David Edmonds - Bobby Fischer Goes to War

In 1974, Karpov took on the Soviet elite one by one in the Candidates round. Having already beaten Lev Polugaievskii and then Boris Spassky (in a closely fought contest), he emerged victorious against Viktor Korchnoi, too. Korchnoi had accused the Soviet authorities of favoring the younger man in their head-to-head.

So Karpov was set to challenge Fischer in a match for the world title. The general assembly of the International Chess Federation met during the chess Olympiad of 1974 to agree to the terms of the match. Fischer had fired off a fusillade of 179 demands, all but two of which FIDE immediately conceded. Petrosian grumbled, “These men do everything that Bobby wishes, and he will sit down at the chessboard on the conditions that he dictates to them.” Although Ed Edmondson was back on Fischer’s team, once again Fred Cramer was the main conduit for Fischer’s conditions, one of which was that the arbiter should be banned from engaging in any journalism about the match, even after it was over. A FIDE member was overheard to comment, “Mr. Cramer will not stay quiet even for three minutes, and he wants the match controller to stay silent for his whole life.”

There remained, however, two sticking points. Firstly, FIDE had proposed that the winner be the first person to win six games. Fischer insisted that the championship be decided by ten victories, draws not to count, and that the number of games be unlimited. Second, Fischer insisted that if the score reached nine wins apiece, the champion (that is, Fischer) should retain the title, meaning the challenger must win by two clear points, an unheard-of advantage for the incumbent. After much haggling behind closed doors, the delegates offered a compromise—victory to be achieved by ten wins, up to a maximum of thirty-six games (at which point the player with the most points would be declared the winner). Otherwise, they pointed out, the match could be prolonged indefinitely. Fischer instantly dispatched a note: “I have been informed that my proposals have been rejected by a majority of votes. By doing so, FIDE has decided against my participation in the 1975 world championship. I therefore resign my FIDE world championship title.”

All was not yet lost. Many people interpreted his resignation as another, familiar display of brinkmanship. The bidding process for the match continued apace, with Manila offering a staggering $5 million, said to be the second largest purse in sporting history (just below the Muhammad Ali—George Foreman “Rumble in the Jungle” in Zaire).

The full FIDE body assembled in March 1975. Now they made one more concession, agreeing to an unlimited number of games. But they refused to countenance Fischer’s nine-to-nine rule. Edmondson went to California to plead with the champion. Meanwhile, FIDE announced that if Fischer did not agree by 1 April, he would be deemed to have forfeited the title. The day came and went. On 2 April, a new champion was proclaimed, Anatoli Karpov. In his acceptance speech, he hinted that he was prepared to meet Fischer in an unofficial match, presumably thinking of Manila and the $5 million. He even met Fischer secretly three times, in Japan, Washington, D.C., and Manila, to discuss terms. Eventually, Sergei Pavlov at the Sports Ministry, backed by the Central Committee, turned down the idea. Chief ideologist Mikhail Suslov himself signed its death warrant. He considered it “inexpedient.”

Fischer had been the most dormant of champions, not playing a single competitive game for three years. Eager to prove himself worthy of the crown, Karpov went on to be the most active, growing in strength over the following years, winning a series of elite grandmaster tournaments, and stamping his authority on the chess world. He beat Korchnoi twice more, in the Philippine city of Baguio in 1978 (just) and in Merano in Italy in 1981 (convincingly). Garry Kasparov, Karpov’s successor as world champion, wrote of Baguio, “It finally erased the memory of Reykjavik and restored the prestige of Soviet chess.”

Where was Fischer? For several years, he lived in the bosom of the Worldwide Church of God in Pasadena, where he was called “a co-worker.” The church fed him, they gave him comfortable accommodation in Mocking Bird Lane, they even flew him around in a private jet. In return, Fischer handed over around a third ($61,200) of his Icelandic prize money. He was befriended by Harry Sneider, a national weight-lifting champion who trained church students. Almost every evening, he and Fischer would take some form of physical exercise—soccer, basketball, racquet-ball, swimming, table football. Fischer was now also spending a lot of time listening to Christian preachers on the radio.

There were other people willing to look after him. One was Claudia Mokarow, also a member of the Worldwide Church of God. International master David Levy visited Fischer in 1976. At the time, his host was staying in a large house with no furniture. Levy and Fischer slept on mattresses on the floor. Fischer used Mokarow as a taxi service, Levy remembers, calling her up to take them to and from the restaurants of his choice.

In 1977 Fischer broke with the church, accusing it of being “satanic,” and vigorously attacking its methods and leadership. From this point on, the subject of so much chess acclaim became a near total recluse. Those acquaintances with whom he kept in contact were sworn to secrecy. Relations with anyone who spoke about him to the outside world were broken off—for good. So as not to be recognized, he grew a beard and mustache. However, a letter from Fischer to an old chess acquaintance, Bernard Zuckerman, dated 13 May 1978, shows that he was still using Claudia Mokarow as his answering service. He gave her telephone number and told Zuckerman that was where he could leave messages.

Fischer’s life now became a fertile ground for rumor, although few rumors could exaggerate the reality. In early 1981, he spent several months in San Francisco playing a series of seventeen speed games against Peter Biyiasas, a Greek-born Canadian grandmaster. (Fischer won them all.) Biyiasas said that Fischer carried around a locked valise full of Chinese and Mexican pills. “If the Commies come to poison me, I don’t want to make it easy for them.” There were reports that Fischer had replaced all his fillings after coming to believe that the Soviets were capable of using the metal in his teeth to beam in malignant waves.

On the afternoon of 26 May 1981, Fischer was picked up by the police, apparently mistaken for a bank robber, and was thrown behind bars for two days. He later published a pamphlet, graphically depicting the indignities he suffered: “I Was Tortured in the Pasadena Jailhouse! by Bobby Fischer, the World Chess Champion.”

It appears that Fischer’s refusal to cooperate with the authorities and his inability to recall the address at which he was staying were at least part of the problem. Fischer wrote that he was “brutally handcuffed” and that the metal tore into his flesh. When he stopped answering their questions, one officer, Fischer wrote, “grabbed my throat with one hand and started choking me by the neck.” Although he never discovered this policeman’s name, he wanted him identified. Fischer described him as “hyper-aggressive, like a little dog who barks and snaps a lot and bares his teeth. He is also quite vicious.” Fischer declared that he was stripped and left naked in a bare, dank, drafty cell. Through the tiny window, he sought help from passersby, screaming that he was being tortured to death. Nobody came to his rescue.

Fischer’s apparent inability to distinguish between the genuinely shocking and the relatively trivial is striking. The hysterical tone remains constant throughout: “Legality is a sham at the jail-house. There are No Smoking signs everywhere, and no smoking is rigidly enforced—for the prisoners. But I noticed a light-skinned colored cop/jailer smoking whenever he pleased.”