of his own tribe, he (the apostate) gravitates toward those he considers Other … thinking, as does the adolescent, that they possess some special merit. But these new groups are attractive to the apostate merely because they are foreign.”

  In at least one significant case, Bobby woke up to the fact that the Other was less appealing than he’d first thought. More and more he was becoming alienated from the Worldwide Church of God. Herbert W. Armstrong had made prophecies th
at there would be a worldwide catastrophe and that the Messiah would return in 1972. As 1973 wound down, Bobby didn’t need much convincing to have an epiphany about the evils of the Church. In an interview that he gave to the Ambassador Report (an irreverent and controversial publication that criticized the Church) he said: “The real proof for me were those [false] prophecies … that show to me that he [Armstrong] is an outright huckster.… I thought, ‘This doesn’t seem right. I gave all my money. Everybody has been telling me this [that 1972 would be the date that the Worldwide Church of God would flee to a place of safety] for years. And now he’s half-denying he ever said it, when I remember him saying it a hundred times.’ … If you talk about fulfillment of prophecy, he [Armstrong] is a fulfillment of Elmer Gantry. If Elmer Gantry was the Elijah, Armstrong’s the ‘Christ’ of religious hucksters. There is no way he could truly be God’s prophet. Either God is a masochist and likes to be made a fool of, or else Herbert Armstrong is a false prophet.”

  Before he knew it, Bobby’s winnings from Reykjavik were beginning to diminish, and yet he saw that Rader and Armstrong were flying all over the world, entertaining lavishly, and proffering gifts to world leaders. “The whole thing is so sick,” said Bobby.