For Friends & Colleagues: Volume 1: Profession - Chess Coach

School Years

The Beginning

I no longer remember when, but definitely before elementary school, one of the guests gave me a chess set for my birthday and explained the rules to me. I started to play a little bit, and even received a certificate as the best young chess player of the pioneer camp when I was in elementary school. However, I was an amateur; I was not studying chess and did not read books.

In elementary school, I was interested in many things, won Olympiads in various subjects, and for many years I remembered the capital of every country, the satellites of every planet, etc. I especially loved mathematics. We had a young teacher who supported and encouraged my interest. Later, when I was in fifth or sixth grade, she left for graduate school. The new teacher, who was nicknamed The Gorilla, was mostly worried about ink blots in our notebooks, and, in a half a year, he had managed to kill my interest in mathematics. To fill the void, I went to the Pioneer House of the Kalinin district (this was Lefortovo, where my family lived then) and began to study chess.

However, study is not exactly the right word. An old first category chess player, Andrey Sergeyvich Smyshlyaev, worked with a large group of children. He was not able to do much beyond opening and closing the room, providing equipment, keeping order, holding tournaments, and sending the results to the Moscow Qualification Committee. I had to study independently, or more precisely, together with a schoolmate and friend, Sasha Karasev.

I made the fifth and fourth categories quickly, but then got a bit stuck and decided to work on theory. During the summer break, I studied the well-written and beautifully produced book Shakhmaty [Chess – Tr.] by Ilya Maizelis. I studied it thoroughly, and ran out of time, unable to finish the entire book – the chapter titled Openings was never mastered. Perhaps this was the original cause of my constant later difficulties in the first stage of the game.

Studying chess, of course, paid off immediately. In the fall, I scored my third category norm (10 points out of 10), and then the second category, too, with 10 out of 11. I participated in another two or three individual and team tournaments, but further growth was impossible at the Pioneer House. There were not enough qualified chess players for a first category norm tournament.

And then, in 1963, I participated in the Spartakiad for second category players, which was held in the Moscow Pioneer Palace at Leninskiye Gory.

I felt like a provincial who was taking part in a world-class competition for the first time. After all, many of my competitors lived in this world and worked regularly with skilled coaches who were masters or candidate masters. However, provincials are usually not especially shy, and neither was I. This tournament was, as funny as that might sound now, one of the best in my chess career. I write about it in greater detail in the second volume of this book, in the section Competition.

After the tournament, Sasha Karasev and I were invited to continue our chess studies at the Pioneer Palace. A new stage in my chess career had begun.

Math School

After earning the first category norm, I not only changed the place where I studied chess, but also entered a new school. After I finished eighth grade at the regular public school near my home, I learned about the admissions to math school #444 in Izmailovo, one of the best in Moscow, and tried to get in. Representatives of the chess community who studied there at various times include well-known chess arbiter and statistician Eduard Dubov and the leaders of the Russian Chess Federation, as well as the Deputy Prime Ministers of Russia Alexander Zhukov and Arkady Dvorkovich.

High school student

The school assembled an excellent team of teachers. Simeon Isaakovich Shvartsburd, a remarkable mathematician and teacher, supervised the studies. As a child, Simeon Isaakovich suffered from poliomyelitis and had to use crutches for the rest of his life. He lived in a small apartment adjacent to the school. He established a computer center at the school, probably the only one at the time. High school students learned to write computer code using huge Ural mainframe computers, each the size of a room. Operating systems did not exist back then, and computer code was written as a system of commands punched on cards or tapes.

To get accepted to this school, one had to successfully pass an interview somewhat like an informal examination. I did not do well and certainly would not have gotten in, had Simeon Isaakovich not loved chess very much and decided to support a chess player. He invited me to play a training game against another first category player my age, right at his apartment. I played energetically and won, and this probably counted in lieu of the examination.

For three years, I led the school’s chess team. Two times out of three, we took first place in the Moscow Scholastic Championship. In this competition, I won one of the best games of my youth. It is annotated in SCE-3, in the chapter Undermining Pawn Moves.

I was an average student because I played a lot of chess, but I happily went (or rather, traveled by tram and subway, which took an hour each way) to school. The lessons were fun, and the atmosphere was friendly.

On the Benefits of Education

During both my high school and university years, I tried to play a double game: academics and chess were side-by-side. I finally chose chess only after I had graduated from the university.

Here, an important and controversial issue should be addressed: does it make sense for future professional chess players to get a good education, to really study hard at strong schools and colleges?

On the one hand, serious study requires a considerable amount of time, which everybody is always in catastrophic lack of. It is not easy to carve out some time for school or college studies and the successful completion of tests and exam out of the never-ending individual and team tournaments, interspersed with training sessions or chess studies at home.

It is no wonder that both Yusupov and Dolmatov had to quit Moscow State University after three years; their chess life was too intense at the time. Another student of mine, Vadim Zvyagintsev, successfully graduated with a degree just like I did (by the way, we all had the same alma mater, the Department of Economics at Moscow State University). However, while studying at the university, neither he nor I had any major chess successes. Who knows, maybe these lost years negatively affected our chess careers? Maybe, if we had spent them improving our chess, we would have reached a higher level of mastery.

On the other hand, how many young people can really foresee whether they will become chess players and how successful their chess career will be? Going to a good school gives them a reliable plan B. Besides, life consists of more than chess, and a widely educated person, as a rule, understands life much better than a narrow specialist and has more diverse interests. For example, Vadim voraciously read a great number of serious books on rather diverse topics, and he has a deeper understanding of economics, history, and philosophy than most people.

I suppose there is no common recipe. It strongly depends on one’s specific life circumstances, the cultural background of one’s family, one’s knowledge and abilities in various fields, etc. Every man must decide for himself, based on one’s internal sense of self and advice from parents, teachers, coaches, and friends.

I had never needed the vast majority of the specific knowledge that I received at the math school and the university. However, I don’t think that these studies were a waste of time. My interaction with accomplished teachers, as well as intelligent and talented peers, certainly had a positive impact on my personality and intelligence. The approach I learned about the development and presentation of the teaching material, the methods of working with literature and lecture notes, and some specific observations – all these were applicable to a completely different area: competitive chess and chess coaching.

I remember when I could not figure out the method of mathematical induction for some reason. Our young math teacher, Inna Ivanovna Sharoshina (who later became the school principal), explained it to me one-on-one, and when I eventually got it, I could not help but wonder what there was not to understand?

Chess coaching is similar. It is one thing to describe a certain principle, and a totally different one to comprehend its meaning, the sphere and limitations of its application. Inexperienced chess players often mindlessly use familiar rules in irrelevant situations, with sad or ridiculous results.

It is not that easy to transfer the truths that the coach knows perfectly well to the student. Strong players are often mediocre teachers for the very reason that they are unable to stoop to their students’ level of understanding and sincerely do not understand that the things obvious to them may not be to others.

By the way, many unskilled coaches with high chess qualifications have one thing in common: their students all have the same opening repertoires and similar trademark styles. They teach do as I do, instead of helping each student solve his own individual problems and shape his own play. Poet Vladimir Mayakovsky’s ironic lines come to mind:

– Dear Moscow poets,

I, with love, am telling you,

Don’t do as Mayakovsky does,

Do as you would do!

Physics was probably harder for me than other subjects, and I needed to pass a physics entrance exam for college. I needed a tutor, and I got lucky: a young man, a college student himself – I do not remember now whether he was from the Moscow Institute of Physics and Technology or from the Physics Department of Moscow State University – taught me all of the basic concepts and showed the connection between the various fields of physics in just a few lessons. I could clearly see that the principles of even the most complex problems could be concisely and clearly explained, without the clutter of inessential details. From there on, when self-studying other subjects, I always strived for such an analysis of the material. I carried over the same approach into chess, and later this helped me effectively compose lectures and lessons with my students.

On the physics entrance exam, I correctly answered every question, but got only a four [B – Tr.] because in one of the solutions I needed to substitute the value of a constant, the mass of an electron, I think. I never tried to memorize this kind of information, for I thought it unnecessary, but the examiner, unfortunately, had a different opinion.

On this topic, I would like to quote a funny story from a book, popular at the time, Physicists Continue to Laugh.

I cannot find an assistant no matter how hard I try. Edison complained to Einstein one day, Young men come by every day, but none of them is suitable.

So how you define their qualification? Einstein asked interestedly.

Edison showed him a list of questions.

He who can answer them will become my assistant.

How many miles are there from New York to Chicago? Einstein read, and replied,

I will need to check the railroad directory.

What is stainless steel made of?

I can check that in the material science handbook

After scanning the rest of the questions, Einstein said,

Before I am rejected, let me withdraw my nomination.

In SCE-1, there is a chapter titled The Benefit of ‘Abstract’ Knowledge. There, using some beautiful endgame analysis, I discuss a didactically important and not entirely obvious observation: our theoretical knowledge – general ideas, rules, etc. (I do not mean concrete opening or endgame variations) – is not applied directly in the game, for we usually do not remember it over the board. Its purpose is different: to enrich and sharpen our intuition.

I learned this idea, of course, in a much more general form unconnected to chess, at Moscow State University at one of professor Katsenelenbogen’s lectures. He taught general systems theory, which I naturally remember nothing about. Wise teachers rarely limit themselves with the narrow framework of their subjects and use any possibility to expand their students’ horizons. No doubt, Katsenelenbogen was a wise teacher, and a great scientist to boot.

Nonpartisanship

In the times of the Soviets, many aspired to become members of the Communist Party to advance their careers, but not everybody was accepted: social origin, nationality, profession, loyalty to the government, communal involvement, as well as quotas and direct orders, were considered.

However, virtually everyone was accepted into the Komsomol [Russian abbreviation for The All-Union Leninist Young Communist League – Tr.], and tens of millions of young men and women from 14 to 28 years old were members.

I did not become a Komsomol member, and not even for ideological reasons; in my school days, I was incapable of understanding the perversity of the social system under which I lived for a considerable part of my life. It was just that, from my childhood, I have avoided becoming part of the crowd, acting like everybody else. And so, one day, the school principal called me into her office and began to reprimand me.

Why are you not a Komsomol member? All your schoolmates became members, but you did not. Do you not want to be together with everybody? The Komsomol is the helper of the Communist Party. Are you not going to participate in building Communism? If you are not with us, you are against us. Are you against the Communist Party?

She stopped, looked at me and continued indignantly, I am telling you such things, and you are standing there smiling.

Well, I do understand that you are joking. At this point she lost it and burst out laughing.

Right, I am joking, but you are to become a member of the Komsomol immediately.

As has already been mentioned, I was well-liked at school, so I could ignore her instruction with impunity.

I faced this problem again a few years later, about a year prior to my graduation from the university. Everything was right in my life. I was a good student; I played for the department and for the university team in the Moscow Collegiate Championship; I studied with a group of kids at Moscow State University chess club. I was to travel abroad with the university team, and, as always, I needed a letter of recommendation signed by a number of organizations.

And then, the chairman of the university Komsomol committee called me in and asked me a direct question: why was I not a Komsomol member? I understood that no convincing answer which could satisfy him existed. I offered some evasive explanation. He did not buy it, and, eventually, it became clear that he would not sign the letter.

Then, I went on the offensive.

What did you expect me to say to appear worthy of the trip? So neither my study, nor real community service means anything if I am not a member of Komsomol? So, in your opinion, only the members of your organization have the right to travel abroad?

Now, he did not have a good answer, for, of course, he could not admit the obvious fact out loud.

I left on that. I told the head of our chess club, a chemistry professor named Gorshkov, who was a member of the Communist Party Committee of Moscow State University, about what had happened. A few days later, he told me, I cannot do anything. The guy is obstinate and flatly refuses to sign the recommendation letter.

Okay then, let the Komsomol members coach at the club and play for the team. I am not going to participate in the chess life of the university anymore, I replied.

I stuck with my decision, and during that whole last year, I only played for the department team.

There is an anecdote about Communist Party membership, which, in my opinion, works very well as an objective evaluation of people most of the time.

There exist three qualities that cannot coexist in one man: intellect, honesty, and membership of the Communist Party. If one is intelligent and a member of the Communist Party, he cannot be honest.

If one is honest and a member of the Communist Party, obviously, he is not smart. And, an intelligent and honest person would not become a member of the Communist Party.

The Pioneer Palace

From the beginning of 1964 until my graduation from high school in 1966, I studied chess at the Pioneer Palace at Leninskiye Gory. After school, it did not make much sense to go home – it was too far. The Pioneer Palace was far, too. On the way there, I would get off the subway somewhere in the city center to check out the used book stores in search of chess books, which were scarce then. If I could find something, I would spend my lunch money there. As a result of these irregular meals, I ended up with a duodenal ulcer. Every cloud has a silver lining. Thanks to the ulcer, I was excused from the mandatory military service.

In those days, the Pioneer Palace was just a chess club for children; establishing mastery in the students was no goal. We met 2-3 times a week, mingled, and played tournament games. With this schedule, competitions took a long time; when one tournament would come to an end, a new one begin. In our free time, we played casual games or blitz. Sometimes there were simuls. Our contact with coaches was sporadic and was basically reduced to the analysis of the games just finished. Occasionally, the coaches would show some of their games or the ideas of some opening variation. The success of the young chess players largely depended on their talent and independent study of chess at home. Coaches only advised them on what to work on, what book to read.

I studied in the strongest group, which was coached by Alexander Borisovich Roshal.

Roshal

Roshal had a difficult life. His father was arrested in 1937 as a member of the Bund and soon executed. The Bund was a Jewish working-class organization that was cooperating with the Bolsheviks. After seizing power, the Bolsheviks gradually liquidated all of their former allies: the Mensheviks, the Socialists-Revolutionaries, and the anarchists, and then started to quickly devour the members of their own party, let alone the nonpartisan population. From an old song by Yuliy Kim:

… And so the talented madcap

Would not get bored

And was reared properly in his stinky cell,

To keep his company

The thoughtful Father jailed

Ten thousand educated,

Ten thousand uneducated,

And another few million for good measure…

Roshal’s mother, Rakhil Aronovna (a nice and intelligent woman), was banished to Kazakhstan, where my future coach spent his childhood. The far-away province was too pokey for the talented, ambitious young man. He dreamed of fighting his way to the top, having a career. However, traveling abroad, going to college, getting a good job – everything – was restricted by his family history and the infamous fifth point [being a Jew (ethnicity was listed as the fifth record in the internal passport) – Tr.]; at the time, disclosing the applicant’s ethnicity was required in all questionnaires.

Difficulties in life shaped his personality. Roshal became a strong-willed, purposeful, and, at the same time, somewhat unscrupulous man, for whom, at times, the ends justified the means.

With no small effort, Roshal was able to enter one of the Moscow colleges, from which he later transferred to the department of journalism of Moscow State University. His college studies stretched on for many years, during which Roshal also played chess and coached children. Earning a master norm after winning a qualifying match against Yury Gusev was his highest sporting achievement.

He was more successful as a coach. Roshal taught chess at one of the district Pioneer Houses, and his team became the strongest in Moscow. This prompted Grigory Abramovich Podolny, the head of the chess club at the Pioneer Palace at the time, to invite Roshal to coach the strongest group at the Pioneer Palace.

Roshal’s main advantage as a coach was that he, unlike the majority of his colleagues, did not focus on openings and understood that studying the other stages of the game was at least equally important for young chess players. He paid closest attention to the development of a competitive spirit, strong character, and perseverance. He was especially successful as a team coach. He knew what to say and when, how to help a team member, and shared his overflowing energy.

For me, most memorable was an event that happened when Roshal was sent to the last rounds of the USSR Junior Team Championship; I heard this story from Roshal himself. The Moscow team was not doing very well, significantly trailing behind the leaders.

Valya Arbakov, an aggressive chess player with a hit and run style, played on first board. His chess education was rudimentary, lagging behind the leading rivals. The team coaches knew this and advised him not to take unnecessary risks, that a draw was a good result for him. He was earnestly following these recommendations, trying to play more solidly, but that did not work for him.

A match with the leader of the tournament, the Ukrainian team, was coming. It was led by an exceptionally talented young chess player named Misha Steinberg, who was much stronger than Arbakov. Steinberg’s life, unfortunately, was cut short; he died of leukemia at a very young age.

After arriving to help the team, Roshal told Arbakov, Steinberg is a strong opponent, and if you do not succeed, no one is going to scold you. However, I will scold you if you do not sacrifice anything!

These words liberated Valya. He got a worse position, and sacrificed quite a bit: a queen. This confused his opponent, and Arbakov earned a beautiful victory, and then, inspired, also successfully played the remaining games. The Moscow team won the tournament.

Two outstanding coaches worked with children in Moscow at the time. The experienced Abram Iosifovich Khasin worked at the Central Chess Club, and, at the Young Pioneers Stadium, a young Vladimir Nikolaevich Yurkov was just beginning his coaching career. Both of them raised several strong grandmasters. At the same time, before Roshal, no outstanding chess players had come out of the Pioneer Palace during the last several years. In Roshal’s groups, besides myself, were future grandmasters Sergey Makarychev and Avigdor Bykhovsky, as well as the head coach of Israel’s youth chess players, Mark Berkovich. While I came to the Pioneer Palace already at a mature age, Roshal had taught Seryozha Makarychev since early childhood and worked with him one-on-one quite a bit.

As a coach, Roshal had high hopes for Seryozha Solovyev, and not only because of his great talent. Solovyev was a brawny fellow, a sportsman, an excellent competitor, unlike the intellectuals, Makarychev and I.

Next to Roshal is one of his first students, Pavlik Gladkikh.

However, after graduating high school, Seryozha made a choice, but not in favor of chess. He decided to become a physicist. Roshal tried everything; he asked me to influence Seryozha, and repeatedly tried to persuade Solovyev and his parents. Roshal even reserved a slot for him in a master norm tournament, but he was unsuccessful. Solovyev indeed had a strong personality.

Solovyev’s withdrawal from chess was a hard blow for Roshal, and it finally shaped his decision to switch from coaching to journalism. The magazine 64 had been created shortly before that, in 1968, and Roshal was invited to join it.

Another event also contributed to this change. In 1967, the position of state youth coach was created. Roshal had reason to expect the nomination, but the management preferred another young master, Anatoly Bykhovsky, who did not have coaching experience. The choice completely paid off; Bykhovsky was an excellent organizer, serious and diligent in his vocation (unlike the majority of his colleagues from the chess management department). He created an effective system for tournaments and training sessions, which promoted the discovery and development of young talents.

Roshal worked at 64 until the end of his life, becoming the editor-in-chief, but the tale of the journalistic period of his biography is beyond the scope of this book.

Here are a couple of examples from Roshal’s games. His opening repertoire was extremely limited; he played the King’s Indian Attack with White, and the King’s Indian Defense with Black. In response to 1.e4, he played the Paulsen System of the Sicilian Defense. The following positions came from these very openings.

Gutop – Roshal

Moscow Collegiate Champ. 1963

1.e4 c5 2.Nf3 Nc6 3.d4 cxd4 4.Nxd4 Qc7 Roshal’s favorite move, which I played in several games, influenced by him. 5.Nc3 e6 6.g3 a6 7.Bg2 b5 8.0-0 Bb7 Soon, we realized that the way Black chooses to develop here is not good because of the strong reply 9.Re1!, creating the extremely unpleasant threat of the strike Nd5. 9.Be3?! Nf6 10.Nxc6 Qxc6 11.a3 h5! 12.Qe2 h4 13.Bg5 hxg3 14.hxg3 Bc5 15.a4 b4 16.Nd5 Nxd5 17.exd5 Qd6 (threatening 18…Qxg3) 18.Bf4? (18.Qg4; 18.Be3) 18…Qxd5!! White resigned in view of the inevitable mate.

Roshal – Aliyev

Moscow 1965

Black could play 1…c5!?, after which 2.Qe6! Bxe4 3.Qd6 or 3.Ra2 would follow, with chances for both sides. 1…Re8!? is also worth considering. However, Black underestimated the queen sacrifice prepared by the opponent.

1…Bc8? 2.Qxc8+! Rxc8 3.Bxc8 c5

If 3…Qxb3 (with the threat of 4…Qxg3+), then 4.Kg2!, preparing a capture on c7. For example: 4…Qf7 (or 4…Bb6) 5.Rc6; or 4…Be3 5.Rc3! Qf7 6.Rxe3; or 4…c5 5.Bb7!.

4.Ra2 Qxb3 5.Ra3! Bxf2+ (5…Qb1+ 6.Kh2; 5…Qd1+ 6.Kg2!) 6.Kg2! Qc4 7.Bb7 Black resigned.

Simagin

Roshal understood how important interacting with a great chess player is for young people. That is why he invited grandmaster Vladimir Pavlovich Simagin to the Pioneer Palace, who, together with Roshal, worked with the strongest players.

Vladimir Pavlovich was not an ordinary man, in some regards even somewhat of an eccentric. I think he was the prototype of the main character in the good movie Grandmaster. But he was a wonderful eccentric, ironic, kind, and considerate, and who infinitely loved chess.

I have Simagin’s little book titled Best Games, which the author presented me for tying for first in the tactic-solving competition that he organized. The book is very worn because I studied it thoroughly, enjoying Vladimir Pavlovich’s deep and unconventional plans. He was a true chess artist who highly appreciated beauty and originality, but not at the expense of correctness and the validity of decisions.

I remember that I showed him the game that I played against one of my friends at the Pioneer Palace, Pavel Gladkikh. Pavlik came to the Pioneer Palace from the district Pioneer House with Roshal. He was a nice and kind fellow. After graduating from high school, he tried and, I think, successfully entered, the Moscow State Institute of International Relations, which was unheard among mere mortals. It is a pity that I do not know his fate after that.

Gladkikh – Dvoretsky

Moscow 1964

A good position for Black. Back then, I liked combinational play. So, when I noticed a tactical opportunity, I went for it without hesitating.

19…Nfxe4? 20.Nxe4 (also strong is 20.Bxe4) 20…Nxe4 21.Bxe4 Qxc4 22.Bg2 e4 23.Nb4 (23.Nf4) 23…Bxa1 24.Qxa1

Technically, material is balanced. I have a rook and two pawns against two minor pieces. However, the white pieces are placed well and about to begin their offensive, while my position is hopeless.

Simagin criticized my attempt to play a pretty trick. This was when I heard from him a memorable definition – a combination for the sake of combination – and realized that flashy effects are only the means through which the goal is to be accomplished, not a goal in itself.

In one of the first category tournaments, I lost an upsetting game. In the next round, I was playing against a friend, Ilya Khaslavsky, who, later, tragically died in the army; he became one of the numerous victims of hazing. After the loss, I was upset, and began my game with Khaslavsky with the move 1.a4. Roshal disapprovingly looked at me, but did not interfere. Ilya cast a surprised look at the board and moved my pawn back to a2. I returned it to a4. At this point, Roshal lost it and shouted, That’s it, I am done with you, let Simagin suffer with you!

After the game (which ended in a draw), Vladimir Pavlovich started to explain to me that advancing the rook pawn was against opening principles, and that a game should not be started this way. I, of course, understood that myself, but argued for the sake of being contrary. I said that I played the King’s Indian Attack, and there the move a4 was usually useful. Simagin showed me setups for Black where this move was unnecessary. This discussion ended up being a little bit ridiculous.

Simagin treated me kindly. He even considered me the most talented young chess player in Moscow. He gladly played training games with me, and played passionately, but still remained a teacher. For example, he traded queens at the first chance he got, and it took me some time to understand why. The thing was that Vladimir Pavlovich had noticed, more than once, my poor play in the endgame. By winning equal or even worse endgames, he aspired to show me this weakness more starkly.

The grandmaster showed me, and other students, his analyses of problematic opening variations, and we played thematic consultation games. Here is one of these games, in which we were analyzing a a pawn sacrifice in the Richter-Rauzer Attack of the Sicilian Defense..

Simagin – Dvoretsky, Khaslavsky, Shvartz

Moscow 1964

1.e4 c5 2.Nf3 Nc6 3.d4 cxd4 4.Nxd4 Nf6 5.Nc3 d6 6.Bg5 e6 7.Qd2 a6 8.0-0-0 h6 9.Bh4!? Nxe4 10.Qf4 Ng5 11.Nxc6 bxc6 12.Qa4 Qb6 13.f4 Nh7 14.f5 Be7?!

The main line, which we discussed before the game, is 14…Rb8 15.fxe6 Bxe6 16.Bc4 Be7 17.Bxe6 fxe6 18.Bxe7 Kxe7 19.Qg4.

Vladimir Simagin

15.Bxe7 Kxe7 16.fxe6?

Now, Black’s plan comes to fruition. Here or, even more accurately, on the previous move, White should have played Ne4!, with the idea of Qa3.

16…Bxe6 17.Bc4 Rhb8!

If 17…Rab8, the game reaches the theoretical position mentioned earlier. The move in the game is stronger because it allows the king to step back to f8 without separating the rooks.

18.Bb3 d5 19.Rhe1 Kf8 20.Qf4 Nf6 21.h3 c5, and eventually Black converted his advantage.

The following intense struggle took place in 1964 as well. The consultants playing White consisted of Blinov, Gladkikh, Ivanov, Romanov, and Shvartz. The Black team was led by Simagin and also included Dvoretsky, Karasev, Chernyi, and Khaslavsky.

1.d4 Nf6 2.c4 g6 3.Nc3 Bg7 4.e4 d6 5.f3 0-0 6.Be3 a6 7.Qd2 c6 8.0-0-0 b5 9.h4 Nbd7 10.g4

10…e5!? 11.h5 Qe7

This time, not so much an opening variation as a strategic method (which Simagin showed us) typical in the variation that was being analyzed. After 12.hxg6, Black plays 12…fxg6!, when the queen on the seventh rank will neutralize the opponent’s pressure on the h-file.

.

12.d5?! b4 13.Nce2 cxd5 14.cxd5 a5 15.Kb1 Bb7 16.Nc1 Rfc8 17.Nge2 Nc5 18.Ng3 (D)

18…b3?

I suggested this pawn sacrifice to open the files on the queenside, and the other students supported my decision. Simagin did not like the sacrifice, but he did not argue with us, letting us see for ourselves that our assessment was wrong.

19.Nxb3 Nxb3 20.axb3 a4 21.bxa4 Rxa4 22.Bb5!

A refutation! It is impossible to double the heavy pieces on the a-file since the rook has to return to a8.

22…Raa8 23.Rc1 Rcb8

We had already realized that the grandmaster was right, and expected 24.Bc6 or 24.g5, with an advantage.

24.Qe2?

Finally our bishops will be put to work, Simagin noted, alluding to the piece sacrifice on d5. We analyzed it more deeply and were convinced of its correctness.

24…Nxd5! 25.exd5 Bxd5 26.Ne4?! Qb7 27.h6 Bh8 28.Rhd1?! Ba2+ 29.Kc2 d5! 30.Nc3 Bc4

Black’s attack should lead to success. There was already no more time left for consultation, so Simagin seized the reins. It was a pleasure for us to observe how he finished the game beautifully.

31.Bxc4 Qxb2+ 32.Kd3 e4+! 33.fxe4 dxc4+ 34.Kxc4 Rc8+ 35.Bc5 Rxc5+! 36.Kxc5 Rc8+ 37.Kd5 Qb7+ 38.Kd6 Qc7+ 39.Kd5 Qc6#

My First Training Session

There is a first time for everything. In the summer of 1964, I went with the team to another city for the first time. The All-Union tournament of the Pioneer Palaces took place in Leningrad. Before the tournament – also for the first time – I participated in a training session near Moscow. We lived under Spartan conditions, but, in those days and at that age, no one paid any attention to such trifles.

At the session, Roshal showed us a good setup for Black against the King’s Indian Attack and the Closed Variation of the Sicilian Defense. I had already successfully played it in Leningrad, and, later, this setup faithfully served me for many years and brought me many important points in tournaments.

The reader can find it in the chapter The Development of an Opening Repertoire in SFC-2.

Shortly before that, my parents had given me a camera, and, at the session, I took my first pictures. I think they were pretty good for a beginner. However, the ability to push the shutter release button was only part of the art of photography back then. The pictures still had to be developed and printed, and these processes, to a large extent, defined the quality of the picture. My father’s friend, an excellent photographer, developed and printed my first films. Later I would either do it myself or take the films to a studio, but the result was, of course, much worse.

At the training session in Podolsk: Sasha Karasev, Seryozha Makarychev, Sasha Shvartz, and Pavlik Gladkikh.

The Road to Master

In those years, I was a rather onesided chess player. My opening repertoire was narrow; in each of these openings, I aimed only to attack the king. Roshal insisted that I needed to expand my opening repertoire and significantly improve my positional understanding. For this purpose, he suggested I study Nimzowitsch’s My System carefully. The book was published many years ago, and it had become a rarity. I did not have it, so Roshal gave me his copy. After a while, he asked,

So, what do you think?

Well, it is elementary, I knew it all anyway.

That’s okay, read the entire book carefully, it will come in handy!

The coach turned out to be right. My positional understanding improved considerably, my style of play changed, and my results improved.

I began the road to master (though I did not realize it at the time) in May 1965 with the first category tournament in which I exceeded the candidate master norm and advanced to the so-called tournament of the strongest candidates.

In the summer, I played in the Spartak Youth Championship in Minsk, without much success. From that tournament, I remember a sophisticated endgame with opposite color bishops that I won in the first round against Misha Steinberg (see SCE-1, What remained off-stage) as well as a loss to Anatoly Shcharansky, a future well-known dissident and later minister of Israel.

In the fall, I took third place in the tournament of the strongest candidates, a performance that gave me the right to participate in the quarter-finals of the Moscow Men’s Championship and play for three spots in the semi-finals, a master norm tournament.

My play in the quarter-finals was uneven. I defeated two future winners in good style, but lost tournament points in games against less successful rivals.

In the fourth round, I met, over the board, an old man by the name of Kholodkevich who had participated in the 5th USSR Championship nearly forty years ago. I equalized with Black and offered a draw. Kholodkevich looked at me in astonishment, You know, I do not like draws. I would rather lose!

And then he confidently beat me.

Before the last round, I had almost no chance of reaching the qualifying third place. I would have to beat an opponent who had one point more than I with Black, and a second competitor would also have to lose to Kholodkevich. In a long and intense struggle, I emerged victorious. Meanwhile, Kholodkevich’s opponent, after gaining an advantage, offered a draw three times, could have forced one several times, and was eventually up a pawn when the game was adjourned. When the game resumed, Kholodkevich sacrificed another pawn, complicated the game, and won, giving me the opportunity of playing in the Moscow Championship semi-finals. I remember this man, who kept his selfless love for chess until a very old age, with sincere gratitude, and I admire his fighting spirit.

In the spring of 1966, the Moscow Championship semi-finals took place. Remembering how hard it was for me to make it to the semi-finals, I did not count on success. This made my result all the more surprising and gratifying: 9½ points out of 13, with no losses, a two-way tie for first, and a master norm exceeded by 1½ points. I suppose that exactly at this point, all of my prior work was converted into an increase in skill (the growth of which is more often sudden rather than gradual). I would not say that my play had become strong – it is all relative – but rather more accurate and balanced. Here is an example of how I was able to refute an experienced master’s attack with no visible effort.

Konstantinopolsky – Dvoretsky

Moscow Championship Semi-finals 1966

1.e4 c5 2.Nf3 Nc6 3.Bb5 g6 4.c3 Bg7 5.0-0 Nf6 6.Re1 0-0 7.d4 cxd4 8.cxd4 d5 9.e5 Ne4 10.Bxc6 (an unnecessary exchange) 10…bxc6 11.Nc3

My first portraits. I think that they are pretty good and convey the characters of my friends from the Pioneers Palace. Sasha Karasev, Sasha Shvartz, and Seryozha Makarychev

Sasha Shvartz

Seryozha Makarychev

Later, I played this system as White, but also without much success. The knight can also be developed to d2, after which the best response is 11…Bf5.

11…Nxc3 12.bxc3 Qa5 13.Bg5

13.Qb3!? Bg4 14.Qa3 was tested in Benko – Stein, played at the 1966 Havana Olympiad. After 14…Qc7! 15.Nd2 c5!, Black maintains equality.

13…Re8 14.Qd2 Rb8 15.Bh6 Qa3 (15…Bg4)

16.Qf4 Bf5!

Before moving the bishop to e6, it is helpful to provoke the weakening move g2-g4. Now, 17.Qh4 might look tempting, but Black just counters with 17…Qxc3, without worrying about 18.Ng5 f6!.

17.Bxg7 Kxg7 18.g4 Be6 19.Re3 Qb2 20.Rf1 Qxa2 21.Ne1 Rh8!? 22.Qg5 Rbe8 23.Nd3 h6 24.Qf4 h5! 25.g5 Rb8 26.Nc5 a5 27.Ree1 Qc2 28.Rc1 Qf5 29.Qxf5 Bxf5 30.Ra1 Rb5 31.Kg2?! (31.h4) 31…h4! 32.Ra2 Rh5

To return the rook to h8, after 33.f4, and then uses the weakness of the second rank.

33.Rfa1 Rxg5+ 34.Kf3 h3 35.Rxa5 Rxa5 36.Rxa5 Rg2 37.Ra7 Kf8 38.Ra8+ Kg7 39.Re8 Rxh2 40.Rxe7 Rg2 41.e6 Bg4+ White resigned

I played the following positional game, also very simple in structure, at the start of the Moscow Championship, which began immediately after the semifinal.

Dvoretsky – Volovich

Moscow Championship 1966

1.e4 e5 2.Nf3 Nc6 3.Bb5 a6 4.Ba4 Nf6 5.0-0 Be7 6.Bxc6 bxc6?! 7.Nc3 d6 8.d4 exd4 9.Nxd4 Bd7 10.Qf3 0-0 11.Re1 c5 12.Nf5 Bxf5 13.Qxf5 Re8 14.b3 Qd7 15.Qf3 Ng4 (15…Qg4!?)

16.Nd5!

Simple prophylaxis. It is important to be prepared for the move 16…Bf6, which my opponent planned.

16…Ne5 17.Qg3 Bd8 18.Bb2 Re6 19.Rad1 Qe8

.

20.f4 Rg6 21.Qh3 Nc6 22.f5 Rh6 23.Qg3 Ne5 24.Bxe5 dxe5 25.Qc3!

This is my favorite combination of material: a good knight versus a bad bishop. I am not sure whether White played in the most accurate manner, but my opponent never stood a chance.

25…Rc6 26.Ne3 f6 27.Rd5 c4 (a pawn sacrifice out of desperation) 28.Nxc4 Be7 29.Qd3 h6 30.Rd1 Kh7 31.Kh1 Rb8 32.h3 Rb5 33.Qe2 Rb4 34.R1d3 Rc5 35.Rxc5 Bxc5 36.Rd5 Be7 37.Qd3 Rb8 38.Ra5 Rd8 39.Rd5 Rb8 40.Ne3 Qc6 41.Qc4 Qb6 42.Rd3 Qa5 43.Rd1 Bc5?! 44.Nd5 Bd6 (44…Kh8 45.b4!) 45.Nxf6+! Kh8 46.Nh5 Black resigned.

It is silly to regret the move after which the opponent surrendered, but, later, I was still a bit annoyed that I did not choose 46.Qf7!? Rf8 47.Rxd6!.

My game with master Estrin in the middle of the tournament was pretty tense and ended in a draw. Roshal approached me, asked about the result, and was very dissatisfied, How come, I was drinking with Estrin all morning today, and you didn’t beat him?!

My final result in the Moscow Championship was modest, as a result of lack of experience and, perhaps, lack of skill. However, overall, earning a master norm before graduating from high school was considered a big success; there were very few masters of that age then.

Dvoretsky very recently earned a master norm. This young man is often jokingly called an encyclopedia for his vast knowledge. His heroes are the classical players of chess. Apparently, this is why Dvoretsky does not recognize incorrect play, a strictly competitive approach to chess (from Roshal’s article in Chess in the USSR).

My First Trip Abroad

It was the summer of 1966. I had already passed the entrance exams and had become a student. I was enjoying my last weeks of freedom before the school year started. I met a friend, candidate master Zhenya Bogomolov, and he said that he was leaving for Stockholm to play in the USSR-Scandinavia Youth Match and that the team was large, fifteen boards. I was surprised: Why? I was a master, and, in the whole country, there were barely enough masters of the right age to make up even half of such a team. I went to the administrators of the Central Chess Club, Lev Abramov and Yury Zarubin, and inquired about the match. I was told, Indeed, but where were you earlier? Now, it is probably too late, you will not have the time to put together your application!

They still gave me a form for a travel passport. I went to my high school. Of course, it was desolate in the summer. I stumbled across an electrician who was a member of the school Communist Party organization. He agreed to help me and went to the teacher who headed the organization, prepared a recommendation letter, and got it signed. This recommendation letter was quickly pushed through the Communist Party district committee, and then I was called for an interview by the Central Committee at Staraya Square. By some miracle, I made it in time!

Simultaneously, I had to deal with funding: the money for the trip of the team members was supposed to be allocated by the sports organizations to which each member belonged. I asked my sports organization, Spartak. They agreed to help, even though they understood that, because I had already been admitted to college, I would inevitably transfer to the student organization, Burevestnik [Petrel – Tr.]. In gratitude, I postponed this transition for over a year, and played for Spartak at the USSR Team Championship.

In the match against Scandinavia, Borya Gulko headed the team, I played on fourth board, and 15-year-old Tolya Karpov was on board 6. The best young players from Sweden, Norway, Denmark, and Finland were not nearly as strong as the Soviet junior players. The heads of the delegation, grandmaster Averbakh and master Vasilchuk, wishing to maintain at least the appearance of a struggle, were happy for any draw that our opponents could manage. The final score was, nevertheless, devastating.

A few days was not sufficient time to comprehend a very different Western European society, especially because we were looking at it through glasses clouded by everyday propaganda and misinformation. Yet visits to capitalist countries inevitably forced us to compare living standards there and at home and to think about the numerous inconsistencies, big and small, between the Soviet newspaper descriptions of Western reality and what we could actually see. However, each of us made his own conclusions.

They say that when a future strong grandmaster, Gennady Kuzmin, shared his impression upon his return from a trip abroad (I think, to Germany), he said, If we could combine their abundance with our social order, what a great life we would have!

In Stockholm we had to visit the Soviet embassy where I, as everyone else, according to Vysotsky, was told what was allowed and what was not. One fact stuck in my memory and gave me food for thought: that the embassy employee’s name was Jean Jeanovich.

My high school English was put to the test there for the first time (and failed). When we were taking the subway, the train suddenly started moving, and I unintentionally pushed a woman next to me. Of course, I apologized, except I said, Thank you! Only by the next stop did I realize that, apparently, I had said something wrong.

No surprise there for, not only did I lack a knack for foreign languages, but also I had no interest in them. I did not see how I could need any knowledge of other languages living behind the Iron Curtain. However, the majority of my contemporaries did not have any bragging rights, either, as far as linguistic achievements were concerned. I remember how, in seventh or eighth grade, a school inspector addressed one of the girls, How do you do?

And received the following reply: Yes, it is.

I feel compelled to retell a funny story with the same subject from writer Victor Shenderovich.

In the 1950s, the Queen of England visited Calcutta.

Of course, the reception was exceptionally grand and included ambassadors, attachés, and other diplomats. At the time, the USSR representative in Calcutta was someone from the Trade Mission, a Communist Party member, who was far from bright, even by the low Soviet standards.

It was a performance in every sense of the word: the British Queen walked along the row of ambassadors and exchanged at least a few words with everyone.

Finally she reached our man, who was so nervous that he forgot even what little he knew, and, finding himself face to face with Her Majesty, he asked, "Do you