Living Speed Chess

Quite a time was had by all at the Charles Jaffe Jubilee Concert, held March 18th at the City College Auditorium, Rainy weather and the fact that the Metropolitan League matches were going on that night kept the attendance down, but it was a select audience, and made up in enthusiasm and good cheer for lack in numbers, And indeed there was enough to satisfy them royally.

The concert started right on time, at 8.30, This was most unusual, and obviously unexpected, as most of the audience only began straggling in about 9 P. M. The first violin solo, by Harry Brown, was almost over by then, Norman Secon, brilliant young pianist was next, and made an instant hit. The audience couldn't get enough of his playing, and but for their desire to see the real feature of the evening, the living chess display, would have had him going on all night, Mr. Alfred Kreymborg, the genial master of ceremonies, talked of Jaffe, and the good old days of chess. Having himself lived in the chess atmosphere for a number of years, he knew his subject, and was very well received.

Finally the stage was set, the curtain rose, and the big match was on. On a board which filled most of the stage stood the figures, all in costume, Jaffe and
Kashdan were on opposite sides, each with a pocket chess set which they used in making their moves.

Someone had to lead the pieces to their squares, as most of them were unfamiliar with the intricacies of the chess notation. So a down was there, in the proper
domino, jester's cap, and all. On investigation he turned out to be none other than the tall and dignified Associate Editor of this Review, LA. Horowitz.

The Black Queen was the star of the show. She made almost half the moves for her side, and took full advantage of all her dramatic opportunities, though at times she descended to flirting with the opposing Knights and Bishops. Kashdan was conducting the Black pieces, and seemed to follow her movements with more than ordinary attention.

The embarrassing moment was when Jaffe called BxPch, and Horowitz couldn't find the Pawn! The little fellow was discovered hiding under one of the Bishop's skirts, and was gently motioned off.

The White Queen was captured on her first move, and walked off toward the dressing rooms rather despondently. However, she was called back a moment later, as a pawn had advanced to the eighth rank, requiring her presence again.

The game was very quick, a time limit of twenty seconds a move having been decided on. This gave the colorful throng on the stage enough to do, and they made a brilliant spectacle indeed. The game was very lively, and intently followed. When it was over, the result was announced, a draw. and the players took their well-earned bows.

To round out the evening, Tamara rendered a number of gypsy songs, accompanying herself on a guitar, The audience, having gotten into the spirit of the thing, hummed the tunes with her, and had a grand time. They voted the affair a complete success.

Among those present were some of the most distinguished representatives of American Chess. Mr. and Mrs. Frank J. Marshall, Harold M, Phillips and his family, Hermann Helms, Leon Rosen, Dr. Leon Golden, and many others were observed. All expressed their pleasure, and are looking forward to further affairs of this sort.

The crown prince of East Side chess was and still is Charles Jaffe. It is impossible to convey the weird type of game he used to play and the respect it won him among the cohorts along the avenue. If ever a man held court around a table, it was this very dark, slender, cigarette-smoking gypsy. The moment he arrived and sat down with some dub, most other tables were deserted. I venture to say that if Capa and Lasker had fought out their battles on the avenue and Jaffe and his dubs sat down near by, the world warriors would have been deserted by the kibitzers.

Jaffe kept up a running fire of caustic badinage and could give amazing odds to the potzers. I never saw any high-class player give such odds and get away with them. The reverence in which he was held was mainly due to this faculty. He was a genius against weaker players. And they measured the rest of the chess world accordingly. If a better player than Jaffe (there were, of course, none better!) failed to win games at the odds the prince gave, he was treated with comparative contempt.

The ability to play coffeehouse chess was one in which Jaffe surpassed any master. Coffeehouse chess depends on an alert ingenuity in waylaying the opponent through subtle little traps or swindles. Usually the trap is baited with a sacrificial pawn no potzer can resist smelling and seizing. Were the pawn a consequential piece, the fellow would hesitate and look around. But the little pawns overwhelm his appetite. It is almost an axiom that most games have been lost and won through hastily grabbing those innocent pawns.

Jaffe was a veritable devil in leaving them about and in keeping up an undercurrent of teasing cajolery, mock-heroics, encouragement, quips and puns. No wonder Second Avenue held him in awe! And no wonder the avenue held the outside masters in comparative contempt!
Even Lasker, king of the whole chess world, was held in doubt where Jaffe was concerned. As for Capa, he was a duffer by comparison.
"Jaffe could beat Capa blindfolded!”

Unhappily, once the crown prince left the avenue he was not so invulnerable. Invite him to a tournament among his peers, take away his magic banter and force him to face sound, scientific chess, and his traps proved of little avail. Traps were often his own undoing. What we call playing for position—a damnable modern invention —was something his valiant combinations couldn’t penetrate. The extreme caution of modern chess wore down his temperamental inspirations. He belonged to the school of Paul Morphy, giant meteor of the romantic era.

Jaffe, in truth, should have been born among the Labourdonnais and MacDonnells who never defended themselves, but went on attacking till the other fellow’s attacks demolished them. Even inferior players, by playing book openings and developing “according to Hoyle,” could defeat him by letting him defeat himself. Jaffe seldom disgraced himself in tournaments. He had the habit of defeating superiors and losing to inferiors which seems to be the outcome of taking chances. No matter how he fared, he was always defended by the cohorts.

I recall the international tournament in Europe he embarked on some years ago. He didn’t have the fare abroad and had to raise it through subscription—so I was told at the time. Doubtless, most of it was raised east of Third Avenue and south of Fourteenth Street. Over on Second Avenue, newspapers were scanned as they had never been scanned before, and there was only one daily event the readers turned to. I’m not in the mood for rehearsing those long days of silent gloom. Jaffe went abroad to show the Schachmeister what duffers they were and finished, not on top, nor anywhere near the top. When he returned, did the avenue upbraid him or drape itself in mourning? I went across town with that question in mind, ready to say what I could if necessary. I didn’t have to say it. Jaffe was surrounded by a ring of laughing, gossiping kibitzers. Opposite him sat a time-honored potzer.

The potzer was eying and trying not to eye a terribly tempting pawn. I prayed to all the gods that the fellow would nab it. He didn’t nab it. He hesitated, circled the board with his eyes and looked at everything but the little pawn. The suspense was growing quite awful. It silenced the kibitzers. It silenced Jaffe himself. He looked rather drawn after the foreign debacle. I wanted to shake hands with him, wring his arm off, slap his back, hug him—but I’d have to wait.

He was smoking away as usual. His side of the board was strewn with cigarette stubs, ashes and burnt matches. The famous lurking smile was absent. Confound that Pfuscher! Why didn't he relieve our suspense? All he’d lose would be a dime, and that pawn was worth a fortune to us. His glance no longer circled, but concentrated on one spot. The spot, confound him, was far removed from the pawn. Then he smiled slyly and lifted his left hand. Why did he lift that hand —he always moved with the other?

Then, praise Elohim, the hand closed round his queen and quietly clipped off the pawn. Jaffe smiled, lifted a knight and put it down over so gently—forking the duffer’s king, queen and two rooks. Hysteria rent the air. Jaffe raised his hand—“Wait, let him look!”
“I have to lose the exchange,” sighed the duffer.
“Look again.”
“I have to lose one of my rooks or the queen—”
“Look again.”
“I’m in check—wait—I’ll move my king—but wait—I don’t want to lose my queen—why didn’t you say check?”
“I didn’t have to say check, potzer! Where are your ears? Didn't you hear me say mate?”
The hysteria revived. Pandemonium smote the table. “Rinnsvieh, Nebbich, Dummkopf, Schlemiel!” the cohorts clamored. . . .