Endgame

by Frank Brady

Wandering into a used bookstore in downtown Los Angeles, Bobby stumbled on a dusty old book called The Protocols of the Elders of Zion. Though he was introduced to the book by happenstance, he was ready for it. A work of fiction, it purported to be the actual master plan by Jewish leaders to take over the world. First published in 1905, the book, at the time Bobby found it, was still believed by some to be an authentic work of nonfiction. Even today those who are predisposed to believe it swear by its accuracy, and over the years its publication has done its share to stoke worldwide anti-Semitism. To fire up hatred toward Jews, the book uses reverse psychology in presenting a damning case against gentiles: “It is the bottomless rascality of the goyim people, who crawl on their bellies to force, but are merciless toward weakness, unsparing to faults, and indulgent to crimes, unwilling to bear the contradictions of a free social system but patient unto martyrdom under the violence of a bold despotism.”

  As Bobby read The Protocols, he thought he saw authenticity in the book’s pages, and their implicit message resonated with him. Soon he began sending copies of the book to friends. To one he wrote: “I carefully studied the Protocols. I think anyone who casually dismisses them as a forgery, hoax, etc., is either kidding themselves, is ignorant of them or else may well be a hypocrite!” At the time, one of the most militant anti-Semites and anti-blacks in the United States, Ben Klassen, had just written his first book, Nature’s Eternal Religion, and Bobby, who wasn’t particularly anti-black, nevertheless connected with Klassen’s theories concerning Jews. “The book shows,” Bobby wrote, “that Christianity itself is just a Jewish hoax and one more Jewish tool for their conquest of the world.” As Regina had proselytized all her life for various causes—always liberal and humanistic ones—so, too, Bobby had become a proselytizer. The pawn did not stray too far from the queen.

  At one point Bobby had both Protocols and Nature’s Eternal Religion mailed to Jack and Ethel Collins, without asking whether they wanted to read them. He gave their address directly to the bookseller and then wrote them a letter of apology for disclosing their address.

  Bobby’s evolving credo was not only anti-Semitic, but as he fell away from the Worldwide Church of God, completely anti-Christian. He discredited both the Old and New Testaments of the Bible, the very book that had been so much a part of his belief system. The idea of God in the form of a man appearing on Earth and then doing a “disappearing act,” as Bobby put it, for two thousand years was both “incredible and illogical.”

  Despite holding what had become strongly antireligious views, Bobby liked to quote from a song written by Les Crane, a radio and television talkshow host. Based on the poem Desiderata, the lyrics conveyed that everyone in the universe has a right to be here. Apparently, Bobby didn’t see the discrepancy between the gentle acceptance espoused by the song and poem, and his growing philosophy of exclusivity, which rejected all people who didn’t believe as he did.

  The Collinses didn’t know what to say to Bobby about his newfound convictions, which on their face seemed contradictory: If everyone has the right to be here, why was Bobby inveighing against Jews? Following the gift of the Klassen book, Fischer sent the Collinses another hate-filled screed, Secret World Government, by Major General Count Cherep-Spiridovich. The count starts off his book by saying that the Jews are Satanists, and it offers the theory that there’s a Jewish conspiracy to take over the world. Bobby followed up with another letter: “Did you like the books I sent you?” Jack Collins never answered, and indeed, it’s possible that neither he nor Ethel ever read the books.

  But Bobby was nothing but complex. Although much of his reading was confined to hate literature, he also embraced other works, such as Dag Hammarskjöld’s piquant book of aphorisms and poetry, Markings; and Eric Hoffer’s The True Believer, which in many ways repudiates Armstrongism and about which Bobby said: “The greatest danger to an authoritarian organization like the Worldwide Church of God is when the authority is relaxed a bit—they ease up on the people a bit. Then the true believers begin to lose their fear. Most people are sheep, and they need the support of others.”

  Nevertheless, despite acknowledging the validity of certain liberal ideas, Bobby seemed to be hardening toward the world and losing sensitivity to people in need. He was also reading Friedrich Nietzsche at this time and was influenced by such books as The Anti-Christ and Thus Spoke Zarathustra. Although the German philosopher possessed great animus toward Christianity (he referred to Jesus as an idiot), he was definitely not anti-Semitic, possibly creating a conflict in Bobby’s beliefs.

  Through telephone conversations and correspondence, Regina began to sense Bobby’s drift toward racial and religious prejudice, and she was driven to write him when he refused to offer financial help to his titular father, Gerhardt Fischer, and Gerhardt’s wife and children who had been briefly imprisoned in South America for their political protests and had just been released. They fled to France. Regina’s words were a not-so-subtle attempt to educate her son:

  I was really shocked when you refused to discuss the matter or do anything … to let somebody go under without the slightest interest in the matter. That is bad for the person who does it, too. It takes longer but that person is destroyed gradually, by his or her own conscience. The greater the person’s mind and talent, the greater the destruction. A stupid, coarse person may not suffer; he does not believe his behavior was not worthy of himself. If you are thinking I am making this up, read Hawthorne’s The Scarlet Letter.… Don’t let millions of people down who regard you as a genius and an example to themselves. It’s no joke to be in your position. But even if you were an unknown, just being a decent person is a job these days. It’s easier to shut your eyes. But that’s what people did in Nazi Germany while people were being tortured and murdered, children gassed to death like vermin. It was more convenient not to want to hear about it or talk about it because then their conscience would have made them do something about it.

  So if you are now going to be mad at me, don’t be. Remember, whatever you do or whatever happens I am still your mother and there is nothing I would refuse you if you wanted or needed it, and nothing would change it.

  Love,

  Mother

  Rumors began to spread that Bobby and his mother were estranged. Though Fischer was alienating some people, such as Jack and Ethel Collins, who’d been virtual grandparents to him, he did remain close to his mother, as their ongoing correspondence at the time indicates. As the saying goes, they could agree to disagree.

  Bobby’s life during this period was not all theological, political, or philosophical, however. There were also legal battles to wage.

  The old adage “Talk is cheap until you hire a lawyer” didn’t apply to Bobby since he had two high-profile lawyers working for him pro bono. Still clinging to the material support of the Church, despite his grumbling about it, Bobby was using Stanley Rader as his “on-site” attorney in California for present and future deals and Paul Marshall in New York for any business left over that concerned the Icelandic match. Three issues emerged, all in 1973, concerning publications and film rights. One was a sixty-four-page booklet, 1972 World Chess Championship, Boris Spassky vs. Bobby Fischer: Icelandic Chess Federation Official Commemorative Program, which presented the games with notes written by Gligoric. It also gave a history of the match—before, during, and after—and was not particularly flattering to Bobby. Both Rader and Marshall considered a lawsuit since Bobby hadn’t given permission for the booklet, since his name on the cover falsely implied that he’d had a role in its creation; and since neither he nor Spassky were to receive any remuneration for its publication. Marshall wrote a cease and desist letter to the prime minister of Iceland and to the president of the Icelandic Chess Federation, but it’s not known how many copies of the booklets were sold from bookstores in the United States before it was withdrawn from sale.

  It was then announced that a book entitled Bobby Fischer vs. the Rest of the World was to be published in 1974, written by B
rad Darrach, the Life magazine writer who’d covered the match and was given exclusive access to Bobby. Marshall investigated a possible injunction to stop publication of the work since according to Bobby, Darrach had allegedly violated his contract: Supposedly, he’d agreed to write only articles about Bobby, not a book. Gaining such an injunction through what is called “prior restraint” was almost impossible in the courts, however, and Marshall advised Bobby to wait until the book was published. Then, if there were any other violations by Darrach, such as libel or invasion of privacy, a stronger suit could be brought. Marshall, after all, was well aware of Darrach’s reputation for revealing the most intimate details of the lives of his subjects. Bobby ultimately did go to court but lost, the judge throwing the case out because it was so poorly presented and without sufficient evidence.

  The third legal problem was that Bobby was being sued by Chester Fox because he’d interfered with the filming of the Icelandic match. Although Bobby had received numerous requests to give a deposition, he continued to refuse, so the case was dragging on.

  While he was waiting to see how these entanglements would work out, Bobby began to prepare for his defense of the World Championship, almost a year away.

  Anatoly Karpov, a pale, short, slight twenty-three-year-old economics student from Leningrad University, who always looked as though he could use a haircut, seemed an unlikely contender for the title against Bobby Fischer, the thirty-two-year-old ex-wunderkind from Brooklyn, the World Champion with the physique of an athlete and the confidence of a king. But Karpov had qualified to play Bobby by winning his three Candidates matches, during which he’d played forty-six grueling games and only lost three. Contrasted with Bobby at the same age, he was further along in his chess ability by several years, and many chess players—not only Soviets—were saying that he could be even greater than Bobby as he matured. Bobby’s former nemesis Botvinnik had become Karpov’s teacher.

  Hoping the match would be another Reykjavik—in explosive media attention if not financial outcome—cities around the world submitted bids to host the competition. Topping them all was Manila, which came up with a staggering $5 million offer—a sum that, were the match to happen, would make it one of the most lucrative sporting events (if, indeed, chess is a sport) ever. There was only one problem: Bobby Fischer.

  He petitioned FIDE for a rules change that would scrap the old Reykjavikstyle method of determining the winner of a twenty-four-game match. The old method dictated that in the event all the games were played and there was a tie, the reigning champion would retain the title. Bobby proposed a new approach whereby a match would consist of an unlimited number of games, and the first player who scored ten wins would be named the winner. Draws wouldn’t count, and in case of a 9–9 tie, the reigning champion would retain his title.

  FIDE agreed to the ten-game-win idea but voted against the 9–9 rule. Also, instead of approving the idea of an unlimited number of games, it narrowed the number to thirty-six—which struck Bobby as an outrageously small number if draws weren’t going to count. This was hardly a compromise. Bobby claimed that his system would actually reduce the number of draws, that it would produce games in which the players would take more chances, trying to achieve wins rather than half points.

  Fischer cabled the FIDE Extraordinary Council in the Netherlands that his match condition proposals were “non-negotiable.” He also pointed out in Chess Life & Review that his demands weren’t unprecedented and had been used in many great championship matches: “Steinitz, Tchigorin, Lasker (too), Gunsberg, Zukertort … all played under the ten-win system (and some matches with the 9–9 clause). The whole idea is to make the players draw blood and give the spectators their money’s worth.”

  Colonel Edmund B. Edmondson, the executive director of the U.S. Chess Federation, attempted in vain to get FIDE to change its vote, or get Bobby to change his mind. The story of the machinations employed to enable the Fischer-Karpov World Championship match to take place are enough to fill a separate book—and have!—but the details are hardly dramatic in retrospect.

  Fischer continued his intransigence: FIDE must change the rules to meet his demands or he simply wouldn’t play. He began making God-like pronouncements about the match to his friends: “I will punish them and not play,” as if retribution was his sovereign right to dispense. The deadline for moving ahead or abandoning the match was looming, and then it came … and went, with no further word from the champion. FIDE gave Bobby one more day to change his mind. Euwe finally cabled him:

  YOUR PROFESSIONALISM, COMPETITIVE SPIRIT, AND OUTSTANDING SKILL HAVE THRILLED ALL DURING THE YEAR YOU FOUGHT TO ATTAIN THE WORLD CHAMPIONSHIP. FIDE GENERAL ASSEMBLY ASKS THAT YOU RECONSIDER POSSIBLITY OF DEFENDING TITLE.

  When Bobby didn’t answer and the press interviewed Euwe about it, he issued an apt reply: “At the moment we are in a complete stalemate.” Bobby was about to checkmate himself, however.

  The next day he sent the following cable (in part) to Euwe:

  FIDE HAS DECIDED AGAINST MY PARTICIPATION IN THE 1975 WORLD CHESS CHAMPIONSHIP. THEREFORE, I RESIGN MY FIDE WORLD CHESS CHAMPIONSHIP TITLE. SINCERELY, BOBBY FISCHER.

  His echo of resolve was heard around the world.

  The New York Times ran a story by international grandmaster Robert Byrne, “Bobby Fischer’s Fear of Failing,” which opined that Bobby’s fears had always kept him out of certain tournaments because he thought if he lost a game or two at the beginning of an event, he was practically eliminated as a prizewinner. The main fear of every top notch chess player, the story went on, “is the inexplicable error from which no one is immune,” the chance blunder. Even Paul Marshall, Bobby’s lawyer, addressed Bobby’s “dread”: “Bobby fears the unknown, whatever lies beyond his control. He tries to eliminate any element of chance from his life and his chess.” What everyone seemed to overlook was that at the board Bobby feared no one. He did show nervousness before a game, as certain great actors show stage fright before a demanding performance, but this state of anxiety shouldn’t be confused with fear. This anxiety was the mother of Bobby’s foresight, it kept him on edge and gave him an advantage. Ultimately, it was his supreme confidence in himself that made him a great player.

  A psychoanalyst, M. Barrie Richmond, M.D., wrote a dissertation titled “The Meaning of Bobby Fischer’s Decision” that took issue with Robert Byrne and held that Fischer should be thought of as a profound artist, a phenomenon on the order of a Picasso. Richmond maintained that Bobby’s failure to defend his title bespoke a responsibility he felt to himself as the World Champion: His attempt to shape, create, and alter his own universe of rules addressed that burden and had nothing to do with fear.

  Without moving a pawn, on April 3, 1975, Anatoly Karpov was declared the twelfth World Champion by Dr. Max Euwe, president of FIDE. And on that day, Bobby Fischer became the first-ever champion to willingly relinquish the title and along with it the chance to compete for the winner’s share of a $5 million purse … five million dollars! It was the largest refusal of a prize fund in sports history. The winner would have received $3.5 million, and the loser would have walked away with $1.5 million, guaranteed. It was all declined, and over a mere rules dispute.

  “I had no idea why Fischer refused to defend his title,” Karpov later said, somewhat coldly. Although he was champion, he was without a convincing portfolio, his right to wear the crown left in doubt by Bobby’s shadow. He was also bereft of the millions of dollars he would have received had the two men played. He huffed: “It is an unprecedented instance in chess history.”

  Just to get away from it all—the World Championship imbroglio and the constant stalking of him by reporters and photographers—Bobby took a two-month cruise by himself around the world. His boat trips in the past—to and from Europe, and from the Philippines to the United States via Hong Kong—had been thoroughly relaxing: no telephone contact, no mail, no people bothering him, and magnificent meals served all day long. It was heaven. Now that he’d grown
a beard, most people didn’t recognize him, and he recaptured the peace and incognito of his earlier trips. It eased him into a placid mood, at least for the trip’s duration. He was still prone to ruminate on race and religion, however, and at one point he wrote to Ethel Collins that he liked Indonesia, where he stayed on a farm for a few days while the boat docked at Bali. Noting that most of the people were Muslims, Bobby seemed pleased that they’d retained their “cultural purity.” At New Delhi, he bought for $15 a peg-in travel chess set with a beautifully detailed design that was made of fragrant sandalwood—but he felt guilty about paying so little for it. He realized that the artisan who carved it probably received only a fraction of the sale price for his labor.

  Bobby was content in his basement apartment on Mockingbird Lane in South Pasadena, a small, quiet place out of sight from the world, and he lived there for several years. His friends from the Church, Arthur and Claudia Mokarow, owned the house, and Claudia became a kind of buffer for Bobby, answering queries, shooing away reporters, and serving as his majordomo and resident Gorgon, even to the point of considering offers (and rejecting them) without even discussing them with Bobby.

  Bobby’s support came from unexpected sources. New York City’s mayor Edward I. Koch wrote him a letter trying to convince him to come back to the chessboard. “Your extraordinary skill and genius at the most difficult of games is a source of pride to me and to all who stand in the light of your remarkable accomplishments.”

  Often, photographers or reporters staked out the front of the house, attempting to get Bobby’s photograph or interview him. He once said that the only thing he feared was a journalist, and slipping in and out of the house without being confronted by the press took the ingenuity of a Houdini and the dexterity of a gymnast. Sometimes it sent Bobby into a panic.

  If a friend wanted to reach him, he or she would call Claudia first, and she’d run downstairs and either give Bobby the message or leave it for him, and then Bobby would call back if he so chose. Bobby never accepted calls directly unless he’d initiated them. Claudia would also drive him to and from certain out-of-the-way Los Angeles destinations; otherwise he was quite adept at traveling by bus to wherever he wanted to go. He became a man of routine: up and out by four p.m., and into Los Angeles or downtown Pasadena for his first meal of the day, followed by his hunt through the bookstores, searching, searching, searching. He loved Indian and Chinese food and consumed what seemed like barrelsful of salads whenever they were available.