|
||||||||||||
|
|
||||||||||||
|
Online Chess
The Net's
Place Your Ad Advertise to Single insert:
The Mall
|
Silent KnightBy Rick Kennedy (This article first appeared in Deaf Life, June 1990) “I find Russ a very charming person,” my friend’s letter reassured me, “and easily approachable. He will be happy to sit down at a table anytime if one challenges him with a chess game, no matter the strength…” Standing in the drizzle outside a warmly inviting brick house in Silver Spring, Maryland, I had come to challenge Russell Chauvenet, the best Deaf chess player in America. A deaf chess player? “Why not?” writes Emil Ladner, dean of American Deaf chess players and co-author of the illuminating history, Silent Knights of the Chessboard. “We don’t play with our ears, but with what’s in between them.” Chauvenet had set me straight in a letter: “Most players presume that deafness is no handicap in chess. I try to explain that the problems a deaf person encounters socially, educationally, and in earning a living are such as to minimize the time and energy available to become a good chess player. I might as well sit beside a mountain stream and ask the water to flow uphill.” The future champion had become deaf in 1930 at age 10, after a bout with cerebro-spinal meningitis. His father taught him chess, and it became a substitute for the music the boy loved but could no longer hear. He attended Central Institute for the Deaf and Wright Oral School, and went on to Harvard, Boston College, and the University of Virginia for undergraduate work, receiving a Bachelor of Science (B.S.) in biology from the latter. A Master of Science (M.S.) in chemistry, also from Virginia, followed. The young Chauvenet also sharpened his chess skills, reaching the level of Expert, a rating better than 9 out of 10 chess players involved in tournament play. Success followed success in chess, including the Virginia state championship, 1942 through 1948; the U.S. amateur championship in 1959; and Maryland championships in 1963, 1969 and 1976. Not bad, I had to admit, and against mostly hearing opponents, at that. Chauvenet gives credit to Emil Ladner, chess editor for The Silent Worker (later The Deaf American) for “roping me into the world of ‘silent’ chess.” From 1949 to 1962 there were 7 national correspondence chess tournaments for Deaf players, and Chauvenet played in the 3rd, 4th, and 6th, placing second, second, and first. He also won three National Tournaments of the Deaf, at Chicago in 1980, at Washington, D.C. in 1983, and at Rochester in 1987. In international competition, under the auspices of the International Committee for Silent Chess in Budapest, Hungary, he has finished 12th (Amsterdam, 1980), second (Washington, D.C., 1984), and second (Stockholm, 1988) while chasing the individual Deaf world championship. He also led the American team into international team play at Palma de Majorca in 1982.) Was this really someone I wanted to challenge? I asked myself, feeling doomed. For the non-player, chess is good clean fun, a game. Serious players see it differently: as an exhausting struggle, a battle of minds. World Champion Bobby Fischer once gleefully noted that his favorite part of a contest was when he crushed his opponent’s ego. Right. Russ’ wife Jane, retired from teaching school and as sharp as ever, led me to the basement. I found him seated at a chess table. Hair gone to silver, a strongly featured face, with a firm handshake and a warm smile, Russell Chauvenet greeted me pleasantly – and sized me up quickly with eyes that sparkled. He had retired after almost 40 years as a computer programmer, but from that quick scan I was sure his analytical skills still remained. We sat down. Rows of chess books (‘a modest collection,” Russ noted) towered over our heads. They were in English, German and Spanish, as far as I could make out; and likely, Russian and Yugoslavian as well. Russ expressed his regret at being unable to get Ken Glicklman, from the National Association of the Deaf offices nearby, to join us. It seems Glickman was in Germany at a Deaf magician’s convention. In turn, I apologized for not having contacted Merv Garretson, NAD’s interim Executive Director, and avid student of the royal game. Chess players talk like that. Although Russ was 70 years old, he looked decades younger. He runs regularly and competitively, and a row of medals upon the basement wall attests to his success. When not on dry land, he sails avidly. He set up the chess pieces for a game. “But once you sit across from Russ over a chessboard,” the letter continued, “you will face a man who gives you no mercy.” Not even for a nice young guy like me? I wondered. After all, the Chauvenet’s only son Allen, a pediatric oncologist, would be about my age. In fact, back in 1963 Allen had won the Maryland junior championship while “Dad” won the state title. The junior Chauvenet lost only 2 games in that tournament, and in each case, the game’s winner had to face the senior Chauvenet in the very next round. How Russ had enjoyed beating them! “My son always wanted to do what I was
doing,” Russ explained to me, “He is a better sailor than I am,” Russ continued, and that was quite a concession from someone justifiably proud of his own skill upon the water. I smiled to myself. There might be a chance for me, after all. “But he never got around to getting better in chess.” Oh, I see. We started our game. From the first move I attacked furiously, like the masters that Russ admired: Alekhine, Keres, Tal. If there had been a kitchen sink among my chess pieces, it, too, would have been thrown in. Clearly, from the changing expressions on the face, Russell Chauvenet, the chess expert, was enjoying the game. My adversary paid close attention, and a few of my moves brought a smile to his face. Admiration, I hoped, not scorn. On the board, my army began to move in slow motion, meeting stiff resistance. Then it began to reverse itself, gaining speed in the wrong direction. My only chance came when Jane, worried that their guest might starve, announced lunch by reaching across the board to turn down Russ’ King, in effect ending the game with his “resignation.” “Wrong King,” I moaned, and a few moves later conceded the game as lost. “Then after a game, win or lose but more often a win, he will be happy to go over the game and give his analysis.” We reviewed our battle cordially, like allies, and I was touched by his gentlemanly manner. Discussion then turned to guessing Russ’ chance in the Maryland chess tournament starting that evening. “I have a crystal ball,” he joked, “but it doesn’t tell me much.” Lunch was a smorgasbord of good food, chess stories, and fond remembrances. I found myself regretting the need to start homeward. After all, it’s not every day that you get a chance to be beaten by the best Deaf chess player in America. [Addenda: Even at 70, Russell Chauvenet still had some chess left in him. In 1990, in Rochester, New York, he played a two-game exhibition match against the Russian Deaf champion, Sergei Salov, scoring a draw and a loss. The two then split another couple of games in Washington, D.C. In 1991, Russ won the 4th National Deaf Championship, in Austin, Texas, surrendering only a half-point to A. B. “Mad Dog” Hailey. At Edinburgh, Scotland, in 1992, the International Committee of Silent Chess awarded Russ the ICSC Grandmaster title, in honor of his 1984 and 1988 results. He was subsequently awarded the FIDE International Master title. With a score of 5-6, in the individual Deaf championship that year, Russ finished 13th out of 20 players and retired from international play. At 82 these days, however, Russell Chauvenet is still able to give chess “lessons” to unwary opponents.] bbbbbbbb Editor's Notes... Click here to see a great game, Chauvenet-Myers, annotated by Rick Kennedy. In researching Mr. Chauvenet on the net, I came across an article by John S. Hilbert, on the excellent Chess Archeology site, entitled "Conserving the Past: Chess Life as a Historical Vehicle Of Mid-Twentieth Century American Chess " from which the following snippet is excerpted:
bbbbbbbb Rick Kennedy adds the following piece, authored by Chauvenet, noting "The date of the review of the imaginary book gives the game away. The alleged author was a buddy of Russ who only wanted to see Chauvenet's lost games, none of his won ones." [from the Washington Post Book Review column, April 1, 1992] The Follies of Russell Chauvenet Elliott Weinstein’s delightful new chess book, The Follies of Russell Chauvenet, has risen to the top of the best-seller list (at least among chess players) in a remarkably short time. The author wittily punctuates his entertaining analysis of his subject’s lost games with clever jokes and sharp variations delightful to play over. While Weinstein obviously means no harm to his subject, and is understanding of the latter’s limited abilities over the chess board, the reader cannot help but contrast the deep insight of Weinstein with the superficial play of Chauvenet. In this comparison, the reader is gently led from the ridiculous to the sublime, and comes to understand how the shortcomings of the average player arise, and the necessary means by which they may be overcome. The author’s superb mathematical training comes to the fore in this statistical analysis of the kinds of mistakes that his subject has made in a chess career spanning sixty years. There is much to be learned from the nature of errors and the ways in which they arise. Although the book duly makes clear that Chauvenet has sometimes won an occasional game and even tournament or two, in most cases it is quietly emphasized that much of these limited successes were due to the merciful nature of the game: the follies of Chauvenet having been amusingly reciprocated by the follies of his opponent. Weinstein is at his best when he illustrates the ways in which Chauvenet should have arrived at the correct move in various critical positions. It is not enough for the analyst to determine that a player has made an incorrect move. That this will happen in the play of even good players is a truism. Of much more importance and interest is Weinstein’s brilliant reconstruction of the erroneous lines fo thought which led Chauvenet down the wrong path so often. In this analysis we see how the idea of playing the wrong move arose, and why it was not detected as an error until that fatal moment when the piece was released upon the square to which it should not have gone. By studying Weinstein’s thought-analysis, the aspiring player can learn how to organize his thoughts about a given position, and thus avoid getting sidetracked in the mirthful follies so characteristic of Chauvenet’s play. The subject of the book, interviewed by Barbara Walters on TV recently, was gracious in his comments on Weinstein’s work. “Elliott has done a fine job on my many mistakes,” said he, “and has brought out things I wish I had known long years ago.” Asked if he was going to give up chess now, Chauvenet laughed and declared “Never, as long as there are new mistakes out there waiting to be made.” [reprinted from Detours, #38, 2/91] bbbbbbbb
|
The Chessville
The
|
||||||||||
|
||||||||||||
