Bobby Fischer died recently in Reykjavik, Iceland, after a long illness. He was 64. His later years were marked by his reclusiveness, and his anti-American and anti-Semitic rants. His biographer, Frank Brady, described Fischer as the "pride and the sorrow of American chess", and that seems to capture him in a line. When he was on, he was brilliant, maybe the best ever. When he was 13 years old, he played a game against Donald Byrne in a tournament in 1956. That game became known as the "Game of the Century", and it is recognized today as one of the greatest games ever played. Fisher made a play with his knight on move 14 that Reuben Fine gave three exclamation points in his review, and sacrificed his Queen on the 17th move (Fine gave that move 4 exclamation points, Flohr gave it 3). That victory put Fischer on the chess map and destined him for greatness.
I remember how excited I was when Fischer played for the world championship in 1972. Bobby was a solitary figure, the lone American competing against the powerful and entrenched Soviet chess machine. I purchased a world championship program and followed all the games throughout the match. Distressingly, much of Fischer's conduct was more akin to a professional wrestling match than it was to championship chess. Fischer prevailed, however, and he beat Boris Spassky for the title. Chess aficionados around the country now eagerly awaited the new flowering of American chess. We were sure that Fischer would be a great ambassador for the game, that he would travel and give simultaneous exhibitions and take on all comers. Instead of ushering in a new era, he retreated from chess and the public view. The flower wilted, and the new appreciation for chess in America that Fischer had been so instrumental in establishing wilted as well. In the years following that match, I played chess in the local chess clubs, and I competed in tournaments at the local community college. But I, too, drifted away from the game.
Bobby Fischer was not the first American chess genius who failed to reach his true potential. There was the great Paul Morphy, who died at 47 after having abandoned chess. Morphy declared he would play anyone in the world and that he would give odds of a pawn and a move. With no challengers forthcoming, he retired from chess. Harry Nelson Pillsbury, at the age of 22, placed first in one of the strongest chess tournaments ever held, the Hastings Tournament of 1895. He went from unknown to a star in the chess firmament overnight. Pillsbury had an incredible mind, he could play chess, checkers and whist at the same time while blindfolded (without sight of boards or cards), playing everything in his mind as the moves were told to him. It was Pillsbury who put the Queen’s Gambit Declined opening in the grandmaster toolbox. Sadly, Pillsbury's health was never robust, and he succumbed to syphilis and died at the age of 33. Now it was Bobby's turn, and he slowly and inexorably slid further into darkness to join the ranks of the unfulfilled American genius.
Occasionally, over the years, Fischer's name would appear in the news, but never in a positive manner. He railed against Jews and America, and showed the world that he was losing his attachment with humanity in general. In 2001, he praised the September 11th terrorist attacks against the United States. Garry Kasparov, the great Russian grandmaster, said Fischer had become, "a prisoner of chess who got lost in its depths and could not find his bearings in the real world outside." The organizer of the 1972 championship match noted in 2005 that Fischer occupied, "a gray area between a genius and someone who is insane."
But when he was young, he was a force to be reckoned with, and he stood up for what he believed. Fischer's great legacy, other than the collection of his finest games, might be the way international tournaments are conducted today. For years, he complained bitterly that the Russians played for meaningless draws amongst themselves, and played all-out against non-Soviets. In this way, Russia orchestrated who would hold the title of world champion. Rules governing drawn games and the conduct of matches were slowly instituted by FIDE, the governing body of chess.
Whatever he was, he is now gone. He was a boor and a lout, but there was a brief period when the candle that was Fischer shone brighter than all the others combined. Harold Schonberg, in his 1973 work 'Grandmasters of Chess', characterized the importance of Fischer this way. "It was Bobby Fischer who had, single-handedly, made the world recognize that chess on its highest level was as competitive as football, as thrilling as a duel to the death, as aesthetically satisfying as a fine work of art, as intellectually demanding as any form of human activity. If for no other reason, Bobby Fischer was and would be the greatest chess champion who ever lived."
The light that was the genius of Fischer is now extinguished; gone with it are the pain and torment that were part of the man as well. Today, I remember the young man, full of promise and greatness, who stood alone against the Russians, without an Army of seconds and advisors to assist him, and knocked the chess world on its ear.
Sleep well, young prince. Be at peace.
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